Yangzhou, a Place in Literature: The Local in Chinese Cultural History 0824839889, 9780824839888

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YANGZHOU A Place in Literature The Local in Chinese Cultural History

EDITED BY ROLAND ALTENBURGER, MARGARET B. WAN, AND VIBEKE BØRDAHL

YANGZHOU A PLACE IN LITERATURE

YANGZHOU A PLACE IN LITERATURE

The Local in Chinese Cultural History

Edited by Roland Altenburger, Margaret B. Wan, and Vibeke Børdahl

University of Hawai‘i Press Honolulu

The publication of the present volume was supported by a Publication Subsidy Grant of the Chiang Ching-kuo Foundation for International Scholarly Exchange. © 2015 University of Hawai‘i Press All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America 20 19 18 17 16 15

6 5 4 3 2 1

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Yangzhou, a place in literature : the local in Chinese cultural history / edited by Roland Altenburger, Margaret B. Wan, and Vibeke Børdahl. pages cm Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-8248-3988-8 (hardcover : alk. paper) 1. Yangzhou (Jiangsu Sheng, China)—History. 2. Yangzhou (Jiangsu Sheng, China)— In literature. 3. Chinese literature—Translations into English. I. Altenburger, Roland, editor. II. Wan, Margaret B., editor III. Børdahl, Vibeke, editor. DS797.56.Y374Y362 2015 951'.136—dc23 2014029524 University of Hawai‘i Press books are printed on acid-free paper and meet the guidelines for permanence and durability of the Council on Library Resources. Designed by George Whipple Printed by Sheridan Books, Inc.

In Memory of Patrick Hanan 1927–2014

CONTENTS

Preface xi Note on Translation

xv

Yangzhou and the Local in Chinese Literature 1 An Introduction Margaret B. Wan, Roland Altenburger, and Vibeke Børdahl 1

Revisiting a Dream in a Classic Late-Ming Garden Zheng Yuanxun’s “Personal Record of the Garden of Shadows” (Yingyuan zi ji, 1637) Alison Hardie

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Storyteller and Adviser 36 Wu Weiye’s “Biography of Liu Jingting” (Liu Jingting zhuan, 1647) Rüdiger Breuer

3

Society and Performance in Late-Ming Yangzhou 51 Four Essays from Zhang Dai’s Dream Reminiscences of Tao‘an (Tao‘an mengyi, 1670s) Philip A. Kafalas

4

The Moral Panorama of One Place 64 Shi Chengjin’s Series of Vignettes Recent Stories of Yangzhou (Yangzhou jinshi, prefaces 1726/1729) Roland Altenburger

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Contents

5

The Universe in a Nutshell 87 Wang Zhong’s Essay “Dialogue about Guangling” (Guangling dui, 1787) Marc Winter

6

The Golden Age 101 Depictions of Life in Yangzhou in Li Dou’s The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou (Yangzhou huafang lu, 1795) Lucie Olivová

7

Building and Gardening Practices in Eighteenth-Century Yangzhou 152 The View from Li Dou’s The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou (Yangzhou huafang lu, 1795) Winnie Yuen Lai Chan

8

Observations of a Changing World 173 Lin Sumen’s Bamboo-Branch-Style Songs Three Hundred Poems of Hanjiang (Hanjiang sanbai yin, 1808) Roland Altenburger

9

Regional Fiction 189 Clear Wind Sluice (Qingfengzha, 1819) Margaret B. Wan

10

Theater for the People in the Yangzhou Region 203 Jiao Xun’s Peasant Chats on Popular Local Theater (Huabu nongtan, 1819) Colin Mackerras

11

Writing about Things in the Nineteenth Century 217 Scholar Zhou’s Dream of Yangzhou (Yangzhou meng, 1850s) Antonia Finnane with Fan Xiong

12

A Yangzhou Novel 258 Hanshang Mengren’s Dream of Romance (Fengyue meng, preface 1848) Patrick Hanan

Contents

13

Place and Personality 273 Ling Xia’s “Song of the Eight Eccentrics” (Yangzhou ba guai ge, ca. 1897) Michele Matteini

14

A Tale of Five Families between Empire and Republic Li Hanqiu’s Novel The Tides of Guangling (Guangling chao, 1909–1919) Stefan Kuzay

15

Food and Local Place 308 Zhu Ziqing’s Essay “Speaking of Yangzhou” (Shuo Yangzhou, 1934) Antonia Finnane

16

Transformations of Local Theater 321 The Yangzhou Opera Taking Command at Age One Hundred (Bai sui gua shuai, 1952–1958) Liu Zhen and Jiang Ji

17

A Critical View of the Yangzhou Dream 343 Feng Zikai’s Essay “The Yangzhou Dream” (Yangzhou meng, 1958) Sue Zhuang

18

Layers of the Local in Yangzhou Storytelling 357 Wang Shaotang Performs “Wu Song Fights the Tiger” (Wu Song da hu, 1961) Vibeke Børdahl

19

A Chapter in Chinese Women’s History 381 Wei Minghua’s Essay “The Thin Horses of Yangzhou” (Yangzhou shouma, 1983) Antonia Finnane

282

20 Yangzhou Village Theater 406 The Play Pi Fifth Celebrates New Year (Pi Wu guo nian, 1999) in Wei Ren’s Redaction Lindy Li Mark

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Contents

Glossary 425 References 453 Contributors 481 Index 487

PREFACE

The present volume, Yangzhou—A Place in Literature, is the second material result of the cooperation of an international group of scholars that calls itself “The Yangzhou Club.” This informal association joins together colleagues whose research deals with the cultural history of the city of Yangzhou. The Yangzhou Club was called into life in 2003 by Vibeke Børdahl and Lucie Olivová, who organized a workshop that was held in October 2005 in the city of Yangzhou itself. This first gathering of the Yangzhou Club was dedicated to the topic of Lifestyle and Entertainment in Yangzhou, and it resulted in an edited volume of studies, published with NIAS Press in 2009, that was well received by the scholarly world. Discussions about a follow-up project found that what was much missed in university-level teaching, and desirable also for a wider readership, was an anthology of translations of important texts from the rich repertory of literature from and about Yangzhou. While there already were a small number of such translations, they were widely scattered and inconvenient to access. Most of all, the few extant translations lacked the framework and contextualization only a commented anthology could provide. As a common analytical focus for the new project we chose “the local” in its manifold manifestations throughout a wide range of types of writing relating to either the city or the region of Yangzhou. Thus, the editors of the present volume conceived a program of texts, or excerpts from larger texts, spanning an extended period of time, from the late imperial into the modern era, and covering a wide range of genres and styles. We place particular emphasis on popular types of writing and oral or semi-oral performed literature, but also include examples of the officially more respected textual genres, such as poetry, the classical essay, and the topographic description, xi

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Preface

as well as the cultural-historical account. From the start, we attributed an important position to the acclaimed Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou (Yangzhou huafang lu), major portions of which we sought to include in our selection. In the planning phase of this project we were enthusiastically supported by a number of previous members of the Yangzhou Club, but also won over several scholars who were new to our association. It has become something of a hallmark of the Yangzhou Club that the group of involved colleagues includes people of widely different age groups, from junior scholars at the beginning of their academic career to established senior scholars, some already emeriti. Moreover, our project brought together scholars from four different continents—Asia, Europe, North America, and Australia. As another strong point, the Yangzhou Club, due to its regional focus, is highly interdisciplinary and involves specialists of various disciplines, including literature, history, and art history, among other fields. In order to discuss the draft translations of each text, along with their introductory essays and textual notes, as well as the book’s conceptualization and design, we organized a workshop entitled “Yangzhou—A Place in Literature: The Local in Chinese Culture from the Late Imperial through the Modern Era,” which was held at the University of Zurich, Institute of East Asian Studies, 1–3 September 2011. Almost all of the contributors to the project participated in this workshop. Moreover, we invited several scholars from the People’s Republic of China, who contributed keynote lectures, in par ticu lar, Wei Minghua, the honorary director and former director of the Yangzhou Culture Research Institute, and Liu Yongqiang, a professor at the Department of Chinese Language and Literature of Peking University. This very successful workshop was generously funded by several institutions, first of all, the Swiss National Science Foundation, with its “International Exploratory Workshops” grant program, and the Swiss Academy of Humanities and Social Sciences. Additional funds were contributed by the University of Zurich’s Hochschulstiftung and its University Research Priority Program “Asia and Europe.” Moreover, the Institute of East Asian Studies, represented by Raji Steineck, Andrea Riemenschnitter, and Wolfgang Behr, provided the location and much other support to the workshop. The workshop organizers, who are also the editors of the present volume, should like to express their gratitude toward all of these institutions and individuals for their support to the project at its most critical stage. We also wish to mention Zhang Wei, who provided invaluable ser vices as an interpreter during the workshop, as well as our workshop staff, Meline Sieber, Kristina Janotová

Preface

and Antonie Angerer. The workshop also provided the opportunity for the second reunion of the Yangzhou Club, at the occasion of which Vena Hrdlicková, emerita of Charles University, Prague, was named an honorary member of the association. Due to the number and the diversity not only of texts, but also contributors, the volume’s editing process was relatively complex. Most contributors were also involved in the revision process, as we asked them to review other contributors’ texts. In particular, we wish to mention the great help that Malcolm McKinnon provided in editing several chapters for style. We are grateful to our editor at University of Hawai‘i Press, Pamela Kelly, for her enthusiasm for the project and the many hours she has invested in it. The Chiang Ching-kuo Foundation for International Scholarly Exchange contributed substantially to the financing of the book’s production costs through a grant in its publication subsidy program. We gratefully acknowledge this generous support. Figure 1.1, Landscape Painting by Zheng Yuanxun, is reprinted with permission of the Suzhou Museum. Three excerpts in Chapter 6 were extensively revised from their previously published versions in Li Dou, “The Painted Barges of Yangzhou: Excerpts,” trans. Lucie Borota, Renditions 46 (1996): 58–68, and are reprinted with permission. The translation in Chapter 12 is revised from Courtesans and Opium, translated by Patrick Hanan, © 2010 Columbia University Press. Reprinted with permission of the publisher. This volume is dedicated to Patrick Hanan, a pioneering scholar of many aspects of Chinese literature, including the Yangzhou novel. A mentor and example to generations of scholars, his meticulous scholarship and elegant translations continue to inspire. He contributed a chapter to the present volume, but sadly could not see it published. Finally, we wish to thank all our contributors for their enthusiasm about the project, their patience, and their exemplary collaboration. Roland Altenburger, Margaret B. Wan, and Vibeke Børdahl

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NOTE ON TRANSLATION

Chinese words and proper names are transcribed in Hanyu Pinyin romanization. Chinese characters are rendered in the traditional form. Names of places that are villages or larger have been transcribed. Names of buildings and landscape formations, such as streets, gates, lakes, canals, gardens, and teahouses, have been translated wherever possible. Personal names are translated only if they are nicknames, pen names, servants’ names, or otherwise significant name forms. The term zi is used to indicate a person’s adult or courtesy name, and hao for a studio name or other pseudonym or cognomen. Chinese names and terms rendered in roman are listed in the Glossary. If there is more than one word with exactly the same reading in the Glossary, subscripts are used to distinguish them (e.g., yi1 and yi2). In order to distinguish between names of oral repertoires and titles of published editions (often sharing the same names), titles of oral repertoires referred to in this book are in roman type, while book titles are in italics as usual. For the sake of historical accuracy, common Chinese terms for money and measurement have in general been romanized rather than translated. These measurements varied across time. Approximate English equivalents for these terms as used in the Ming dynasty through the Republican era appear below. chi cun dan fen

⯣ ⮡ 䞜 ↯

“foot”; 10 cun, varied from 24.5 to 33 centimeters “inch”; varied from 2.45 to 3.3 centimeters a measure for grain; 120 jin, or around 70 kilograms a unit of weight; about one-tenth of a qian, or 0.37 grams xv

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Note on Translation

jin 㕍 li 慵 liang ℒ mu 䔆 qian 拋 wen zhang

㔰 ᶱ

“pound”; varied from 500 to 597 grams distance of approximately one-third of a mile; from 405 to 576 meters “ounce”; varied from 31.3 to 37.3 grams one-sixth of an acre, or one-fifteenth of a hectare “penny”; a copper coin; or a “pennyweight” of silver, about 3 to 4 grams “penny”; a copper coin; or a unit of weight approximately equal to a qian “yard”; 10 chi, varying from 2.45 to 3.3 meters

Yangzhou and the Local in Chinese Literature An Introduction Margaret B. Wan, Roland Altenburger, and Vibeke Børdahl

Yangzhou—the name evokes associations of a Venice in China, with romantic bridges and waterways, beautiful courtesans, fine gardens, and eccentric painters, but also memories of a war-torn ruin after the Qing conquest and the Taiping Rebellion. It has been the subject of poetry and memoirs, guidebooks and novels, storytelling and essays. Indeed, the richness of sources, as reflected in this anthology, allows us to see not only an abundance of literary genres dealing with this local place, but also a variety of author types connected to the town and region. In these writings many facets of Yangzhou reality are treated, down to the details of everyday life, the sights, sounds, and smells on the streets and in the teahouses. In Yangzhou’s heyday, the men and women of Yangzhou society, led by the conspicuous consumption of prosperous salt merchants, set fashions in clothing, gardens, art, and all kinds of luxury goods.1 But there were also times when Yangzhou was considered a dead backwater of stale conservatism and indolent inactivity.2 This anthology brings together the work of scholars from around the world to examine from an interdisciplinary perspective the rich cultural history radiating from the city of Yangzhou. It contributes to our understanding of the relationship between the local and its manifestation in literature, history, and art. The volume spans almost four centuries, from the early seventeenth to the brink of the twenty-first century. Yangzhou is a particularly dramatic example of a city’s shift ing place in history. The city of Yangzhou began in the fift h century B.C.E. as a garrison of the southern state of Wu, called Hancheng. At the beginning of the Han dynasty (202 B.C.E.–220 C.E.), it became the site of the southeastern fiefdom of Wu, named Guangling (lit., “broad tumulus”). This was a significant city 1

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Figure I.1. A Tourist Map of Yangzhou. From the cover of a postcard folder: Yangzhou, Yangzhou Post & Telecommunications Office, no page, no date (from the late 1990s).

only in terms of military strategy, partly due to its location at the canal connecting the Yangzi and Huai Rivers, built during the Later Han. After the Han, the city of Guangling was repeatedly destroyed. One of the earliest literary descriptions of the place, Bao Zhao’s (ca. 414–466 C.E.) “Rhymeprose on the overgrown city” (Wucheng fu),3 represents it as a ruined and deserted place, as a memento of ephemeral importance. During the Sui dynasty (581–618), Emperor Yang (Sui Yangdi, r. 606–618), who in history is considered a notorious “bad last ruler,” 4 renamed the city as Jiangdu (lit.,

Introduction

“metropolis at the Yangzi”) and made it the capital of the large southern province of Yangzhou. Under the Sui, the city grew to a sizeable and prosperous city, while the existing canal system was developed into the earliest version of the Grand Canal. The tomb of the murdered Emperor Yang, located near the city of Yangzhou, has since remained as a symbol of passing glories. During the Tang dynasty (617–907), the city continued to flourish and grew into a metropolis of impressive dimensions. A bustling city of trade, it became a symbol of quickly accumulated riches and oblivious pleasures. For the first time, the name Yangzhou was used for the city itself. At the end of the Tang, the city was destroyed, once again. During the Song dynasty (960– 1278), the city’s economic and administrative status was much diminished. It became temporarily important at certain points in history only as a strategic stronghold. In the early Ming, Yangzhou was eclipsed by its flourishing neighbors, the cities of Nanjing, Hangzhou, and Suzhou. Under the Ming, the city served as the administrative seat of a large prefecture, comprising ten districts north of the Yangzi, officially renamed as Weiyang Prefecture, while Yangzhou remained the city’s main name in popular diction.5 Besides the Grand Canal, which was instrumental to the transport of tribute grain to the North, the other crucial factor in Yangzhou’s place in the empire was the salt monopoly. Under the Yuan dynasty (1271–1368), revenue from the salt trade became an important source for the state economy. Yangzhou was made the center of salt administration for the large region of Liang-Huai (lit., “the Two Huai”), where the salt produced in the coastal hinterland was loaded onto boats and then shipped and marketed to all parts of this administrative region, which covered much of the provinces of Henan, Anhui, Hubei, Hunan, and Jiangxi. The monopoly licenses to trade in salt were exorbitantly expensive but held the promise of fabulous profits. Through this system, starting from the late Ming and up to the mid Qing dynasty (1644–1911), wealth accumulated in Yangzhou in amounts that surpassed the capital available at any other place in the empire. The monopoly salt merchants of Yangzhou became the proverbial millionaires of the Qing empire, and their enormous resources enabled them to sponsor cultural projects and the arts on a large scale.6 The deepest caesura in Yangzhou’s history arguably occurred during the dynastic transition from the Ming to the Qing dynasty, in May 1645, when Qing troops destroyed much of the city and massacred part of its population after the city’s military defenders had resisted the Qing conquest.7 In the period of reconstruction that followed, during the reigns of Shunzhi

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(1644–1661) and Kangxi (1661–1722), Yangzhou became an important center of literary culture. As Tobie Meyer-Fong has shown, Yangzhou’s elite used both physical sites and literary projects as vehicles for the cultural and emotional reconstruction of the city.8 In the mid-Qing, it enjoyed a special relationship with the capital, Beijing; the Qianlong Emperor (r. 1736–1796) even favored Yangzhou with repeated visits. Its sources of wealth were vulnerable, however, dependent on the intactness of the Grand Canal, on the one hand, and on the administrative organization of the salt monopoly, on the other. After the Grand Canal silted over, the salt monopoly was abolished, and when trade shifted to seaports, and later railways, Yangzhou’s prominence declined.9 However, a “dream of Yangzhou” lived on in different ways in high literature such as poetry, in the vernacular novels set in Yangzhou and eagerly read in newspapers nationwide, and not least in vigorous oral performance traditions of local storytelling and drama.

Regional and Shared Culture Recent research on late imperial and early modern China across many disciplines has paid increasing attention to the local. Careful examination of place has led scholars to suggest that our perceptions of the history of China as a whole should be based on its multiple regional and local histories. Inspired by his earlier research on market towns in Sichuan, G. W. Skinner demonstrated that developmental cycles—including economic and population growth—were often “wholly unsynchronized” between North and Southeast China during the period from the Song to the Qing dynasties. He put forth a model of ten macro-regions defined by geography and economic integration; within each of these macro-regions Skinner predicted significant “flows of goods and ser vices, money and credit, messages and symbols, and persons in their multifarious roles and statuses” streaming between its center and periphery, and to a lesser extent to other regions.10 After the publication of Skinner’s influential articles on the structure of Chinese history and his edited volume on cities in particular, “local history” gained increasing attention among Western scholars of China, resulting in weighty studies of a number of cities, including Beijing, Shanghai, and Yangzhou.11 City literature has also begun to attract scholarly attention, mostly focusing on Shanghai, Beijing, Yangzhou, and Hangzhou.12 In Chinese scholarship, “regional” literature is distinguished from “local” literature. Regional literature—mostly defined by traditional cultural regions, such as Wu-Yue

Introduction

on the central coast or Qi-Lu in the North, or by provinces—has spawned many histories, while the few available studies of “local” literature largely focus on the metropolitan. If Chinese history is often best understood by reconciling local histories, how much of “Chinese” culture was shared? China was never a monolithic entity, and yet its wide expanse was held together by certain key elements. Education was one of these. Evelyn Rawski asserts that an elementary education was popular “among persons of diverse social groups and occupations.”13 Peasants had access to primers, and “illiterates lived within a literate culture.”14 Even the most basic primers like the Three Character Classic (Sanzi jing) taught not only literacy but a simple Confucian morality; thus boys who had no intention of sitting for the examinations would nevertheless have been exposed to the core values of elite society. Cynthia Brokaw’s work on popular publishing shows that the texts that would form the next step in an education, the Four Books (Si shu) of the Confucian classics, were printed in formats that suggest different learning agendas and audiences.15 Economic factors like patterns of trade fostered integration, with the result that the rural-urban divide in China was much less prominent than in Europe during this period. In China, “[t]he enhanced communications network helped bring the value systems of the elite and peasant tradition into closer congruence.”16 This is not to deny cultural differences: “cultural integration marched hand in hand with increased social differentiation and social tension, which were engendered by the same socio-economic conditions that produced integration.”17 The same combination of centrifugal and centripetal forces was (and is) at work in the language itself. The spoken language consists of many regional dialects that are sometimes mutually intelligible, but often unintelligible to the ear of a speaker of another dialect. The written language, however, was the same all across China. Chinese logographs made this possible, and until 1911 the official use of a literary language—classical Chinese—created what Rawski calls the “gap between a diverse spoken and a unified written language, the first serving to express regional, ethnic and social differentiation, the second acting as a major force for cultural integration.”18 The establishment of a standard written vernacular as the official language in the Republican period created a similar dynamic. The written language was only one of the channels for cultural transmission. David Johnson has demonstrated the importance of local drama in shaping attitudes. Here often the core stories were widely shared all over the

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nation, but the presentation—and consequently the message—was shaped by local language, performance genres, and communities.19 Similarly, Confucian ritual and the festival calendar were shared across China, but practices varied by locale.20 Since Yangzhou had a large sojourning population in the late imperial period, all of these forces of cultural integration and cultural difference were noticeable on its streets. Most of the merchants in the salt trade had roots in Huizhou, Anhui. They spoke a different dialect, ate different food, and watched different forms of drama than the Yangzhou “locals,” who in the high Qing tended to come from the rural areas around the city and form the lower classes of Yangzhou society.21

The Local in Literature Where in literary studies does “the local in literature” fit in? In Western literary studies, the field of “literature and place” may, according to Peter Brown, be divided up into two types of approaches: (1) “literary places,” and (2) “places in literature.”22 The first approach seeks to establish connections between writers and real places, mostly inspired by the biographical approach to literary works, if not mere curiosity about authors’ private and public lives and a belief in visiting places as an aid to reading. In one variety of the first approach, the aim is to study the ways in which environment acts on writers and how they in return have shaped the common notions and perceptions of particular places, with locality and landscape emerging as two favored themes. This approach belongs to the long-standing tradition of paying homage to a place, the aura of which derives from its association with a writer. In Chinese literature and tourism this phenomenon is well known, and it must be taken into account in the present volume. The second approach, dealing with “places in literature,” in which “the idea of place is more important than the identification of topographical correlatives,”23 has, however, more important implications. One problem with Western literary studies on places in literature is that they are mostly concerned with fictional representations of place, which, from the perspective of the Chinese tradition of writing, is a one-sided approach that tends to ignore the various non-overtly fictional genres of writing involving aspects of place. Nevertheless, something can be learned from the theoretical approaches to fictional representations of place.

Introduction

In dealing with representations of place in literature, we should seek to go beyond its mimetic function: Questions about the mimetic function of place in literature should not obscure the fact that place is also a rhetorical ploy, a topos in the true sense of the term. In other words, descriptions of place do not exist merely for the sake of enabling the reader to compare imitation with reality; rather, they are there to embody certain ideas which the writer wishes to convey. Place in literature is a means to an end and not an end in itself [ . . . ].24

Of course in “topographical” texts, the documentary description of place is an important aim. But even in these cases, “literary place insists on being something other than itself, and gestures towards an importance beyond what is immediately obvious. Part of that importance is its position as a confluence of personal, historical, and political currents.”25 The primary sources translated in this volume demonstrate how both dramatic ruptures and striking continuities were experienced in Yangzhou. Peter Brown, in his introduction to the edited volume Literature & Place 1800–2000, emphasizes the mutual interactions between a place and its literary representation: “The representation of place in fictional mode also puts in play a series of possible practical interchanges between the real and the written world.”26 He also points out the “disparity between a writer’s vivid evocation, and the reality” that “can produce a sadness, a sense of absence and loss.”27 If the relationship between literature and place is to be seen as an interactive one, it may also be said that it involves negotiation concerning “the nature of the reality to which writers refer when they describe place.”28 Brown says of Western novelists: Novelists create simulacra of places known to their readers and in such instances the thrill of recognition is part of the text’s appeal. [ . . . ] Whether the novelist opts for unremitting verisimilitude, or a freer play between topography and imagination, the end result is an hallucination, a virtual reality animated by characters who articulate the author’s themes.29

The process described here basically also applies to Chinese fiction writing with a strong sense of the local. Alexander Des Forges’ study of Shanghai novels (Haishang xiaoshuo) and their media context argues that the literature constructed life in Shanghai and taught readers how to experience it.30 The

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abundant cultural production surrounding Shanghai enabled “travelers from all over to arrive in the city with some variation of the words ‘So this is Shanghai!’ on their lips, words that indicate not discovery but rather recognition.”31 The power of texts to construct the experience of Yangzhou is also apparent in many of the accounts in this volume—through recognition, or nostalgia, such as in the anonymous novel The Dream of Romance (Fengyue meng, preface 1848), or even disappointment when the reality does not resemble the preconceived ideas formed from reading about Yangzhou, as in Feng Zikai’s (1898–1975) essay “The Yangzhou Dream” (Yangzhou meng, 1958). Obviously the “local” in literature can point to many kinds of connection between a work and a place. Texts in this volume are tied to Yangzhou through their authorship, language, content, form, or any combination of these factors. They may relate things that happened in the Yangzhou region, or they may use literary forms that are specific to Yangzhou, such as local drama (huabu or luantan) and storytelling (Yangzhou pinghua). Accounts may use classical Chinese (wenyan), the literary language of the educated, or standard Mandarin (guanhua), based on the northern speech that became the spoken lingua franca of China’s officials. Some texts may be sprinkled with local Yangzhou dialect expressions, others may be written or performed in dialect throughout. We find that these languages are far from mutually exclusive, but exist as a continuum or spectrum of registers that authors draw upon. In Yangzhou storytelling as oral performance, for example, we see that speech by important characters is rendered in a formal register that tends toward Northern Mandarin (Beifang guanhua), while the speech of minor characters and the thoughts of all characters are in local Yangzhou dialect. The storyteller plays upon these and other distinctions between more or less “local” language. The use of registers means that the choice is not simply between dialect and Mandarin but between various layers of local dialect (Yangzhou jiaxianghua) or patois (tuyu) and various kinds of standard language, such as local Mandarin (difang guanhua), and Northern Mandarin, also called Capital language (Jinghua), and, with younger storytellers, modern standard Chinese (putonghua).32 Written texts also switch between registers; a text in classical Chinese may include phrases of local dialect. Genre plays a central role in determining which registers are used. Like fiction, “no non-fiction prose is ever straightforward,” as Philip Kafalas reminds us in the introduction to his translation of excerpts from Zhang Dai’s (1597–1689) Dream Reminiscences of Tao‘an (Tao‘an mengyi, 1670s) in Chapter 3 of this volume. Every text is framed in a particular way, and genre

Introduction

plays a large role in that framing. The multiple perspectives offered by the many genres in this anthology allow one to “see” this framing more clearly and account for it as we compare, for example, how the temple to Guanyin in Slender West Lake (Shou Xihu) outside Yangzhou is presented in the guidebook The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou (Yangzhou huafang lu, 1795) versus the novel The Tides of Guangling (Guangling chao, 1909–1919). Along with the language employed, the genre provides clues to likely imagined audiences and demonstrates the complex interplay between local and non-local. Yet another factor is whether the author is a “local,” or someone with other ties to Yangzhou. This is also more complicated than it might appear. For example, Zheng Yuanxun (1603/04–1644), the author of “Personal Record of the Garden of Shadows” (Yingyuan zi ji, 1637), was from a Huizhou family living in Yangzhou. Antonia Finnane would call such families “sojourners,” but Zheng acted the part of one of the local elite and signed his affi liation as Hanjiang (i.e., Yangzhou) rather than Huizhou—meaning he identified with Yangzhou.33 With oral performance traditions the question is complicated by the lack of an “author” in our usual understanding of the term, but when storytelling lineages are known for a particular subject we can safely place them as local. If, for the sake of discussion, we divide genres into those peculiar to the Yangzhou region and those with national circulation, and then do the same for the content (and authors), we might come up with a tabulation like the one in Table I.1. It is striking how many of the texts are written by local authors or sprung from the local milieu (bolded in Table I.1). Another large category is texts written in a “national” genre but with “local” content. The converse category is those written in a “local” genre but with “national” content, such as the local drama Two Wolves Mountain, which is a version of the well-known legend of the Yang Family Generals. While the text is not included in this volume, it is discussed by Jiao Xun in Peasant Chats on Popular Local Theater, and is included in the table to demonstrate that national content in a local genre is a long-standing phenomenon. Then there are “local” genres with “local” content, and “national” genres with “national” content. Zhang Dai’s Dream Reminiscences of Tao‘an does not center on Yangzhou, but it contains several essays about Yangzhou. See the discussion and translation by Philip A. Kafalas in chapter 3 of this volume. Some of the genre affi liations listed in the table are made explicit in contemporaneous introductions to the texts. They provide a set of expectations through which to understand the text at hand. However, categorizing a

9

Table I.1 Relationship of Anthology Texts to Yangzhou in Genre, Content, and Authorship Local genre

National genre

Local content “Novel”: Clear Wind Sluice (1819) Local drama: Pi Fifth Celebrates New Year (1999)

Biography: *Wu Weiye, “Biography of Liu Jingting” (1647) Vignettes: Shi Chengjin, Recent Stories of Yangzhou (1726/1729) City memoirs: Li Dou, The Plea sure Boats of Yangzhou (1795) *Zhou Sheng, Dream of Yangzhou (1850s) Poetry: Lin Sumen, Three Hundred Poems of Hanjiang (1808) Ling Xia, “Song of the Eight Eccentrics of Yangzhou” (ca. 1897) Novels: Hanshang Mengren, Dream of Romance (1848) Li Hanqiu, The Tides of Guangling (1909–1919) Essays: *Zheng Yuanxun, “Personal Record of a Garden of Shadows” (1637) Wang Zhong, “Dialogue about Guangling” (1787) Jiao Xun, Peasant Chats on Popular Local Theater (1819) *Zhu Ziqing, “Speaking of Yangzhou” (1934) Feng Zikai, “Yangzhou meng” (1958) Wei Minghua, “The Thin Horses of Yangzhou” (1983)

National content Local drama: Two Wolves Mountain (ca. 1819)

Essays: Zhang Dai, Dream Reminiscences of Tao‘an (1670s)

(continued)

Introduction Table I.1 (continued) Local genre

National genre

Yangzhou opera: Taking Command at Age One Hundred (1952–1958) Yangzhou storytelling: Wang Shaotang, “Wu Song Fights the Tiger ” (1961) Note: Works by local authors are in bold type, and works by authors from the neighboring area are indicated with an asterisk.

par ticular text in terms of “local” versus “national” genre is far from simple. Take the example of bamboo-branch poems (zhuzhici). The genre was used almost exclusively to document local life, so in content it is as local as it could possibly be. However, it is definitely not a genre that originated in Yangzhou, and collections of bamboo-branch poems were written about virtually every major city in China. So should the genre be considered local, or only the content? One might turn to its circulation or intended audience to try to find an answer. As Roland Altenburger explains in his introduction to the translation of selected verses from Three Hundred Poems of Hanjiang (Hanjiang sanbai yin, 1808) in Chapter 8 of this volume, some collections of bamboo-branch poems would be difficult for nonlocals to understand, due to their use of dialect and frequent references to local and contemporary affairs; but others, such as this one, provide the context necessary to make the verses accessible to nonlocal audiences. Thus we must also look to see how the text constructs its intended audience. What of other local poetry collections, composed in the gardens of Yangzhou, that were printed and on sale locally within three days of composition? Although a nationally recognized form, most such collections were not likely to circulate widely. In Commerce in Culture, Cynthia Brokaw’s discussion of Qing book culture differentiates between a “select” strata of specialized texts aimed at the small segment of highly educated men throughout the empire, a “core” of “bestselling” reading material that extended socially across all literate levels and geographically across the Chinese empire, and texts largely of “local” interest. In this scheme, considering print quality, geographic distribution, and how accessible the language of the imprints was, most novels would be “bestsellers,” appealing to a national audience, while “poetry collections of obscure local authors” and cheap songbooks

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Figure I.2. Map from Local Gazetteer of Yangzhou Prefecture, 1810. (Akedang Axiu et al., [Chongxiu] Yangzhoufu zhi)

printed in dialect epitomize the “local,” appealing to a socially diverse but geographically limited audience.34 It is interesting to note that the so-called “storytelling novel” Clear Wind Sluice (Qingfengzha, 1819) was printed almost exclusively in Yangzhou through the Qing.35 Clear Wind Sluice appears in Table I.1 with “novel” in quotes because it defies genre categorization—it looks like a novel, but it does not act like one. As a local story in a more or less local form it would seem to have appealed mostly to a local audience. Indeed, it contrasts sharply with the “city novel” The Dream of Romance in this regard—where The Dream of Romance describes extensively and explains Yangzhou peculiarities to the outsider, Clear Wind Sluice evokes and requires the knowledge of an insider or local. However, even this example is not absolute. “Local” forms can become a “must-see” tourist experience. The comments of Yu Yue (1821–1907), a scholar with a national reputation and no ties to Yangzhou, about the novel Clear Wind Sluice show that he was reading it as a record of storytelling, hoping to find in it the brilliance that inspired Li Dou’s comments.36 The depiction of a particular region demands that one look at oneself from the outside.37 This requires a process of estrangement. We can see this

Introduction

process in Lin Sumen’s (ca. 1748–1809) Three Hundred Poems of Hanjiang: Lin began to write about his hometown only after having been away from it for decades. Upon his return he was struck by the many changes that had taken place in the city of Yangzhou since he had lived there in his youth, and recorded his observations in bamboo-branch songs and prefaces to each. Insofar as the representation of a region requires distancing, it parallels the representation of the self in autobiography. “To be autobiographical [ . . . ] is not to record or recall a past self as it was but to reconstruct or reinvent that past self according to the perceptions of the present self.”38 It therefore comes as no surprise that many of the texts in this anthology have a strong autobiographical element, including Zhang Dai’s Dream Reminiscences of Tao‘an, the core of Clear Wind Sluice, the memoir Dream of Yangzhou (1850s) by Zhou Sheng (i.e., Zhou Boyi, 1823–1895), the novel Dream of Romance by an author hiding behind the pseudonym Hanshang Mengren (The Fool of Yangzhou), and Zhu Ziqing’s (1898–1948) essay “Speaking of Yangzhou” (Shuo Yangzhou, 1934). Many of these titles allude to the common topos of the “Yangzhou dream.” Its locus classicus is a line from the poet Du Mu (803–852), “Ten years late I wake at last out of my Yangzhou dream” (shi nian yi jue Yangzhou meng).39 The original poem referred to Du Mu’s dalliance with courtesans, as does the novel Dream of Romance, but the figure of waking from a dream was also used as a metaphor for the distance created by time or historical events, or by changes in ideology and politics, as found again in Feng Zikai’s essay “The Yangzhou Dream.” As Peter Brown explains, “the local in literature” often points to the functions of place in literature as construing aspects of identity and local belonging. Emotional attachment to a place “can contribute to the formation of a group identity.” He continues, “region, no less than locality, carries with it a set of ideas that are historically determined but which rapidly assume the status of myth and stereotype.”40 While in Western traditions, “literature can seek to interrogate, or even transcend, such processes,” Chinese traditions of local writing seem first of all instrumental in helping construe and enforce such group identities. In thinking about place and identity, the patterns of authorship revealed in Table I.1 are interesting. Almost three-quarters of the texts in this volume were created by natives of Yangzhou. Several more were written by those from the neighboring area. Indeed, even the authors with no local ties to Yangzhou are largely from the next province to the south, Zhejiang. The texts in this volume bring forward multiple sources of identity: kin networks, social networks, profession, and ties to place, whether that be the city of Yangzhou, its specific neighborhoods, or the wider region. Even the

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meaning of Yangzhou is a complex issue.41 In one view, down to the early nineteenth century, Yangzhou was a metropolitan center that competed with other such centers in the wider region of Jiangnan,42 first of all Suzhou, but also Nanjing and Hangzhou. This is obvious, when we study the shifting places of sojourn of the famous founder of Yangzhou storytelling described in the “Biography of Liu Jingting” (Liu Jingting zhuan, 1647) by Wu Weiye (1609–1672). But on the other hand, another notion of “Yangzhou” clearly included much of the “hinterland,” even the entire jurisdiction of Yangzhou Prefecture. At its most inclusive, Børdahl observes in Chapter 18 of this volume, “Yangzhou is the center, but not the geographical limit of the idea of a common locality” identified as “North of the River” (Jiangbei). Yangzhou pinghua storytellers’ circuits ranged to Nanjing, Zhenjiang, and Shanghai to the South, and to Qingjiang in the North.43 The setting of Clear Wind Sluice in Dingyuan County, Anhui Province, suggests that dialect boundaries may be at least as powerful as administrative boundaries in issues of identity.44 On the other hand, Zhou Sheng’s memoir Dream of Yangzhou, partly translated in this volume, shows a sensitivity to being an “outsider” from Zhenjiang, just across the river from Yangzhou. Some of the cultural differences between the two locations were manifest in material culture—for example, in the utilitarian carts of the Zhenjiang natives versus the opulent and socially varied sedans of Yangzhou. The “local” is often defined in relation to somewhere else, through negotiation with the outside.45 As Antonia Finnane points out in her introduction to Zhou Sheng’s Dream of Yangzhou in Chapter 11 of this volume, the panorama of things manifest in these accounts serve to remind us that even in Li Dou’s 1795 account The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou, Yangzhou was “not a city isolated within a self-contained Middle Kingdom milieu.” Instead we find a web of trade networks and connections, first within the Qing empire, and by 1842 increasingly also with foreign lands. Thus, in Li Dou’s account, preserved seafood is a regional industry operated in Yangzhou but run by Zhenjiang people, and the products are transported to Beijing. Yangzhou garden pavilions used construction techniques from Beijing. Local opera (huabu) was strongly influenced—at least for a time in the late eighteenth century—by actors of Beijing opera, and a birthday party in the Yangzhou city novel The Dream of Romance includes a performance of a kind of humorous drumsinging that was all the rage in nineteenth-century Beijing. In modern editions of traditional local drama we may observe a special humor and “disobedience” to dominant moral values, as exemplified in the local drama (huabu) version of Pi Fifth Celebrates New Year (Pi Wu guo nian, 1999).

Introduction

In many cases we find the local literature of Yangzhou contesting the canon—of literature or taste or received interpretations of history. Often this serves to put forward personal preferences or to find a place for the “local” to be appreciated. In the latter case, the argument may be made in terms of “shared” values in order to be persuasive. Thus Jiao Xun (1763–1820), in his Peasant Chats on Popular Local Theater (Huabu nongtan, 1819), argues for the superiority of local drama (huabu) over the fashionable, elite Kunqu drama on moral grounds, saying that local drama better embodies Confucian ideals of loyalty, filial piety, chastity, and righteousness. This aspect of the usage of local literature was also highly prominent in the national adaptation of the local Yangzhou drama (Yangju) Taking Command at Age One Hundred (Bai sui gua shuai) during the early 1950s. In a similar way, local women’s stories are classified under the recognized virtue of “chaste women,” while the didactic approach of Shi Chengjin’s (1660–after 1739) Recent Stories of Yangzhou (Yangzhou jinshi, prefaces 1726/1729) allowed these moral vignettes from Yangzhou life to attain nationwide circulation. As exemplified in Feng Zikai’s “The Yangzhou Dream” from 1958, the specifics of Yangzhou’s local landscape are often viewed through the “shared” lens of Confucian philosophy, classical poetry, or traditional painting and lifestyle. In Feng’s “dream” this concept of Yangzhou is then turned upside down in the confrontation with the political and ideological radicalism of the early People’s Republic. While allusions and cross-references running through this volume show the power of texts to “fi x” a view of Yangzhou, the changes in the region also echo through many accounts. In effect, they present a series of snapshots framed from different perspectives—high and low, “insider” and “outsider”—on the moving target that is Yangzhou.

Notes 1. For a short introduction to Yangzhou history, see Lucie Olivová, “Building History and the Preservation of Yangzhou,” in Lifestyle and Entertainment in Yangzhou, ed. Lucie Olivová and Vibeke Børdahl (Copenhagen: NIAS Press, 2009), 3–36. For a more detailed history of Yangzhou, see Antonia Finnane, Speaking of Yangzhou: A Chinese City, 1550–1850 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Asia Center, 2004). On fashion, see Antonia Finnane, “Yangzhou’s ‘Modernity’: Fashion and Consumption in the Early Nineteenth Century,” Positions—East Asia Cultures Critique 11, no. 2 (2003): 395–425. See also the chapters on Yangzhou painting in Olivová and Børdahl, Lifestyle and Entertainment in Yangzhou, Part 4. 2. See Antonia Finnane’s introduction to “Speaking of Yangzhou” in chapter 15 of this volume. See also her article “A Place in the Nation: Yangzhou and the Idle Talk Controversy of 1934,” Journal of Asian Studies 53, no. 4 (1994): 1150–1174. 3. Originally in Wen xuan (The anthology of literature), j. 11; included in Ma Jiading, ed., Yangzhou wenxuan (Suzhou: Suzhou daxue, 2001), 2–6.

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Margaret B. Wan, Roland Altenburger, and Vibeke Børdahl 4. Arthur F. Wright, “Sui Yang-ti: Personality and Stereotype,” in The Confucian Persuasion, ed. Arthur F. Wright (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1960), 47–76. 5. Finnane, Speaking of Yangzhou, 19–24. 6. Ibid., 43–68. 7. There is a famous personal account of these horrific events by Wang Xiuchu, titled “Yangzhou shi ri ji” (Ten days at Yangzhou). Although this memoir may be considered one of the best-known texts on Yangzhou, the editors, for several reasons, chose not to include it in the present anthology. It is accessible in previous translations: Lucien Mao, trans., “A Memoir of Ten Days’ Massacre in Yangchow. By Wang Hsiu-ch’u,” T’ien-hsia Monthly 4, no. 5 (1937): 515–537; and Lynn A. Struve, Voices from the Ming- Qing Cataclysm: China in Tigers’ Jaws (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1993), 28–48. 8. Tobie Meyer-Fong, Building Culture in Early Qing Yangzhou (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 2003). 9. See Tobie Meyer-Fong, “Seeing the Sights of Yangzhou from 1600 to the Present,” in Huazhong you hua: Jindai Zhongguo de shijue biaoshu yu wenhua goutu, ed. Huang Kewu (Taibei: Zhongyang yanjiuyuan Jindai shi yanjiusuo, 2003), 213–251. See also Malcolm McKinnon, “A Traveler’s Tale of Two Cities: Yangzhou, Shanghai,” in Lifestyle and Entertainment in Yangzhou, ed. Lucie Olivová and Vibeke Børdahl (Copenhagen: NIAS Press, 2009), 87–105. 10. G. W. Skinner, “The Structure of Chinese History,” Journal of Asian Studies 44, no. 2 (1985): 281; see also 275, and 279 (fig. 1); and G. W. Skinner, ed., The City in Late Imperial China (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1977). 11. See, for example, Susan Naquin, Peking: Temples and City Life, 1400–1900 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000); Linda Cooke Johnson, Shanghai: From Market Town to Treaty Port, 1074–1858 (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1995); and Finnane, Speaking of Yangzhou. 12. See, for instance, studies of Shanghai literature by Leo Ou-fan Lee, Shanghai Modern: The Flowering of a New Urban Culture in China, 1930–1945 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1999); and Alexander Des Forges, Mediasphere Shanghai: The Aesthetics of Cultural Production (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2007). For Beijing literature, see Pieter C. A. Keulemans, “Sounds of the Novel: Storytelling, Print-Culture, and Martial-Arts Fiction in Nineteenth-Century Beijing” (PhD diss., University of Chicago, 2004); and Chen Pingyuan and Wang Dewei, eds., Beijing: Dushi xiangxiang yu wenhua jiyi (Beijing: Beijing daxue, 2005). For Yangzhou literature, see Lucie Olivová and Vibeke Børdahl, eds., Lifestyle and Entertainment in Yangzhou (Copenhagen: NIAS Press, 2009); and Patrick Hanan, “Fengyue Meng and the Courtesan Novel,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 58, no. 2 (1998): 345–372. For Hangzhou literature, see Liping Wang, “Paradise for Sale: Urban Space and Tourism in the Social Transformation of Hangzhou, 1589–1937” (PhD diss., University of California–San Diego, 1997); Patrick Hanan, The Chinese Short Story: Studies in Dating, Authorship, and Composition (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1973), esp. 148–151; and Liu Yongqiang, “West Lake Fiction of the Late Ming: Origin, Development, Background, and Literary Characteristics,” trans. Roland Altenburger, Asiatische Studien / Études Asiatiques 63, no. 1 (2009): 135–196. 13. Evelyn S. Rawski, “Economic and Social Foundations,” in Popular Culture in Late Imperial China, ed. David Johnson, Andrew J. Nathan, and Evelyn S. Rawski (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985), 30. 14. Evelyn S. Rawski, “Problems and Prospects,” in Johnson, Nathan, and Rawski, Popular Culture in Late Imperial China, 400, 403.

Introduction 15. Cynthia Brokaw, “Reading the Best-Sellers of the Nineteenth Century: Commercial Publishing in Sibao,” in Printing and Book Culture in Late Imperial China, ed. Cynthia Brokaw and Kai-wing Chow (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005), 219. 16. Rawski, “Economic and Social Foundations,” 32. 17. Ibid., 33. 18. Rawski, “Problems and Prospects,” 399–400. 19. David Johnson, Spectacle and Sacrifice: The Ritual Foundation of Village Life in North China (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Asia Center, 2009). 20. Patricia Ebrey, Confucianism and Family Ritual in Imperial China (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1991). 21. In her discussion of the construction of identity in Qing Yangzhou, Finnane notes three sets of social distinctions (city versus towns and rural areas; moneyed elite versus common people; and sojourner salt merchants versus natives of Yangzhou), which, she argues, “can with some license be collapsed into one.” Finnane, Speaking of Yangzhou, 288. 22. Peter Brown, “Introduction,” in Literature & Place 1800–2000, ed. Peter Brown and Michael Irwin (Oxford: Peter Lang, 2006), 13. 23. Ibid., 13. 24. Ibid., 20. 25. Ibid., 21, emphasis added. 26. Ibid., 16. 27. Ibid., 17. 28. Ibid., 17–18. 29. Ibid., 18. 30. Des Forges, Mediasphere Shanghai, 26. 31. Ibid., 1. 32. See Vibeke Børdahl’s introduction to “Wu Song Fights the Tiger” in chapter 18 of this volume; for more detail, see her book The Oral Tradition of Yangzhou Storytelling (Richmond, Va.: Curzon, 1996); and Vibeke Børdahl, “Dialectal and Normative Registers in Yangzhou Storytelling,” Chinese Language and Discourse 1, no. 1 (2010): 94–123. While this suggests some of the connotations of Mandarin versus local dialects, we should not assume there is a hard and fast association between social and educational standing and the use of Mandarin versus local dialect. Anne McLaren draws on Børdahl’s and Mark Bender’s work on the language of oral storytelling to suggest that Mandarin was perhaps more accessible to lower classes than scholars have recognized; McLaren argues that “Jiangnan urban communities commanded a level of diglossia, that is, knowledge of both high and low registers of language, throughout the late imperial period.” Anne McLaren, “Oral Literature and Print Culture in China: Some Recent Scholarship,” East Asian Publishing and Society 1, no. 1 (2011): 76–77. 33. See Alison Hardie’s introduction to her translation of “Personal Record of the Garden of Shadows” in chapter 1 of this volume. 34. Cynthia J. Brokaw, Commerce in Culture: The Sibao Book Trade in the Qing and Republican Periods (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Asia Center, 2007), 8, 557–558. 35. See Margaret Wan, “Local Fiction of the Yangzhou Region: Qingfengzha,” in Olivová and Børdahl, Lifestyle and Entertainment in Yangzhou, 178, 201 n. 3. 36. Yu Yue, Chaxiangshi congchao (Collected copying from the Tea Fragrance Chamber), j. 17, as quoted in Zhu Yixuan, ed., Ming Qing xiaoshuo ziliao xuanbian (Jinan: Qi Lu shushe, 1989), 1: 433. Modern scholars, including Tan Zhengbi, refer to Clear Wind Sluice as a “storytelling novel” (pinghua xiaoshuo), implicitly recognizing its differences from the conventional

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Margaret B. Wan, Roland Altenburger, and Vibeke Børdahl novel. However, they use the same term for modern, edited records of storytelling. It is of course impossible to know what relationship the novel Clear Wind Sluice bore to contemporary Qianlong-Jiaqing-era storytelling. The author of Clear Wind Sluice is unknown. If we assume there is a connection with the storyteller-creator Pu Lin, we can consider it of local (Yangzhou) origin. 37. Stephanie Foote, Regional Fictions: Culture and Identity in Nineteenth- Century American Literature (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2001), 47. 38. Martin W. Huang, Literati and Self-Re/Presentation: Autobiographical Sensibility in the Eighteenth-Century Chinese Novel (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1995), 147. 39. Du Mu, “Easing My Heart” (Qianhuai), in Peng Dingqiu et al., eds., Quan Tang shi (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1960), j. 524, 16: 5998; translation adapted from A. C. Graham, trans., Poems of the Late T‘ang (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1965), 123. On the “Yangzhou dream” in the Chinese literary tradition, see Wei Minghua, “Xi ‘Yangzhou meng’: Da shiren Du Mu he ta de qian nian fengliu meng,” in Wei Minghua, Yangzhou wenhua tanpian (Beijing: Sanlian shudian, 1994), 109–122. 40. Brown, “Introduction,” 22. 41. Liu Yongqiang, “Lüelun gudai diyu wenxue de dongtai tezheng: Yi Qingdai Yangzhou wenxue wei zhongxin,” unpublished paper, presented at the International Workshop “Yangzhou—A Place in Literature,” University of Zurich, 1–3 September 2011. 42. Jiangnan literally means “South of the Yangzi River,” but traditionally this geographical term designates a much larger area stretching both north and south of the Yangzi. 43. See the map in Vibeke Børdahl’s introduction to “Wu Song Fights the Tiger” in chapter 18 of this volume. 44. A number of grammatical features of the Yangzhou dialect are shared with the Dingyuan dialect, while deviating from Northern Mandarin. Both Yangzhou and Dingyuan dialects belong to the Hongchao subgroup of Jiang-Huai Mandarin; see S. A. Wurm et al., eds., Language Atlas of China (Hong Kong: Longman, 1988), B3. For further discussion about defining the Yangzhou region, see Wan, “Local Fiction of the Yangzhou Region.” 45. The same dilemma is also a pregnant issue in painting in the Yangzhou school tradition; see Ginger Cheng-chi Hsü, “Traveling to the Frontier: Hua Yan’s Camel in Snow,” in Olivová and Børdahl, Lifestyle and Entertainment in Yangzhou, 347–375.

1

Revisiting a Dream in a Classic Late-Ming Garden Zheng Yuanxun’s “Personal Record of the Garden of Shadows” (Yingyuan zi ji, 1637) Introduced, translated, and annotated by Alison Hardie

Zheng Yuanxun (zi Chaozong, 1603/1604–1644) became an accidental martyr who died through a misunderstanding while protecting his native city against attack. He succeeded only in warding off disaster for a few months, when the threat he had feared—an out-of-control warlord army—was replaced by a greater one, and the Qing army ransacked Yangzhou for ten terrible days in 1645. Like many of the wealthy families of Yangzhou in the late imperial period, Zheng Yuanxun’s family did not originate from the city he died trying to save. They were incomers from Huizhou, in the south of what is now Anhui Province, who had come to Yangzhou as salt merchants, but it is clear that Zheng Yuanxun’s own generation felt a strong sense of Yangzhou identity. Zheng is chiefly remembered now as an art collector and minor landscape painter of the late Ming, though his own aim was to become a member of the scholar-official governing class.1 Born in 1603 or 1604, he graduated at provincial level as an Elevated Person ( juren) in 1624, and passed the highest level of the civil ser vice examinations to become a Presented Scholar ( jinshi) in 1643 (in the last cohort to graduate under the Ming), but he suffered from ill health and had to take sick leave; he never actually served as an official, and notification of his first appointment came through just three days after his death.2 At home in Yangzhou, he acted as did many other members of the gentry when out of office, not only practicing landscape painting and developing his garden, but taking a leading part in local affairs. This was why, when Yangzhou was threatened by the army of the military leader Gao Jie (d.  1645), one of four strongmen who effectively held the weak Southern Ming government to ransom after the fall of Peking in 1644, Zheng Yuanxun felt it incumbent on him to do something about the situation. He seems to 19

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have had some acquaintance with Gao Jie, and to have thought that if he appealed to the commander personally, he might persuade him to withdraw his troops from below the walls of the wealthy city, from which they hoped to gain the supplies they desperately needed. Whether or not he really gained Gao Jie’s agreement, on his return to the city from Gao’s camp, a mob who believed that he had made a deal with Gao to betray the city assaulted and killed him before he had a chance to explain himself.3 When Zheng wrote his account of his Garden of Shadows (Yingyuan) in 1637, all this, of course, lay in the future. The text belongs to the genre of “garden record” (yuanji); such records are of varying length, may be written about one garden or several (for example, about all the gardens in a particular city), and may be written—in the case of a single garden—either by the garden’s owner, as here, or by one of his friends or acquaintances, whether at the owner’s request or spontaneously. Except in the case of the very shortest garden records, a fairly detailed description of the garden is usually included, with a description of how the garden came into being and often an explanation of how the garden itself and perhaps also its main features got their names; sometimes we are told something about the person or people responsible for the design or construction of the garden. In these respects, Zheng’s garden record is quite conventional. He tells us not only about the layout of his garden, but also why he decided to develop it, as something to cheer himself up when he was suffering from ill health and depression. He even relates its origin to a dream experienced by his mother, and plays with the idea of a garden as both fantasy and reality. Many late-Ming literati were fascinated by dreams, endeavoring to study and explain them, and in this respect, too, Zheng Yuanxun is rather typical of his class and time.4 He explains his garden’s name, which could be translated as Garden of Shadows, Shade, or Reflections,5 and attributes the naming to the great late-Ming art critic Dong Qichang (zi Xuanzai, 1555–1636), whose influence can clearly be seen in Zheng’s own landscape painting style.6 In his concluding section, Zheng builds on the idea of the garden being prefigured in his mother’s dream, linking this to Dong Qichang’s perception of it as a shadowy reflection of reality, and expanding on the contrast of fantasy and reality in order to question the conventions of society in valuing official career and productive landed property over the self-indulgence of garden creation. In this way, Zheng reflects the changing values of the late-Ming intelligentsia, justifies his own expenditure of time and money on

Zheng Yuanxun’s “Personal Record of the Garden of Shadows”

his garden, and yet acknowledges the competing claims of social obligation, which his actions show that he felt more strongly than he claims to. This paradoxical conclusion to Zheng’s account of his garden parallels the paradoxical nature of gardens themselves as both retreats from society and locations for social display. The Garden of Shadows was situated to the southwest of the city wall of Yangzhou, in an area where the Zheng family owned property; two of Zheng Yuanxun’s brothers also created gardens in the same area.7 For garden historians, one of the most interesting things about Zheng Yuanxun’s garden is that, as he tells us, it was designed and constructed by the garden designer Ji Cheng (zi Wufou, b. 1582). Ji Cheng is well known today as the author of the “garden manual” The Craft of Gardens (Yuanye), which was published in the early 1630s with prefaces by Zheng Yuanxun and another of Ji’s patrons, the poet and dramatist Ruan Dacheng (1587–1646), who was also the book’s publisher.8 We do not know how Zheng became aware of Ji’s work and decided to commission him to design the Garden of Shadows. Ruan Dacheng met Ji through Ji’s involvement in another garden in the vicinity of Yangzhou, owned by Wang Shiheng (biographical data unknown), who seems to have been a merchant who had purchased an official title from the Ming government (a common practice at the time, when the government was desperate to raise funds); Ruan Dacheng was a friend of Wang’s and sometimes stayed in his garden when he was in the area.9 Wang’s family, like Zheng’s, probably came from Huizhou. It is possible that Zheng also got to know Ji through Wang, or through other garden owners in the area. It is interesting to note that although Zheng and Ruan Dacheng were both involved in the publication of Ji Cheng’s The Craft of Gardens, their political affi liations were very different, or at least became so later. Zheng was a member of the Revival Society (Fushe), the successors to the Eastern Grove (Donglin) faction, based in the Jiangsu area, who positioned themselves as the “righteous tendency” in late-Ming politics, in opposition to those officials who compromised with the powerful court eunuchs who wielded power through their privileged access to the Emperor.10 Ruan Dacheng had become associated with the chief eunuch of the Tianqi reign (1620– 1627) and had consequently lost office after the Chongzhen Emperor succeeded to the throne. The Revival Society were so afraid that the so-called Eunuch Party (Yandang) would make a come-back under the Chongzhen Emperor that in 1638 (the year after Zheng wrote his garden record) they

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published a manifesto attacking Ruan Dacheng, probably hoping to bring down more of their enemies along with him. Zheng Yuanxun was one of about 140 signatories to this manifesto, showing that although he had not yet qualified for a government position, he was already involved in political activity. This is no doubt another aspect of the sense of public obligation as a member of the gentry that eventually prompted him to the negotiation with Gao Jie that caused his death. As I have suggested, Zheng’s garden record shows a strong sense of local identity. At the end, he “signs off ” giving his local affiliation as Hanjiang (an alternative name for Yangzhou), rather than his family’s original hometown. Early in the record he refers to the flat, though fertile and verdant, local landscape, contrasting this with the yearning for mountain scenery which, he says, led him to become a landscape painter, and also inspired the creation of his garden. He stresses the integration of his garden into local life and activities: it is directly across the water from an area called “Little Peach Blossom Spring” (Xiao Taohuayuan, referring to the idyllic rural retreat celebrated by the poet Tao Qian, zi Yuanming, 365–427), which was a popular leisure destination in Spring. His description shows that elsewhere, “fishermen gather with their nets” alongside the garden and that the garden benefits from an expanse of willow trees beyond it, which local people visit to hear the orioles singing. From the garden at dusk Zheng can see people walking home along the Shu Ridge (Shugang) in the distance; he imagines the enjoyment that “four or five fishing families” must get from living beside the nursery garden located at some distance from the main garden. He also links his garden to local lore and history: one of the main buildings in the garden was named after a legendary cave of immortals believed to have existed in the Yangzhou area; from the garden one can see sites such as the Sui Embankment (Suidi) constructed when the Grand Canal was first dug during the Sui dynasty (581–617), and the Hall Level with the Mountains (Pingshantang), which had been the residence of the great Song scholarofficial Ouyang Xiu (1007–1072). Zheng also takes the opportunity, when describing his garden, to point out his sense of social responsibility: he was quick to demolish a high belvedere which might have provided a vantage point over the city walls if the bandits who were active in the area had taken over the garden, and replaced it with a smaller building (which just happened to turn out “even more elegant”). Like many proud owners of gardens, he shows how garden making was integrated into the practices of gift exchange that helped to establish and

Zheng Yuanxun’s “Personal Record of the Garden of Shadows”

consolidate social networks in late imperial China.11 He mentions calligraphic titles for the garden itself and for features in it, donated by such literary, artistic, and social luminaries as Dong Qichang, Chen Jiru (hao Meigong, 1558–1639), and Ni Yuanlu (hao Hongbao, 1594–1644). He also refers twice to inscriptions written by a relative who became Minister of Civil Offices (libu shangshu), presumably the highest-ranking member of the Zheng family, whose achievement cast reflected glory on the rest of his clan. According to Zheng’s account given here, he himself designed the layout of the garden, and Ji Cheng’s role was simply to give expression to Zheng’s own ideas and to undertake the technicalities of rockery construction. It is likely, though, that Ji Cheng’s role was slightly more important than this, and indeed, in Zheng’s foreword to The Craft of Gardens, he is rather more complimentary, saying that “beside Wufou [i.e., Ji Cheng], I feel as clumsy as a cuckoo [lit., “a pigeon”] that cannot even build its own nest.”12 Zheng acknowledges that Ji Cheng’s knowledge and skill enable him to develop a “concept” rather than following “a fixed set of rules,”13 making him an artist rather than a mere craftsman. Ji Cheng’s participation may well have placed the Garden of Shadows in the forefront of contemporary garden design. We can read in Zheng’s description that the garden incorporated a round opening, which we would now call a moon gate, as well as a hexagonal gateway and a window in the shape of a gardenia flower. There is no evidence that such decorative openings—doors or windows—existed before the very late Ming, but The Craft of Gardens includes illustrations of many such doorways, as well as some windows, including one shaped like a gardenia.14 It is at least possible that Ji Cheng was one of the first to popularize these, and therefore that the Garden of Shadows was one of the first gardens to contain such fashionable features. Zheng also refers to window lattices that were “different from the usual styles” and balustrades that were “decorative without being flashy”; these may also show the hand of Ji Cheng, whose The Craft of Gardens includes a great variety of designs for lattices and balustrades.15 Unlike some garden owners (and probably Ji Cheng himself), Zheng Yuanxun was very interested in flowers and flowering plants. His garden record is full of the names of plants, including some quite unusual ones such as suoluo (Stewartia pseudocamellia). The Garden of Shadows was the scene of a famous social event, which became almost legendary in the Qing dynasty as an example of the glamour and elegance of late-Ming literati life. This was a party held in 1640 to celebrate the flowering of a rare yellow tree peony in the garden. Each guest had to compose poems in praise of the

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flowers, and the poems were submitted for judgment to the leading writer and critic Qian Qianyi (hao Muzhai, 1582–1664), with the prize of a pair of gold cups for the best set of poems. The poems were later published in an anthology entitled Jasper Flower Collection from the Garden of Shadows (Yingyuan yaohua ji), where Zheng’s “Personal Record of the Garden of Shadows” (Yingyuan zi ji) also appeared.16 Rather surprisingly, the Garden of Shadows survived its owner’s death and the sacking of Yangzhou by the Qing troops; the fact that it was tucked away outside the city walls may have helped. Apparently it still survived in some form in the eighteenth century, as it is recorded in Li Dou’s The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou (Yangzhou huafang lu, 1795). Li Dou quotes extensively from Zheng’s own description of the garden, but notes that only “the remains” of the garden can still be seen, the name plaque has long disappeared, and a stone carving from it is now to be seen on a storefront on Commerce Street (Maimaijie). These details suggest that by Li Dou’s time the garden had fallen into disuse.17 It is not known when it finally ceased to exist, but it lives on in the portrait lovingly painted in words by its owner.



Personal Record of the Garden of Shadows The love of mountains, waters, bamboo, and trees is something that one is just born with, and that cannot be forced. I was born north of the River,18 and never saw even a fist-sized rock, but as a boy I saw high mountains and precipitous ranges in paintings and was full of longing for them. I got to know them in my mind, and eventually was able to paint them, which was something I learnt without having a teacher. When I went out of town I could see the freshness and flourishing of woods and waters, and was immediately so captivated by them that I could not tear myself away, so when I was a student I generally lodged in deserted temples. It was only when I was seventeen years old that I first crossed the River and was able to visit all the sights of Jinling [i.e., Nanjing]. A further ten years later, I had visited more than half of the sights in the Three Wu region [i.e., Jiangsu], which gave me great delight, so that I reckoned life had nothing more enjoyable to offer. When I returned home, I depicted all the sights I had seen in ink sketches, and in the winter of the renshen year (1632), when Master Dong Xuanzai19 was visiting Yangzhou, I took my sketchbooks to ask for his criticisms; the Master was so misguided as to praise them, saying that I had grasped the

Figure 1.1. Landscape Painting by Zheng Yuanxun, 1631. (Suzhou Museum)

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“bone nature” of the landscape, and that discussion of the finer points of brush and ink technique was irrelevant. So I questioned him: “I am already over thirty, and I haven’t been successful at the civil examinations; in fact my studies are declining rather than progressing. Now I have obtained an abandoned vegetable garden to the south of the city, and am planning to put up a thatched building of a few beams with the aim of spending the rest of my life there, looking after my mother and studying; with any leisure left over, I suppose I could make copies of famous paintings by old masters as a means of ‘recumbent traveling’, couldn’t I?”20 The Master said, “Of course you could! Has this place any hills?” I said, “No, but it is enclosed by water to front and back, and over the water, the Shu Ridge21 undulates in a serpentine way, just like a proper mountain, and on all four sides it is surrounded by myriad plantations of willows and more than a thousand qing222 of lotuses; reeds and rushes grow there, the water is clear with a lot of fish, and fishing boats are constantly coming and going. At the juncture of spring and summer, people go there to listen to the orioles. Because it embraces the tail end of the Sui Embankment,23 and the way there is somewhat winding, you don’t get a lot of tourists so it’s quite quiet. If you go up to a high place to view it, the Maze Tower (Milou) and Hall Level with the Mountains (Pingshantang)24 are both within arm’s reach, while all the mountains south of the River are clearly visible. You could say that the place is within the shadow of the willows, the water, and the mountains. Otherwise there is nothing special about it, but it is a choice site as far as this town is concerned.” The Master said, “That sounds delightful,” and so he wrote out the two characters “Shadow Garden” as a present for me. In the jiaxu year (1634), when I was allowed to return home, it happened that my wife passed away, and I also had a painful eye infection, so that I could not read or drink wine. Everything seemed to be going wrong for me, and I lost interest in living. My elderly mother was extremely worried, and told me to make an effort to find something to enjoy, and my brothers were also egging me on to build here.25 I had probably owned the land for seven or eight years, and thus I had been collecting materials over seven or eight years, so that over time there was enough for construction, and I also had the entire plan complete in my head, and so the rough layout was completed in just over eight months. The outer gate faces east over the water; across the water is the southern city wall, and on either bank are peach trees and willows, spreading extensively and setting each other off, and in spring the people who come here by

Zheng Yuanxun’s “Personal Record of the Garden of Shadows”

boat call it “Little Peach Blossom Spring.”26 As you enter the gate, a mountain path takes a few turns, and pines and cypress are closely entwined, casting their shade high and low, and interspersed with Prunus, apricot, pear, and chestnut trees. Where the “mountain” comes to an end, there is a roseleaf-raspberry trellis on the left, and beyond the trellis a clump of reeds, where fishermen gather with their nets. To the right there is a small stream, and across the stream there are well over a hundred stems of sparsely planted bamboo, protected by a low fence made of irregular old timber. The surrounding outer wall is built from rough-hewn stone selected for its mottled coloring like tiger skin; this is popularly known as a “tiger skin wall.” There are two small gates made of old tree roots contorted like writhing dragons. As you enter these ancient tree gates, there are more than ten tall wutong trees that entwine their branches on either side of the path and ward off the sun from those looking up, so that when people walk among them, their clothes and faces look green. Entering another gate, the one with the inscription “Garden of Shadows” over it, here is the library. What is this garden? In ancient times, tributary, subordinate states were known as “shadows,” and to the right and left of the library is all a garden, which could be so named for its subordinate position. Turning, one enters a narrow path, and from beyond the wall branches of Prunus stretch out across it, who can tell from where. As you cross an embankment of willows, “behold the density, behold the ranks;”27 all over are the blossoms of age-old creepers, writhing their way upwards and trailing downwards. Where the willows come to an end, you cross a small stone bridge, which is also built of rough-hewn stone, with a tiger recumbent in front of it in the form of a mighty rock laid crosswise.28 One turns aside into the thatched hall, which my relative the Minister of Civil Offices, Mr. Zheng Yuanyue,29 entitled “Jade Hook Thatched Hall,” since this may have been the site of the “Jade Hook Cave Heaven” that used to exist in this prefecture.30 The hall is situated on a square expanse of water, and on all four sides is a pond, which is entirely covered with lotuses. The hall is open and spacious, and manages to be in touch with the distant green of the hills; its mullions and transoms are all different from the usual styles. To the back of the hall is the pond, and beyond the pond an embankment, on the embankment tall willows, beyond the willows the extensive river, and on the opposite bank of the river are more tall willows, where the Yan, Feng, and Yuan family gardens (Yanshiyuan, Fengshiyuan, Yuanshiyuan) are all in view.31 Although these gardens are in disrepair and thick with bamboo and trees, it is as though they were all in my possession. To the south, the river has a

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crossing, with a lock keeper to control it. To the north, it reaches the ancient Han Gully, the Sui Embankment, Hall Level with the Mountains, Maze Tower, Prunus Blossom Ridge, and Dogwood Bay, without any interruption; what I have called the “myriad plantations of willows” reach from here to there without a break. Orioles are naturally attracted to willows; the more willows there are the better they are pleased, and their song never ceases, and so people who want to hear the orioles come here. Overlooking the stream I built a separate small belvedere called “Semifloating,” because it was half floating on the water, specifically to wait upon the orioles or to launch a small boat to go to meet them. The boat is the size of a lotus petal and called “Swimming Hermitage”; it just takes one daybed, one low table, and one stove for making tea. All the sites such as Han Canal, the Sui Embankment, the Hall Level with the Mountains, and Maze Tower can be visited whenever the mood takes you. Below the hall there were originally two Sichuan Malus trees two fathoms in height and ten spans in circumference, planted who knows how long ago, which were considered to be unique in the region north of the Yangzi. Now only one of them survives, reminiscent of the Lingguang Palace in Lu, sole survivor of the Han dynasty.32 Around the pond, rocks from Mount Huang33 have been used to construct steps leading down from above, some forming a terrace, some appearing amid the water; the larger ones will hold more than ten people, and the smaller ones three or four, so people call them “the Lesser Thousand Men’s Throne.”34 Situated on the margin of the water is all hibiscus; in the soil are Prunus, magnolia, Malus halliana, pink and white peach; in the gaps among the rocks are planted orchids, cymbidium, poppies,35 ginger, and all the flowers of Luoyang.36 Crossing the pond is a zigzag plank bridge, with vermilion railings, which leads in among the weeping willows. Halfway across the bridge one can catch an obscure glimpse of a half-belvedere, a small pavilion, and a water belvedere, but one cannot reach them. Where the bridge ends there is a rock carved with the four characters “Light mist, sparse rain,” also written by our family’s Minister of Civil Offices in a style extremely like that of Su Dongpo.37 On entering the gate there is a winding walkway, with two passageways to the left and right; the left-hand one leads to my study, which is a building of three bays, with a courtyard of the same width. Although it faces west, wutong and willows screen it, so in the summer it avoids the sun while attracting the breeze. The building is divided into two, one part facing south, with a doorway that is impossible to find, in which I avoid visitors.

Zheng Yuanxun’s “Personal Record of the Garden of Shadows”

The windowsills are only a foot above ground level, so it is warm without being humid. Outside the window is a rectangular terrace, on which are placed several large rocks, with three or four banana palms, one Stewartia pseudocamellia, which comes from Central Asia, and innumerable begonias; the ground is entirely paved with pebbles. A window that connects the inside of this building to the outside is in the shape of a gardenia flower, and is veiled by dense bamboo, so that people can see the window but cannot find the door. The room on the left faces east, and in this room my books are stored; there was a belvedere of equal width to this room, from which one could gaze afar to the peaks south of the River, and which gathered in the colors of the trees from far and near. When the bandits were alarming the neighborhood, the Salt Commissioner Mr. Deng38 mounted the city wall and, observing that this belvedere was high enough to provide a vantage point, he expressed the fear that the bandits might occupy it. When I heard this I had it demolished in a single night, and subsequently constructed a small belvedere of only one bay; people reckoned that the smaller one was even more elegant. For the front of the courtyard, I selected rocks of foraminated, emaciated, and elongated appearance,39 which were dispersed from higher to lower, not at all in a run-of-the-mill style, but conforming to the principles of painting. At the corners of the building I constructed two cliffs, with many cassia bushes planted on top of them whose branches intertwined over a gully with a stream bisecting the cliffs, like the place where Lesser Mountain summoned the hermit.40 Below the cliffs are tree peonies, Sichuan Malus, magnolias, cream-colored and bright-red double camellias, “chime-opening” wintersweet, double pomegranate, dark and white Lagerstroemia, and Citrus medica, to provide color throughout the four seasons. Then there is a large rock to form a screen, and below the rock one ancient juniper, twisting and writhing, and another juniper shoulder to shoulder with it, also a century old, but called its “Young Friend.”41 You go round beside this rock and in, by opening a small gate; there is a single pavilion overlooking the water, surrounded by reeds and rushes, which my poetic associate Jiang Kaixian named “Pavilion Amid the Reeds and Rushes;” prior to this, Master Ni Hongbao had named it “Torrential Jade Pavilion,” and his inscription is also displayed here.42 In the late autumn, the flowers of the reeds are like snow, and wild geese and ducks make their homes among them, leaving in the morning and returning at night, keeping me company in my studies without venturing to splash or quack. As I lie in

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the pavilion during the height of summer, a cool breeze arrives from all sides and the moon appears over the tips of the willow trees; it is like bathing in a flask of ice. At dusk, looking at the light of the setting sun on the ridge, as the greenery is suffused with a deep red, the green seems all the more pleasantly fresh, and the pedestrians who are silhouetted against it are indistinguishable from homing rooks. Although the small belvedere is part of the building, it could not be climbed from within the building; in order to climb it you had to take a detour outside, where there is an additional walkway to the right of the main entrance. The walkway takes two turns, and in the corners are planted variegated bamboo, banana palms or elms to shade it. However, when I was sitting in the inner room, I sometimes wanted to nip upstairs, but couldn’t be bothered walking round, so I changed the route to the interior. To the right of the walkway within the gate called “Light Mist and Sparse Rain” one enters a dual passageway in the shape of a pavilion; this is the place that could be glimpsed from the bridge. It is referred to as a pavilion rather than a passage, and was given the name “Marginal Prominence.” It overhangs the water as an eyebrow overhangs and forms the margin of the eye, hence “Marginal,” and it is connected to a building that forms an upper story with projecting eaves, hence “Prominence.” The windows have pairs of shutters, which can be opened or closed at the appropriate time. Behind the pavilion are two paths, one entering a hexagonal opening leading to a building and courtyard of three bays called “Letter I Studio;”43 this inscription was donated by my late teacher, Master Xu Shuo‘an,44 and it is where my sons have their lessons. The courtyard is quite spacious, and is enclosed by maroon balustrades that are decorative without being flashy. At the foot of the steps is one ancient pine tree, one sea pomegranate, and a raised flower bed in the shape of half a sword guard, planted high and low with tree peonies and herbaceous peonies; beyond the wall one can see a rockery cliff, with two pine trees soaring halfway to the heavens. Opposite the hexagonal opening is a large opening, and beyond the opening is another winding walkway, with clumps of dwarf bamboo bunched up against vermilion railings; the walkway provides a clear passage, but at times it is quite enclosed, so that it cannot be fathomed. A small opening is reserved and in this round opening one can see a cinnabar cassia as if located in the moon; this is an extra route out of the garden. The half-belvedere is behind Marginal Prominence, to the left of the path and connecting with the clear passageway; you ascend it directly by steps. Master Chen Meigong donated the three characters “Charming Seclusion Belvedere,” from the line by Li Taibo, “Splendid the charms of solitary seclusion,”45

Zheng Yuanxun’s “Personal Record of the Garden of Shadows”

and this inscription is hung here. On three sides of the belvedere is water, and on one side a rockery cliff, soaring up as if to the height of a thousand ells;46 on the summit are planted two toothpick pines; these are the ones that can be seen from in front of the “Letter I Studio.” The weight of snow caused one of them to tilt over, but this tilt makes it look all the more impressive. Below the cliff is a rocky stream that is fed by water from the pond, making a chuckling sound. All along the side of the stream are large rocks, rearing up furiously as though fighting, while the gaps between the rocks are filled with five-colored Prunus. These rocks surround the belvedere on three sides, stopping where they reach the water, or rather not stopping, since a single rock stands alone amid the water, and there is even a Prunus growing on it; in fact, this is the place that you can see over the wall as you first enter the garden. The rear windows of the belvedere face the thatched hall, and if there is anyone in the thatched hall, you can see each other and even call to each other and converse, but you still don’t know how to reach there on foot. Overall, the area of the place is no more than a few mu,47 but it does not suffer from the failing of being easy to get to the end of. The hill paths do not go directly from the upper to the lower parts; instead one can walk on relatively level ground, but all the paths wind around in a natural way, without human handiwork being apparent. Every flower, bamboo, and rock is appropriately positioned; if, after repeated examination, they are found inappropriate, then however fine they are they will be jettisoned. There is a separate plot of extra ground, about a dozen paces from the garden itself, where flowers and trees are grown for later planting out. This has a lotus pond of several mu, with a thatched pavilion perched up against it, in which one can sit and supervise the watering of the plants. When the flowers are in blossom, you can mount the stone steps, the stone bridge, or the half-belvedere within the garden, and obtain a full view of them. Four or five fishing families are scattered about here; I can’t imagine how much they must enjoy it. The poet Wang Xianmin constructed the Precious Stamens Tower as a place for the release of living creatures, whence the sound of Sanskrit chants comes from time to time.48 After Xianmin died, the main funeral rites were conducted here; a fellow member of our poetry society, Yan Sheqing,49 took charge of it, and the release of living creatures still goes on to this day. Xianmin was my lifelong friend, and now he is still my neighbor, so you could call him a “deathlong” friend. This project took eight months for the basic layout, and was completed after a year; the conventional style was completely overturned, and it is virtually the ultimate in rustic simplicity. This is also due to my fellow Jiangsu

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native Ji Wufou being so good at grasping one’s intentions, and in accordance with my intentions, he directed the rockery workers without a single failure, so that there was not one botched stroke to be regretted.50 Before this, my elderly mother had dreamed that she arrived somewhere where she saw a garden being constructed, and asked, “Who does this belong to?” “It’s your second son’s,” she was told. At the time I was still a boy, but when the work was being done on the garden, my mother came to the garden to visit the workmen, and found it was just like her dream of twenty years before, so she told me what had been said, and I realized that it was no coincidence. If it hadn’t been for that dream, the garden would not have worked out. Moreover, the fact that Master Dong Xuanzai gave it the name of “Shadows” was perhaps an indication to me of its dreamlike, fantasy nature; maybe I was just all unconsciously revisiting a past dream. Worldly people all strive to take hold of reality and reject fantasy; now if you compare a garden with an agricultural estate, it is the garden which is the fantasy, while if you compare taking care of a garden with carving out a splendid career, it is taking care of the garden which is the fantasy. But yet people take delight in making gardens, and even give them priority over estates and careers; before they have even bought a square inch of land, or built any extension to their residence, or achieved anything in their career, they have to have their garden, though having it means disregarding their physical well-being and giving up on their ambitions. They may have a mother but they are in no hurry to take care of her, they may have books but they are in no hurry to study them, they may have opportunities to do all kinds of enjoyable things but they are in no hurry to take them up. Is this because they are fully occupied by looking after their gardens? Or is it because they are worn out by their estates and their careers? I couldn’t possibly comment. Everyone just has to do what he has to do. At any rate, a dream gave indication of it, and my personality then shaped it; even if I dwell in my fantasy rather than giving it up for reality, what has it got to do with anyone else anyway? A personal record by Zheng Yuanxun of Hanjiang [Yangzhou], in the Pure and Temperate [fourth] month of the dingchou year of Chongzhen (1637)

Notes 1. James Cahill, ed., Shadows of Mt. Huang: Chinese Painting and Printing of the Anhui School (Berkeley, Calif.: University Art Museum, 1981), 68, 70; Wang Shiqing, “Tung Ch‘i-ch‘ang’s Circle,”

Zheng Yuanxun’s “Personal Record of the Garden of Shadows” in The Century of Tung Ch‘i-ch‘ang, ed. Wai-kam Ho (Kansas City, Mo.: Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, 1992), 2:481. Cahill includes illustrations of two paintings by Zheng, one in the Suzhou Museum and one in a private collection in Tokyo; the Suzhou Museum painting was inscribed, if not painted, in the Garden of Shadows. Wang lists four surviving paintings by Zheng Yuanxun, two in the Suzhou Museum, one in the Nanjing Museum, and one in the Palace Museum, Beijing. Cahill and Wang both give Zheng’s dates as 1598–1645. 2. Wang Shiqing, “Tung Ch‘i-ch‘ang’s Circle,” 481. 3. The story is told in some detail in Li Dou, Yangzhou huafang lu, ed. Zhou Chundong (Jinan: Shandong youyi, 2001), 211. 4. On dreams in the late Ming, see Richard E. Strassberg, Wandering Spirits: Chen Shiyuan’s Encyclopedia of Dreams (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008). 5. An excellent annotated translation by Duncan Campbell renders it as “Garden of Reflections.” Duncan M. Campbell, trans. and intro., “Zheng Yuanxun’s ‘A Personal Record of My Garden of Reflections,’ ” Studies in the History of Gardens & Designed Landscapes 29, no. 4 (2009): 270–281. My interpretation differs from Campbell’s in a few points, and the focus of our annotations and introductions is rather different. 6. Cahill, Shadows of Mt. Huang, 70. 7. For a reconstruction of the Garden of Shadows, see Wu Zhaozhao, “Ji Cheng yu Yingyuan xingzao,” Jianzhushi 23 (1985): 167–177. 8. Ji Cheng, Yuanye zhushi, ed. Chen Zhi (Beijing: Zhongguo jianzhu gongye, 1981; rpt. Taibei: Mingwen shuju, 1983); translated in Ji Cheng, The Craft of Gardens, trans. Alison Hardie (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1988; rpt., Shanghai: Better Link Press, 2012). 9. On Wang Shiheng’s garden, see Alison Hardie, “The Awareness Garden of Wang Shiheng in Yizhen,” Studies in the History of Gardens & Designed Landscapes 24, no. 4 (2004): 272–279. 10. On this conflict, see John W. Dardess, Blood and History in China: The Donglin Faction and its Repression, 1620–1627 (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2002). 11. On these practices, see Craig Clunas, Elegant Debts: The Social Art of Wen Zhengming (London: Reaktion Books, 2004). 12. Ji Cheng, Yuanye zhushi, 32. 13. Ibid., 31. Literally, the Chinese text says he “follows his heart and does not follow a method” (cong xin bu cong fa). 14. This point is noted by Cao Xun, “Ji Cheng yanjiu,” Jianzhushi 13 (1982): 15. 15. Ji Cheng, Yuanye zhushi, 165–175 (decorative doorways and windows); 110–128 (window lattices); 132–162 (balustrades). 16. Zheng Yuanxun’s Yingyuan yaohua ji was not actually published until 1763. 17. Li Dou, Yangzhou huafang lu, 208–210. 18. The Yangzi River, or Long River (Changjiang); Yangzhou is on its northern bank. 19. Dong Qichang was the leading art critic of the time. Zheng Yuanxun’s surviving landscape paintings show the influence of his style. 20. The term “recumbent traveling” (woyou) alludes to the painter and art theorist Zong Bing (375–443), who introduced it in his treatise “Preface to Landscape Painting” (Hua shanshui xu). He is said to have painted landscape scenes of Mount Heng (Hengshan) on the walls of his house to enjoy when he was no longer able to travel in old age. 21. Shu Ridge is a low range of hills to the northwest of Yangzhou city. 22. One qing (100 mu) is about sixteen acres, but the measurement here seems quite elastic. 23. An embankment supposedly constructed when the Grand Canal was created during the Sui dynasty; Yangzhou’s position at the junction of the Grand Canal with the Yangtze River was crucial to its economic importance.

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Alison Hardie 24. Maze Tower was a luxurious building constructed for Emperor Yang of Sui (Sui Yangdi, r. 605–617) to the northwest of Yangzhou. The Hall Level with the Mountains, to the northwest of Yangzhou, had been the residence of the scholar-official Ouyang Xiu (1007– 1072) during the Song dynasty. The name implied that although he was (at the time) out of office, he was still on an equal footing with the highest officials in the land. 25. Zheng Yuanxun’s brothers Zheng Yuanhua (zi Zanke) and Zheng Xiaru (zi Shijie), owned the Garden of Fine Trees (Jiashuyuan) and Garden of Rest (Xiuyuan) respectively, also in this area of Yangzhou. There was also an older brother, Zheng Yuansi, who owned at least two gardens in the city. 26. An allusion to the idyllic Peach Blossom Spring described by the poet Tao Qian (zi Yuanming, 365–427) in a famous poem and accompanying narrative. 27. A quotation from the Classic of Songs (Shijing), Mao no. 241. The poem celebrates the majesty and order of the Zhou dynasty. This and the preceding line are translated by Waley as “[The people of Zhou] trimmed them, levelled them, The clumps and stumps,” but the phrase can be used to describe flourishing and orderly rows of trees. Arthur Waley, trans., The Book of Songs (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1937), 256. I have added “Behold” to make it sound appropriately archaic. 28. The tiger is the animal associated with the west, and this bridge was probably in the western part of the garden. The tiger-shaped rock would be intended to protect and “anchor” the bridge, according to geomantic (fengshui) principles. 29. Zheng Yuanyue is tentatively identified as Zheng Sanjun, Nanjing Minister of Civil Offices in 1633. Chen Zhi and Zhang Gongchi, eds., Zhongguo lidai ming yuan ji xuanzhu (Hefei: Anhui kexue jishu, 1983), 225. 30. An abode of immortals, which mysteriously appeared and disappeared: Chen Zhi and Zhang Gongchi, Zhongguo lidai ming yuan ji xuanzhu, 225. 31. Little or nothing is known of these gardens; apparently only the Yuan family’s garden survived the fall of the Ming. 32. This palace, situated in present-day Shandong Province, and belonging to a prince of the Han dynasty, was the only imperial palace to survive from the Western to the Eastern (Later) Han. 33. The name Huang rocks (Huangshi) refers to the origin of such rocks on Huangshan (Mount Huang or Yellow Mountain), although in practice they often came from elsewhere. They have a yellow-brown color and are solid and blocklike, in contrast with the grey-white foraminated limestone rocks from Lake Tai (Taihu). 34. The original “Thousand Men’s Throne” (Qianrenzuo), a large rock that could supposedly hold a thousand people, is located at Tiger Hill (Huqiu) on the outskirts of Suzhou. 35. Papaver rhoeas, rather than the medicinal opium poppy, Papaver somnifera. 36. The “flowers of Luoyang” refer to peonies, either herbaceous or tree peonies. 37. Su Shi (hao Dongpo, 1036–1101), the great writer and calligrapher of the Song dynasty. 38. Not identified. The salt trade was vital to Yangzhou’s economy, so the Salt Commissioner was an official of great local importance. 39. “Foraminated, emaciated, and elongated” (tou, shou, xiu)—these valued characteristics of rocks are expressed in various phrases: Ji Cheng (Yuanye zhushi, 197) refers to rocks being “emaciated, thin” (shou) and “perforated, riddled” (lou). Later, Li Yu states that the beauty of rocks lies in their being “foraminated, perforated, and emaciated” (tou, lou, shou). Li Yu, Xianqing ouji, ed. Liren (Beijing: Zuojia, 1995), 217. 40. This is a reference to the fi rst few lines of the poem “Summons for a Gentleman who Became a Recluse” (Zhao yinshi), from the Songs of Chu (Chu ci). David Hawkes, Ch‘u Tz‘u:

Zheng Yuanxun’s “Personal Record of the Garden of Shadows” The Songs of the South (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1959), 119, translates the relevant passage as follows: “The cassia trees grow thick / In the mountain’s recesses, / Twisting and snaking, / Their branches interlacing. / The mountain mists are high, / The rocks are steep. / In the sheer ravines / The waters’ waves run deep.” It is unclear whether Lesser Mountain (Xiaoshan1) is a personal or place name. 41. Literati in the late Ming enjoyed attributing human emotions to inanimate objects, such as trees and rocks, which seemed to have an individual character (see Zheng Yuanxun’s later remarks about the geese and ducks that keep him company in his studies). This was an aspect of the late-Ming fascination with emotion (qing 1) and individuality. 42. Jiang Chengzong (zi Kaixian, dates unknown) was a participant in the 1640 party for the yellow tree peony, mentioned in the introduction to this chapter. Ni Yuanlu (hao Hongbao, 1594–1644) was a distinguished statesman of the late Ming who was also, like Zheng Yuanxun, a minor landscape painter. Despite Ni Yuanlu’s eminence, Zheng evidently decided to replace the name he had given to the building with that given by Jiang Chengzong. 43. Literally, “Studio [in the shape] of the character ‘one’ ” (Yizizhai), the Chinese character for “one” being a single horizontal stroke. 44. Xu Rixi (zi Zhanming, hao Shuo’an, jinshi 1622) rose to be a judge in Songjiang Prefecture, where he died in office. 45. Chen Jiru (hao Meigong, 1558–1639) was a leading writer of the time, and a close friend of Dong Qichang. The name that he chose for the building came from a poem entitled “Emotions in autumn at the Purple Ultimate Temple in Xunyang” (Xunyang Zijigong gan qiu zuo) by the great Tang poet Li Bai (zi Taibo, 701–762), also known in English as Li Po. Li Bai, Li Bai quanji, ed. Bao Fang (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1996), 212. 46. The Chinese character ren (translated here as “ell”) is a vertical measurement corresponding to the length of the outstretched arms; it was obsolete as a practical measurement by this time. The English ell is only one arm’s length, but has a similarly archaic tone. 47. The Chinese mu, a very common measurement of area even to this day, is approximately 1/6 of an acre. 48. Wang Chun (zi Xianmin) came from Yangzhou but spent much of his life elsewhere. He was noted for his skill at riding, archery, and swordplay as well as his poetry, but later became a monk. He died in Yangzhou in 1627. The Buddhist practice of releasing living creatures (fangsheng), usually birds or fish, as a way of acquiring merit, was popu lar among the literati in the late Ming. The building constructed by Wang Chun presumably had a resident monk or monks who were the source of the chanting of Buddhist sutras in Sanskrit. 49. Yan Sheqing is unidentified. 50. Ji Cheng was the garden designer and author of The Craft of Gardens, for which Zheng Yuanxun wrote a preface in 1635, about the time when his garden was completed. Wu Zhaozhao, “Ji Cheng yu Yingyuan xingzao,” analyzes what is known of the design of the Garden of Shadows in relation to the design principles set out in The Craft of Gardens; see also Cao Xun, “Ji Cheng yanjiu,” 14–15. The words translated here as “my fellow Jiangsu native” (Wu you) are considered by some scholars to be a mistake for “my friend” (wu you), but I am inclined to think that Zheng Yuanxun is here stressing his local credentials.

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Storyteller and Adviser Wu Weiye’s “Biography of Liu Jingting” (Liu Jingting zhuan, 1647) Introduced, translated, and annotated by Rüdiger Breuer

The life of the professional oral storyteller Liu Jingting (1592–1674/75), also known by the sobriquet Liu Mazi (Pockmarked Liu), paralleled the period of transition from the Ming (1368–1644) to the Qing (1644–1911) dynasties.1 Specializing in non-versified, spoken narratives, he was not only famous for the superb quality of his performances but was also well connected with several leading literati and other influential figures of his time. Liu Jingting was probably born in a village near the city of Tongzhou in Nantong Prefecture, Jiangsu Province, about one hundred miles to the east of Yangzhou. When he was still a child, his father and one of his uncles moved their families to Taizhou, about thirty miles to the east of Yangzhou.2 Now a prefectural-level city in its own right, Taizhou was a county under the administration of Yangzhou Prefecture for much of its history. Both Yangzhou and Taizhou were home to many salt merchants and, to this day, share many similarities in terms of their language, regional culture, and cuisine. The biography by Wu Weiye is included in this anthology because Liu Jingting grew up in the region and performed there on numerous occasions throughout his life. Besides, he is claimed to be the foremost premodern performer and “ancestral teacher” (zushi) of Yangzhou pinghua, a storytelling genre that has also always been in vogue in neighboring Taizhou.3 Liu first practiced his art in the lower Yangzi area, in cities such as Suzhou and Hangzhou. In the late 1620s, he settled in Nanjing, where he was apparently in high demand, and in 1643 he entered the ser vices of Zuo Liangyu (1599–1645), a powerful general fighting for the Ming government in its resistance against the encroaching Manchu armies. During his time in the army, Liu’s activities were not limited to storytelling but he also worked as Zuo’s adviser and envoy. After the fall of the Ming and the death of his

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benefactor in 1645, Liu had to resume his former lifestyle as an itinerant entertainer. He returned to Yangzhou and to Taizhou on several occasions and even traveled as far north as Beijing. An especially well-documented, eminent, and accomplished performer, Liu Jingting is said to be the founder of several other regional oral storytelling and storysinging genres—not in the sense that he was necessarily the fountainhead of all these traditions but that he injected them with an important stimulus and passed on his art to several local disciples. One of Liu Jingting’s most talented students, Ju Fuchen, hailed from Yangzhou and, later on, according to the tradition, introduced Liu Jingting’s style of storytelling to the area around Fuzhou, in Fujian Province. Liu’s student Wang Hongxing became the founder of pingshu storytelling in Beijing, and even as far south as Canton, Liu Jingting is claimed to be the “ancestor” of the local genre of jianggu (lecturing on times ancient).4 The author of “Liu Jingting  zhuan” (Biography of Liu Jingting), Wu Weiye (hao Meicun, 1609–1672), was born in the city of Taicang, not far from Taizhou. A highly gifted scholar who ranked first in the metropolitan examination and second in the imperial examination of 1631, Wu Weiye is considered one of the greatest narrative poets of the seventeenth century. Without doubt, Wu was on course for a formidable career, had it not been for the invasion of China by the Manchus. The conquest had grave consequences for the Figure 2.1. Portrait of Liu Jingting with a fan, by populace, even after the fighting Fu Baoshi, 1943. (National Gallery in Prague) had subsided and peace was

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restored to most parts of the country: countless families had been killed or disbanded, whole towns and cities destroyed, and careers shattered. This also holds true for members of the scholarly class who, in accordance with the precepts of Confucian ethics, were expected to stay loyal to the Ming, and especially for those who had already passed examinations and served as officials under the old dynasty. As a result, literati like Wu Weiye were confronted with a choice between accepting official appointments under the new rulers or, if incapable of committing suicide, at least refusing to cooperate. Those who chose to serve under the new dynasty had to constantly justify their decision both to themselves and to others. After the fall of the Ming, Wu Weiye, as one of these “remnant subjects” (yimin), managed initially to elude the attention of the new rulers until 1654 when, under pressure from friends and family, he accepted the offer of an official post. Even though he was able to resign four years later, he appears to have suffered tremendous inner turmoil for the rest of his life from his disloyal betrayal of the Ming. Wu Weiye wrote his “Biography of Liu Jingting” in 1647 or shortly after, not too long after he had met the storyteller for the first time somewhere in the lower Yangzi area, and had befriended him. The text is not only an important source of information on the life of this performer, it also demonstrates that so-called “popular” culture was not necessarily aimed exclusively at the illiterate masses, but could also be appreciated by members of the educated strata of Chinese society. Apart from the capital and other regional metropolises, the smaller cities and towns of the lower Yangzi region in particular were places in which a sophisticated storytelling culture was able to flourish. The text, written in a classical literary idiom characterized by its terseness of style, falls into two distinct parts: Wu Weiye first focuses on Liu Jingting’s training as a professional storyteller, illustrating that Liu was largely selftaught and detailing how Liu gradually made his reputation to become one of the most cherished performing artists of Nanjing. The second part is mainly devoted to Liu’s role as a political adviser and friend of the Ming general Zuo Liangyu. Interestingly and significantly, Wu Weiye’s biography focuses most on Liu Jingting as a man of character, less on his art and performance activities. Throughout the text and once more in his concluding assessment, where he assumes the persona of a “court historian” ( jiushishi), the author compares Liu Jingting to a selfless Daoist sage uninterested in fame and worldly gains. In addition, he sees the storyteller as closely related to the

Wu Weiye’s “Biography of Liu Jingting”

ancient tradition of itinerant “rhetoricians” (bianshi) or “strategists” (zonghengshi), also variously translated as “sophists,” “disputers,” or “debaters.” The bianshi were a class of political advisers from the latter phase of the pre-imperial Zhou dynasty (ca. 1046–221 B.C.E.) who wandered from court to court, expounding their views and offering their ser vices to feudal lords with the promise to enhance the prosperity and power of the respective state. The activities of these itinerant “strategists” were part of the intellectual phenomenon of the so-called “Hundred Schools” (baijia), which included early proponents of Daoism, Confucianism, Legalism, and Mohism, among many others. Incidentally, the same kind of attitude was still in evidence in more recent times among the older generation of Yangzhou storytelling performers, who considered themselves mediators and advisers very much like the ideal that Liu Jingting embodied in Wu Weiye’s eyes.5 Liu Jingting’s own “feudal lord,” General Zuo Liangyu, had initially scored several victories against the rebel leaders Li Zicheng (ca. 1605–1645) and Zhang Xianzhong (1606–1647) but he was eventually defeated by Li in 1642 and had to retreat to Xiangyang in northern Hubei. From there, Zuo proceeded to Wuchang (now part of Wuhan, the capital of Hubei), thence to Anqing (in the southwest of modern-day Anhui Province), and from there back to Wuchang, with his demoralized troops looting the countryside and towns along the way. In the spring of 1644, Zuo had been given the title of “Earl Who Brings Peace to the South” (Ningnan bo). After the Southern Ming regime had been established in Nanjing, his title was upgraded to that of Marquis (hou). In April 1645, the ailing general moved down the Yangzi toward Nanjing with a military fleet, probably to pressure the government into delivering badly needed supplies for his undernourished army. He died in the night of 29 to 30 April 1645 on a boat on the Yangzi near Jiujiang.6 The Chinese literary “biography” (zhuan), with its focus on just a few character traits and with a concluding appraisal by the author as regular formal features, is a very old genre that can be traced back to the Records of the Historian (Shi ji) by the Grand Astrologer (taishi ling) Sima Qian (145/135—ca. 86 B.C.E.) and beyond. Although the genre and its subject matter developed over the centuries, and came to include treatment of outstanding personalities from the lower echelons of society, this was probably the first biography written by a prominent literatus to be devoted to a marginalized performing artist. The narrative consists largely of a string of informative and captivating anecdotes that present selected aspects of the performer’s personality at the

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high point of his career. It has been shown that, in Wu Weiye’s biographical pieces in particular, the generic boundary between historical biography (shizhuan) and classical tale (chuanqi) is blurred.7 Much of the dialogue is invented, and some of the episodes, with their enthralling narrative style, moments of suspense, and other dramatic features, are obviously derived from Sima Qian’s historiographical model. Not all the detail in the “Biography of Liu Jingting” can therefore be taken at face value, and much of it should rather be termed “fiction under the guise of biography.” Both the author and the object of his description were born and grew up in the territory of Yangzhou Prefecture, and Liu Jingting is considered an early and foremost representative of an art form closely connected to the region. In this sense the “Biography” describes a self-contained, “local” phenomenon. Indeed, the great majority of storytellers and storysingers documented from the seventeenth through the twentieth centuries originated from the lower Yangzi region and in many cases from the Yangzhou– Taizhou area itself. However, Wu Weiye’s text also mentions other storytelling and storysinging masters, all from different subregions within the lower Yangzi area, as well as many other people with whom Liu Jingting associated or whom he befriended. According to Wu Weiye, Liu Jingting’s storytelling tutor for a while, Mo Houguang, was from the town of Yunjian, which is now named Songjiang and is an administrative district within the greater Shanghai metropolitan area. The performer himself resided in Nanjing for much of his life. He also traveled as far north as Beijing. We do not know for sure in which language he performed in those places, where the audiences would have been mixed. Perhaps he was familiar with several local dialects and was able to adapt quickly. On the other hand, the dialect of Yangzhou and Taizhou, as a southern form of Northern Chinese, was still generally understood in the regions further north of the Yangzi. Also, Liu Jingting would have mastered the form of Mandarin Chinese (guanhua) spoken in the Nanjing and lower Yangzi regions, the most prestigious language of choice and main oral communication tool for officials throughout the empire.8 From this perspective, the “Biography of Liu Jingting” is not specifically “local” at all, neither in the linguistic nor in a narrowly defined cultural sense, and neither did the author consider Liu Jingting solely as a representative of local culture. Wu Weiye’s motives were obviously more complex and have to be interpreted within the larger framework of a voluminous reminiscence literature on Liu Jingting and other performers of the Ming–Qing transition period.

Wu Weiye’s “Biography of Liu Jingting”

The authors of such texts, which included eyewitness reports and anecdotes as well as poetry, were driven by various motivations and intentions. Some describe scenes of Liu Jingting performing and display a genuine interest in “popular” art forms. Others express genuine friendship or pity for the storyteller in his late years, which were marked by poverty and hardship. Some present Liu Jingting as a moral paradigm, while others introduce him more as a common topic for discussion, with the purpose of establishing and maintaining personal contacts among themselves. The majority of these authors, including Wu Weiye, cultivated nostalgic feelings for the bygone dynasty. To them, Liu Jingting was a true incarnation of the old order, to be placed outside the ranks of ordinary entertainers. Associating with and writing about the storyteller, whom many of them had known since before the fall of the Ming, enabled these authors to reconnect to and relive the past, if not to find closure. Certainly, one of Wu Weiye’s motives in writing the biography was to pay tribute to a close friend. But as is the case with many other pieces on Liu Jingting, we can detect a strong political and ideological undertone. As such, the “Biography of Liu Jingting” is a portrait of a man of high integrity who, despite his humble origins, was able to act according to the loftiest moral principles even under the most severe conditions. As a model character and a mirror image of the loyalist official, the figure of the “remnant storyteller” (who, like the official, had survived the downfall of the old dynasty and bore witness to it) transcended the local, and acquired symbolic value on a national scale. Perhaps it was also for these reasons that Wu Weiye’s biography of Liu Jingting was so well known among his contemporaries, as the commentary by a later editor, Zhang Chao1 (zi Shanlai, 1650–after 1706), translated in the annotation, would suggest.



Biography of Liu Jingting9 Liu Jingting is a man from Taizhou, Yangzhou Prefecture. His real family name is Cao.10 In his fifteenth year of age,11 he was a boisterous troublemaker whose name was already on the wanted list, so he ran off to Xuyi,12 where he found himself in dire straits. However, he had in his possession a volume of fiction and, although never trained in the profession, had for a long time listened attentively to other storytellers. Imitating their spirit in his own casual style, he gave performances in the marketplace of Xuyi and

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had already been able to captivate the people of this town. He loved gambling, and whatever he earned was spent in an instant. Every day, an old man would collect one hundred pieces of qian for him to live on.13 After a long time had passed, he crossed the Yangzi River down south. Resting under a large willow tree, the master pulled at a branch and broke into tears. After he had fondled the tree, he looked at his dozens of fellow travelers and exclaimed: “Ha! From today on, my surname will be Liu (Willow)!” Those who heard it attributed this behavior to the master’s craftiness, and some laughed loudly and went away.14 Twenty years later, there was in Jinling [i.e., Nanjing]15 a certain Master Liu who excelled in storytelling.16 The members of the gentry held him in high esteem, and when they converged to hear him, their carriages at the gate would often touch hubs. Wherever he went, the audiences were amazed. Someone who recognized him said: “This is the one who in some earlier year, after crossing the River, had rested under a tree!” Speaking of Master Liu’s art: four itinerant master performers have succeeded each other—Zhang Qiao and Chen Si from Guangling [i.e., Yangzhou], Wu Yi from Gusu [i.e., Suzhou], and Master Liu—each of whom was famous in his own right, but Master Liu alone became a celebrity with his proficiency. Someone asked the master who his teacher had been. The master replied: “I have had no formal teacher. My teacher was a scholar, Sir Mo Houguang from Yunjian.” Sir Mo had told him: “Now, performative storytelling may only be a minor art, but essentially it is no different from the Way [dao] of the Confucian scholar in that it differentiates human nature and emotions and that it examines local customs and describes creation in all its diversity. Therefore: A master storyteller seizes various story lines for narrative opulence. He focuses on certain parts of the story in order to direct attention to the details. He presses forward and accelerates in order to convey a sense of swiftness. He relaxes and unravels the yarn in order to slow down the action. He advances and suddenly breaks off for retardation. He arranges and brings together the various strands of his material for clarity. If his storytelling were not the most exquisite under heaven, how could he accomplish that ideal?”17 Thereupon Liu withdrew to his living quarters, where he improved his breathing technique, devoted himself to the proper choice of words, considered his pronunciation, tried to differentiate animate and inanimate things, and practiced careful selection.

Wu Weiye’s “Biography of Liu Jingting”

After one month had passed, Liu invited Sir Mo. Mo said: “Your storytelling [shuo] is not yet satisfactory. The people who listened to your telling were giggling with delight and laughing in amusement, but that is something you can easily accomplish.” After another month Mo said: “Your storytelling is almost at the point it should be. Those who listened to your performance sat with dignified composure and changed countenance, the hairs on their bodies and heads stood on end and their mouths gaped open.”18 When he saw him again after another month, Sir Mo was amazed and said: “You have reached the point! The way you look with your eyes, how you prop yourself with your hands and how you use your feet—even before you utter a word, grief and joy are already being conveyed. This is storytelling to perfection!” As a result, his audiences looked spellbound as if the events were becoming visible before their very eyes, and when he had ended, they were dumbfounded, as if lost in thought. Sir Mo said: “Even if you travel throughout the whole empire, nobody will be able to find fault with you.” Soon after, Master Liu took his leave and went to Yangzhou, to Hangzhou, and then to the Wu region,19 where he tarried the longest, and after that to Jinling. Wherever he went, he became acquainted with the local notables and everyone tried to be on good terms with him. Regarding the way he comported himself, even when his counterpart was of extremely lowly status, he would without exception be deferential and humble himself; and if someone enjoyed great fame and influence, he would behave irreverently and tease him without ever demeaning himself. When conversing with people, he was not much of a jokester initially, but he would slowly and unperturbedly bring up a story from the past and respond elegantly in placid words, so that all those present would lean forward and be captivated by him. All members of the gentry esteemed him for this—and not solely because his art was so powerful. At the time, many literati-officials were evading the bandits20 and moving south; there were thousands of families who had to live in Jinling, away from home. The Minister of War, Lord Fan Jingwen of Wuqiao,21 being in command of the troops, had set up his office in Jinling.22 He was known for his liking for talented men. For his part, the former Minister of State, Grand Secretary He Wenduan, closed his door and avoided receiving any official visits.23 Both households engaged the master as a distinguished resident guest.24 One of the other retainers said to the master: “When there were no incidents in

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between the seas,25 you always told stories of outlaws and gallant warriors or of robbers from the marshes and desperados; when people like me heard these, we laughed and said that there could not possibly be such things and that you were good at fabricating stories. Who would have imagined that today, sadly and unexpectedly, we were to witness such events with our very own eyes?” When the master heard these words, he felt deeply moved. He joined with two men from Wu, Zhang Yanzhu and Shen Gongxian, with Zhang and Shen performing songs and the master telling stories. When the three men were well inebriated, they performed with sighs of grief. Their mood was so sorrowful and disconsolate that all those northerners wandering about in the South shed tears when they heard them. Before long, the incident of the Zuo troops took place. The Zuo troop incident was like this: The army of Earl Ningnan, Zuo Liangyu, moved south, clamoring. Zuo sought an imperial edict with orders to protect the region of Chu and in the meantime stationed his troops at Wancheng, ready to depart.26 The protector of Wancheng was General Du Hongyu, an old friend of the master’s. Zuo once held a wassail, thinking of obtaining an extraordinary retainer. Du had already revealed Liu’s name to him on an earlier occasion. As it was, the two men had their differences in their handling of military affairs, and Du reckoned that nobody but the master would be able to resolve their dispute. So he urged the master to come there, so that he might introduce him to Zuo. Zuo believed this man Liu Jingting to be one of the empire’s most gifted rhetoricians and wished to use the opportunity to test his ability. On their arrival, Zuo’s guards intercepted the guests with their lances and conducted them to their seats. The other guests all shook in fear and muddled up the formal seating order, but Liu, after making obeisance to Zuo, demanded wine, cracked teasing jokes, and laughed merrily, without any restraint. Zuo was greatly impressed and reckoned that obtaining the master had been long overdue. Several days later, Zuo Liangyu was deep in thought and felt unhappy. Looking intently at the master he said: “Can you figure out what I am worrying about?” The master said: “Is it not because of fugitive soldiers entering Wancheng, and General Du not punishing them according to the law?” “Exactly.” The master said: “This is because General Du does not dare arrogate to himself the decision without receiving Your Lordship’s orders. I beg for authority to take action on your behalf.”

Wu Weiye’s “Biography of Liu Jingting”

Liu, on a galloping horse, went into General Du’s camp, had several men executed, and thus the affair was settled. The majority of Zuo’s staff were scholars, and the documents they produced failed to hit on the crucial points. The master had not enjoyed a classical education, but his oral accounts suited Zuo and were always consistent with Zuo’s intentions. Zuo had risen from the rank and file. As a youngster, he had been orphaned and poor, after he and his mother had lost each other. He requested that his honorary title should be conferred on her posthumously, but had not been able to find out her clan name, so his tears brimmed incessantly over his eyelashes. The master said: “Has Your Lordship not heard of the Son of Heaven bestowing his own clan name on meritorious subjects? This is a historical fact mentioned in the stories I tell.” Zuo greatly rejoiced and immediately prepared a memorial to the throne to this effect. Zuo was a soldier, so he considered Liu to have extensive knowledge of the present and the past and the ability to discern the cardinal principles governing the world. The Minister of War, Ruan Dacheng, was an old acquaintance of the master’s. He was at odds with Zuo and had recently come to power. When the master was about to return to the South,27 he asked Zuo: “What if I see Ruan?” Since Zuo had no secretary on hand, he ordered the master to communicate an oral message to Ruan that he wished to abandon their former enmity and that he agreed to have national affairs planned together with the Minister of War. When the master returned to Jinling, he conveyed a personal message as specified by Earl Ningnan, and Ruan agreed to form an alliance so as to repay kindness with kindness. However, when Liu heard that defense works with sloping walls and submerged rocks were being built on the river west of the city, he stamped his foot and said: “This shows that Ruan is preparing for an attack from the west where Zuo is garrisoned. Surely Zuo will become suspicious by this!” Afterwards it was indeed as he had feared. When Zuo’s funeral cortege passed the Longjiang Checkpoint (Longjiangguan),28 and the master had finished offering sacrifices and weeping, someone saluted and kowtowed to him but, having done so, was not willing to rise: it was Zuo’s favorite general Chen Xiu. Xiu had once been in a dire situation and the master had saved his life. Liu Jingting told me all about the circumstances under which he had saved Xiu. Zuo was ill and highly irritable to begin with, and the crime committed by Xiu had been grave, so Xiu was bound to die. Since the master was not able to support him directly, he

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set up a scheme to attend on Zuo and said to him: “Today, drinking wine does not give me much pleasure. Your Lordship owns objects of vertu—may I take a look?” Zuo said: “Very well.” Zuo took out two portraits of himself: one was entitled Painting of Crushing the Bandits in Guanlong.29 Zuo looked at his reflection in a mirror and sighed: “I was once a valiant fighter in the empire, and now I have become feeble.” He pointed to the second painting and said: “Having crushed the bandits, I shall go into the mountains as a recluse. This painting is where my intention is recorded.” Liu saw someone in monk’s vestment and with the staff of a traveling Buddhist monk, followed by several boys; the one carry ing a gourd ladle and a wide-brimmed straw hat over his shoulders and standing close to his lord was Xiu. The master feigned ignorance and calmly asked who he was. Zuo told him and also mentioned Chen Xiu’s crime. The master said: “If he has been ungrateful for your kindness, he ought to die. However, Your Lordship considered him a trusted follower, and if you entered the mountains, you would let him follow you. But if you kill him, this painting would no longer be complete.” Zuo nodded in agreement. In this way, Liu frequently made good use of expedience and trickery in order to avert disaster and to mediate disputes. Earlier on, when the master had returned to Jinling from Wuchang, all the powerful courtiers felt compelled to treat him with particular courtesy, since he had recently come from the military camp as the general’s retainer. However, he held fast to his moral integrity of old, and nothing changed in his daily life and his treatment of old friends. When the incident on the Yangzi occurred,30 an accumulated sum of one thousand pieces of gold that the master had carried with him and left in the camp were scattered in flight, and so he was poor again. Yet, he felt confident and behaved with dignity. Someone asked him about it, and he said: “When I was in the marketplace of Xuyi, nights were cold and I used a bundle of rice straw to sleep on; my straw shoes were burst open at the heels, and when I walked through rain and snow, I would not have ventured to think that I  would ever achieve such success. Although now I have fallen upon bad times again, it is still enough to make a living. For the time being, I still have my professional skill. Why should I worry about being poor?” Liu has since then returned to the Wu region. Each time he becomes inebriated, he tells people anecdotes from the time he spent with his old friend

Wu Weiye’s “Biography of Liu Jingting”

Ningnan, sobbing and crying. Since he had been in the army for such a long time, he increasingly became skilled in what he narrated, and since his temperament, incited by having nothing to rely on and being unjustly treated, can nowhere be put to good use, he gives it increasingly free rein in his stories. Therefore in his old age, he has become even more adept. The Court Historian says: I have known Master Liu since the time when I lived in Jinling. Around the same time, there was Master Yang Jiheng, a former physician, who was also one of Zuo Liangyu’s retainers. Zuo wrote a memorial to the throne to recommend Master Yang for the position of acting prefect of Wuchang, and as a result, Yang was conferred the title of prefect in ordinary. With this, Zuo urged Master Liu to become an official as well, but he just laughed and would not accept. Yang has now left his position and is working in his old trade as before. He is in the South, also as a political strategist, and he is likewise a good friend of mine.31

Notes 1. The majority of secondary literature on Liu Jingting gives the dates of his birth and death as 1587–ca. 1670, a dating which is based on calculations by Hong Shiliang, Liu Jingting pingzhuan (Shanghai: Shanghai gudian wenxue, 1956), and by Chen Ruheng and Yang Tingfu, Da shuoshujia Liu Jingting (Shanghai: Silian, 1954); revised edition by Chen Ruheng, Shuoshu yiren Liu Jingting (Shanghai: Shanghai wenyi, 1979). More recent scholarship strongly suggests that Liu’s dates need to be adjusted to 1592 as the year of his birth and 1674 or 1675 as the year of his death. See He Lingxiu, “Guanyu Liu Jingting de shengnian ji qita: Yu Chen Ruheng xiansheng shangque;” “Zaitan guanyu Liu Jingting de jige wenti;” “Santan guanyu Liu Jingting de jige wenti,” in He Lingxiu, Wukuzhai Qingshi conggao (Beijing: Xueyuan, 2004), 513–540, 541–557, 558–573. 2. The ambiguous fi rst sentence in Wu Weiye’s biography, stating that the performer was “a man from Taizhou,” does not therefore mean that Liu was born in the territory of that city, but that he grew up there. There are, however, competing claims that Liu Jingting was originally from Cao Family Village (Caojiazhuang), which is now part of the Taizhou metropolitan area. For articles discussing the storyteller’s birthplace, see Qian Xiaoqiu, “Liu Jingting zhi shixi,” Xiaoshuo shijie 23 (1927): (section “Wentan milu” 15, supplement Minzhong wenxue, separate pages); Guan Jincheng, “Liu Jingting Tongzhouren kao,” Jianghai xuekan 1 (1963): 47–49; Qian Xiaoping, “Liu Jingting Taizhou guju kao,” Yangzhou shi zhi 4 (1990): 56–57; Chen Liao, “Pinghua qicai Liu Jingting,” Wenshi zhishi 8 (2003): 71–76; Lü Xunyi [i.e., Mu Xuan], “Liu Jingting yu Liu jiaxiang,” Nantong guangbo dianshi bao, 24 June 1999, reprinted in Mu Xuan, Yichangju ji, ed. You Shiwei et al. (Nantong: Nantong shi wenxue yishujie lianhehui, 2004), 2:703–704. 3. Interestingly, the word pinghua (commented talk) does not appear in Wu Weiye’s text, although it is an old term dating back to at least the fourteenth century. Wu Weiye uses various other expressions to refer to Liu Jingting’s art, viz., baiguan (petty official) for “storyteller;” shu (book) for “story” or “tale;” and dizhang (clap hands), tan (tell; narrate), tanlun (tell and discuss), yanyi (expound the meaning), and shuo (discuss; explain) for “storytelling.”

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Rüdiger Breuer 4. See Zhang Polang, “Pinghuajia Liu Jingting kaozheng lu,” Yuefeng 21 (1936): 14; Chen Ruheng, Shuoshu shihua (Beijing: Zuojia, 1958), 157–169; Chen Wulou, “Cong Liu Jingting dao Wang Shaotang,” in Wangpai Shuihu pinglun ji, ed. Wang Fuchang et al. (Beijing: Zhongguo quyi, 1990), 370–371; Wu Zongxi, Zhou Liang, and Li Zhuomin, eds., Pingtan wenhua cidian (Shanghai: Hanyu da cidian, 1996), 146–147. For a report on the veneration of Liu Jingting by Yangzhou storytellers, see the biography of Gao Zaihua, recorded in May 2000, in Vibeke Børdahl and Jette Ross, Chinese Storytellers: Life and Art in the Yangzhou Tradition (Boston: Cheng & Tsui, 2002), 135–145. For Ju Fuchen, see Guan Jincheng, “Liu Jingting Tongzhouren kao,” 49; Wang Fanyu, “Pinghua—shizu de Fuzhou fanr,” Haixia dushi bao, 10 February 2010, A41. For Liu Jingting’s importance for the development of Cantonese storytelling, see Lin Jie and Li Chunwei, “Yueyu ‘jianggu’ jiang cheng juechang?” Yangcheng wanbao, 12 May 2008, A6. 5. See Børdahl and Ross, Chinese Storytellers, 137–138. 6. See Arthur W. Hummel, ed., Eminent Chinese of the Ch‘ing Period (1644–1912) (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1943–1944), 2:761–762. 7. See Hongyu Huang, History, Romance and Identity: Wu Weiye (1609–1672) and His Literary Legacy (PhD diss., Yale University, 2007; Ann Arbor: ProQuest, 2008), esp. chapter 3: “Rewriting A Storyteller’s Life: Wu Weiye’s ‘Liu Jingting zhuan’ and Its Transmission,” 160– 216, where a translation of Wu Weiye’s “Biography of Liu Jingting” is also included (164–169). 8. See Vibeke Børdahl, “Dialectal and Normative Registers in Yangzhou Storytelling,” Chinese Language and Discourse 1, no. 1 (2010): 94–123. 9. The translation follows Wu Weiye, Wu Meicun quanji, ed. Li Xueying (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1990), 3:52.1055–1059, which has been compared with Wu Weiye, Meicun jiacang gao (Taibei: Taiwan xuesheng shuju, 1975), 52.12a–15a, 3:904–907; Zhang Chao, comp., “Yu Chu xinzhi,” in Siku jinhui shu congkan, ed. Wang Zhonghan (Beijing: Beijing, 2000), 2.1a– 5a, 38:435–437; and with Zhang Chao, comp., Yu Chu xinzhi, ed. Cheng Zhijie and Cheng Shan, in Zhongguo wenyan xiaoshuo baibu jingdian (Beijing: Beijing, 2000), 24:8092–8096. 10. Roughly speaking, the traditional Chinese personal name system distinguished between clan or surnames (xing), personal or given names (ming), initiation or courtesy names or “styles” (zi)—given to males when they reached adulthood—and pseudonyms, pen, studio, or stage names (hao). According to some sources, Liu Jingting’s personal name was Yongchang and his style Kuining. Later, when he changed his surname to Liu, he also changed his personal name to Fengchun or to Yuchun. Thus, “Jingting” was not the master’s personal name, but his stage name. 11. Unlike the Western system of counting a person’s age, the Chinese traditional system regards the beginnings of annual cycles or “ages of life” (sui or, as here, nian): a newborn baby would be in her or his “first year,” a one-year old (according to the Western system) would have had an age of “two sui.” Liu Jingting therefore was fourteen years old when he left Taizhou, according to Wu Weiye. 12. Xuyi County is located about one hundred miles north of Nanjing in the west of modern-day Jiangsu Province, on the border of Anhui Province. 13. The sentence implies that Liu Jingting lived at the old man’s home, and that the money was used to cover rent and the cost of meals, which the old man and his wife provided. 14. Shen Longxiang (fl. 1713), who wrote another short biography of Liu Jingting, gives an alternative version of this legendary incident: According to Shen, Liu Jingting rested at the foot of Mount Jingting (Jingtingshan), which is located in Xuancheng District, Anhui Province. There, he stroked a willow tree, changed his surname to Liu (Willow) and henceforth, inspired by the mountain’s name, referred to himself by the pseudonym “Jingting.”

Wu Weiye’s “Biography of Liu Jingting” See Shen Mo, “Fayou lu,” in Hailing congke, ed. Han Guojun (Changshu: Zhuxinshe, 1912), 10:55.26a–b. 15. When the Ming dynasty was founded in 1368, Jinling became the empire’s capital city. In 1421, when the imperial court moved to Beijing (the Northern Capital), Jinling was declared auxiliary capital and officially renamed Nanjing (Southern Capital) but continued to be referred to informally by its old name. When the Manchus established the Qing dynasty, the name of the city again reverted to Jinling. 16. Tanlun, literally, “telling and discussing.” Storytelling of modern times (shuoshu, pinghua) is also often referred to as “telling and discussing” (tanlun), for example, in the expression “telling about former times and discussing the present” (tan gu lun jin, also shuo gu lun jin), which is often found on storytellers’ fans. See Børdahl and Ross, Chinese Storytellers, 80. 17. This last sentence (fei tianxia zhijing zhe, qi shu yu yu si yi) is an almost literal quote from the first part of the Great Treatise (Dazhuan) or Commentary on the Appended Phrases (Xici zhuan) to the Book of Changes (Yijing): “If [the Book of Changes] were not the most exquisite thing under heaven, how would it be able to accomplish this?” ( fei tianxia zhijing, qi shu neng yu yu ci). A Concordance to Yi Ching, Harvard-Yenching Institute Sinological Index Series, Supplement no. 10 (rpt., Taipei: Chinese Materials and Research Aids Ser vice Center, 1966), 43. See also Legge’s translation: “(If the Yî) were not the most exquisite thing under heaven, would it be concerned in such an operation as this?” James Legge, trans., The Sacred Books of China: The Texts of Confucianism, pt. 2: The Yî King (rpt., Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1966), 369. Legge comments: “Paragraph 60 speaks of the explanations and prognostications of the Yî. The ‘exquisiteness’ ascribed to it would be due to the sages who had devised it, and appended their explanations to it; but the whole thing has no existence save in cloud-land” (371). 18. Literally, “their tongues were raised [toward the palate] and they could not bring them down” (she jiao ran bu neng xia). The phrase is taken almost literally from Sima Qian, Shi ji, 2nd ed. (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1996), 9:105.2790 (she jiao ran er bu xia). 19. Wu refers to the Lower Yangzi region, with its cultural capital of Suzhou. 20. “Bandits” here refers to the rebels of common origin (the majority of whom were peasants) under Li Zicheng. 21. Wuqiao County is now under the administration of Cangzhou Prefecture, Hebei Province; it is located about 120 miles south of Beijing. Fan Jingwen (1587–1644) was made Nanjing Minister of War (Nanjing bingbu shangshu) and Grand Adjutant (canzan jiwu) in 1635; he was stripped of his rank in 1638 but continued to reside in Nanjing. In 1642, he was rehabilitated and appointed Minister of Public Works (gongbu shangshu) in Beijing. He committed suicide after the city was sacked by Li Zicheng and his forces in April 1644. 22. The translation here follows Zhang Chao, “Yu Chu xinzhi,” which gives “set up office as the one who is in control of the army” (yi ben bing kai fu). The wording in Wu Meicun quanji that Fan Jingwen “put up office since he was worried about the troops” (yi you bing kai fu) is ambiguous and not quite logically consistent, since the “Nanjing Minister of War” held office in the city by virtue of his military appointment. 23. “Wenduan” (Cultured and Upright) is the honorary posthumous name awarded to He Ruchong (1569–1642), who in 1628–1631 served as one of the imperial Grand Secretaries (daxueshi), the highest-ranking and most powerful official position. After his resignation from office in 1631, he retired to his native Tongcheng in modern-day Anhui Province. Because of the ongoing revolts in the north, He, like many other officials and their families, had to relocate to Nanjing, where he continued to live until his death. 24. During the late Ming, wealthy clients often summoned storytellers to their homes for entertainment. It is easily conceivable that some larger households even had their own storytellers-in-residence, just as some of them maintained private theater groups.

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Rüdiger Breuer 25. That is, the world was at peace. 26. Chu here refers to the central parts (roughly equivalent to the territory of modernday Hunan and Hubei Provinces) of the Ming province of Huguang, which also included parts of modern-day Guangdong and Guangxi Provinces. Wancheng, an old place name, is the informal name of Anqing Prefecture. 27. Namely, to Jinling. 28. Longjiangguan was a checkpoint and customs station on the shore of the Yangzi. It was located in the area of today’s Xiaguan District, to the northwest of Nanjing city center. 29. Guanlong refers to the region comprising the central plain of modern-day Shaanxi Province, Ningxia Hui Autonomous Region, and the eastern part of Gansu Province. 30. That is, when Zuo Liangyu died on the River. 31. The editor Zhang Chao, who included the “Biography of Liu Jingting” in his Yu Chu’s New Records (Yu Chu xinzhi), added the following commentary of his own: Zhang Shanlai says: In the winter of the wushen year (1668), in the course of a banquet at a friend’s house in Jinling, I drank together with Master Liu. Initially, I was ignorant of Master Liu and enquired about him from some other guests of his generation. Someone said: “This is none other than Liu so-and-so mentioned in the Collected Works of Meicun.” Liu was witty and a good talker who enlivened the atmosphere among those present. I regret that I never heard him telling storyteller’s tales (shuo baiguan jiayan). When I read this biography today, I was able to visualize those moments when he raised his beard and clapped his hands.

Raising one’s beard (xianran) when contemplating, reflecting, or laughing about what had been said, as well as striking one’s palm against the other palm (guzhang) or striking the table (dizhang), especially at critical junctures in the narrative, were integral gestures of a lively professional storyteller’s per formance. Zhang Chao, a native of Shexian in today’s Anhui Province, worked as an archivist and compiler in the Hanlin Academy in Beijing. Yu Chu xinzhi (preface to first edition 1683, enlarged edition 1700, final edition 1704) is the title of a collection of tales (chuanqi) in the classical idiom that Zhang compiled as a private editor for more than two decades. Yu Chu (ca. 140–187 B.C.E.) himself was a famous Western Han (206 B.C.E.–9 C.E.) author of so-called petty talk (xiaoshuo), which included anecdotes and other miscellaneous items. For Yu Chu xinzhi and its author, see Allan H. Barr, “Novelty, Character, and Community in Zhang Chao’s Yu Chu xinzhi,” in Trauma and Transcendence in Early Qing Literature, ed. Wilt L. Idema, Wai-yee Li, and Ellen Widmer (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Asia Center, 2006), 282–309.

3

Society and Performance in Late-Ming Yangzhou Four Essays from Zhang Dai’s Dream Reminiscences of Tao‘an (Tao‘an mengyi, 1670s) Introduced, translated, and annotated by Philip A. Kafalas

Tao‘an mengyi (Dream Reminiscences of Tao‘an)1 consists of 123 brief essays, largely about its author Zhang Dai’s life, acquaintances, pastimes, and somewhat limited travels during the final years of the Ming. There are sketches of quirky relatives and friends, vignettes of talented craftsmen, loving recollections of local food cultures, and soaring depictions of all manner of extravagant spectacles, both man-made and natural. Zhang Dai (zi Zongzi, hao Tao‘an) was a native of Shaoxing, which would remain his home for his whole life.2 Beginning in his youth he traveled frequently to Hangzhou, Nanjing, and other nearby places in the Lower Yangzi region, sometimes accompanying his grandfather, and in the late 1620s and early 1630s he made at least two trips to Yanzhou, in Shandong Province, where his father was at the time serving the Prince of Lu.3 All of those locations appear among the recollections in Dream Reminiscences. Zhang, a fervent Ming loyalist, wrote Dream Reminiscences after the Manchu conquest of 1644, which left him without his dynasty and without much of his previous cultural identity. Inevitably, if often indirectly, these are essays about loss, and the acute sense of place they offer often functions to counteract that loss. Translated here are the four essays in the collection that are specifically set in the city of Yangzhou; one, “Yangzhou shouma” (The Lean Horses of Yangzhou), bears the same title as an essay by twentieth-century author Wei Minghua, which is discussed in chapter 19 of this volume and translated by Antonia Finnane. While Zhang’s Yangzhou essays are not dated, we know of at least one visit Zhang made to Yangzhou, in 1637, while his uncle Zhang Lianfang was serving there as Vice Prefect. Together, our selections present three aspects of Yangzhou: a festival panorama of society at its most integrated, 51

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Figure 3.1. Line-drawn Portrait of Zhang Dai. (Zhang Dai, Zhang Dai shiwen ji, ed. Xia Xianchun)

performance culture (in the person of the storyteller Liu Jingting), and the Yangzhou famous in late-imperial times as a source of courtesans, prostitutes, and concubines. All are depicted as Zhang Dai had come to know them before the violence and destruction visited on the city at the end of the Ming. It is not possible to make a crisp characterization of these selections or of their implied audience. These pieces do not focus on a scholar’s acquired knowledge of local history (although Zhang Dai wrote voluminously on the history of his dynasty), and while they are also not exactly travel accounts of “my visit to Yangzhou,” Zhang Dai as a personality is never far outside the field of view. The personality that comes across so engagingly in Dream Reminiscences as a whole is everywhere discernable in these selections as well. In the curious accounting of the prize items set out at the coin-toss stands (the half-sleeved garments, the porcelain trays, the pork shoulders) we sense a man generally obsessed (in a very late-Ming way) with what we would call “material culture.” Linked to that is Zhang’s fascination with behavioral distinctions as he casts his gaze over the vertical social structure of Yangzhou (or any local) society. Such distinctions are most vividly on view at communal events like the spring tomb-sweeping festival of Clear-and-Bright (Qingming), which Zhang describes here at Yangzhou and, in a separate essay, at Shaoxing.4 Here we see the women from officials’ households in fine carriages with their curtains open, and the lowly serving women rushing

Zhang Dai’s Dream Reminiscences of Tao‘an

back with wildflowers in their hair. Zhang’s language reflects this mix. In general it is graceful Classical Chinese, capable of staying aloft for long stretches, but Zhang also draws our attention to tidbits of local parlance: the terms used in games of chance, or the phrase for the way prostitutes crowd around wine shop doors waiting to snag customers. And in the essay on Liu Jingting, Zhang’s opening description of the storyteller’s appearance and attitude is quite plainspoken, except that it harbors a line borrowed from a fift h-century anthology of anecdotes. One would have to know the voluminous New Account of Tales of the World (Shishuo xinyu) quite well to catch that Zhang is drawing a connection between the character of the storyteller and that of a figure from fourteen centuries before. Making it even more difficult to pigeonhole these essays are two often contrary tendencies. On the one hand there is the tendency to turn any description into a study in visual aesthetics (as when Zhang distinguishes the Clear-and-Bright festival in Yangzhou from seasonal festivities in other cities on the basis of painterly composition). On the other hand we find an inclination toward social commentary (as in Zhang’s subtly perceptive observation that the laughter of the prostitutes “gradually comes to carry a tone of misery”). The aesthetic tendency is everywhere in Zhang’s elegant descriptions of scenes and friends. The more critical habit appears most often in depictions of the particulars of local crowd scenes—descriptions with a probing element of amiable farce that is never allowed to cross over into parody because Zhang clearly is fond of all the people he sees and loves the vision of Yangzhou (or Shaoxing, or Hangzhou) as a social mechanism of deliriously varied parts. But sometimes the commentary begins to resemble something we in our time might say, at which point we have to be very careful. In “Romance at Twenty-four Bridge” (Ershisiqiao fengyue) the laughter of the pathetic prostitutes, with its undertone of misery, seems to imply that society is treating these women inhumanely, and yet at the end of the essay Zhang and his uncle belly laugh over how having the choice of hundreds of prostitutes puts one on a par with a prince. This leaves us uneasy; how do we reconcile the two? Zhang’s essay on “The Lean Horses of Yangzhou” manages to combine both hallmarks: the nearly slapstick yet biting depiction of the busy scene of breakneck and ruthless wedding-machinery-for-hire becomes an aesthetic panorama, within which we pity the horse-market concubines and loathe the marriage brokers, but just when we expect Zhang to come out swinging as the defender of abused womanhood, the piece ends with comical quickness, and we realize that, as in “Romance at Twenty-four

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Bridge,” he is both critical and complicit, both reporter and, in some fashion, participant; he at once skewers the inhumane industry and also shows himself to be a connoisseur of its goods. It is Zhang, after all, who offers us the consumer tip that “If when she goes through a door she is preceded by the sound of the hem of her skirt, her feet must be large.” The floating feel of the prose, the love of the effortless quip, the fleetingness of the scenes, can all cause us to overlook the underlying complexity of many of Zhang’s vignettes. The last section of “Clear-and-Bright Festival in Yangzhou” (Yangzhou Qingming) is a particularly rich example of the dense layering of personal and cultural memory that Zhang can achieve without weighing down his writing, and those last few sentences reward a closer look here. After leading us through the festival scene at Yangzhou with all its various activities, Zhang distinguishes it from similar social tableaux at West Lake (Xihu) in Hangzhou in the spring, the Qinhuai River in Nanjing in the summer, and Tiger Hill (Huqiu) in Suzhou in autumn, based on a painter’s sense of landscape composition: Yangzhou’s is linear like a handscroll, while the others offer a focused scene. Zhang Dai then slides to a famous (then as now) handscroll attributed to Zhang Zeduan, which, in his understanding, if not ours, dated to the Southern Song dynasty (1127–1279).5 Suddenly the gates open to a great tide of cultural history. Although the Southern Song capital was at Hangzhou, Zhang Zeduan’s painting depicts at least a generic vision of the prior Northern Song (960–1125) capital of Bianliang (modern-day Kaifeng), which had been sacked in 1127 by the invading Jurchens, who captured the Emperor and forced the Song dynasty to flee southward. The painting holds an important spot in the history of Chinese painting because of its composition—it begins in the suburbs of and proceeds into the bustling city—and its detail—it is rendered in a meticulous, “realist” mode using “ruler-lined” ( jiehua) technique for the many built structures,6 and depicts all manner of activities along the streets and waterways of the capital, becoming itself a festival of material culture, commerce, architecture, and customs. Of course for Zhang Dai, writing here in the wake of the destruction of Yangzhou by the incoming Manchus and writing himself of the same memorial festival referenced in the title of the painting—a festival when one makes offerings at the graves of the dead—it was easy for the painting to become a model for his own essay, as each sought to revivify a lost place and society. Carrying memory back even further, Zhang Dai repeats the pattern by saying that Zhang Zeduan the painter must himself have been thinking of the “fair ones of the west” (xifang meiren), a phrase from a poem of the Airs of the States (Guo feng) section of the Classic of

Zhang Dai’s Dream Reminiscences of Tao‘an

Songs (Shijing), the oldest literary compilation in the Chinese canon. The original line runs, in James Legge’s translation, “Of whom, my thoughts? Of the fair ones of the west.”7 The line was generally interpreted to be the voice of an Eastern Zhou (771–256 B.C.E.) speaker thinking back to the Western Zhou (1020–770 B.C.E.) and perhaps to the golden age of its sagely founders. Dream Reminiscences is not generally a highly allusive text, but here allusion allows Zhang to incorporate his own act of remembrance into a pattern that extends all the way back to the beginning of Chinese literary culture. After the fall of the Ming, he is thinking back on the details of how people in Ming Yangzhou used to commemorate their dead, which reminds him of Zhang Zeduan, in the Southern Song, painting the same festival at the capital of the earlier Northern Song, which Zhang Dai in turn likens to an Eastern Zhou singer thinking back on the glories of the founding of the Western Zhou. So, in those last three or four sentences of Zhang’s essay, local particulars open out into what must have been a ceaseless meditation on one’s place in the past, which flows beneath the entirety of Dream Reminiscences, prompted by the fall of his dynasty. While Zhang Dai was not from Yangzhou and did not write extensively on it, these vignettes are a fine vantage point from which to look at Yangzhou culture in literature, for they remind us that no nonfiction prose is ever really straightforward. Zhang Dai crisscrosses playfully between disarmingly close description and engagingly subjective participation—the latter being pervasive enough that Dream Reminiscences becomes something close to self-portraiture as it follows his mind’s attempts to paint himself back into a lost milieu. We are prompted to ask, How do we read Yangzhou culture through the winking eye and artful prose of the perceptive participant who also uses its vivid localness to gesture toward a vast cultural landscape untouchable by present troubles?



Dream Reminiscences of Tao‘an Four Essays Romance at Twenty-four Bridge 8 The sense of breezy moonlit pleasures at Twenty-four Bridge in Guangling (Yangzhou) is still preserved at Han Canal (Han‘gou).9 Cross at the Customs House (Chaoguan)10 and there are nine alleys stretching on for

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some half a li. There were originally just the nine, but now in all, intertwining left and right and front and back of them, are ten or a hundred times that many. The mouths of the lanes are narrow and contorted, and every inch and juncture has its fine houses and close-set doorways within which commingle courtesans and prostitutes.11 The courtesans conceal themselves and do not see people; no one can gain access to them without being led in. The prostitutes number some five or six hundred. Every day approaching evening they go out into the lanes with hair greased and bodies incensed and crowd the areas in front of the teahouses and wine shops, which is called “standing in the pass.” Up on the eaves of the teahouses and wine shops are hung gauze lanterns; the prostitutes all flicker and disappear among them. The coarser women are concealed behind curtains; those with manly feet stay within the thresholds. Between the lanterns and the moon, that people do not show their true coloring—as it is said, “one white conceals a hundred ugly flaws!”—illustrates the power of powder. The wandering guests shuttle back and forth rubbing their eyes and scrutinizing the women. When a man has settled on one, he steps forward to lead her away, and the prostitute promptly states her identity and respectfully defers, letting the guest go ahead while she trails him with slackened steps. When they get to the mouth of the alley, waiting scouts shout toward the alley gate, “Such-and-such a girl has a guest!” The answering cries from within the alley are like thunder, and torches are brought out [to greet them]. This goes on, the women leaving their stations one by one until only some twenty or thirty remain. Deep into the second watch (9–11 p.m.) when the candles are about to burn out, the teahouses are dark and devoid of voices. The tea pourers are too polite to ask the last customers to leave; they just yawn obviously, and then the remaining prostitutes pool their money to buy candle stubs from the tea pourers so they can attend to their late customers. Some sing ditties like “The Cloven Jade” (Pipo yu) in their inviting voices; others joke with each other and produce gales of laughter, purposely making a lively racket to scramble time, but the sound of their “ha ha” laughter gradually comes to carry a tone of misery. Come midnight they have no choice but to leave. Silently they grope their way through the darkness like ghosts, and when they meet their procuresses they are subjected to having their food withheld or being whipped or who knows what else. My third cousin on my father’s side, Zhuoru, had a beautiful beard, was love-crazed and was good with a joke, and whenever he was at Customs House he always had to engage a prostitute. He said to me, with a broad

Zhang Dai’s Dream Reminiscences of Tao‘an

chuckle, “My happiness today is no less than that of a prince or a nobleman.” I asked, “How’s that?” And he replied, “The attending concubines of a prince or nobleman or great man number in the hundreds. When night comes they await the man’s favor in hopeful desperation, but he only chooses one. When I pass through Customs House, beauties by the hundreds eye me and beckon, looking upon me as if I were the handsome Pan Yue.12 I need only signal with my face, selecting at will, and I’m sure to get one who is willing to call out and attend to me. Princes, nobles, and great men— how could they do better than that?” He gave his big chuckle again, and I with him.

Liu Jingting’s Storytelling13 Pockmarked Liu of Nanjing was dark of complexion, his whole face covered with scars and pimples, but “detached and carefree, he treated his bodily frame like so much earth or wood,”14 and he was great at storytelling. On a given day he would tell one chapter of a story for a fi xed rate of one liang of silver. If you came ten days ahead of time with elegant invitation and discreet payment to reserve him,15 oftentimes you would find him booked. Nanjing at the time had two people who were most in demand: the courtesan Wang Yuesheng16 and Pockmarked Liu. I heard Liu tell “Wu Song Fights the Tiger on Jingyang Ridge” in unaccompanied style, which was quite different from the book.17 His descriptions and portrayals were minutely detailed to the last hair, and yet the narrative contouring was crisp, free of wordiness, and his clear voice rang out like a great bell. When he came to a critical point in the plot he would bellow till the clamor brought the rafters down. When Wu Song came to the inn to buy wine and there was no one there, he let out a roar that resounded in every empty vat and hollow brick of the inn. Liu’s colors were applied to even such minor points with just that fineness. He would only start narrating when all the patrons held their breaths and sat perfectly still, inclining their heads to listen to him. If Liu so much as glimpsed an audience member murmur into someone’s ear or a listener yawn and stretch wearily, he would immediately stop speaking, and one could not move him to continue. When it got to midnight, tables were wiped and wicks trimmed, simple porcelain was quietly passed, and he would slowly speak. In his per formance, the pace and weightiness, his breathing and the rise and fall of his voice, the way it would reach to the heart of one’s emotions and reasoning and sinews and bones—if one could make all the world’s storytellers bend their ears attentively to him, fear not!

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they would to the last man bite off their tongues and die in his presence. Pockmarked Liu’s face was remarkably ugly, but his mouth was eloquent, his eyes were sharply expressive, and his clothes were subdued; truly he was as tenderly attractive as Wang Yuesheng, and thus his popularity was on the same level.

The Lean Horses of Yangzhou18 The people of Yangzhou whose daily food and drink derive from the bodies of the “lean horses” number over a hundred. A man seeking to choose a concubine must never actually show his intentions because once he only barely leaks the long and short of it, brokers male and female all collect at his door like flies on rank meat, falling upon him and never leaving. At the crack of dawn they urge him to come out, and the go-between who gets there first grabs him and hauls him off; the others trail along behind, keeping right on their heels and biding their time. When they get to the “lean horse” establishment, they sit down, tea is served, and the broker, holding the lean horse, says, “Bow to the guest, young lady,” and she bows. “Walk toward him,” and she walks. “Turn around,” and she turns around and stands facing the light so that her face shows. “Lend him your hand to look at,” and she pulls her sleeve all the way up so that her hand shows, her arm shows, and her skin shows. “Look at the young gentleman,” and she steals a glance out of the corner of her eye, so that her eye can be seen. “How old are you, young lady?” and she says how old she is, so that her voice can be heard. “Walk around some more,” and she uses her hand to pull up her skirt so that her feet show. (But for examining feet there is a method. If when she goes through a door she is preceded by the sound of the hem of her skirt, her feet must be large; if she gathers up her skirts and reveals her feet first before the rest of her person has appeared, they must be small.) “You may go back in now, young lady,” and as one person goes back in, another comes out, so that seeing one establishment involves viewing five or six people, all in this manner. When the man sees what he wants, he takes a hairpin or ornament and sticks it into the hair by her temple, which is called “inserting the ornament.” If the man doesn’t see what he wants, he takes out a few hundred in cash, presents it to the broker or to the serving girl of the establishment, and then goes out again. When one broker is exhausted there are many more waiting in his or her footsteps. After one day, two days—even four or five days, the viewer is not tired, nor is he through. However, looking thus at fift y or sixty candidates with white

Zhang Dai’s Dream Reminiscences of Tao‘an

faces and red robes, like a thousand poems with a single rhyme scheme, is like a person learning to write by writing a character a hundred or a thousand times—in the end he can’t even recognize the character he has been writing! The heart consults with the eye, without anything to hold onto. The viewer cannot help but compromise for the time being and settle on one. Once the ornament has been inserted, the establishment produces a red paper listing what is required in the way of brocades, gold flower ornaments, bride price, and cotton cloth. This is given to the guest, along with a brush dipped in ink, for his perusal and comment. The guest makes any criticisms of the bride price and brocades as he sees fit. Then the solemn guest heads home, but before he has even reached home, musicians, caterers, red and green decorations, lamb and wine have long since been there at his door. Inside of fifteen minutes the ceremonial money and the cakes and fruits are all set out. The musicians lead him away, and before they have gotten a few hundred yards, the bridal sedan chair, painted lanterns, pole torches, hand torches, fortune teller, master of ceremonies, oil and paper candles, and sacrificial fruits, animals, and wine and such ring the front door in attendance. The cook arrives shouldering his carry ing pole, and forthwith vegetables and fruits, delicacies, soup and snacks, painted awnings, sugared cakes, table skirts, seat cushions, wine pots, cups and chopsticks, dragons and tigers and the God of Longevity, casting coins and red ribbons, and musical instruments for light singing all are fully prepared. Without waiting for word back or for orders from the host, the bride’s sedan chair and the smaller chair for the relative who gives her away set off together to welcome her, so that the band and the torches and the bride’s chair and the accompanying chair all arrive at the same moment. The couple bows in the hall, the giver gets up, accompanied by light singing and drum and pipe, and there is much hullabaloo and activity. Before noon has struck, everyone asks for payment and hurries off, rushing to someone else’s house where they will do the same thing all over again.

The Clear-and-Bright Festival in Yangzhou19 On the Clear-and-Bright festival in Yangzhou, all of the men and women of the city went out, every family to inspect its graves. Even if a family had many graves, they all had to be inspected on that day, and so light carriages with fine horses, fancy boats with flutes and drums—these coursed back and forth, ceaselessly going out and returning. The small households such

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as those of the city gatekeepers carried meats and fruits and paper money to the cemeteries, and when they had finished performing the sacrifices they spread out mats on the ground and consumed the sacrificial foods. From the areas of Customs House, South Gate (Nanmen), and Old Ford Bridge (Guduqiao) in the south to Heavenly Tranquility Monastery (Tianningsi) and the Hall Level with the Mountains (Pingshantang) to the north, fine clothes and make-up beautified the outskirts, and black ceremonial garb covered the waters. Following behind were peddlers who spread out antiques, old baubles, and toys along the road. Gamblers brought little stools and sat in the empty spots, to their left and right spreading out undershirts and half-sleeved garments, gauze skirts and handkerchiefs, brass incense burners and tin ewers, porcelain trays and lacquer mirror cases, even things like pork shoulders and fresh fish, autumn pears, and Fujian tangerines. They called friends and other interested people over, who in turn cast coins onto the ground, which is called “casting matches” (die cheng)—some cast six coins, some eight, some ten, which are called “matching six,” “matching eight,” and “matching ten.” There were over a hundred such stands, with crowds surrounding them looking on.20 On this day, visitors from all directions—Huizhou and Shanxi merchants, famous courtesans of the pleasure quarters, and all the curiosity seekers—all gathered there. On the lush grass by Long Dike (Changtang) people raced horses and flew falcons; on the ridges of the hills people held cock fights and kicked shuttlecocks. In the clear shade of the thick woods people strummed mandolins (ruan) and plucked zithers (zheng). Shift less youths wrestled, children flew paper kites, old monks lectured on causality, and blind storytellers recited tales. The people standing were like forest trees; those squatting formed swarms. When the sun set and the rosy clouds appeared, horses and carriages thronged, the beautiful women of officials’ residences rode with their carriage curtains open, the serving women returned exhausted with wildflowers inserted in their hair; a decorous mob, they rushed to gain the gates and go back in. From what I have seen, only West Lake (in Hangzhou) in spring, the Qinhuai River (in Nanjing) in summer, and Tiger Hill (in Suzhou) in autumn can even begin to compare, but those scenes are each concentrated in one place, like a painter’s single stroke. Only this one is strung out like swimming fish or flying geese, stretching for over ten miles, forming a painter’s hand scroll. Along the River at the Clear-and-Bright Festival (Qingming shanghe

Zhang Dai’s Dream Reminiscences of Tao‘an

tu) by the Southern Song’s Zhang Zeduan, in seeking to depict the scenes of the Northern Song capital of Bianliang, is thinking back to “the fair ones of the west.” I with my eyes gazing here—could I have no dreaming thoughts?

Notes 1. The basic text is Zhang Dai, Tao‘an mengyi, 8 juan, in Yueyatang congshu, comp. Wu Chongyao (block print, [s.l.]: [s.n.], 1853). Modern editions now abound; notable for its extensive notes is Zhang Dai, Tao‘an mengyi; Xihu mengxun, ed. Xia Xianchun and Cheng Weirong (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 2001). There are full translations into French and Japanese: Zhang Dai, Souvenirs rêvés de Tao‘an, trans. Brigitte Teboul-Wang (Paris: Gallimard, 1995); and Chō Dai, Tōan muoku, trans. Matsueda Shigeo (Tokyo: Iwanami shoten, 1981). The only monograph in English devoted to Dream Reminiscences is Philip A. Kafalas, In Limpid Dream: Nostalgia and Zhang Dai’s Reminiscences of the Ming (Norwalk, Conn.: Eastbridge, 2007). 2. On Zhang Dai’s life, family, and writings, see also Jonathan D. Spence, Return to Dragon Mountain: Memories of a Late Ming Man (New York: Viking, 2007). 3. On Zhang’s travels I draw on the chronology of Zhang’s life provided in the appendices to Hu Yimin, Zhang Dai pingzhuan (Nanjing: Nanjing daxue, 2002), 334–370. Zhang Dai’s father, Zhang Yuefang (1572–1633), held an administrative post in the household of Prince Xian of Lu (Lu Xian wang, i.e., Zhu Shouhong) from 1627 to 1631. See Zhang Dai, Zhang Dai shiwen ji, ed. Xia Xianchun (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1991), 156; and Spence, Return to Dragon Mountain, 111–112. 4. Compare his “Yue su sao mu” (Shaoxing custom for sweeping graves), the tenth essay in the first juan of Dream Reminiscences. 5. Little is known about Zhang Zeduan, and the date and rendering of the title of this painting are much debated. The painting has usually been understood as an early twelft hcentury work depicting in a generic way the Northern Song capital of Bianliang. Heping Liu has recently been arguing for a late eleventh-century date. In either case, the painting is now considered to be from the Northern Song (960–1125), before Bianliang was sacked. Richard Barnhart observes that the painting’s realism seems more akin to the early Song. That said, Zhang Dai explicitly says that Zhang Zeduan is looking back on the former capital from the viewpoint of the Southern Song, and the structure of his essay assumes this. The title of the painting has variously been rendered Spring Festival on the River, Along the River at the Qingming Festival, or, taking qingming (lit., “clear and bright”) as referring to an era of enlightened governance, Peace Reigns over the River. See Heping Liu, “The Water Mill and Northern Song Imperial Patronage of Art, Commerce, and Science,” Art Bulletin 84, no. 4 (2002): 583–584, 584 n. 107; and Richard M. Barnhart, “The Five Dynasties (907–960) and the Song Period (960–1279),” in Three Thousand Years of Chinese Painting, ed. Richard M. Barnhart et al. (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, and Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1997), 104–105. 6. For a recent discussion of jiehua painting, see Liu, “The Water Mill,” 566–570. 7. For the poem, Mao no. 38, see James Legge, trans., The Chinese Classics (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 1960), 4:62. 8. “Ershisiqiao fengyue,” the ninth essay of juan 4 of Dream Reminicences. The place name Twenty-four Bridge is given several different interpretations. According to Li Dou’s Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou (1795), the bridge called Twenty-four Bridge (Niansiqiao)

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Philip A. Kafalas was also named the Wu Family Brick Bridge (Wujia zhuanqiao), or Red Peony Bridge (Hongyaoqiao). It was located west of Xichun Pavilion (Xichuntai), a building at the west bank of Slender West Lake (Shou Xihu). See Li Dou, Yangzhou huafang lu, ed. Wang Beiping and Tu Yugong (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1960), 342 (15/6). There, Li Dou also claims that according to legend, twenty-four beauties had played the xiao flute on the bridge on a moonlit night. This again is a reference to Du Mu’s (803–852) poem “To Judge Han Chuo at Yangzhou” (Ji Yangzhou Han Chuo panguan) that includes the lines “By night on the Twenty-four Bridge, under the full moon. / Where are you teaching a jade girl to blow tunes on your flute?” Peng Dingqiu et al., eds., Quan Tang shi (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1960), j. 523, 16:5982; the translation is adapted from A. C. Graham, trans., Poems of the Late T‘ang (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1965), 126. This first explanation is commonly accepted now. However, the Twenty-four Bridge of the present time is not located in the original place. For a discussion of Qing-dynasty references and sources regarding this bridge, see Lucie Olivová, “Building History and the Preservation of Yangzhou,” in Lifestyle and Entertainment in Yangzhou, ed. Lucie Olivová and Vibeke Børdahl (Copenhagen: NIAS Press, 2009), 8–9. Li Dou further mentions another source that lists the names of twenty-four different bridges in Yangzhou. According to a Song-dynasty source, there were twenty-four bridges in Yangzhou in the Tang dynasty, but only five of them had survived by then. See Shen Kuo, Mengxi bitan (Shanghai: Shangwu yinshuguan, 1937), “Bu bitan,” 29. See also Feng Zikai’s (1898–1975) essay “The Yangzhou Dream” (Yangzhou meng, 1958), translated by Sue Zhuang in chapter 17 of this volume. Since at least from the Song to the Qing, “Ershisiqiao” also could refer to a set (or several sets) of twenty-four Yangzhou bridges, whether it is singular or plural in Zhang’s usage here is debatable. 9. Han‘gou was the name of a canal built in the Spring-and-Autumn period to connect the Yangzi River near Yangzhou to the Huai River to the north. Here it seems to have a more localized connotation. 10. Customs houses were established along the Grand Canal in the Ming. The Yangzhou Customs House was at the South Gate (Nanmen) or Yijiang Gate (Yijiangmen) of the newer eastern half of the city. The nine alleys of the pleasure quarters were actually nearby in the Old City; from the Customs House one got to them by walking northward, crossing west over the Little Qinhuai (Xiao Qinhuai) Canal and through the Little East Gate (Xiao Dongmen) in the wall that separated the two halves of the city. See Antonia Finnane, Speaking of Yangzhou: A Chinese City, 1550–1850 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Asia Center, 2004), 176–177 and 180–181 (maps). Zhang Dai seems to have conflated the two gates in his description. 11. Here I use the terms “courtesans” for mingji and “prostitutes” for waiji. 12. Pan An is Pan Yue (zi Anren, 247–300), a talented literary figure of the Jin dynasty, and famously beautiful. 13. “Liu Jingting shuo shu,” the seventh essay in juan 5 of Dream Reminiscences. 14. This phrase is quoted from New Account of Tales of the World (Shishuo xinyu), the section on “Appearance and Behavior” (Rongzhi), passage 13: “Liu Ling’s body was but six feet tall, and his appearance extremely homely and dissipated, yet detached and carefree, he treated his bodily frame like so much earth or wood” (youyou huhu, tumu xinghai). Liu Ling was one of the so-called “Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove” of the third century. See Richard B. Mather, A New Account of Tales of the World (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1976), 311; and Liu Yiqing, Shishuo xinyu jiaojian, ed. Yang Yong (Taibei: Zhengwen shuju, 1988), 469. I borrow Mather’s translation here.

Zhang Dai’s Dream Reminiscences of Tao‘an 15. Literally, send a “letter and kerchief ” (shupa). In the context of Ming officialdom the term had referred to a conventional gift between officials, and by mid-Ming, to a bribe, but here it seems simply to be a written request and politely packaged payment of Liu’s fee. 16. Wang Yuesheng was a famous Nanjing courtesan, who is also the subject of the second essay of juan eight of Dream Reminiscences. 17. The episode “Jingyanggang Wu Song da hu” is otherwise best known from the Water Margin Saga (Shuihu zhuan), chapter 23. See Vibeke Børdahl’s discussion in chapter 18 of the present volume. 18. “Yangzhou shouma,” the sixteenth essay in juan five of Dream Reminiscences. This translation appears in Kafalas, In Limpid Dream, 95–96, and is used here with permission of the publisher. I have altered it slightly to suit the present purposes. 19. “Yangzhou Qingming,” the twelft h essay of juan 5 of Dream Reminiscences. 20. There is a description of a similar game in The Plea sure Boats of Yangzhou, juan 16. It is also a coin-toss game of chance, where winning throws of various numbers of coins produce either all heads or all tails. See Li Dou, Yangzhou huafang lu, 164.

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The Moral Panorama of One Place Shi Chengjin’s Series of Vignettes Recent Stories of Yangzhou (Yangzhou jinshi, prefaces 1726/1729) Introduced, translated, and annotated by Roland Altenburger

Recent Stories of Yangzhou (Yangzhou jinshi) is the serial title of two collections of vernacular short stories, or—as we prefer to term them here— vignettes, by the early Qing author Shi Chengjin (zi Tianji, hao Xingzhai, 1660–after 1739).1 The main part of this series, comprising forty texts, was published by the title The Scent of Raining Flowers (Yuhua xiang) and has two prefaces (one by the author himself), both of which are dated 1726. It was followed by a supplement volume titled Heaven-Reaching Joy (Tongtian le), comprising twelve additional stories, which has a 1729 preface by the author himself. In the earliest known editions, both collections carry the serial title Recent Stories of Yangzhou on the title page, along with the volume title. All of the fift y-two items included in this series share a local connection of some sort to the city of Yangzhou, or at least to the region of Yangzhou Prefecture. While the vast majority of narratives in the series are indeed set in the city, a few have a looser link to the place named in the title. As an entire collection with a common local focus, the series Recent Stories of Yangzhou provides a rare case in the history of Chinese traditional narrative.2 The author of this work, Shi Chengjin, was a native of Yangzhou’s Jiangdu County. He never gained any degree in the civil ser vice examinations and hence was not considered a formal member of the local elite. Since he has no biographical entry in any of the local gazetteers, information about his course of life is scarce, but the biographical data can selectively be supplemented by autobiographical snippets included in his writings.3 As far as can be reconstructed from these sources, Shi lived in the city of Yangzhou for most of his life, his family’s residence being located in the Old City. He stayed at the family’s country estate outside the city only during the summer heat.

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It is likely, though, that in old age he moved out of the city, to the rural suburb of Shaobo, in the Northwest of Yangzhou.4 Although he was not a literatus in the proper sense, Shi Chengjin appears to have written and published prolifically throughout his lifetime. He wrote in a stunning variety of genres, including commentaries on the Confucian canon and on a Buddhist sutra, collections of proverbs, songs and antithetical couplets, practical guides for teaching and education, writings of instruction on ethical behavior for various groups of readers, and self-help guidebooks on how to attain a more joyful and fulfi lled life. The joke collection Achieving Goodness through Laughing, or Having a Good Laugh (Xiao de hao) is likely to have been the only title from his oeuvre that gained a certain degree of circulation as a separate book. But Shi reached a wider readership mainly through various editions of his collected works that were published by the title The Family Treasure (Chuanjiabao).5 This compilation of his writings, editions of which were printed and circulated during his lifetime, has been likened to a “household encyclopedia” (riyong leishu, or wanbao quanshu), due to its practical orientation, on the one hand, and to morality books (shanshu), based on its ethical-didactic tendency, on the other. As a striking feature of Shi Chengjin’s textual production, much of it was written in a vernacular style. As the author explained in his preface to the 1739 edition of The Family Treasure, with his writings he meant to address “the commoner” (changren), and therefore he chose to write in the relatively accessible vernacular language register.6 Thus, in both style and substance, his vernacular vignettes formed an organic constituent of his lifelong project of educating the folk for the common good. The original editions of Shi Chengjin’s works are likely to have been published in the Shi family’s own printing workshop.7 This was also the case with the earliest known editions of the two volumes of the Recent Stories of Yangzhou series. While there is evidence for the printing of a joint edition,8 it was not primarily as separate books that these collections were spread beyond the region, but as a part of the widely circulated and frequently reprinted collected works editions published by the title The Family Treasure. The few known extant translations of selected items from the Recent Stories of Yangzhou series into Western languages were also based on editions of The Family Treasure. The editions of The Family Treasure, however, did not include the full set of stories, but either forty-four or twenty-two of the original fift y-two items. Moreover, in the secondary publication context of The

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Figure 4.1. Portrait of Shi Chengjin, 1690. (Shi Chengjin, Chuanjia bao quanji: Kuaile yuan)

Family Trea sure editions, the vignettes tended to be presented as independent, individual items, not as constituents of any larger aesthetic and thematic unit. Nevertheless, the Recent Stories of Yangzhou series shows evident signs of having been carefully conceived as one editorial body. Most notably, the fi rst story in The Scent of Raining Flowers and the fi nal twelft h item in Heaven-Reaching Joy—hence, the fi rst and the last items of the series—are interlinked by a character they have in common (see below), which subtly construes a narrative framework that prompts the reader to consider the fi ft y-two stories as one aesthetic unit, a single narrative cycle.

Shi Chengjin’s Series of Vignettes Recent Stories of Yangzhou

According to Shi Chengjin’s own preface to The Scent of Raining Flowers, he sought to alert and edify his readership, in order “to awaken people’s confused consciousness and to restore their original goodness.”9 This moraldidactic program with strong Buddhist undertones is also implied in the title The Scent of Raining Flowers, in which the term “raining flowers” (yu hua) alludes to a Buddhist story ( jataka) about an enlightened priest preaching the dharma while flowers are falling down from heaven as a sign of the Buddha’s sharing of his wisdom. In fact, the author was a devout Buddhist whose writings nevertheless include strong elements of Confucian social ethics as well as of Daoist wisdom regarding lifestyle. Thus, the ideas of his preaching were based on a syncretistic complex of ethical and religious teachings.10 His lifelong project of ethical didactics must be considered the most pertinent context to the vernacular tales of the Recent Stories of Yangzhou series.11 Based on a systematic survey of chronological clues included in the stories, their “recentness,” as highlighted by the series title Recent Stories from Yangzhou, may be shown as referring to a historical time span of about 150 years, for the most part preceding the author’s own adult lifetime. While the series includes several stories with a late Ming setting, the large majority of items were set in the early Qing, hence in the author’s contemporary world. The recentness also points to the stories’ relevance due to their basis in actual events. Since hardly any approximate written sources have been identified for the stories related, it may be assumed that a lot of them had been passed down to the author by word of mouth. Moreover, in a number of cases, the authorial narrator mentions that he himself had witnessed the events he relates, or even that he had personally met the persons he portrays. The project’s local focus on the city of Yangzhou was related to the fact that the author was closely tied to this place, which therefore constituted his realm of experience. Interrelating this precondition with his larger project of moral didactics, it may be argued that Shi Chengjin, in his Recent Stories from Yangzhou series, presented his hometown as a “closed” social universe in which he sought to demonstrate the unfailing working of the “causal mechanism” of universal retribution (baoying), according to which positive behavior is rewarded and negative deeds are punished. While Shi’s vignettes in his Recent Stories from Yangzhou series are nowadays considered fictional narrative (xiaoshuo), the author himself is more likely to have regarded them as nonfictional, factual texts. One clue for this is the fact that he had his real name printed on the title page, whereas a

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fiction author in the early eighteenth century still commonly hid his identity behind a pseudonym.12 Despite this generic self-assignment as nonfiction, these texts nevertheless betray some obvious similarities to the genre of the vernacular short story, particularly the narratives by Li Yu1 (1611– 1680). The first item from The Scent of Raining Flowers, “The Tower of Immediate Awakening” (Jin jue lou), translated below, is strikingly similar to the final twelft h item, “The Tower of Heeding Criticism” (Wen guo lou), in Li Yu’s collection Twelve Towers (Shi’er lou, ca. 1658).13 One of the few features Shi Chengjin’s collections of vignettes evidently share with the major collections of vernacular stories is the implied thematic parallelism between pairs of adjacent stories. In the case of the first and second items from The Scent of Raining Flowers (both of which are subsequently presented in translation), the linkage is signaled by the fact that the main character from the first story, the artisan painter Master Chen (Chen huashi), also makes an appearance in the second item, where he tries to “awaken” its protagonist, the stingy salt merchant Wang Ren, from his morbid fi xation on money and the blind accumulation of material wealth by sending him a painting with verses hinting at its “allegorical” meaning. However, his efforts are to no avail, since Wang even refuses to accept the painting for fear of having to pay something in return. The hermit-like Master Chen’s joyful aloofness from the secular craving for riches provides a stark contrast to the miser Wang Ren’s joyless accumulation of money. Shi Chengjin’s vignettes may be read as case histories for morally positive, problematic, or outright negative behavior meant to serve as points of reference for the readership. The social composition of this locally circumscribed world is highly diverse, and there is no evident correlation between a person’s social status and his or her moral performance. For instance, the second item from The Scent of Raining Flowers, entitled “Iron Caltrop” (Tie lingjiao), is a clearly satirical portrait of a stingy merchant from Huizhou who starts his business career as a salt merchant, but later diversifies into other trades. In the introduction to this item, the narrator criticizes “wealthy men” in general and not the salt merchants in particular, even though in the early eighteenth century the Huizhou salt merchants resident in Yangzhou already epitomized wealth. It is notable, though, that in other items included in the Recent Stories of Yangzhou series, some rich men from Huizhou are shown in a much more positive light. As a rule, each of Shi Chengjin’s vernacular vignettes focuses on one person whose name is given in the table of contents, below the title of each

Shi Chengjin’s Series of Vignettes Recent Stories of Yangzhou

item. The person’s place of residence is regularly mentioned in the opening to the individual story, and thus the location of a person within the grid of the city may even become an element of characterization. The locations of events in the grid of the city are also often specified. Typically, though, places are not defined by any address, such as a street or lane (as in the modern age), but rather in relation to a prominent building, such as a city gate, a bridge, an administrative office, or a religious institution. A mapping of the numerous locations mentioned in the text clearly shows that they are concentrated in the Old City, the traditional center of the town.14 As a theme that is prominently raised in the opening stories to both the main collection The Scent of Raining Flowers and the supplement Heaven-Reaching Joy, the choice of one’s residence can be an important precondition for achieving one’s priorities in life, and for the attainment of personal happiness. In “The Tower of Immediate Awakening,” the protagonist, artisan painter Chen Zheng (zi Yi’an), deliberately chooses a hill to the west of the city, “out in the suburban wilderness,” as a place that permits him an eremitic way of living. “Delight does not depend on the conditions,” he argues, but on the individual’s attitude to life. Nevertheless, the location he has chosen for his residence, outside yet not too far away from the city, would appear as an important prerequisite for the peace and wisdom he finds. Old Tian (Tian laozhe), a happily retired former magistrate, who is the protagonist in the first item of Heaven-Reaching Joy, is a very similar case.15 The authorial narrator, Shi Chengjin, mentions that as a very young man he visited Old Tian, who then was already elderly. Thus he purposely hints at the factual basis of this character. In the concluding paragraph to the story about Chen Zheng, Shi makes a similar statement about having visited him when old. In this case, the extratextual existence of this character is further corroborated by a preface to a collection of antithetical couplets (duilian) that is included in most editions of The Family Treasure.16 This preface, in which Shi points out that he copied the collection of couplets from the walls of Chen’s home, establishes the author’s factual relationship with such a person. However, a comparison of the descriptions of his residence in the preface and the vignette nevertheless shows some discrepancies that are indicative of the creative process of fictionalization. Monk Indolence (Lai heshang), the eccentric Buddhist cleric who is described as one of exactly two close friends of Chen Zheng’s and hence also a frequent guest of his, makes a reappearance that easily goes unnoticed at the very end of the cycle of vignettes, in the final twelft h item of Heaven-Reaching Joy, entitled “The

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Merits of Sutra Reading” (Nian fo gong). In this story, as Monk Indolence moves center stage, he receives a fuller characterization. His friendship with Chen is mentioned again along with the remark that, during their frequent visits, they did not speak much, but appreciated the natural landscape.17 In the following translation, the first two items from the collection The Scent of Raining Flowers are presented.18 They shall serve as examples for Shi Chengjin’s remarkable oeuvre of vernacular vignettes, the narrative artistry of which has not been fully appreciated. While its underlying concept of a “moral topography” of the city of Yangzhou is pertinent to the present anthology, these tales must not be reduced to their author’s project of ethical didactics.



Recent Stories of Yangzhou Two Stories First Item The Tower of Immediate Awakening People who want to enjoy happiness only need to appreciate it in their minds, so they will always enjoy happiness wherever they are. By no means must they set their hopes on external conditions to achieve it, because, by doing so, they would not only nurture extravagant expectations but even suffer endless sorrows and tribulations. Just take a look at the example of painter Chen, who only lives for the simple achievements of the moment, and thus day by day experiences the happiness of having so much comfort and joy. Who would not be able to achieve this? You, dear reader, must awaken regarding this.19 I once cooked up the following two lines: Happiness depends on men’s ability to enjoy, And the ability to enjoy leads to great happiness.

It is important to know that, if someone is unable to enjoy happiness, even under perfect external conditions—even if he were living on the islands of the immortals, and even if he were as noble as the chief minister—in his heart he would nevertheless be worried about this and concerned about

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that, and have sorrows without end. If you consider painter Chen, who can fulfill himself in the small things of life, he is quite the contrary to this. If people can enjoy pleasure without going beyond their bounds, they will have fewer maladies, they will age more slowly when old, they will receive a little more happiness, and they will also have a slightly longer life. Painter Chen is an example for this from our contemporary era.

 In the Chongzhen era (1628–1644), outside of Yangzhou’s West Gate (Ximen), there was a loft y man named Chen, with the personal name Zheng and the style Yi‘an. He was endowed by nature with strong charisma, a dignified bearing, and the appearance of someone who is floating through the air and transcending the dust. His household was rudimentary, with only a wife, a son, and a servant. Fortunately, in the Western Hills he had several mu of dry arable land for the production of tax grain, and just enough to supply them with food. This man did not study many books, because he had seen through the vain illusions of the world. Every day, his only desire was to enjoy a life of pleasure. But what he considered the pleasures of life was different from other people who saw the pleasures of life in wealth and rank, glory and splendor, and in the four vices of drunkenness, sexual lust, greed, and anger. He frequently said: “The man of letters has four kinds of elegant occupations, the foremost among which is the zither, then chess, calligraphy, and finally painting. One must know that, when plucking the zither, in order to produce perfectly clean and harmonious tones, one must sit in a bolt-upright position, and know by heart the notes, the finger pressings, and the accents. If one is only slightly inattentive, one will play a wrong note. But I am an unrestrained and idle person, and therefore I never practice, because I could not possibly bear that. Furthermore, in playing chess, when the opponents play for victory or defeat, their strategic thoughts are extremely harmful to their spirits. If one can write characters well, relatives and friends bring screens, album leaves, and fans for inscription, but one would not be able to entertain them all. Moreover, most would demand it for free. I don’t do anything of this kind. Among the four kinds of scholarly skills, the last one, painting, is the only one I do, as it gives free rein to my liking. If someone wants a mountain at some place, I paint a mountain; if someone wants water at some place, I paint water; and if he wants a tower with a terrace and trees at some place, I paint a tower with a terrace and trees. Landscape, portrait, flowers and birds,

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objects—you name it—my brush creates them all.20 That is why I have set my heart on learning how to paint. When I have finished a painting, I myself take delight in it, carefree at heart and with a relaxed mind. When I present it as a gift to a bosom friend, the recipient is also happy. I have always been fond of the motto in a four-line verse by Tang Bohu: Neither do I refine cinnabar, nor sit in Chan meditation; Neither am I a merchant, nor do I plough the fields. When I am at leisure, I paint a piece of blue mountains to sell, So I do not depend on money from a profession in society.”21

Painter Chen, since he had made this decision, and because he considered himself to be of shallow learning, never did any literary writing, except for an accompanying poem or essay to a painting that he would be selling. Thus he ended up with a carefree mind and could focus on enjoying the happiness of being idle. Right on the mound outside West Gate he had built a three-room dwelling facing south, where he settled down with his household. In the garden, four or five zhang in width, he planted numerous kinds of plants and flowers, such as roses and chrysanthemums, but definitely no precious ones such as peonies. An earthen wall with a gate made of brushwood encircled the garden. Southeast of the garden he had raised a little tower, the ground floor of which only had room for three to four people, one small table and four chairs. In the middle there hung a painting, and on the little table, besides brush and ink stone, there was a pile of a dozen or so old books, and yellow earthenware, a pot and small cups that were in use. On the upper floor it was even tinier, with room for only two to three people. There was set up a couch made from palm fiber and a little table. The push-windows on all four sides were bright and clear. To the south one could see afar the region of Zhenjiang and Changshan with its misty landscape of forests and clouds. The northern side was right facing Rainbow Bridge (Hongqiao), Sea-ofDharma (Fahai) Monastery, the “flowers and willows,”22 and Lin Dike (Linti). When one gazed eastward, for a change, one gazed at various gardens and pavilions, on irregular levels. But west of the tower, the hill was covered with barren and desolate graves. When painter Chen had been sitting in this tower, he had understood by himself the extreme toils of the “red dust” in bygone days, and he had experienced a sudden enlightenment. Therefore he wrote a tablet with the horizontal inscription “Tower of Immediate Awakening,” which he hung up at

Shi Chengjin’s Series of Vignettes Recent Stories of Yangzhou

the ground level. Moreover, he cooked up an antithetical couplet that he glued to a column. It had enlightened him within an instant, just as it could also awaken others. The couplet read as follows: Awakened about his nature, the profane man can ascend the throne of Buddha. With joy in one’s heart, a tiny room surpasses the dwelling places of immortals.

The emphasis in this couplet is on the words “joy” and “awakened.” This is what is meant by the saying “delight does not depend on the conditions.” Once, when guests ascended the upper level and saw that to the west it was all covered with graves, they all said that this was joyless. Because he had anticipated this, this painter told the following anecdote: “In former times, Kang Duishan23 laid out a garden which was located at the foot of Beimang Mountain, where nothing but tombs were to be seen. Guests inquired of him, ‘If confronted with such a view every day, how could this make one happy?’ Duishan responded, ‘If confronted with such a view every day, then one would not dare to be unhappy.’24—I deeply esteem and admire this anecdote, and my idea of raising a tower right next to a graveyard was actually in emulation of it. Now that I see it again and again with my own eyes, it always urges my eagerness to be happy, and not to permit the least delay. For this reason I cooked up another couplet which I glued to the pillar on the upper floor. It goes like this: Guiding me to open my heart, the hills far and close; Urging people to be happy, graves all over.”

Master Chen had established his own routine. On each day, during the first half of the day, he would paint some landscapes that he sold for a remuneration that he used to buy wine and for various expenses. Whenever there was somebody who commissioned a painting, he would always meet him in the first half of the day. Once noon had passed, he would put aside his brush and not paint anymore. When he received a close friend, he ordered his servant boy to answer all calls with the excuse that he had gone out, but he would be on the upper floor where he would revel wantonly like a madman. In the summertime, the view north would provide welcome protection, with the lotus leaves on the lake touching the sky, and the lotus flowers stretching for miles. He would either lie there high on his couch, bareheaded

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and naked, or lean over the balustrade, to enjoy the cool breeze. Thus he never even noticed the hottest days of the year. In the wintertime, when he got snow, the Western Hills were as if covered with silver and jade. Otherwise he kept his windows closed and the curtains drawn, and burned wood blocks in the stove, so the room would be roaring with the crackling of the fire. Thus he never even noticed the coldest days of the year. In the gentle seasons of autumn and spring, he would delight himself even more, surrounded by the red of the peach flowers and the green of the willows, by the emerald green of the parasol tree and the yellow of chrysanthemums. Early in the morning he would gaze afar toward the east and, in the haze of the daybreak, breed his joyfulness. In the afternoon, the sounds of flutes and drums, of endless dancing and sweet songs, could be heard from the pleasure boats at Rainbow Bridge, perpetually throughout all four seasons. Master Chen once had encountered an otherworldly person who had passed on to him the technique of stabilizing wisdom by sitting still in the upper floor. He practiced this at will. As soon as he got a little tired, he would either walk slowly to relax the body, or gaze into the distance to calm his spirit, or enjoy the splendor of the moonlight, or appreciate the flowers being so sweet and charming. Or he would recite ad libitum a few pieces of freespirited poetry or prose, or he would blurt out lyrics and arias without tune, or he would choose the wine as the topic for a song, or he would discuss Chan and intone gathas.25 There were all kinds of joys of leisure, and he benefited a lot from them. But Master Chen was a solitary maverick by nature, and therefore he had very few friends. There were only two people who were on intimate terms with him. One was a vegetable farmer surnamed Li. Simply because this person lived in the vicinity and attached extreme importance to loyalty among friends—that is why he was a frequent visitor. The other one was an otherworldly Buddhist cleric whose nickname was Monk Indolence. He did not know anything about any worldly matters, but was only fond of sitting still and praying to Buddha. Occasionally he would utter a phrase, yet he had so much character and truth—that is why he was a frequent visitor. These two men had a very small capacity for liquor. When they drank, it would not take more than four or five cups per person to make them merrily drunk. Whenever Master Chen met them, they would neither make any formal bow, nor exchange any polite talk, nor would they yield to each other due to any considerations of hierarchy; they would only salute each other with folded hands and take their seats as they liked. Moreover, this vegetable seller Old Li didn’t

Shi Chengjin’s Series of Vignettes Recent Stories of Yangzhou

wear any outer clothing and hat, but merely wore a rough shirt and straw sandals. After he had sold his vegetables, he would go to Master Chen’s upper floor for leisure. If it came to drinking, he would drink a few cups. On the table there were merely placed one or two little plates with leftovers from lunch. This Monk Indolence would not eat any meat or fish, but did not refrain from liquor. When he came, the liquor would only be accompanied by dried bean curd and salted beans. After an interval of several days, vegetable seller Old Li would also fry a bowl of bean curd and invite26 Master Chen and the monk to his home in a thatched hut for merry drinking. Since Master Chen’s little tower was located in the desolate outskirts, one night, all of a sudden, six robbers with lit torches, weapons in hand, forced open Master Chen’s entrance door. Master Chen was so frightened that he yelled, “Great King, have pity on the poor, we don’t have anything of value.” When the robbers looked around, there was indeed not a single metal object, and not even any good clothing. They were just in the course of pillaging, when they suddenly heard from outside a lot of people shouting loudly, “Catch them!” The robbers became anxious. Since there was nothing they could steal, and since they could hear the voices shouting, they dispersed helter-skelter. But actually it was only vegetable seller Old Li who, from within his bamboo fence, had detected the robbers heading toward the master’s quarters. Consequently he had mobilized his neighbors and come to his rescue. When Master Chen realized this, he felt forever grateful. After more than two months had passed, there appeared a military official, riding on a horse and accompanied by three servants, who on both hands carried a panel of satin as a gift inviting the recipient’s ser vice and proclaimed, “A certain Sir Wang from Beijing has heard that master’s painting technique is exquisite. He sent me as an envoy to invite master to the Capital for a personal interview.” After he had made his bows and vigorously declined any excuses, Master Chen was about to give his consent, when all of a sudden Monk Indolence showed up. After they had saluted each other, he said to the visitor, “We appreciate your well-intended visit from afar, yet for the time being please yield and withdraw until I have persuaded Master Chen to go with you.” When the visitor heard these words, he left behind the gift and took his leave. Monk Indolence pulled Master Chen closer to him and talked to him in confidence: “We are otherworldly and loft y men who have long forgotten about fame and wealth, but only covet the joy of leisure. Why go the long way to the Capital and willingly accept toiling in the dust? You can temporarily transfer your wife and servant to a village and

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leave only me behind. I shall return the gift with thanks and put forward as an excuse that Master Chen has fallen ill, while you will have moved elsewhere on the Western Hills to get your medicine.” Master Chen followed his advice. The next day, the visitor realized that the painter had hidden himself, but since the painter had not committed any crime, the visitor could only take his leave. Only later on, when Master Chen heard that all those men who had been invited to the Capital had been treated in an offensive and insulting manner, did he finally believe that Monk Indolence’s opinion had been superior. Master Chen waited several days until he knew that the person from the Capital had disappeared, then he moved back to his little tower, where he continued to live in peace, enjoying the joys of leisure as before. Once in a while he recited an unpolished four-line verse he had composed himself, which goes like this: In my building towering on top of the hill I am at leisure all day long; When the white clouds have flown away, I can see the green hills. As a philosophically minded person I have a par ticular grasp of the pleasures of being clear-headed; When it is not sunny, I go out and return with empty hands.

He would also often recount an eight-line rhymed secret formula which Chan Master of the Ultimate Truth (Dayi chanshi) had passed on to him, and which he proclaimed to the public. It goes like this: Don’t get carried away, don’t forget yourself ! This very grave illness is hard to cure. You also have to account for minute assets, Then you will discern the supreme significance of that which has come from the west.27 Focusing straight, preening your eyebrows, You will look at him again and again until you see who he is. If a person sits still in meditation and does not do any good works, After how many years can he attain sudden emptiness of mind?

Later on Master Chen aged in good health and reached the ripe old age of ninety-five years. Until his death he was free of any disease. When I once paid a personal visit to this old man, he was still strong and robust. He is a loft y recluse of our present era, who sincerely commands our respect and deserves

Shi Chengjin’s Series of Vignettes Recent Stories of Yangzhou

to be emulated. Master Chen had one son who inherited his father’s profession. The technique of painting that was passed on to him as a family tradition is absolutely exquisite. Both of Master Chen’s close friends, the employed vegetable gardener Li as well as Monk Indolence, lived to be over ninety years old. Generally, this was due to the morally uplifting and spiritually formative influence they had had on Master Chen.28

Second Item Iron Caltrop Wealthy men with a fortune only know how to calculate on their abacuses all day and night, but they nevertheless haggle over every penny. Although the firewood rots away and the rice decays in their homes, when somebody comes to request relief, it is as if they were asked to cut off a piece of their flesh. And if someone comes to collect alms for a good cause, such as for constructing a bridge or repairing a road, they feel as if their tendons were being pulled out. Moreover, they themselves would willingly endure distress, unwilling to enjoy their wealth, but leave everything to their unworthy offspring who squander it on whoring and gambling, so much so that due to their fat purse that they have grubbed by force and power, they are entirely beyond awakening. Just take a look at the story of Wang Yumen that can serve as a warning. If a family is poor, but nonetheless has the vain hope of enjoyment, this is admittedly foolish. But if a rich and wealthy man is unwilling to enjoy—to appreciate the good times, the landscape, flower-and-bird painting, poetry, and drinking, nothing but pointless pastimes—would that not mean that he lived his life in vain? This is even more foolish, and pitiful and miserable indeed.

 Once, in the Wanli era of the Ming dynasty (1573–1619), there was a young man, named Wang and with the style Yumen, who at the age of only fourteen came from Huizhou, carrying with him the capital from his inheritance of a little over one hundred liang of silver. He came to Yangzhou to live with his relatives and to work as a clerk in the salt trade. He was a rather calculating person and had an extremely stingy and niggardly character. As a matter of fact, he sat on every single qian and did not use his money; he counted the grains he was eating, and he weighed the firewood before burning it. Before even ten years had passed, he had acquired for himself three salt barges that

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plied on trading tours to Jiangxi and Huguang; and after another ten or so years he owned five grain barges that plied on trading tours to Suzhou and Hangzhou. Wang Ren slept only three double hours per night, then he thought about calculations. On a screen standing next to the guest seat he had glued a bill written in large characters proclaiming his maxims: First. Since I am foolish by nature and indifferent to maintaining my personal integrity, whenever relatives or friends come to me for borrowing money, I never concede even the tiniest amount. So you do not need to raise the topic in the first place. Second. On birthdays or other festivities, relatives or friends may only come to congratulate with empty hands, but shall not bring any gifts. If somebody does not understand and insists on sending gifts a hundred times, I would absolutely not accept any of them. Regarding birthdays or other festivities at relatives’ or friends’ homes, I shall also go to congratulate with empty hands and not bring any gift. Thus we make things easier for both sides. Third. In the wintertime, at the New Year festival, nobody needs to come to my door for congratulations. Thereby we avoid the trivialities of social intercourse. Fourth. Too much is spent on drinking parties. I do not give any parties to entertain guests, and I do not go to other people’s homes to thank them for their kind reception. Thus both sides are unlikely to have to waste any funds. Fifth. In my humble family, clothing and hats are made of un-dyed cotton, and the utensils for daily use are already insufficient for our own use. Therefore, as a rule, whenever any relatives or friends come and want to borrow anything, it is out of the question. Solemnly declared by Wang Yumen the Foolish

Wang Ren had the disposition of a miser. When relatives or friends came to demand any relief, he would not give even the tiniest amount, and when somebody came to collect alms for a good cause to accumulate of good deeds,29 he would not fork over a penny. He always said to himself: “When somebody else is cold, I would go to warm him up; but when I am cold, nobody would warm me up.” He himself purchased a great deal of housing facing the market streets, which he rented out to people to open shops, so he could collect the rent. Since he feared that people might be tardy paying the rent, he demanded that they pay an amount as a deposit in advance. The rent was due every ten days, and he would not permit any overdue payment. If someone was behind in payment, he deducted the owed amount from

Shi Chengjin’s Series of Vignettes Recent Stories of Yangzhou

the deposit. Everything he recorded immediately in his accounting book, which he kept in his belt pouch. Every day he was busy from early morning until night. Holding a lantern, he would then make his tour to collect the rent. Somebody tried to persuade him to find a chief administrator for help, but he answered: If I hired a chief administrator, I would have to pay him a salary of ten liang of silver per year, at the very least. Moreover I would have to offer him three meals per day, and since he would be an outsider, he could not be treated with neglect. After several days of bean curd with vegetables, I would be required to seek some meat or fish for him to satisfy his craving. If I had to deal with someone who cannot drink liquor, it would be all right, but with a person who can drink liquor, every five to ten days, when he could bear it no longer, I would have to invite him for a cup of liquor to appease his thirst. I would have to flatter him with half a jin or four liang of liquor, at the very least. Because of all these expenses I dare not hire anybody. I would rather bear a little hardship myself. But most importantly, my money will thus remain in my own hands, so I can rest assured. The wife he married was also the same kind of stingy, penny-wise person. One day, right in the cold of winter, all of a sudden a heavy snow began to fall. When Wang Ren got up in the morning, the ground was covered with snow one chi deep, and it still kept falling until it blocked all the doors and cloistered people in their homes, so there was hardly anybody out in the streets. He said to his wife, “Since we have such a heavy snow today, this is our tenants’ and other debtors’ lucky day. I will give them an extra day and won’t actually collect any rents today, but sit at home, for a change, and live off our capital. Since it is so cold, we will have a cup of liquor to dispel the cold. However, we must not deviate from the rich man’s principles.” The wife answered, “Just now you were worried about living off our capital. If we even start to drink liquor now, won’t this ruin our family assets?” Wang Ren said, “I didn’t mean to touch our own funds to drink. I remember well the day of Mid Autumn, on the fifteenth of the eighth month, when our neighbor Zhang Dabo invited me to admire the full moon. Since I feared that I would have to invite him in return, I responded to him that I had previously taken an oath not to inconvenience other families with my visit and absolutely declined to go. Later on, he brought me a jar of liquor that he urged me to accept. With great reluctance I had no choice but to keep it. I told you to pour its contents into a clay jar and to seal it up tightly. On a previous day, when winter had arrived, I used less than half of it for an offering to the

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ancestors. The greater half that remained I told you to store away as before. Today we should bring it out and use it.” The wife laughed, “Had you not mentioned it, I really would have forgotten.” Instantly she fetched that half jar of liquor and asked her husband, “It must be warmed up on a little charcoal fire in order to taste good.” Wang Ren answered, “Liquor is already hot by nature. When it is drunken down into the belly, it will warm up all by itself. There is no need for any charcoal fire!” The wife had no choice but to pour out a cup of cold liquor and serve it to him. Wang Ren also felt cold and found it hard to swallow. Pursing his lips he slowly sipped it and warmed it up in his mouth before he swallowed it. After he had emptied half the cup, he passed it on ceremoniously to his spouse who took it and sipped half a mouthful, but disliked it, being too cold, and did not drink any more. Wang Ren said, “One must not overindulge. We shall leave a little liquor so we can drink again.” The felt hat on his head he had already been wearing for over ten years, and although it was very much worn to shreds, he would not buy a new one. He had a simple gown of blue cotton, which he would wear exclusively for the reception of guests or for important events, whereas in daily life he only wore a ragged jacket. As the number of members in his household gradually increased, the daily meals consisted of coarse red rice mixed with wheat bran. As for dishes, he only picked the cheapest kinds of vegetable, such as overgrown chives, amaranth, and cabbage, to go with the rice, whereas fish or meat was served less than once a month. Eking out an existence like this, he resented that his belly got hungry and wanted something to eat and drink, and that his body felt cold and demanded something to wear. Yet he treated himself exactly the same as all the others with whom he shared coarse rice and crude vegetables, since he feared that somebody might comment on his partialities for food. It only was that, while eating, his mind was occupied with a salt barge that was at some location where he had sent so-and-so as a lessee;30 or he thought about a bean barge that was at some location, and he had ordered so-and-so to accompany it; or he wondered why some party had not yet returned the silver; or for what reason the goods from somewhere had not arrived yet. He also might have thought about a salt field that he wanted to inspect in person; or about a business he wanted to see with his own eyes to find out how well it was being run. There were sorrows without end, and he could not find a single untroubled moment. Back then, outside West Gate there was an artisan painter, Master Chen, who had come to know about Wang Ren’s pitiful distress. Thus, in order to

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awaken him, he painted a picture that showed a passenger boat loaded with bags of goods. In the cabin there were sitting two people, while at the shore, on a dike, laborers were pulling the boat. On the painting he had inscribed the following four lines: The people on the boat are pulled by profit and reputation, Whereas the people on the shore pull the boat for profit and reputation. The water of the river flows in a steady stream. If I may ask you, Sir—how long will you endure such pains?

The painting he brought to Wang Ren’s home. Three days later, Wang Ren sealed up a present with which he filled a gift box. Then he sent a messenger to take it to Master Chen, along with the returned painting, and to deliver the following message: “Our master sends greetings to Master Chen. The painting that you have presented to him is very well done, but he does not have the patience to appreciate it. Therefore he is respectfully returning it.” The messenger brought this message to Chen’s tower as he had been told. When Master Chen opened the box, he discovered an envelope made of waste paper on which was written: ‘A trifling sign of respect.’ The contents felt very generous, but when he opened it to have a look, it actually was wrapped up in three plies of thick straw paper on which was written: ‘Eight scraps with a total weight of one-tenth of an ounce.’ When he looked at the silver, it was of inferior quality, with a degree of purity of eight tenths and a weight of seven fen and six li. Master Chen sealed it up again as before and told the messenger, “Since your master did not accept the painting, I will have to keep it until I can give it as a present to somebody else. The gift he has sent is too generous. I have no use for it, and I would not dare to accept it either. If I may trouble you to bring it back without my writing another card in response.” The messenger did as he had been told. Master Chen said to himself with a sigh, “I tried hard to awaken him, but he turns out to be so deluded and ignorant that it is truly pitiful.” Wang Ren had been upset for half the day after he had given away eight fen of silver for nothing. When the messenger finally returned and Wang found out that the silver had not been accepted, he was delighted. There are too many stories to tell about his hardships as a miser, but let me relate just one. The silver he had painfully accumulated with his lifeblood eventually amounted to about one million liang, which he kept stored in four warehouses marked out by the four characters “wealth,” “source,”

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“ten-thousand,” and “times”—which combined to form the phrase “May the sources of wealth be ten-thousand-fold!”—that named the four storage warehouses in which the fortune was amassed. Since he had so much silver, the place had to be guarded every moment. So he ordered a blacksmith to forge iron caltrops,31 at a weight of over a jin per piece. The three spikes pointing downward and one spike pointing upward were all as sharp as a weapon. Carrying large bamboo baskets fi lled with iron caltrops, he used to personally enter through the main gate into the courtyard with the money storage warehouses on both sides. Every evening, after the drum tower had announced the first night watch,32 he himself carried basket after basket of iron caltrops and placed them around all four storage warehouses, then he strewed them all over the ground. If somebody did not know about it and by mistake stepped onto such a device, the serious wound would bleed so profusely that one would be in danger of losing one’s life. After the fift h and last night watch, he again would collect the iron caltrops with a broom and heap them into the baskets in person, which he carried into the empty rooms where he piled them up. Neither in the icy cold, nor in the oppressive heat, nor during fierce thunderstorms would he ever make an exception from this practice. The reason why he did not entrust any son, grandson, or servant with this was that he feared that some evil person might collude with them to commit treachery. Therefore, Wang Ren toiled, and since all the neighbors knew about this, they turned the term “iron caltrop” into a nickname for him. It referred, on the one hand, to the fact that he suffered so much distress from collecting and strewing iron caltrops, and on the other hand, to the fact that the common people could not even lay a finger on him, like on an iron caltrop. When this Wang Ren was forty-some years old, he had spent all his lifeblood. His hair had turned grey prematurely, he had already lost his teeth, his appearance had become frail, and his body looked as aged as that of a seventy- or eighty-year-old. By the end of the Chongzhen era of the Ming dynasty (1628–1644), when the troops of the Great Qing devastated the city of Yangzhou,33 they had long heard about the extensive fortune in the home of Iron Caltrop Wang. Upon imperial order, the commander-in-chief was sent ahead to his home to confiscate the silver to subsidize the soldiers’ pay and provisions. Before the troops under the commander-in-chief ’s command reached the door of Wang’s residence, they caught sight from afar of a person in ragged clothing who was kneeling at the roadside, with the yellow register34 on his outstretched arms. Holding it up to his head, he reported: “The obedient com-

Shi Chengjin’s Series of Vignettes Recent Stories of Yangzhou

moner Wang Yumen welcomes the commander-in-chief ’s order to donate pay and provisions.” The delighted commander-in-chief immediately took a close look at the register, from which he gathered that over a million liang of silver were split up in four warehouses marked out by the four characters “wealth,” “source,” “ten-thousand,” and “times.” Subsequently he ordered the subordinate officers to mark Iron Caltrop Wang’s door by a flag with an arrowhead and to send a group of one hundred soldiers to guard and protect it. If any soldier or civilian touched even a single blade of grass or a twig in Wang’s home without authorization, he was to be punished immediately by public beheading. Wang Ren kowtowed to him in gratitude. He led him to the warehouses and dispatched mules and horses to have the silver loaded onto them. From early morning to noon, there was an endless stream. When Wang Ren saw them empty the warehouses, he was in agony; spasms jerked his legs, and he said to himself, “I accumulated that with my lifeblood for over thirty years and never benefited from it even the least bit—who would have thought that it would all be used for military pay and provisions!” He gave several long sighs, then his body dropped to the ground. His mouth was filled with phlegm, he lost consciousness, and soon he stopped breathing. When the commander-in-chief got to hear of this, he sent order to stop the confiscation. When his sons, grandsons, and servants realized that their master had passed away, they had the salt pits enlisted for permission to be sold, and then they sold off all the grain barges, real estate, and livestock in order to provide for a life of prodigality and profligacy. After less than one year, they actually lacked sufficient clothing and food and begged relatives and friends for relief. They, however, would not give the tiniest bit, but return the phrase, “When somebody else is cold, I would go to warm him up; but when I am cold, nobody would warm me up.” When the sons and grandsons heard this, they felt ashamed and left with empty hands. But how could people who only have prodigality in mind willingly accept poverty and abide by modesty! Not long thereafter, all of them had met a bad end. This is foolishness to an extent that must be recounted in order to awaken the world.

Notes 1. For a fuller and more detailed introduction to this text, see Roland Altenburger, “Early Qing Yangzhou in Shi Chengjin’s Vernacular Vignettes,” in Lifestyle and Entertainment in Yangzhou, ed. Lucie B. Olivová and Vibeke Børdahl (Copenhagen: NIAS Press, 2009), 149–176.

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Roland Altenburger 2. The most important body of locally specific narratives is the one pertaining to Hangzhou and its West Lake, termed “West Lake fiction” (Xihu xiaoshuo). See Liu Yongqiang, “West Lake Fiction of the Late Ming: Origin, Development, Background, and Literary Characteristics,” trans. Roland Altenburger, Asiatische Studien / Etudes Asiatiques 63, no. 1 (2009): 135–196. 3. See Altenburger, “Early Qing Yangzhou,” 173, n. 1. 4. See ibid., 164–166. 5. The earliest edition appears to have been published in 1727 under the title Jiabao quanji (Family treasure: complete collection), but the 1739 edition was more comprehensive. The complicated publication history of this compilation still awaits more in-depth research. Interestingly, since the 1990s, several publishing houses in the People’s Republic have issued new editions of this compilation. 6. Zhou Weili, ed., Chuanjia bao quanji (Shanghai: Guangyi shuju, 1936), 1:2. 7. Wang Cheng, Yangzhou keshu kao (Yangzhou: Guangling shushe, 2003), 126. However, we have evidence for commercial editions by publishing houses around the same time. 8. This joint edition is kept in Nanjing Library. See Jiangsusheng shehui kexueyuan Ming Qing xiaoshuo yanjiu zhongxin wenxue yanjiusuo, eds., Zhongguo tongsu xiaoshuo zongmu tiyao (Beijing: Zhongguo wenlian, 1990), 474. 9. Shi Chengjin, “Yuhua xiang,” ed. Zhang Bing and Chu Lingzhen, in Xiong Longfeng kanxing xiaoshuo si zhong deng si zhong, ed. Shi Changyu (Nanjing: Jiangsu guji, 1990), 176. 10. See Xiao Xiangkai, “Shi Chengjin kaolun,” Wenxue yichan 6 (1994): 109–112. 11. See Dai Jian, Qing chu zhi zhongye Yangzhou yule wenhua yu wenxue (Beijing: Shehui kexue wenxian, 2008), 181–201. 12. See Patrick Hanan, The Chinese Vernacular Story (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1981), 209. 13. Yenna Wu, “Vernacular Stories,” in The Columbia History of Chinese Literature, ed. Victor H. Mair (New York: Columbia University Press, 2001), 617. For a translation of “Wen guo lou” (The Hermit), see Nathan Mao, trans., Twelve Towers: Short Stories by Li Yü (Hong Kong: Chinese University Press, 1975), 127–136; for a discussion, see Patrick Hanan, The Invention of Li Yu (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1988), 109–110. There is evidence for Shi Chengjin’s familiarity with Li Yu’s writings; see the quotation from Casual Expressions of Idle Feeling (Xianqing ouji, 1671) in the subsequent translation; see also Hanan, The Chinese Vernacular Story, 210 and 244 n. 9. 14. See Altenburger, “Early Qing Yangzhou,” 163. 15. Patrick Hanan pointed out a close similarity of the first item in The Scent of Raining Flowers to chapter 1 of the novel The Unofficial History of the Scholars (Rulin waishi, earliest known edition 1803), by Wu Jingzi (1701–1754), which is about the hermitic painter Wang Mian. The correspondence is all the more striking if the fi nal twelft h item in HeavenReaching Joy and the final chapter 55 in The Scholars, which is about four “eccentrics” (qiren) of the marketplace, are included in the picture. Hanan, The Chinese Vernacular Story, 210; Altenburger, “Early Qing Yangzhou,” 175 n. 32. Note that Wu Jingzi wrote The Unofficial History of the Scholars between about 1730 and 1750, i.e., clearly after Shi Chengjin’s vignettes had been published, and it is therefore likely that Wu had read them. 16. This is the collection “Finding Joy in the Nephrite among Couplets” (Kuaile lianjin). The preface, signed by Shi Chengjin, is included in Shi Chengjin, Chuanjiabao quanji: Kuaile yuan, ed. Zhou Shude (Zhengzhou: Zhongzhou guji, 2000), 83. It is partly translated here as follows: Mister Chen Yi‘an was a close friend of mine. His family was absolutely indifferent to fame and wealth, but it was his nature to be joyful most of the time. The tiny room he inhabited

Shi Chengjin’s Series of Vignettes Recent Stories of Yangzhou was so cramped that it only had enough space for two knees. In the room’s half that was more to the front, he had placed a small seat, and outside of it there was an open space, just about one zhang wide, on which he planted various plants and flowers, and when he pushed open the window, it was bright. In the room’s half that was more to the rear, he had placed a couch to lie down on, facing a tablet with the name “Beneficial Hut” (Yi‘an) on it, referring to the meditation sessions he held there, which were very beneficial to the stabilization of his character. He himself had written a parallel couplet that said: A common man with an enlightened nature can ascend to Buddha’s throne; A joyful heart and a tiny room are superior to the realm of immortals. [...]

17. Shi Chengjin, “Tongtian le,” ed. Zhang Bing and Chu Lingzhen, in Xiong Longfeng kanxing xiaoshuo si zhong deng si zhong, 55. 18. Shi Chengjin, “Yuhua xiang,” 1–5 and 9–13. 19. The term used here for “to awaken,” wu, carries evident Buddhist overtones. The concept of original awakening was central particularly in Chan-Buddhist discourse, where there was an ongoing argument about “gradual” or “sudden” awakening. The concept of “awakening” is also consistent with that of bodhi (equally translated as “awakening”) that refers to the attainment of ultimate knowledge leading to full liberation. Robert E. Buswell, ed., Encyclopedia of Buddhism (New York: Thomson Gale, 2004), 1:50–53. 20. Evidently, Chen, just like Tang Yin (see note 21), represents the commercial artisan painter, as contrasted with the far more highly appreciated type of literati painter. It is therefore not surprising that Chen Zheng has gone unnoticed by the history of Chinese painting. On the distinction between artisan and literati painters, see James Cahill, The Painter’s Practice: How Artists Lived and Worked in Traditional China (New York: Columbia University Press, 1994). On commercial painting in Yangzhou more specifically, see Ginger Chengchi Hsü, A Bushel of Pearls: Painting for Sale in Eighteenth-Century Yangchow (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 2001). 21. This short poem, a seven-character quatrain, is indeed attributed to the painter and poet Tang Yin (zi Bohu, 1470–1524). See Ran Yunfei, ed., Tang Bohu quanji (Chengdu: Bashu shushe, 1995), where it is entitled “Yan zhi” (Speaking about my ambition). The verses as attributed to Tang Yin have variations in lines 3 and 4; line 4, in par ticu lar, ends on the words zaonie qian (sinful money) instead of zuoye qian (money from a profession). The reference to Tang Yin, of course, implies a comparison with both his profession as an artisan painter as well as his lifestyle as an unrestrained, eccentric artist. 22. The expression “flowers and willows” (hualiu) in the given context can refer to actual scenery, but carries the strong connotation of “prostitution” for which it became a synonym. 23. Kang Hai (zi Dehan, hao Duishan, 1475–1540) became a famous scholar after he had been ranked Primus (zhuangyuan) in the palace examination of 1502. See the entry on him included in L. Carrington Goodrich and Chao-ying Fang, eds., Dictionary of Ming Biography, 1368–1644 (New York and London: Columbia University Press, 1976), 1:692–694. The hill inhabited by Kang Hai in Yangzhou was later named Kang Hill (Kangshan). It was located within the New City. See Akedang Axiu et al., eds., Chongxiu Yangzhoufu zhi (1810 ed.; rpt. Zhongguo fangzhi congshu, vol. 145; Taibei: Chengwen, 1974), 8.1a-2a. 24. The approximate source for this anecdote was Li Yu’s Xianqing ouji. See Zhejiang guji chubanshe, ed., Li Yu quanji, 20 vols. (Hangzhou: Zhejiang guji, 1991), 3:308–309. 25. The Sanskrit term gatha (Chin. jie) refers to the versified parts of Buddhist scriptures, and later came to mean any liturgical Buddhist verses. 26. Two characters are missing here in the text.

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Roland Altenburger 27. This is likely a reference to the holy scriptures of Buddhism, taken to China from India. 28. Appended to the fi rst item is a text entitled “Xingzhai’s Ten Joys” (Xingzhai shi le) listing ten activities from which the author himself drew happiness, namely the following ones: recognizing one’s luck (of living in peaceful and prosperous times); quietness and meditation; reading and studying; drinking liquor; appreciating flowers; enjoying the moon; watching landscape paintings; sweeping the floor; madly singing; and resting one’s head on a pillow. The appendix has not been included in the translation, since it is not an integral part of the text, but was attached to it later. 29. In late Ming and Qing China, it was widely believed and promoted that through beneficent deeds one could positively influence one’s fate, as expressed in one’s lifespan, social success, and prosperity. See Cynthia J. Brokaw, The Ledgers of Merit and Demerit: Social Change and Moral Order in Late Imperial China (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1991). 30. The term zuoya, translated here as “lessee,” is not lexically documented elsewhere. 31. The term “iron caltrop” (tie lingjiao) refers to a military weapon with four spikes (thus looking like a water caltrop) that is strewn on the ground to hurt the enemy and stop him from advancing. 32. The first night watch began around 7 p.m., the last night watch ended around 5 a.m. The night was divided in five units of a double-hour each. 33. The destruction of the city of Yangzhou and the massacre of its population by Qing troops took place in late May 1645. On this event in general, see Antonia Finnane, Speaking of Yangzhou: A Chinese City, 1550–1850 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Asia Center, 2004), 69–89. More specifically, on the best-known eyewitness report about it, Wang Xiuchu’s “Ten Days at Yangzhou” (Yangzhou shi ri ji), see Lynn A. Struve, Voices from the Ming-Qing Cataclysm: China in Tigers’ Jaws (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1993), 28–48. 34. The Yellow Registers (huangce), also known as the Yellow Books, of the Ming dynasty have been described as “the registers of arable land and households liable for labor ser vice.” Ray Huang, “The Ming Fiscal Administration,” in The Cambridge History of China. Vol. 8: The Ming Dynasty 1368–1644, Part 2, ed. Denis Twitchett and Frederick W. Mote (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 121; cf. 134. While the term Yellow Registers usually referred to a type of government document kept in the district yamen, it is likely that people kept their own copies, since this document was the basis for taxation.

5

The Universe in a Nutshell Wang Zhong’s Essay “Dialogue about Guangling” (Guangling dui, 1787) Introduced, translated, and annotated by Marc Winter

Wang Zhong (1745–1794) was a Qing-dynasty scholar known primarily as an exponent of the methodological approach to classical scholarship termed “evidential research” (kaozheng).1 A native of Yangzhou’s Jiangdu District and a renowned scholar, he became acquainted with several high officials of his time, including Ruan Yuan (1764–1849) and Zhu Yun (1729–1781), and belonged to a circle of scholars that in research nowadays is often referred to as the “Yangzhou school of learning” (Yangzhou xuepai). Wang Zhong’s childhood was marred by the death of his father when Wang was only seven, and by the consequent economic hardship that prevented his widowed mother from sending either Wang or his two siblings to school. She resorted to home schooling, teaching her children as best she could in the basics of the classical curriculum. From early on, Wang Zhong was a keen reader. As an adolescent he found work in bookstores; this gave him access to a wide range of books, which may have fostered his broad and diverse scholarly interests. The reliance on self-teaching might also have laid the basis for his undogmatic approach to scholarship, which besides research on the Confucian classics ( jingxue) and historical research, also included administrative statecraft ( jingshixue), linguistics and epigraphy ( jinshixue), and research on the ancient philosophical schools (zhuzixue), mainly Xunzi and Mozi. In mid-eighteenth-century Jiangnan it had become difficult for even highly accomplished scholars—for reasons beyond their control, such as extremely tight quotas and an ever-growing number of candidates—to achieve success in the civil ser vice examinations past the first-level degree of Government Student (zhusheng), a status that did not entitle its holder to any official position. However, as Kai-wing Chow has put it, “the highly restricted access to government positions helped to channel frustrated scholars into the field 87

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of Classical studies, which provided a new and respected profession for scholars.”2 In this environment, Wang Zhong’s professional career was exemplary for other scholars. Wang had become a Government Student in 1763, but after one failure in the province-level examinations for the next-higher degree he was reluctant to compete any further. Instead he relied on his scholarly and literary skills to secure employment on the private staffs (muliao) of several regional administrators. In 1777 he was awarded the honorary degree of Tribute Student (gongsheng) in recognition of his superb scholarship.3 Regarding Wang’s personal relationships with other members of the scholarly community, and in particular his role in the so-called “Yangzhou school of learning,” it would be premature to attempt any conclusive assessment of his position in the scholarly networks of his time. In fact these “schools of learning” (xuepai) are hard to delineate. In studies of Qing scholarship, there is a general tendency to apply the term “school” too carelessly, for instance, to embrace what is no more than either a network of acquaintances among scholars, or common regional descent, both being characteristic of the so-called Yangzhou school. As an analytical category, a “school” should imply an organizational body of some kind, with a certain sense of continuity and even a genealogy of teachings, and shared views, methods, and interests on the part of its members. In eighteenth-century scholarship, however, this would have been true only for very few teacher-pupil lineages, such as those of the “Suzhou school” (Wupai) or the “Tongcheng school” (Tongchengpai).4 There were numerous cases in which scholars from Yangzhou supported each other; successful officials funded scholarly projects and publications, contributed prefaces, issued recommendations, and thus helped advance the careers of their less fortunate peers. However, there would not seem to be any basis for considering such a network a “school of learning.” From the letters written by Wang Zhong that have been preserved, and are included among his collected writings,5 it is evident that he corresponded extensively with some of the leading scholars of his time, including such luminaries as Liu Taihong (1751–1805), Lu Wenchao (1717–1796), Ruan Yuan, Jiao Xun (1763–1820), Ling Tingkan (1757–1809), Duan Yucai (1735–1815), Jiang Fan (1761–1831), and Jiang Deliang (1752–1793). Some of these scholars were from Yangzhou, others were from neighboring cities;

Wang Zhong’s Essay “Dialogue about Guangling”

some were champions of quasiorthodox Song-dynasty NeoConfucianism, whereas others rejected this approach to the classics and favored Han-dynasty exegesis. As a scholar, Wang Zhong was highly respected for his encyclopedic knowledge and his superior skills as a literary writer. As for his personality, anecdotes characterize him as proud and immodest, holding that he always considered his own knowledge and intellectual powers superior to others’ and never gave in to criticism. Wang’s planned magnum opus was an extensive series of studies, to comprise one hundred chapters, aimed at tracing the “lineage of learning,” that is, recovering the truth of the ancient sages from what he saw as  the verbiage of Song-dynasty Figure 5.1. Portrait of Wang Zhong, 1928. (Ye Neo-Confucianist metaphysical Yanlan and Ye Gongchuo, eds., Qingdai xuezhe xiangzhuan heji, rpt. 1928 ed.) speculation. A first collection of studies in this project, with the title Records of Learning (Shu xue), was published in 1792. However, due to Wang’s premature death, in 1794, this project remained fragmentary.6 Among Wang Zhong’s other major scholarly achievements, Comprehensive Standard Work of Guangling (Guangling tongdian) stands out. A work comprising ten chapters, it was published as a monograph only in 1823, by his son Wang Xisun (1786–1847). This chronicle of important events pertaining to Yangzhou was originally planned to cover the entire historical period up to the fall of the Ming, that is, to the events surrounding the failed defense of the city in 1645 by Shi Kefa (1601–1645), the subsequent looting, and the massacre of many of the city’s inhabitants. However, in the published

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version the chronicle breaks off with the Five Dynasties that followed the Tang. It is likely therefore that the book was published on the basis of an unfi nished manuscript. Wang Xisun, in the biographical chronicle of his father, mentions that the original title of the Comprehensive Standard Work of Guangling had been Records of the Historian of Guangling: Long Version (Guangling shi shi ji changbian), which includes an evident allusion to the Records of the Historian (Shi ji), implying the author’s likening himself, with no false modesty, to the great Sima Qian (145/135–186 B.C.E.).7 Wang Zhong’s “Dialogue about Guangling” (Guangling dui), the text translated here in part, has been described as a condensed, essentialized version of Guangling tongdian.8 At the very least, it may be said that Guangling tongdian served the author as a material basis for writing the later “Guangling dui.” “Dialogue about Guangling,” though, purports to be a record of a conversation between Wang Zhong and Zhu Gui (1731–1807), in which Zhu questions Wang about important events in the long history of the city (or rather region) known as Yangzhou, but whose original administrative name was Guangling. “Dialogue about Guangling” records three brief questions (and one exclamatory comment) by Zhu, along with Wang Zhong’s extensive responses. Zhu Gui was the younger brother of Zhu Yun, in whose personal secretarial staff Wang Zhong was then employed.9 Zhu Gui had been sent to Zhejiang as a Commissioner of Education.10 The conversation between Zhu and Wang, allegedly taking place in 1787, seems to have been their first encounter, but Zhu Gui must have heard about Wang’s reputation as a scholar before then. The text bears hardly any sign of spoken language and thus cannot be considered a transcript of an actual conversation. More likely it was written in response to and after such a conversation and then formally presented to Zhu Gui. In terms of textual genre, “Dialogue about Guangling” is similar to a rhapsody (fu), and in particular it shares some similarities with those famous Han-dynasty fu that magniloquently celebrated metropolitan places, such as Ban Gu’s “Rhapsody on the Western Capital” (Xidu fu). Wang seems to have consciously placed his text in this glorifying tradition.11 The text was heralded almost immediately as a brilliant example of scholarly writing, since Wang successfully emulated the simple but elegant literary style of old historiographical works such as the Records of the Historian, or the masters of “old-style prose” (guwen) from the Tang and Song dynasties, such as Han Yu (768–824), Liu Zongyuan (773–819), Ouyang Xiu (1007–1072), and Su Shi

Wang Zhong’s Essay “Dialogue about Guangling”

(1037–1101). True to their guiding principle that “writing had to advance the Way” (wen yi zai dao), they had demanded that true literature be not only mere entertainment or amusement, but an expression of Confucian moral sentiment. Wang Zhong’s text fulfi lled this requirement in an admirable fashion. Wang’s amalgamation of literature and historiography received praise from fellow Yangzhou scholars Wang Yinzhi (1766–1834), Jiang Fan, and Duan Yucai. Duan even ranked Wang Zhong the equal of his own teacher, Dai Zhen (1723–1777), in respect of Wang’s fully realized talent in both scholarship and writing.12 To this day the text is rightly regarded as an excellent example of classical prose writing in the style current among members of the late imperial literatiofficial elite. Drawing an implied comparison between cosmology and human society, Wang started by explaining why Yangzhou had to be regarded as the center of the Chinese empire and therefore of the entire universe. The city of Yangzhou thus became a universe in a nutshell, in which throughout history the human drama had unfolded. But Wang not only retells the historical facts, there is always a moral judgment in his historical account, as Wang never fails to distinguish good deeds and characters from bad ones. Since this is a text written by a member of the highly learned literary elite for other members of the same social group, it sets a rather high threshold of understanding. The text is not only tightly packed with historical information, but also full of literary double entendres and implied references or allusions to other texts. While the full text of “Dialogue about Guangling” is a mere 3,290 characters long, it requires a large amount of background information to fully comprehend it. Some extensive historical episodes are only hinted at; for Western readers, in par ticu lar, this poses a considerable challenge. “Dialogue about Guangling,” at the time it was written, is likely to have been circulated amongst scholars only in manuscript. Wang Zhong’s collected prose writings were not published at any time during the Qing era, but were included in the compilation Collectanea of the Wangs from Jiangdu (Jiangdu Wang shi congshu), published in 1925 (which also included the collected writings of his son Wang Xisun).13 It is not surprising therefore that “Dialogue about Guangling” has rarely been included in anthologies of Qing-dynasty prose. What follows is a translation of roughly the first half of the text. It leaves out Wang’s answer to Zhu Gui’s last question about the lessons that are to be derived from the city’s checkered history.

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Dialogue about Guangling In the first month of the fifty-second year of the Qianlong era (1787),14 Zhong15 made a courtesy visit in Qiantang (Hangzhou) to Vice-minister Zhu (Zhu shilang) from Daxing (Beijing). The vice-minister said to Zhong: “My ancestors were registered in Xiaoshan2, their roots were in Kuaiji. Presently, we were moved here by Imperial decree. When one tries to read Zhu Yu’s answer to Pu Yangxing’s words,16 one will enjoy his stringency and profound knowledge [that] later people were incapable of. Dear Sir, you have studied the historical realities, and you are very knowledgeable about the words and deeds of the past. Would you please introduce me to the affairs of Guangling?” Zhong answered: “When Zhong was still a small child, he was orphaned and therefore could not experience his father’s or brother’s tutelage. When he grew older, he traveled in all four directions but still suffered from the ills of ignorance. Out of ten old books and elegant records, he could hardly gaze at a single one. How could he be fit to give an insightful answer? But I bow my head and heed the advice from the double saying, ‘Who knows not but speaks, is not wise; who knows but speaks not, is not loyal.’17 Therefore, Zhong utters something he otherwise would not dare to utter. In antiquity, the Yellow Emperor followed the movement of the sun, devised a system of recording, and divided the sky into twelve segments. The Herdboy Star in the south indicates the calendar’s perpetuation, and the Seven Regulators18 are in accordance with it. Those who calculated the numbers then deployed a system, and thus years, months, days, and hours began to be recorded according to their proper sequence. Now the city of Yangzhou is located exactly on the dividing lines of the earthly correspondences to these heavenly divisions and thus correlates with the astronomical regularities. From the time of the Han dynasty it was administered by one of the neighboring cities of Liyang, Shouchun, or Jianye,19 and finally the city took the name of Guangling (lit., “Vast Hill”), as it was destined to. The Kunlun Mountains are the limits of the empire toward the West, the Yellow River flows in the North, the Jiang (Yangzi) in the South. From the Li River to the High Watchtower, there is a distance of about eight thousand li.20 The Yangzi, flowing eastward, after ten thousand bends squeezes by Guangling and then empties into the sea. And with the Han‘gou Canal21 connecting them, it is here in Guangling that the two rivers conjoin. Among

Wang Zhong’s Essay “Dialogue about Guangling”

the stars, it is the position where inauspicious stars are feared, and where in the water there looms a deep abyss. Therefore Guangling is the place where Heaven and Earth have both their beginning and their ending. If I should now attempt to extend this cosmic observation to the affairs of human beings, I shall examine the traces of both success and defeat and compare them to what has been ignorantly recited about them. Will this be more or less adequate? When Qin annihilated the Six States, Chu was the least to blame, and after the kings of Chen were the first to die, the masses inhabiting the region of Chu were left without any place to belong to.22 In this situation an individual from the Xiang family took fate in his hands and led soldiers across the Yangzi in order to conquer the whole of China. So he fought at Julu 23 and went West to sack Xianyang. Shao Ping was then the first to lay out a strategy so vengeance could be taken upon Qin.24 When the house of Han was in danger, and Dong Zhuo had taken matters in his hands, the people in the one hundred walled cities beat their chests in outrage, but none dared to act first. There may have been caring officers and administrators in every district, but there were no officials at court.25 Thus, local lords with a sense of duty forged alliances and in secret plotted illegal activities; they rose due to their generous care for the people, but realized that blood must be shed in times such as these. Thus, Zang Hong convinced Zhang Chao2 to raise an army,26 and unite his forces with those of the local magistrate, in order to punish the officials stealing from the people. Zu Yue and Su Jun27 called soldiers “illegal intruders.” Their youth had been dominated by hardship and distress, and ser vice in the army of the capital was bad enough to tempt them to bury themselves in a hole in the ground— their isolation and loneliness were immense. When they were called upon to command all three divisions of the army, among other reforms they forcefully put a stop to inhumane practices and cruel mouth-bits for horses. In order to protect the eastern lands, the western army made use of the duo to exterminate violent invaders. Thus Chi Jian28 became the head commander over this righteous expedition. He relied on a special flanking maneuver to travel north in order to come to the aid of the house of Jin. Huan Xuan29 bore a hero’s name. He made use of the institutions of old and won the hearts of the folk at Jingzhou. He took advantage of the fact that Jin’s state had deteriorated and was weakened from root to branch. So he changed his surname and assumed the mandate, to which others did not object. Since he acted valiantly, he was able to turn his followers around.

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Together they successfully plotted how to take the city gates of the capital; they were thus able to conquer Jiankang. They outflanked the army and invaded the city on their own. The evildoers were completely extinguished, and traffic [in the vicinity of the capital] returned to normal. In the Imperial sacrifices, the dynastic house of Jin was a partner of Heaven, and it kept the old ways intact. As a consequence, Liu Yi30 raised soldiers to settle old scores with Huan, so the throne could be splendidly reinstalled. When Hou Jing31 turned his back on the king and became a traitor, two Imperial courts were in a state of disaster. All the townships refused to subject themselves to the urgent demands of their lord, and war was liable to break out again any day. To some this even meant turning their hopes to pleading for mercy, accepting their fate, or submitting to the thievish perpetrator. Among those who inhabited the besieged city, there was nobody to take on the responsibility of commanding the people and the army, but there were some who stayed loyal to their duty of serving the king and were ready to risk death on his account. Thus, Zu Hao and Lai Yi rushed to behead Dong Shaoxian and speeded up mobilization to confront Hou Jing and to ensure they would be commemorated as loyal officials of the Liang dynasty.32 When Lady Wu (Wu shi)33 engaged in excessive and cruel behavior, the ethical sense of the people was exhausted. She called her regency a system of order, but luckily the blessings of the Tang dynasty were again offered. The Tang took control of the Yangzi and Huai Rivers, forced the rebels back with punitive measures, and although they did not finish the task, they provided an opportunity to vent discontent, and thus did great ser vice to the empire. Thus, when Xu Jingye34 raised an army and attempted to restore the empire, even though he himself died, his contributions secured the everlasting gratitude of the country. Once Lady Wu was put on the throne of empress, Li Ji35 in fact praised this decision. Xu Jingye’s loyalties lay with the king’s palace, partly to cover up former excesses; but filial piety also prompted him.” Vice-Minister Zhu said: “Xu Jingye did not go straight to Luoyang, but first spied on the intentions of the imperial palace. Can such behavior still be considered that of a loyal minister?” Zhong said: “Weapons are tools of disaster!36 The Tang dynasty was in full flower at the time. Xu Jingye’s rebellion ended in disaster because Lady Wu had accrued her authority, that within the Four Seas, nobody would disobey her commands. When Xu Jingye raised a rebel force for his uprising and the struggle against her, his desire was to clean out and stabilize the region south of the Yangzi. For this he had to concentrate his forces. At first, nobody thought he would triumph. He could only be victorious by ambush-

Wang Zhong’s Essay “Dialogue about Guangling”

ing the enemy. When he first began to plan his conspiracy, his indignation was written on his face. His hold over the soldiers became looser day by day, but there was as yet no trace of disloyal behavior. How could they have been able to foresee his intentions and have taken responsibility accordingly? In the Annals (Chunqiu), the worthy ones go against the rules; but it is predictable that, by violating the rites, they will not achieve [their aims, but are still remembered as worthy]. Therefore, if we push this idea somewhat further, even if one had to compete against the sun and the moon, he could still shine.” Vice-Minister Zhu said: “Wonderful, I wish to hear all of it.” Zhong answered: “When the Founding Emperor of the Song dynasty37 led the ranks of the army, he had the palace guards in perfect order, and when he received the blessing of the Emperor of the Later Zhou dynasty to found his own dynasty, this ruler of good fortune was able to shed the country’s doubts, get all weapons laid down, and establish himself as the sovereign. But he had close relatives within the former dynasty, and did not enjoy serving two different imperial families. Moreover, while he may have kept the army in order and guarded the frontiers, the cities were abandoned and no support was offered to them. Since certain clans practiced nepotism and favoritism, Li Chongjin refused the order to save Huainan.38 The one who held command over the army and died in battle was later recognized by Emperor Shizong of the Later Zhou. The house of Song gradually grew weaker. The armies of the Yuan campaigned south; given their strength it was like splitting dry wood—counties fell one after another, and those that did not surrender were crushed. Only a few remarkable cities resisted, and in those places bloody battles lasted for years. Yangzhou, being a place where the Emperor might lodge on a tour, failed to fulfill its duty. The Three Palaces were to be moved north, the imperial edicts burnt, and the envoys beheaded. Feats of valor remedied the misery, with a spirit of loyalty greater than Zhang Xun’s,39 and with a persisting resistance stronger than Mo Di’s.40 However, although Li Tingzhi41 climbed the city walls of Yangzhou a hundred times [in his attempts to defend them], the empire was nevertheless lost step by step. When the Ming dynasty was in its declining years, roving bandits did heinous things. The Southern Capital (Nanjing) had just been established, from scratch, but there were villains at the imperial court, and local magistrates usurped power. The state of affairs in the empire was so precarious that it was an unacceptable situation. The common people had to make due for the gloomy ruler above and to soothe arrogant generals below; amongst themselves they had to hold on to the policies that would benefit all the

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people, and toward the outside they had to resist superior armies. They spared no effort in the performance of their duties, fighting to the last man. Shi Kefa42 devoted himself to defending the borders, and in the end he became an eminent minister in a time of dynastic crisis. As far as the place on which the city of Yangzhou stands is concerned, if the empire did not care about it, this would be like selling the sea in order to get salt;43 it would mean condemning tens of thousands of people to having to destroy the basis of their own existence; it would be as if the Emperor transported grain to the prefectures, in order to ease the strain of the farmers working the fields. Transport on the waterways makes the various goods available throughout the land, and thus all the land within the Four Seas benefits. One day there may be a sudden change, and those who advance [and make themselves available in the empire as officials] will support the Son of Heaven and establish themselves with achievements like those of the Dukes Huan and Wen;44 while those who retreat from ser vice will protect and inhabit the land of the provinces and with all might plan to restore the country’s prosperity. But when Heaven unfortunately favors death and political disorder, both the knowledgeable and the valiant ones are in difficulties. Then, once again, it is up to the people to guard the empire. ‘Let him be prepared to die for it; let him not quit it,’ 45 and thus highlight the correct relation between the people and those governing it. Eight out of ten family surnames go back in history over two thousand years, but those who flee from the cities and abandon their own children never come from these families. Arguing from this perspective, what burden would Guangling ever have been to the empire?” The vice-minister said: “Your words are truly outstanding! In the olden days, when there still were clans like that of the Yuan from Chenjun,46 there were ministers willing to die for the sake of honor. They would take pity on other people’s house and land and not gather others into military units [but let them do their work and live in peace]. When today I hear your words, Sir, then of all the prefectures in the empire, none is equal to Guangling, and those cities that on some later day might surpass it, may take it as a model to emulate. [ . . . ]”

Notes 1. For general introductions to the life and work of this scholar, see the entry by Tu Lienche in Arthur W. Hummel, ed., Eminent Chinese of the Ch‘ing Period (1644–1912) (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1943–1944), 2:814–815; and Kai-wing Chow,

Wang Zhong’s Essay “Dialogue about Guangling” “Scholar and Society: The Textual Scholarship and Social Concerns of Wang Chung (1745– 1794),” Hanxue yanjiu (Chinese Studies) 4, no. 1 (1986): 297–313. 2. Chow, “Scholar and Society,” 299. 3. Hummel, Eminent Chinese of the Ch‘ing Period, 2:814–815; Chow, “Scholar and Society,” 299–301; Jiang Qiuhua, “Cong ‘Guangling dui’ kan Wang Zhong de dili yishi,” in Kongjian, diyu yu wenhua: Zhongguo wenhua kongjian de shuxie yu chanshi, ed. Li Fengmao and Liu Yuanru (Taibei: Zhongyang yanjiuyuan Zhongguo wenzhe yanjiusuo, 2002), 450–452. 4. The Suzhou school originated from Hui Dong (1697–1758). The Tongcheng school, named after a place in Anhui Province, mostly refers to the circle around Yao Nai (1732–1815). 5. Tian Hanyun, ed., Xinbian Wang Zhong ji (Yangzhou: Guangling shushe, 2005), 427–442. 6. Hummel, Eminent Chinese of the Ch’ing Period, 2:815; Chow, “Scholar and Society,” 305. 7. Wang Xisun, “Rongfu xiansheng nianpu,” in Xinbian Wang Zhong ji, appendix, 31. 8. See Jiang Qiuhua, “Cong ‘Guangling dui’ kan,” esp. 424–425. 9. For a reference to Wang Zhong as Zhu’s pupil, see Hummel, Eminent Chinese of the Ch‘ing Period, 1:198–199. 10. Jiang Qiuhua, “Cong ‘Guangling dui’ kan,” 423. On Zhu’s appointment, see Hummel, Eminent Chinese of the Ch‘ing Period, 1:185. 11. Jiang Qiuhua, “Cong ‘Guangling dui’ kan,” 423–424, 427. 12. See the quotation in Wu Feng et al., eds., Zhonghua ruxue tongdian (Haikou: Nanhai chuban gongsi, 1992), 1538. 13. Wang Xixun, ed., Jiangdu Wang shi congshu (Shanghai: Zhongguo shudian, 1925). 14. This corresponds to the period from 18 February to 19 March 1787, according to the Western calendar. 15. For reasons of courtesy and literary habit, although the author clearly writes about his personal experience, he does not refer to himself in the fi rst person, but rather in the third. 16. Pu Yangxing (d. 264) was a general of the Three Kingdoms period. In his literary exchange with the learned official and fellow Wu-born man Zhu Yu (life dates unknown) he compared the world of their days with the world of old and discussed the administrative changes that had occurred since the beginning of the Han dynasty. Zhang Huizhi et al., eds., Zhongguo lidai renming da cidian (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1999), 2:2579, 1:543. 17. Implied quote from Hanfeizi (Master Hanfei), chapter 1. Translation from W. K. Liao, trans., The Complete Works of Han Fei Tzŭ: A Classic of Chinese Political Science (London: Arthur Probsthain, 1959), 1:1. The phrase in question stands at the very beginning of the Hanfeizi text. 18. “Seven Regulators” (qi zheng) refers to the seven astronomical bodies that were assumed to help with following the changing seasons. They are the sun, the moon, and the five planets visible to the naked eye, i.e., Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn. 19. Liyang, Shouchun, and Jianye were ancient cities in the vicinity of Yangzhou. Liyang and Shouchun correspond to two counties in Anhui Province, today referred to as Hexian and Shouxian. Jianye is an old name for the city of Nanjing. It was called Jianye during the Three Kingdoms period, when it was the capital of the kingdom of Wu. It becomes obvious here that “Yangzhou” refers to a much larger administrative region than just the city of Yangzhou or even Yangzhou Prefecture. 20. The area from the Li River (Lijiang) in the south to the High Watchtower (Gaoque), a natural gate in Inner Mongolia, covers almost the entire empire. It is here employed as a conventional delineation of the vast drainage area of the Yangzi River. 21. Han‘gou is the canal that links the Yangzi with the Huai River. Works were initiated in 486– 484 B.C.E. The Han‘gou later became part of the channel system known as the Grand Canal.

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Marc Winter 22. The State of Chen was annihilated by Chu in 496 B.C.E. This was the first in a series of conquests that allowed Chu to grow as a regional power up to the conquest by Qin in 223 B.C.E. 23. Julu, in modern-day Hebei, was a theater of battle during the civil war that brought the Qin dynasty to an end. Qin fought against people from what used to be the state of Zhao in the year 208 B.C.E., when they sought help from Chu. Chu dispatched an army under Song Yi, with Xiang Yu (232–202 B.C.E.) and Liu Bang (256/247–195 B.C.E.) as vice generals. Xiang Yu was impatient with Song Yi’s handling of the campaign and beheaded him in his tent, for which he was indicted by Liu Bang in 203 B.C.E. Michael Loewe, A Bibliographical Dictionary of the Qin, former Han and Xin Periods, 221 B.C.—A.D. 24 (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 490–491. After Song Yi’s death, Xiang Yu became the commander-in-chief and started the invasion of Qin that resulted in the sacking of Xianyang. During this war, Julu was fi rst besieged by Qin troops and then liberated. 24. Shao Ping was a native from Guangling and a general of Chu who, through a ruse, enabled Xiang Yu to march on Xianyang. He is mentioned in Shiji, chapter 7 (i.e., the chapter on Xiang Yu). William H. Nienhauser, Jr., ed., The Grand Scribe’s Records: Volume 1: The Basic Annals of Pre-Han China by Ssu-ma Ch‘ien (Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1994), 181: “Shao Ping was a native of Kuang-ling, [who] was then trying to pacify Kuang-ling on the King of Ch‘en’s behalf, but was not able to subdue it. When he heard [ . . . ] that Ch‘in’s troops were about to arrive, he crossed the Chiang, forged an order from the King of Ch’en appointing Hsiang Liang as the King of Ch‘u’s Supreme Pillar of State, and said: ‘The land east of the Chiang has already been pacified.’ ” According to Loewe, A Bibliographical Dictionary of the Qin, 467, Xiang Liang was given the title shang zhuguo. 25. Dong Zhuo (d. 192 C.E.) was a general during the fi nal years of the Han dynasty. He is remembered for his arrogant and insubordinate character, his insufficient reaction to the Yellow Turban uprising, and generally for being the destroyer of the Han. The episode related to Guangling is described in Rafe De Crespigny, A Biographical Dictionary of Later Han to the Three Kingdoms (23–220 AD), Handbook of Oriental Studies—Handbuch der Orientalistik, Section Four, China, vol. 19 (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 158: “Dong Zhuo’s conduct ensured massive opposition. On 28 September, three days after entering the capital, he forced [Emperor] Liu Bian to abdicate in favour of his younger half-brother Liu Xie, Emperor Xian. Two days later the Dowager He died, and she was duly followed by Liu Bian. Both deaths were the work of Dong Zhuo. Regardless of their faults and irrespective of claims for reform, there was no justification for such brutality, and by the spring of 190 the leaders of eastern China had joined in ‘loyal rebellion’ to remove the usurper and restore the Han.” Why there were no officials at court can only be guessed—perhaps because Dong Zhuo had all the eunuchs in the capital killed and thus gutted the power structure of the center. 26. Both Zang Hong (d. 195 C.E.) and Zhang Chao2 (d. 195 C.E.) were natives of Guangling, Zhang being the administrator in 190. Zang became Zhang Hong’s Officer of Merit and Zang persuaded Zhang to join the forces gathered at Chenliu to oppose Dong Zhuo. Later, in 194, they unsuccessfully allied against Cao Cao (155–220 C.E.). De Crespigny, A Biographical Dictionary of Later Han to the Three Kingdoms, 1024–1025, 1036–1037. 27. Zu Yue (d. 330 C.E.) and Su Jun (d. 328 C.E.) were the two generals from the time of transition from the Western to the Eastern Jin dynasty, whose names are mentioned in the context of the so-called “Yongjia rebellion” (Yongjia zhi luan, 304–310 C.E.). In those times of instability, the Xiongnu raised an army and fought in Northern China. One of the results was a major wave of emigration toward the Lower Yangzi region. 28. Chi Jian (269–339 C.E.) was an official and renowned calligrapher of the Eastern Jin. His link to Guangling is unclear.

Wang Zhong’s Essay “Dialogue about Guangling” 29. Huan Xuan (369–404 C.E.) was a general who became the Regional Inspector (cishi) for the eastern regions of Jiangzhou, Jingzhou, and Yongzhou, and defeated Jiankang (Nanjing) in 399. He made the city his capital and declared himself ruler of a dynasty he called Huan Chu. In Chinese historiography his rulership was never acknowledged, though, although he issued a calendar and named a reign period. 30. Liu Yi (d. 412) was a general at the end of the Eastern Jin dynasty. He raised an army against Huan Xuan and, together with Liu Yu (363–422), the later Song Wudi, and with He Wuji (d. 410), he fought against Huan. 31. Hou Jing was a general. Born under the Northern Wei dynasty, he must have been in the ser vice of the Southern Liang dynasty, betrayed his liege, and in 548 invaded the capital Jian-kang, where he starved out the inhabitants of the Palace City. He was driven out of Jiankang in 552 by Chen Baxian, who later became the founding emperor of the Chen dynasty. Dieter Kuhn, Status und Ritus: Das China der Aristokraten von den Anfängen bis zum 10. Jahrhundert nach Christus (Heidelberg: Edition Forum, 1991), 432–435. 32. Lai Yi (d. 550) hailed from Guangling. After Hou Jing’s raid on Jiankang he became a guerilla leader who convinced Zu Hao to raise a group of combatants, who then attacked and killed Dong Shaoxian, the military leader at Yanzhou. Zhang Huizhi et al., Zhongguo lidai renming da cidian, 1:1023. 33. “Lady Wu” refers to Wu Zetian (625–705), the only actual female emperor in Chinese history. 34. Xu Jingye was later allowed to use Li, the name of the imperial family. He orga nized a rebellion in Jiangsu against Wu Zetian’s seize of power, which was ill-fated, since the people did not support him, and in the end he was killed by his own followers. This case led the empress to become suspicious of the house of Li, upon which she imposed her infamous system of denunciations and controls for which she is criticized in Chinese historiography. Kuhn, Status und Ritus, 548. 35. Li Ji (594–669), original name Xu Shiji, who was the grandfather of Xu Jingye, was bestowed the imperial surname by Tang Gaozu and is therefore also known as Li Shiji. Observing the taboo of Tang Taizong’s personal name, he dropped the shi in his name. He was a general and de-facto chancellor of the early Tang, serving the first three emperors in various positions. He is remembered as an extremely loyal official. When the Gaozong Emperor tried to make Wu Zetian his empress, Li Ji spoke in favor of this by calling it a private matter of the Emperor. 36. This alludes to Daodejing, no. 31; in Legge’s translation: “Those sharp weapons are instruments of evil omen and not the instruments of the superior man.” James Legge, trans., The Sacred Books of China: The Texts of Taoism (London: Humphrey Milford, 1927), 73–74. 37. The term yizu can refer to any founder of a dynasty, but usually it denotes the Taizu Emperor of the Song, Zhao Kuangyin (927–976). Gu Yanwu, Rizhi lu jiaozhu, ed. Chen Yuan (Hefei: Anhui daxue, 2007), 1324. Zhao Kuangyin had been a commander of the palace guard under the Later Zhou dynasty. See Ouyang Xiu, Historical Records of the Five Dynasties, trans. Richard L. Davis (New York: Columbia University Press, 2004), lxx–lxxi. 38. Li Chongjin (d. 960) was the military commander for the region south of the Yangzi. He was able to keep the Yangzhou and Taizhou Prefectures safe from the invasions of the Later Zhou in 960. See Ouyang Xiu, Historical Records of the Five Dynasties, 284–285, for the corresponding historical narrative. 39. Zhang Xun (709–757) was a general of the Tang dynasty. He is known for defending cities against the rebel armies of Yan during the An Lushan Rebellion (755–763). He thus prevented Yan from invading the fertile Tang territory south of the Huai River.

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Marc Winter 40. Mo Di (fi ft h and fourth centuries B.C.E.) was an ancient phi losopher who insisted that only defensive war was permissible, and who accordingly theorized about defending a city. 41. Li Tingzhi (1219–1276) was the military commissioner of the Song in the defense against, and eventual defeat by, the Mongol armies. “[ . . . ] late summer [of 1276] brought bad news. Yang-chou and Chen-chou, the strategic cities giving control of the mouth of the Yangtze River and also the two major Sung strongholds north of Lin-an, had finally collapsed after nearly a year of relentless siege. Captured during the takeover was Commissioner Li T‘ing-chih, who attempted suicide and when this failed was executed.” Richard L. Davis, “The Reign of Tu-tsung (1264–1274) and his Successors to 1279,” in The Cambridge History of China: Volume 5, Part One: The Sung Dynasty and Its Precursors, 907–1279, ed. Denis Twitchett and Paul Jakov Smith (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 949. 42. Shi Kefa (1601–1645) was an official in the last years of the Ming dynasty. He is remembered in history for his defense of Yangzhou against the Qing armies, in the course of which he died, in April 1645. The Southern Ming government granted him the honorific name Zhongjing (Loyal and Pacifying), and even the Qianlong Emperor of the Qing dynasty granted him another posthumous name, Zhongzheng (Loyal and Correct). 43. The city of Yangzhou was the center of the imperial salt trade and owed its wealth mainly to the salt monopoly of local families. 44. This refers to two famous “hegemons” in antiquity: Duke Huan of Qi (Qi Huan gong, d. 643 B.C.E.) and Duke Wen of Jin (Jin Wen gong, 697–628 B.C.E). That both of them achieved fame and were praised in history was also due to the help they received from their respective loyal advisors Guan Zhong (ca. 720–645 B.C.E.) and Jie Zhitui (d. 636 B.C.E.). 45. This alludes to Mengzi 1B.22; see James Legge, trans., The Chinese Classics (rpt., Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 1960), 2:177. This passage is a classic description of the correct sentiments between ruler and people. 46. This was one of most eminent old clans that during the Han dynasty produced an impressive series of eminent statesmen.

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The Golden Age Depictions of Life in Yangzhou in Li Dou’s The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou (Yangzhou huafang lu, 1795) Introduced, translated, and annotated by Lucie Olivová

Record about the Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou (Yangzhou huafang lu, henceforth The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou), published in 1795,1 with woodblock illustrations, is the principal source on urbanism and society of Yangzhou in the late imperial period. Written by a local scholar and playwright, it was meant to join a series of then new historical and topographical books about Yangzhou, with an emphasis on recent and contemporary events.2 Furthermore, the author not only described the place, but also its people, and intentionally included many strange, humorous, or trifl ing anecdotes about them. Together with countless descriptions of gardens and scenery, as well as citations of verse,3 these elements imbued the text with literary flair and a vivid spirit. The author collected a great deal of material and presented his subject in detail such as had never been done before, thereby challenging the official gazetteers, which as a rule matched neither his poetic qualities nor his humor. In his preface, nevertheless, he also acknowledged a range of Yangzhou gazetteers. The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou is regarded as one of four famous “books about cities,” along with Record of the Monasteries of Luoyang (Luoyang qielan ji, 547) by Yang Xuanzhi, Dream of Splendors Past in the Eastern Capital (Dongjing meng hua lu, 1147) by Meng Yuanlao, and Former Events in Hangzhou (Wulin jiushi, c. 1280) by Zhou Mi. These other three works were written much earlier and are also much shorter, but they possess a similar literary flavor.4 The author, Li Dou (zi Beiyou, hao Aitang, d. 1817) has remained a somewhat obscure person, even though, thanks to the growing popularity of The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou,5 his biography was included in a gazetteer of 101

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Yangzhou Prefecture. However, the edition in question was compiled more than fift y years after his death, so the biographer could not have known him personally. Li Dou, called Aitang, was a native of Yizheng. He gained the Government Student degree. He was a scholar and a poet. Furthermore, he was skilled in mathematics and music. He wrote a book titled the Collection from the Hall of Eternal Retribution (Yongbaotang ji) in eight volumes. In old age he fell seriously ill but was cured with the root of Wind Shelter ( fangfeng, Sapshnikova divaricata). Therefore he adopted Wind Shelter as a new name for his study. In the book The Plea sure Boats of Yangzhou, he gathered, in eighteen chapters, detailed material about the sites, gardens, temples, customs and illustrious personages of Yangzhou. Ruan Yuan wrote an introduction for this work.6

This is the “longest” biographical sketch of Li Dou that has come down to us; there are two similar but shorter ones, written by Wang Chang (1725– 1806) and Lin Sumen (1747–after 1818). Some additional details about him can be compiled from various poems, captions to poems, and letters by his friends: from these we learn, among other things, that he was the second son, that he was small in physique, and that he was admired for his mastery of the sword, as well as for his skill in high-pitch singing (yinlü).7 His collected works, as mentioned in the above biographical entry, were published in 1807. They comprised two collections of poems, Aitang’s Ballads (Aitang yuefu) and Poetry Collection from the Hall of Eternal Retribution (Yongbaotang shiji); two plays, The Story of a Strange Misery (Qisuan ji) and The Marvel Tale of Planet Jupiter (Suixing ji chuanqi); and, last but not least, The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou. The author’s own preface, translated in this chapter, mentions quite a few facts about his own life, and the text of the book also reveals personal information on various aspects, such as where he lived or who his friends were. They would certainly provide sufficient material for a more complete biographical treatment of Li Dou, if anybody took the care to excerpt and evaluate them. The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou is divided into sixteen chapters ( juan) of text proper and two supplementary chapters, one on methods of architectural construction (Chapter 17; on this chapter, see Winnie Yuen Lai Chan’s examination in Chapter 7 of this book), the other listing the names of the various types of pleasure boats (Chapter 18). The chapter sequence of the book follows a “route” through the suburbs and quarters of Yangzhou, the names

Depictions of Life in Yangzhou in Li Dou’s The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou

of which are employed for the chapter titles, for example, “Along the Green Grass Canal, Part One” (Caohe lu shang), “The Northern [Outskirts] of the New Town, Part Two” (Xincheng beilu zhong), or “Along the East [Bank] Beyond the [Rainbow] Bridge” (Qiao dong lu).8 This topographical approach was ideal for the description of sites and the brief accounts of their building history that accompanied them. Next, Li Dou elaborated on the persons who lived there, or had lived there, in terms of their professional abilities and personal merits. Typically, identifying the profession of a certain person introduced a larger topic, which Li Dou then strived to cover more comprehensively, as he would then proceed to list everyone else who was also active in the same field, regardless of the person’s original or current place of residence (e.g., calligraphers, the academies and their lecturers, or theater troupes and their actors). These descriptions were presented in the form of “short biographies,” often interspersed with personal anecdotes. Thus, although he could not have described the city of Yangzhou in its entirety, and he could not have covered all topics, the contents of this fabulous book are nevertheless extremely rich and diverse. Li Dou wrote in the style typically used by educated men of the period for jottings and records (biji), that is, a Classical Chinese devoid of ornamentation. His text is not extremely difficult, but should not be underestimated either, for it also contains certain colloquial expressions. When the book was first published, the scholar Ling Tingkan (1757–1809) expressed his view in the following words: The literary form of this book is neither high nor base, but it is a work that ought to be made known. With regard to commenting on classical texts, and examining history, the author has not acquired their knowledge and is not capable of understanding them. Hence, there will be only few who will like his book. As for supernatural tales and chats about poetry, such matters are too embarrassing for men of letters to speak about. Hence, there will be many who will reject his book.9

However, today’s readers need not be discouraged by this critical comment, and previous readers certainly were not turned away by it. The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou has a lot to offer. Its diversity, first and foremost, guided me when selecting the thirty-five excerpts that are translated below. These excerpts include sections concerning various social groups and activities; there are descriptive and narrative pieces, as well as sad and merry ones. Five

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have appeared in translation before, but the majority of them are presented here in translation for the first time.10 It seemed necessary to select some of the well-known items, but I have also tried to go beyond gardens,11 painting, and entertainment, and have included items on recurrent topics not always closely associated with the book, such as folk religion and female chastity. Moreover, two excerpts have been included because they touch upon politically sensitive issues—the sack of Yangzhou in 1645, and the so-called “Literary Inquisition” (wenziyu, lit., “imprisonment due to writing”)—even though the reader expecting to find in these two excerpts any traces of adversity or resistance will be disappointed. Li Dou tends to be evasive when it comes to politics, and always confirms his loyalty to the “present dynasty.” The grand opening of his book, describing the entrée of the imperial fleet to Yangzhou in 1765, during one of the Qianlong Emperor’s Southern Inspection Tours (nanxun), is a persuasive statement of his position. This passage, though, is not included among the selections that follow. In an attempt to capture something of the author’s own personality, I have also included his account of an outing he took on a pleasure boat. Biographical entries in The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou are usually quite short, around seventy characters in length. They give the person’s names, place of origin, field of interest or undertaking, titles of writings, and the names of his sons; sometimes a characteristic anecdote is added. The biographies of Jiang Chun and Huang Wenyang are far longer than average, indicating Li Dou’s familiarity with them. I selected these two for translation because of the outstanding significance of these men for Yangzhou culture. Last but not least, I have also included the introductory paragraph to Chapter 18, about the pleasure boats, which lent the book its title.



The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou Excerpts Author’s Preface Apart from official gazetteers, Yangzhou has been described in the Sightseeing Gazetteer of the Hall Level with the Mountains (Pingshan lansheng zhi) by Minister Wang Yinggeng;12 in the Short Chronicle of the Hall Level with the Mountains (Pingshantang xiaozhi) by Academician Mengxing;13 in

Depictions of Life in Yangzhou in Li Dou’s The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou

the Illustrated Chronicle of the Hall Level with the Mountains (Pingshantang tuzhi) by Salt Commissioner Zhao Zhibi14—and in much detail, too! Still, Senior Graduate (mingjing) Wang Zhong from Jiangdu bitterly complained that these gazetteers did not give enough room to the assessment of ancient times, and wrote the Compendium of Guangling (Guangling tongdian), in which both topography and historical personages are treated—and in much detail, too!15 No future writer can surpass him. Still, he only focused on topics from ancient history and neglected more recent aff airs. The format followed by other authors is much the same. As a youth, I slighted learning and neglected the classics and histories. I preferred traveling, and visited Guangxi three times, Fujian and Zhejiang seven times, Hunan and Hubei once. I also went to the Capital twice, then came back and settled down at home. I often sailed on the Slender West Lake, explored all the buildings and read about their history until I became quite familiar with them. And so neither the smallest lane nor the least hovel escaped my attention. Whatever I have seen and heard, from elegant rhymes by scholars and worthies down to the trifling and naughty events, as well as the funny and vulgar talk of the common folk, all this was included and recorded in the course of thirty years, from the jiashen year (1764) to the yimao year (1795). This multitude of information I have collected and turned into a book. The places are its warp and the people with their stories its woof. The areas of the prefectural city of Yangzhou are the following: Green Grass Canal (Caohe), from Celestial Realm Monastery (Shangfangsi) to Eternal Spring Bridge (Changchunqiao); the northern rim of the New City, from Convenient Gate (Bianyimen) to Heavenly Tranquility Monastery (Tianningsi); the town’s northern area, from Abundant Joy Street (Fenglejie) beyond Immortal Crane’s Craw (Xianhesu); the area beyond the southern city wall, from Guazhou to Old Ford Bridge (Guduqiao); the area beyond the western city wall, from Old Ford Bridge to Passing Spring Bridge (Duchunqiao); and Little Qinhuai (Xiao Qinhuai), from Little East Gate (Xiao Dongmen) to the Eastern Watergate (Dongshuiguan). All of them meet at Rainbow Bridge (Hongqiao). From this point onward, on the east bank of Rainbow Bridge, from “Warm Breeze in the Lotus and Reeds” (Hepu xunfeng) garden to “Splendid Scenery with Clouds on the Water” (Shuiyun shenggai) garden; and on the west bank of Rainbow Bridge, from “Spring Willows on Long Dike” (Changti chunliu) to Lotus Nature Monastery (Lianxingsi); these meet at Lotus Flower Bridge.

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Figure 6.1. Illustration from The Plea sure Boats of Yangzhou, 1795. (Li Dou, Yangzhou huafang lu, rpt. 1795 ed.)

Further, there is the eastern part of Shu Ridge (Shugang), from “White Pagoda under a Clear Sky Spotted with Clouds” (Baita qingyun)16 to “Brocade Spring Flowering Islet” (Jinquan huayu); and the western area of Shu Ridge, from “Wishing Longevity on the Spring Terrace” (Chuntai zhushou) garden to Fivefold Cranked Residence (Chiwulou);17 they meet at the three peaks of Shu Ridge. I have described them in this order and produced the present volume. The two chapters concerning the methods of construction and the names of the pleasure boats are placed at the end of the book. As a general rule, gazetteers and historical books do not record any strange hearsay or any events that would be worth recording but lack proper evidence. However, humorous matters inevitably seep out and live on. If I happen to be inundated with them, I shall readily write a second volume to supplement this one. By Li Dou of Yizheng in the twelfth month of the sixtieth year of Qianlong (January 1796)

Everyday Pleasures Yangzhou was known as the city of leisure, featuring a dense network of places inviting consumption. The following excerpts describe well-known taverns, teahouses, and bathhouses.

Depictions of Life in Yangzhou in Li Dou’s The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou

[1/40] The first tavern in the northern suburb was the Drunkard’s Garden (Zuibaiyuan). Thereafter, in the Kangxi reign, there were the Rustic Garden (Ruyeyuan), the Seductive Spring Poetry Club (Yechunshe), the Dwelling of the Seven Sages (Qixianju), the Park-your-carriage-and-take-a-rest (Qieting che), and so on, all of them near Rainbow Bridge. But none had any more than a limited number of ewers and chalices. The guests could only drink a little, and that was it. Later, a villager named Drunkard Han (Han Zuibai) built Hillock Pavilion (Xiaoshanting) at the Lotus Flower Channel (Lianhuageng). The guests gathered in his place and drank together, hence it was called Han’s Garden (Hanyuan). When Drunkard died, a restaurant on North Gate Street (Beimenjie) adopted the name “Drunkard’s Garden” in recognition of the previous tavern’s fame. The backdoor leads onto the west bank of Little Welcome-the-Emperor Canal (Xiao Ying‘enhe). The pleasure boats often stop there for drinks and food. [1/41] The Double Rainbow Teahouse (Shuanghonglou) is located at North Gate Bridge (Beimenqiao). It is a two-story building five bays wide, with a fair view from the windows of the eastern wall that open onto Green Grass Canal. The teahouses in my hometown are the best anywhere in the empire. A lot of people are active in this business: they make investments and build gardens, or they buy an abandoned residence with a desolate garden and turn it into a teahouse. There is nothing that is not first class: multistoried houses with balconies, pavilions, and gazebos; gardens with flowers, trees, bamboo, and rocks; catering with cups, plates, spoons, and chopsticks. The most prosperous tea-and-snack houses18 within the city walls are the Two Plum Trees Verandah (Ermeixuan), the Cymbidium Scent Veranda (Huifangxuan), and the Gathered Scent Veranda (Jifangxuan) at Yamen Gate Bridge (Yuanmenqiao); the Odor of Wrist and Axilla (Wanye shengxiang), and the Heavenly Scent of Refined Orchids (Wenlan tianxiang) at Parade Ground (Jiaochang); the Garden of Abundant Merriness (Fengleyuan) at the pier; the Tasting the Six Verandah (Pinliuxuan) near Little East Gate; the Lotus in the Rain (Yulian) at Extended Storage Gate (Guangchumen); the Gingko Garden (Wenxingyuan) at Jade Flower Temple (Qionghuaguan);19 the Ease on All Sides Veranda (Siyixuan) at the Wan Family

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Garden (Wanjiayuan); and the Little Square Teapot (Xiaofanghu) at Flower Garden Lane (Huayuanxiang). The most prosperous teahouses are the Dwelling of Heavenly Happiness (Tianfuju) near Heavenly Tranquility Gate, and Green Sky Dwelling (Lütianju) by the West Gate. The Double Rainbow is the best tea house beyond the walls, occupying the location in the most splendid area of the Slender West Lake. Each of them is known far and wide for providing their own snacks. The specialty of the Double Rainbow is baked cookies, which are absolutely the best of their kind. They offer sweet cookies, cookies with meat, cookies with dried vegetables, and amaranth cookies. Ding Siguan, from Yixing, runs the Cymbidium Scent and the Gathered Scent, both of which are famous for their pickled steamed buns (mantou); Two Plum Trees Veranda is famous for its sauce-filled dumplings (baozi); Heavenly Scent of Refined Orchids is famous for its spring pastry; Gingko Garden is famous for a kind of steamed dumpling with the dough frilled at the top (shaomai1), called “Demon’s Head”; Tasting the Six Veranda is famous for Huainan-style boiled filled dumplings ( jiaozi); and the Small Square Teapot is famous for boiled vegetarian dumplings. All of these places prosper. Small tea houses inside and outside the city walls usually make pancakes, cakes, or dumplings with pine needle filling. Even the shabbier places are quite busy from dawn every day. [1/39] The trend of going to the baths started with Guo’s Hall (Guotang) in the garrison of Shaobo. Afterward, Zhang’s Hall (Zhangtang), outside Graceful Tranquility Gate (Xuningmen), followed this example. The owner, Master Zhang, replicated it in the Monastery of Resplendent Teaching (Xingjiaosi) and the two competed with each other. For this reason, the baths in all the city quarters, outside and inside the city walls, are all alike. The most prosperous are the Little Island of the Immortals (Xiao Penglai) by Enlightenment Bridge (Kaimingqiao), the White Jade Pond (Baiyuchi) by Universal Peace Bridge (Taipingqiao), the Tip of the Screw (Luosi jieding) near Breach Gate (Quekoumen), Tao’s Hall (Taotang) near Graceful Tranquility Gate, the White Sand Spring (Baishaquan) near Extended Storage Gate, Hillock Garden (Xiaoshanyuan) on the pier, the Clear Cord Spring (Qingyingquan) on the lower North Canal, and the Guangling Tide (Guanglingtao) at the Eastern Customs House (Dongguan). The best-known baths

Depictions of Life in Yangzhou in Li Dou’s The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou

outside the city walls are Gu’s Hall (Gutang) in Altar Lane (Tanxiang), and New Abundance Spring (Xinfengquan) on North Gate Street (Beimenjie). A typical bathhouse has a pond paved with marble, one square zhang or more in size. The pond is divided into numerous square units of different sizes. The bigger ones are right next to the boiler and have hot water; they are called “big ponds.” Then there are the middle-size ponds, and the small ones that do not have very hot water; they are called “children’s ponds.” The lockers for clothes are trunks arranged in a circle in the main parlor. On both sides, there are tall closets. Further inside, there is a small room that is called “sweat room.” Varieties of fragrant tea and green wine are being served and servants give massages with broken branches. The furnishing is utterly luxurious. Young men go to the bath in the evening before their marriage, spending dozens of liang of silver. The bath taken on New Year’s Eve is called the purifying bath, and the bath taken at the Dragon Boat (Duanwu) Festival is termed the herbal bath.

Fish Market Disrespectful as it may seem, the description of the largest fish market in the area follows shortly after the opening section about the Emperor’s arrival in 1765. This, however, is only due to the arrangement of the material in the book by location. The fish market is described in vivid detail, and evidently with much delight. It illustrates the high degree of commercialization in Yangzhou. [1/20]20 Golden Embankment (Huangjinba) is located northwest of the city. In the Weiyang Gazetteer (Weiyang zhi) of the Jiajing era (1522–1567)21 it was called Yellow Cloth Embankment (Huangjinba), but it is no longer in use. Nowadays, water is collected from the inner waterways to the east of High Bridge (Gaoqiao), in the north of the prefectural city. The terrain is unsuitable for making a dike, so firewood was used to build it up, and all along on top of it is the fish market. The prefectural city lies between the Huai and the Yangzi rivers; to the south there is Sanjiang port, a source of shad, while from the deep harbor at Guazhou come anchovies. To the north are the Ailing, Pishe, and Shaobo lakes that produce a great quantity of fish. The city market peddler households ride the wind down the Official Canal (Guanhe) and conduct their business there, at Yellow Cloth Embankment.

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There are three markets daily, morning, noon and evening, in which everyone from the villages and small towns around the lakes takes part. They set up shops where the fishermen bring the fish to trade. Poles on their shoulders, they circulate through the city as though flying. Some cover thirty to forty li, others even sixty to seventy li, in no time at all; the quality depends on their speed. Bream, whitefish, and perch are the best; next are mandarin fish, black carp, and northern snakehead; while the least good are ribbon fish and stone moroko. The pomfret, slender-shad, red sea bass, and sole are all ocean fish. As for crab, those found in lakes are known as lake crabs, and those that come from the Huai River are called Huai crabs. The latter are large but their flavor is faint, while the lake crabs are smaller but their flavor is more intense, so crab fanciers prefer the lake crabs. On the embankment they have set up a store selling eight kinds of fresh goods, namely water chestnut, lotus root, taro, persimmons, shrimp, crab, clams, and radish. There are also fish stores in the south of the city. [1/21] The salted fish of Huainan are the best under heaven! Golden Embankment is the city’s fish market, with two businesses: one is called “salt goods,” the other “pickles.” It is located right on the water’s edge, where salt is plentiful but there are only few people. They brine the fish in salt, then transfer it to a drying room until it becomes desiccated, at which point it is brought to the city and sold as salt pickles. When the boats arrive at these stores, the different kinds of fish are piled up gathering dust. One kind of dried croaker comes from Ningbo, while the sea carp is from Wuchang. The larger ones are sharkskin and pearl patterns and all kinds of edible and tasty delicacies. The smaller ones are dried by being blown on through a bamboo tube; the smallest ones of all are whitebait. Mussels are gathered along the shore: the fresh ones they pickle, or if they cannot pickle them, they dry them. The pungent smell gets into one’s nose. People cut the “wings” off of some of the sea fish and sell it as “shark’s fin;” they cut off the flesh of the jellyfish and call it “jellyfish head”; its “skirt” they call “jellyfish skin.” As for croakers, in spring they grow in the rivers, but in autumn they are in the ocean, so the people living at the foot of the Wolf Hill (Langshan) eat them a lot every year. They wind dry fish bladders and use them for glue; according to the Timberwork Manual (Mu jing) it is essential for joining parts. They dry out spawn and call it roe, and some-

Depictions of Life in Yangzhou in Li Dou’s The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou

thing they have brined and frozen they call saltfish. All this merchandise is transported, and half of it is incorporated into what is called “southern delicacies,” the bulk of which are run by Zhenjiang people. Beijingers refer to them as “southern liquors.” Everything they deal in comes from south of the Yangzi, and the taverns bear the inscription “Seafood.”

Salt Merchants The headquarters of the regional Liang-Huai salt administration were located in Yangzhou. Consequently, salt merchants settled there, and the salt trade flourished. Many of these merchants originated from Huizhou Prefecture in neighboring Anhui Province, and some of them became fabulously rich. The following excerpt recounts their excesses with a good sense of humor. It needs to be emphasized, though, that the merchants were not to be poked fun at. They formed the dominant social group in the town, and were committed to projects that were vital to the city, such as water control. They also became significant sponsors of academic and publishing projects and of the arts, and they provided social relief in numerous ways.22 [6/35]23 The Bao family (Bao shi) is from Tangyue in She County (Shexian), Anhui. They are the posterity of the Song-dynasty scholar Bao Zongyan and have lived in She County for generations. Bao Zhidao’s style name is Chengyi.24 He dealt in the salt business in Huainan, and consequently settled in Yangzhou. But let me start from the very beginning. The salt merchants of Yangzhou vied with one another in extravagance. Each wedding or funeral, with all its expenses for food, clothing, and carriages, might have cost several hundred thousand liang of silver. There was one merchant who insisted on having more than ten dishes prepared at every meal. During the meal, he and his wife were waited on by a host of servants who served everything from tea and noodles to meat and vegetable plates. If there was a dish they would not eat, they just shook their heads, and the servants readily brought in several more. Another one loved horses, and raised them by the several hundreds. Each day, the maintenance of a single horse ran to several dozen liang. In the morning they were taken to the outskirts of the city and in the evening they were taken back again. So artful was the braiding of their manes that onlookers’ eyes were dazzled. Yet another loved orchids, and planted them everywhere, from the gate of his mansion to the inner apartments. There was

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one who erected wooden figures of nude women in his inner halls, with a mechanism so as to tease his guests. In the beginning, An Lücun25 was the most notorious salt merchant, but he was later surpassed by several others. One of them wished to spend ten thousand liang just in a single moment. A guest of his suggested that he buy gold foil, take it to the top of Golden Hill, and throw it down. The gold leaves, carried by the wind, soon scattered amidst the trees and the grass and could not be gathered again. There was another one who spent three thousand liang on roly-poly dolls26 from Suzhou, to be floated on the water. There were so many of them that the stream was blocked. There was one merchant who loved beautiful things. From the gatekeepers to the kitchen maids, his household consisted only of dozens of goodlooking young people. As for the contrary, there was one who surrounded himself with grotesque and ugly things. A glimpse in the mirror convinced an applicant that he would not fit, and so he smeared his face with soy sauce and let it burn in the sun. There was yet another merchant who loved big things. He got for himself a bronze urinal five or six chi tall. Every night he had to climb up to relieve himself. For quite some time these people vied with one another in oddities and eccentricities too numerous to be described in full. With the arrival of Bao Chengyi, however, such morals made way for frugality and abstinence.

Jiang Chun Long biographies like the following one are exceptional in The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou, and they usually introduce men Li Dou personally knew and befriended. In the following account, he recorded the events on which rested, and which decisively increased, the prestige of Jiang Chun (1721–1789). He portrayed him as a scholar and did not wish to, or did not need even to, mention the fact that Jiang was a salt merchant, and indeed the principal such merchant, who played host to the Qianlong Emperor on four occasions. Li Dou did not mention here Jiang Chun’s theater troupes, either, but he did write about them elsewhere in his book (YHL, 5/1). By any mea sure, Jiang Chun was one of the most important personalities of the “golden age” of Yangzhou.27 [12/19] Provincial Administration Commissioner (fangbo) Jiang’s personal name was Chun, his style Yingchang, and his studio name “Crane Pavilion” (He-

Depictions of Life in Yangzhou in Li Dou’s The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou

ting). He hailed from She County and made his first appearance in the Yangzhou area when he achieved the degree of Government Student at Yizheng. He was a skilled writer, especially his poems were excellent; he was as well known a poet as Qi Cifeng28 or Ma Qiuyu.29 Before him, there was a saying that in poetry, Ma Qiuyu was best in the South, and Zha Shenxing30 in the North. Once Qiuyu passed away, the Commissioner became his successor. He was handsome, had a fine beard, and was regarded as someone of great potential. He carried with him an aristocratic air, and whenever he encountered a problem, he always knew how to deal with it. He lived in Lower South Canal Street (Nanhe xiajie), where he had built the Follow-theMoon Study (Suiyue dushulou). The anthology of his eight-legged essays, which became quite popular in those days, was therefore called Essays from the Follow-the-Moon Study (Suiyue dushulou shiwen). In the house on the opposite side of the street, he opened the Parlor of Autumn Voices (Qiushengguan), where he bred crickets. For them he made a deep ceramic basin, with gold inlay as fine as that of the Xuanhe era (1119– 1125). Then he bought the empty lot behind Graceful Tranquility Gate, where shooting training used to take place, and so people called it the Jiang Family Shooting Range (Jiangjia jiandao). There, he had pavilions and ponds built, and paths designed amidst peonies and orchids. He named this garden the “Flower Villa South of the River” (Shuinan huashu). In the jimao year of the Qianlong era (1759), the first peony (shaoyao)31 branch had a flower, and in the gengchen year (1760), five branches had flowers of different colors. Salt Commissioner Lu Jianzeng32 painted a picture of them and asked others to compose poems for it. Minister Qian Chenqun33 produced a tablet for the building’s name with the inscription “Inherited Fragrance Veranda” (Xixiangxuan). Jiang Chun himself wrote Poetic Drafts from the Flower Villa South of the River (Shuinan huashu yin‘gao). At the eastern village he built a summer residence that he called the Estate of Depth (Shenzhuang) where he wrote Autumn Songs from the Estate of Depth (Shenzhuang qiuyong). He also built a summerhouse in the northern suburb, the Garden of Affirmation (Shiyuan), where he planted the yellow peony, and asked Ma Qiuyu attest to it through a poem. In the dingchou year (1757) it was turned into an official garden, and had its present name bestowed upon it by the Emperor. So he moved to Guanyin Hall (Guanyintang), his new home in the neighborhood of Kang Hill (Kangshan).34 Subsequently, he built there the Thatched Abode (Kangshan caotang). In our prefectural city, there is the saying, “None of the three hills sticks out its head,” which refers

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to Wu Hill (Wushan), Yi Hill (Yishan), and Kang Hill. Wu Hill is where the Temple of Emperor Yu (Yuwangmiao) is, and Yi Hill is by Jiang Family Bridge (Jiangjiaqiao). Now, the teahouses are just right on Kang Hill, which is why he chose this location. Sometimes it was referred to as the Study Place of Kang Duishan (Kang Duishan dushuchu). In addition, Jiang Chun built East Garden (Dongyuan) on the side of Double Peace Monastery (Chongningsi). All his buildings became famous scenic sites. The honorary title of Provincial Administration Commissioner (buzhengshi) was bestowed on the Commissioner for having captured the runaway criminal Zhang Feng.35 But then, due to being implicated in the case of issuing false licenses in the Liang-Huai salt monopoly, he was summoned to the Capital. He was pardoned, though. On one occasion, he lent three hundred thousand liang [to the imperial treasury for military campaigns], and joined the Feast for the One Thousand Elders.36 At other times, his luck suddenly vanished. When the Commissioner died, there were dozens of ordinary people crying and praying at his door. Some placed him in the same category as Chen Menggong,37 but he was beyond compare.38 His son Jiang Zhenhong, style Jieyun, was fond of studying and became an accomplished poet. The descendants of the Jiang clan were numerous, and in each generation, there was someone of high repute. They did not pass a day without a literati gathering, with all the seats taken by highly gifted scholars who were the most distinguished of their time.

Literary Inquisition Li Dou circumvents matters that were politically sensitive. In 1771, an imperial edict was issued that authorized the compilation of the Complete Library of the Four Treasuries (Siku quanshu, 1773–1782), based on a large amount of collected writings.39 The Emperor therefore also ordered private libraries to submit “lost books” (yishu), that is, titles that were only available in private collections, and that had to be borrowed for copying. A description of the event is included in the entry about two well-known merchants, the brothers Ma Yueguan (1688–1755) and Ma Yuelu (1697–after 1766), who also amassed a large library.40 [4/12] The Temporary Retreat (Xing‘an) was the lodge of Secretary (zhuzheng) Ma’s family, located on the west side of the garden named as Village on a Branch (Zhishangcun). Now they both belong to the Imperial Garden. Its

Depictions of Life in Yangzhou in Li Dou’s The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou

gate opens to the bamboo path inside the Village, and inside the gate building, there is a statue of Weiduo.41 The main shrine houses three buddhas, and three paulownias grow in front. By the eastern corner of the shrine, one enters a small building, four bays wide, and moves further on through a door in its western corner, to a courtyard with a two-bay-wide house. Passing through it, one arrives at the Village’s bamboo garden. Ye Zhenchu once painted a picture of the Double Ninth literati gathering in the Temporary Retreat, but it does not exist anymore.42 Secretary Ma’s personal name was Yueguan, his style name was Qiuyu, and his studio name was Xiegu (Valley). He received the Government Student degree in Qimen County,43 and then lived in East Customs Street, in Yangzhou’s New City. He loved studying and had an extensive knowledge of the past: he collated texts on literary writing, commented on historical texts, and apart from that also took an interest in epigraphy and philology. During the Imperial Southern Tours, he was given two calligraphies written by the Emperor as a sign of grace. He was once admitted to the Palace of Motherly Kindness and Peacefulness (Cininggong)44 to congratulate the Empress Mother on her birthday, at which time he gratefully received a sack edged with fur and filled with trifles. Then he returned to Yangzhou and amused himself by reading and writing poetry, all his companions being famous poets of the day. Scholars from all around came to see him, and were received and treated with food in his house. He did not seem to get tired of this until the final days of his life. He wrote Poems of the Old Recluse of the Sandy River (Shahe yilao shiji), published Exegetical Studies on the Classics (Jing yi kao) by Zhu Zhucha,45 and spent a thousand gold coins on The Thirteen Classics (Shisan jing) edited by Jiang Heng. He also published the ancient lexicons Explaining Words [and Analyzing Characters] (Shuowen [jiezi]) by Xu Shen, Jade Chapters (Yupian), Broad Rimes (Guangyun), and Mirror of Characters (Zijian). These are known as “the Ma editions.” 46 His younger brother Ma Yuelu, style name Peixi, studio name Banzha, was a good poet and as highly regarded as Yueguan. They were “The Two Mas of Yangzhou.” He was selected for the special examination on “Breadth in Learning and Vastness in Letters” (boxue hongci), but failed.47 He wrote the Collection from the Southern Studio (Nanzhai ji). His son Yu, style name Yuanyi, studio name Huashan, knew how to write poetry and prose, and excelled in poetry with uneven line length.48 His childhood name was Amai, “Little Buyer;” on this see the Collection from the Hall of Discoursing about Antiquity (Daogutang ji) by Hang Jinpu.49

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Peixi [i.e., Ma Yuelu] built a villa opposite the main entrance of his house and named it the Library at the South of the Street (Jienan shuwu); but it had yet another name, Little Exquisite Mountain Lodge. It comprised imposing structures such as: Mountain Bellevue (Kanshanlou), Red Ivy Staircase (Hongyaojie), Double-Lit Veranda Penetrated by Both the Wind and the Moon (Toufeng touyue liangming xuan), Seven Peaks Thatched Abode (Qifeng caotang), Tower of Clear Echo (Qingxiangge), Wisteria Library (Tenghua shuwu), Collectanea Library (Congshulou), Colonnade for Finding a Good Verse (Mijulang), and Plum Blossom Hut (Meiliao). In the two libraries behind the main building of Little Exquisite Mountain Lodge, he kept hundreds of books. In the thirty-eighth year of Qianlong (1773), the Emperor ordered by decree the gathering of “lost books.”50 In Yangzhou, the task was handled by Salt Commissioner Li Zhiyin. The Secretary [i.e., Ma Yueguan] was already dead by then. His son Ma Zhenbo respectfully presented the books held in his collection. He managed to provide 776 of the requested titles. In the thirty-ninth year of Qianlong (1774), the following Imperial Decree was issued: At this time when the state is at peace, it is convenient to search for, and gather, and put in order, all books old and new without delay, for the glory of official libraries, and for the benefit of the arts. For this reason, We order that all governors pay attention to the collecting, and that they report to the Court on their findings. The books from each province should be handed over as soon as possible. Of course, the number of collectors to respectfully present them is greatest in Jiangsu and Zhejiang. This also includes court officials, some of whom also submit books in great numbers. Next, We order the ministers in charge to collate the texts and prepare them for publishing. This copying will lead to a wider circulation of books. In any case, where more than one hundred books are submitted, We order that lists of the outstanding ones are drawn up. We personally want to spend some time reading

Depictions of Life in Yangzhou in Li Dou’s The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou these selected books, evaluating them, and writing down some notes. We also order that each book submitted be stamped on the frontispiece with the seal of the Hanlin Academy, dated, and have its title written on the cover. Once the project is completed, the books will be returned to each private collector. We therefore order the Writing Office (shuguan) to make copies of the books read and inscribed by me, so that the original books may be returned to the owners and increase their honor. When reading the cata logues that have been presented, We learned that the largest numbers of books came from four collectors, namely, Bao Shigong, Fan Maozhu, and Wang Qishu, all three from Zhejiang, and Ma Yu from the Liang-Huai region. The number of books they provided amounted to between five and seven hundred titles each, which had been collected over generations, and sons and grandsons will continue the task. For this they deserve the highest imperial praise. The Imperial Household Department keeps the Synthesis of Books and Illustrations of Ancient and Present Times (Gujin tushu jicheng), which is encyclopedic in scope, and very rare. The aforementioned collectors of this special category, who have accumulated books over generations, and who wish to have special books and would not lose them and would forever hand them down, will be rewarded. We order that each of the four collectors, Bao Shigong, Fan Maozhu, Wang Qishu, and Ma Yu, shall have bestowed on them a copy of the Synthesis of Books and Illustrations of Ancient and Present Times, for their zealous pursuit of antiquity. The others who have submitted more than one hundred books are Zhou Houyu and Jiang Zengrong from Jiangsu; Wu Yuchi, Sun Yangzeng, and Wang Ruli from Zhejiang; as well as the courtiers Huang Dengxian, Ji Yun, Li Shouqian, and Wang Ruzao. They too have long been collectors of books. They will receive in return a copy of the Classified Dictionary of Poetry (Peiwen yunfu), stamped by the Office of the Imperial Household, to keep as a family heirloom giving proof of their having been commended. As for the above book collectors, every distant province has to dispatch an official to come to Wuying Palace (Wuyingdian) to collect the reward. The collectors in Beijing will personally come to Wuying Palace to show respect, and acknowledge Our order. This is what We order.

The Synthesis of Books and Illustrations of Ancient and Present Times has 5,200 fascicles ( juan), and is divided into 312 topical sections. Ma Zhenbo respectfully guards his copy and keeps it as a treasure. He had made 520 cases for it, each comprising ten fascicles, which he placed on ten shelves. Readers of this encyclopedia were waited upon in the main hall.

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In addition, the Emperor presented his thirty-two elegies about the pacification of Yili, and sixteen elegies about the pacification of Jinchuan, accompanied by thirty-two illustrations.51 He accompanied the set with a poem that he composed and wrote down in his own calligraphy. They were bound and presented to the respective collectors.

Painting Portraits The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou is also a key source on painting and calligraphy. Hundreds of artists’ biographical entries were recorded in Chapter 2. Li Dou opens with an account about the monk Shizhuang, who, after his death, returned to the world of the living several times. Li Dou was keen on, and paid attention to, tales about the supernatural. Shizhuang, moreover, was an excellent calligrapher who instructed several students in his small monastery (see 2/7). After Shizhuang, Li Dou subsequently shifts to other Yangzhou painters and calligraphers. It is apparent from the way he handles the field of the arts that Li Dou himself was not a connoisseur. His notes are relatively short, and he is not able to distinguish the specificities of the masters of the “Yangzhou school,” although he mentions them individually. The only subject dealt with at some length is portraiture, and that entry is presented here. [2/75] Portraiture is a genre of painting. Miscellaneous Jottings from the Western Capital (Xijing zaji) recorded the names of Mao Yanshou, Chen Chang, and others.52 Gu Changkang53 of the Jin dynasty was a genius in this respect; all portraitists use his technique. Tao Jiucheng54 also wrote about the method in his Records of Ceasing Ploughing (Chuogeng lu), but not in much detail. Ding Gao from Danyang, whose informal name was Hezhou and who lived in Ganquan, excelled in this technique. He wrote Portraiture and the Mind (Chuanzhen xinling), in two chapters. For the drawing up of a portrait, he delimited three stages and divided the face into five sections. He first began to draw the contours, then considered whether it was a good likeness or not, and then connected them all. Afterward, applying the theories of yin and yang, as well as of emptiness and fullness, he drew the forehead55 and the cheekbones, the eyes, the mouth, the nose and its tip, the eyebrows and the ears, everything according to the prescribed standard. Having set up the composition, he went on with the coloring. Applying red

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color to the cheeks, he finally imbued the portrait with vividness. He also explained the theory of the sides, the tops and the bottom56 of the face, as well as the methods of copying and fast sketching. All these had to be employed in painting. Transport Commissioner Lu Yayu57 wrote the foreword for Ding Hezhou’s book, which reads as follows: Portraiture has been flourishing for very long time indeed! Yi Yin followed Tang,58 and he told the stories of the ancient kings and the nine rulers, of all of whom images were made. When Emperor Gaozong had a dream about a man named Fu Yue,59 he dispatched hundreds of artisans to draw his likeness. He summoned them from all over the empire. At the Hall of Brightness, Confucius saw the portraits of the legendary Emperors Yao and Shun, the images of the corrupt rulers Jie and Zhou, the face of the Duke of Zhou (Zhou gong), and the portraits of all the princes at King Cheng’s (Cheng Wang) court of Zhou. So it was during the Han dynasty, too. Then, the Six Classics and the philosophers, the lives of sages and exemplary women, right up to the deeds of propriety and learning—all of these were depicted, always in order to broaden our knowledge, to pass on warning examples to be remembered as a far-reaching moral. It is not exactly known when the custom began for sons to commission portraits of their deceased parents. Since antiquity there had had to be an impersonator of the ancestor at a sacrifice, and when the custom of the impersonator waned, portrait making began to flourish. A son’s love certainly is very strong, so it has been since generations long gone. In the Spring-andAutumn period, the ancestral sacrifice took place within palaces and houses, and the participants concentrated in prayer, with grave and solemn minds. Such matters could not be undertaken haphazardly. Could the art of painting be described by mere words? It has been orally transmitted since old times, and each genre followed a master, but for portraiture there has not been any specialized school, nor was there any written tradition for it. One cannot help saying that this was a lacuna among the arts. Master Ding Hezhou of Danyang plied his profession in our generation. When inspiration came, he made a painting, reaching an ingenious level. Handsome and ugly, old and young, all flocked to him, and he portrayed them in profi le or in full face. More than that, he transmitted their grief or joy. Recently, he painted twelve pictures for me, each showing a different scene. When I saw them, I sighed with surprise. Even the hair and eyebrows seemed just like the real thing, and the facial expression was calm and solemn.

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Lucie Olivová Every detail fitted the scene. So I began to wonder whether Master Ding was gifted by Heaven, because this was not something one could learn by one’s own efforts. But Master Ding told me, “Not really, it is definitely due to the method, and the method can be explained and passed on. However, the idea behind it must come from one’s mind.” For this reason, he showed me his book Portraiture and the Mind, and asked me to write a foreword for it. The book has more than twenty sections, such as those on composition, rough sketching, the idea in one’s mind, the theory of yin and yang, of emptiness and fullness; the drawing of the forehead, the nose, the cheekbones and the chin, the eyes, the mouth, the eyebrows, the hair, the ears, the coloring, the complexion, the cheeks’ redness and vividness; on the spatial quality, sketching, brush strokes, paper, silk, and setting. In all respects, he did not spare words for the sake of explanation. The transmission of the method and the ideas beyond it together create the complete theory. I believe that there has never before been such a book. Students ought to adapt themselves to this method if they are to understand the art of portraiture. Let us eradicate the bad habit of handing down the skills of coarse masters. From the above written instruction, we can get a glimpse of the secrets that have not been unlocked since the ancient times of the Great Yu (Tang Yu), and the Three Epochs.60 After all, benevolent men and dutiful sons have always developed in their minds respect toward their ancestors, unknowingly and smoothly. Therefore, what this book is about is goodness, not shallowness. It is by no means only about learning the art of portraiture!

Ding Hezhou had a son named Yicheng, style name Yimen, who had inherited his father’s profession and talents and was also capable of making excellent portraits. Applicants came from all directions, and from distances as far as many dozens of miles. When somebody’s concubine fell ill, he promised to paint her likeness. In ten days, Yimen had to change it almost seven times. Whenever the concubine saw it, she and everyone else said that the portrait was not like her. But when Yimen himself reviewed the painting, it resembled her very much. The following day, he did not copy her appearance, but just painted an unsurpassed beauty. Then the concubine said, all smiles, “Now it looks like me!” Master Ding really understands how people’s minds work. Yimen is a good chess player. His calligraphy follows in the vein of Dong Xiangguang.61 Now and then, he composes a poem that is of the utmost refinement and elegance. He wrote Sequel to Portraiture and the Mind, in four

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chapters, in which he discusses in great detail the techniques of brush strokes and the methods of coloring. Even those who cannot paint will be able to make portraits, once they have read it.62 Ren Shili,63 style name Hanxiu, is a friend of Yimen. He studied his method, and has been imitating it for twenty years. His paintings match Ding’s principles. His character is noble and brave. He plays the zither (qin) well and composes fashionable songs. Then there is a certain Jiang Wenbo, who paints from life and is second in this only to Yimen. Wu Zhuo from Haizhou, whose style name is Junsan, also paints from life; he is good in landscapes and fictional figures as well. They all have the ability to make portraits. However, if the technique of portraiture becomes artsy-craftsy, then it is not a portrait, since it lacks the theoretical discourse. Yimen’s apprentice Tu Dong lives in the Little Qinhuai quarter. He has to portray all the courtesans who keep pestering him. He has made no fewer than one hundred pictures of them. Those artists who are nearsighted often wear glasses, and others’ faces must seem different to them. Although Tu Dong is nearsighted, he does not wear glasses, but in spite of that, his portraits resemble their subjects. He is skilled and masterly. Another friend of Yimen’s is Liang Shiwu. He excels in paintings of flowers and birds, but he is also above average in painting from live models.

Courtesans Only one section of Li Dou’s extensive records of courtesans has been translated here. The entries about them are found in the chapter about the Little Qinhuai quarter, named after the well-known entertainment quarter in Nanjing. Li Dou also mentioned the several nunneries that were located in Little Qinhuai, implying that this quarter was primarily inhabited by women who were unmarried, lacked a proper family, and made their own living, following either the spiritual or the carnal path. [9/36] There was a young gentleman of handsome appearance who traveled to Huainan, provided by his family with a capital of ten thousand qian. First he went to Suzhou and Jiangning (Nanjing), then he took up residence in the Little Qinhuai quarter. He became acquainted with a great many charming beauties from both the north and south banks of the Great River, but he did not know those from the secluded women’s quarters in the crooked

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lanes, who were village prostitutes. So it went for one year, and the capital he had brought with him gradually dwindled. His kin were powerful and influential, and they knew that he was drift ing around, so they fabricated a ruse to lure him home. Thereafter he never traveled to Jiangnan again. But he was the talk of all the courtesans for a long time indeed! There was a certain Fang, nicknamed Zhang the Immortal (Zhangxian). He was a singing teacher in the brothels. Right on the Mid-Autumn festival, the courtesans made offerings to the moon, and on this occasion invited Fang to drink wine with them. “I have been here for thirty years now,” Fang told the courtesans, “at first I could distinguish your voices, but now I can distinguish even your silhouettes!” The courtesans wanted to test him. So, while he stayed behind the paper window, he had to recognize the courtesans by their silhouettes. Each time one of them passed by, he said loudly, this is so and so. He did not miss out on any one of them. One of them tried to mislead him, but he said, from behind the window, “No!” After a while, one took the place of another, but again he was not mistaken. This went on for a long time. Then, as one courtesan was passing, a man followed behind. He had a long neck and long limbs, and his queue hung down to the floor. Behind him followed another figure, one zhang tall, with a craggy face, naked and barefoot. It clenched its fists and began beating the other person. Fang was greatly perplexed and stepped out of the window, sweating heavily. It was already past midnight, and there was no other man in the house. The courtesans asked what had happened. He told them, and asked which one of them had got married. They explained that Silver had. When Silver heard this, she hid her tears. “A few years ago, a gentleman in secret gave five thousand to my mother,”64 she said. “They drew up a contract by which he bought me as a concubine. At the time, I had been pregnant for two months, but his relatives sent for him to return home. He told me, ‘Wait for me three years and if I have not showed up by then, do as you like. However you must not harm the child in your belly. If you are to harm him, you can be sure that I will haunt you when I die.’ The three years have not yet passed, but I have broken the vow. What you saw tonight must have been the master.” Everyone consoled her, and soon thereafter they dispersed. Just a few weeks later, Silver coughed up blood and died. [9/37] Miss Pearl’s (Zhenzhuniang) family name was Zhu. Having mastered singing at twelve, she was adopted as a daughter by the music teacher Wu

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Siying. She got infected with tuberculosis, and whenever she combed her hair, it fell like willow leaves in the autumn wind. Looking at herself in the mirror depressed her spirits; and she would often sigh deeply and pity herself. The poet Huang Zhongze of Yanghu described her situation whenever he came to see me, and together we shed tears. The beautiful woman faded away, and the famous scholar reached an impasse. Both of them devoted themselves to literature65 and wept in unison. Later on, she succumbed to her disease, at the age of thirty-eight. Some years later, Huang Zhongze died on a trip to Jiangzhou; he too was thirty-eight.66 [9/38] In the seventh year of Qianlong (1742), Lady Chen (Chen shi), the late wife of Tan Yue, was awarded an honorary title for her chastity, and a memorial was built to her on the Fourth Watchtower (Siditai). It was called the Chastity Memorial Arch (Zhenjie paifang). Next to it, by the river, stood a small dwelling. There used to live a matron who was bringing up a daughter.67 By the time she was twelve, the girl knew how to read. One day, they happened to pass under the arch, when the girl looked up at the carved text and recited it correctly. She ran away soon thereafter, nobody knew whereto. [9/39] At the wall opposite Chastity Memorial Arch, polygonum68 climbed up. Its flowers had two colors, red and white, but they were so entangled that they formed one entity. On moonlit nights, the spirit [of this plant] used to turn into a small boy who slowly climbed down. He hid away when he saw anyone. Sometimes, he changed into an old man who wandered the streets. People called him Old Man Polygonum.69 Afterward, they dug up the soil and got the root of the red and white polygonum. It was as big as a chinquapin nut. Since then, the spirit has not been seen on moonlit nights. [9/40] Little Xinghua’s family name was Li (Li Xinghua), and she was very comely. Her figure was plump, she had soft bones, and her jet-black hair was arranged in a chignon. Her feet were very small, measuring less than three cun. You watched her standing there, wondering whether she was hovering in the clouds.

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[9/41] Nothing is known about the background of Miss Tang the Second (Tang Erguan). She had a perfect figure and was very seductive. She could tell jokes most adroitly. I do not know how she ended. [9/42] Miss Qian the Third (Qian Sanguan) was from Yangzhou. She was not exactly pretty, but had an unusual character. One son from a noble family fell in love with her, forgetting day and night. She nonetheless reprimanded him, saying that he should marry soon, control his emotions, and manage his duties. The lord accepted her advice. With all his energy, he started a business. It became a great success and he became very rich. [9/43] Little Treasure Yang (Yang Xiaobao) was from Suzhou, but she was bought as a daughter by a man from Yangzhou. Hence everybody nicknamed her Yangbang.70 She was unsurpassed in her beauty. When she sang, her voice equaled that of Zhu Yedong.71 She also recognized the noble qualities of master Huang Junxing, long before he became established. [9/44] Gao the Second (Gao Er) and Gao the Third (Gao San) were from Yangzhou and Yizheng, respectively. Gao the Second, although elegant and voluptuous, was nevertheless somewhat older than Gao the Third, whose comportment was so sophisticated that upon seeing her, one would never have guessed that she had learned the trade. She was intimate with Chen So-and-So (Chen mou). He went to the Capital, but returned without having succeeded in the examinations. After one year passed, Gao the Third gave him three hundred gold coins. Not long afterward, she fell ill and lost her good looks. Her greatest wish was to see Chen once again. When he arrived, she tearfully said, “We have been friends for ten years, but I shall die without seeing you ranked first in the examinations.” It was so beautiful and moving. Then, she died.

General Shi Kefa’s Tomb and Shrine When the Qing invaders reached Jiangnan, in 1645, they met with fierce resistance. Under siege, military commander Shi Kefa refused to capitulate. After his troops were defeated and Shi Kefa had taken his own life, the Qing

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troops committed atrocities upon the population of Yangzhou. This was the so-called “Yangzhou massacre” as described, for example, by a survivor, Wang Xiuchu, in his “Ten Days at Yangzhou” (Yangzhou shi ri ji). Over a century later, the Qianlong Emperor decided to reward Shi Kefa’s loyalty to the Ming dynasty, and had a shrine erected for him in Yangzhou. However, the memory of the legendary general was apparently still a rather sensitive subject that Li Dou sought to evade. He starts off by describing the shrine, and then shifts to the safe and politically unproblematic subject of antiquarianism.72 [3/73] Grand Secretary Shi’s (Shi gebu) tomb is located to the right of the Jade Clarity Temple (Yuqinggong), just in front of old Plum Blossom Hill. Only the hat and the clothes of the Ming general are buried there. A shrine was erected next to the tomb in the renchen year of the Qianlong era (1772). The path that leads up to his tomb follows the river, and the shrine is right next to the path, with the entrance facing the river. This entrance leads into the main hall that comprises five bays. Inside, a portrait73 of the late general and a memorial plaque for him are there to be revered. A letter to his family, written by Shi Kefa on the twenty-first day of the fourth lunar month, and his reply to Prince Rui’s (Rui qinwang) letter74 are carved on stone tablets and displayed on the walls. Also on exhibit are a heptasyllabic poem, and a record by the Emperor, the matching poems by the Grand Secretaries Yu Minzhong and Liang Guozhi; Ministers Peng Yuanrui, Dong Gao, and Liu Yong; the Vice Ministers Jin Shisong and Shen Chu; and Hanlin Academician Chen Xiaoyong. The colophons accompanying the late general’s portrait, composed by Hu Xianzheng, Qin Songling, Gu Zhenguan, Jiang Zhaoxiong, Wang Qi, Wang Gai, and Gu Caige, are also shown on the walls. The portrait, torn at the top, was discovered by Hanlin Academician Jiang Shiquan75 back in the guiwei year (1763) among secondhand books at Liulichang,76 bound together with two letters in Shi Kefa’s hand. He bought them and brought them home. On the next day, Vice Minister Wang Chengpei asked to see them. They had the family letter and the colophons mounted above the portrait. In 1772, Peng Yuanrui was Inspector of Education at Jiangnan, and Jiang Shiquan was lecturing at Anding Academy (Anding shuyuan) in Yangzhou. At that time, the Biographies of Meritorious Princes and Ministers (Zongshi wanggong gongji biaozhuan) were being compiled at

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court, and among the materials collected, the Emperor saw Prince Rui’s letter to Shi Kefa, in which he reprimanded Shi for his error in disturbing the peace, citing analogies from the Spring-and-Autumn period. A search was made for Shi Kefa’s reply, but it could not be found. Eventually, it was discovered in the archives of the Grand Secretariat. The Emperor made a record of this chronology of events. Peng Yuanrui presented the family letter and the portrait acquired by Jiang Shiquan to the Emperor. The Emperor issued an edict ordering Shi Kefa’s tomb to be repaired and a shrine to be built at the foot of Plum Blossom Hill. The inscription at the entrance reads, “We commend and console the spirit of him who died for loyalty.”

Literati Gatherings The social life of the elite was epitomized in literati gatherings, which emulated the gatherings of famous scholars and poets of the past, such as the gathering at the Orchid Pavilion, organized by Wang Xizhi in 343, as immortalized in the famous essay “Preface to the Orchid Pavilion Collection” (Lanting ji xu). The famous gatherings of the past were the benchmark to be matched, if not surpassed. [8/6] The most splendid poetry gatherings in Yangzhou took place at the Ma family’s Little Exquisite Mountain Lodge (Xiao Linglong shanguan), at the Cheng family’s Dwarf-Bamboo Garden (Xiaoyuan), and at the Zheng family’s Garden of Rest (Xiuyuan). Before the gatherings, desks were placed all over the garden, with two brushes, an ink stick, an ink stone, a water dropper, four sheets of paper, a copy of the Poetic Rhymes (Shiyun) handbook,77 a teapot and a tea bowl, a box with fruit, and a box with refreshments on each desk. Once the poems had been composed, they were sent off to be carved. Three days were sufficient to have them revised and recarved, and by the next day, they were being distributed all over the town. At each gathering, exquisite and fine liquors and delicacies were served, and the whole day was devoted, above all, to collaborative poetry writing. Guests were invited to listen to songs inside a very old pavilion covered with green tiles, in four shades. Four old musicians were selected. With neither teeth nor hair, they may have been eighty or even ninety! Each of them sang one song and then retired. In the very next moment, the order was given to remove the screen at the back. Behind the screen, there were two tall structures, lit by a thousand red lanterns and featuring an orchestra of

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young musicians, both male and female, all of whom were at the wonderful age of around sixteen years. I heard one participant, Li Zhounan,78 say that during poetic competitions, half-an-inch square ivory tiles inscribed with individual characters were distributed among the participants so that each got between several dozen and over one hundred character tiles. They then had to arrange them so as to turn them into regular verses, something that required great skill. This practice was most popular at the Quiescence and Dwarf-Bamboo Gardens. The verses that have recently gained wide circulation include the following most exciting ones: The rowing boat, I’m afraid, is gone with the wind; The towers and terraces seem to have been created before us from a breath. —by Zhang Sike79 It’s raining outside, someone tells a ghost story, then the lamp goes out; In a tavern, they just discuss avenging swordsmen, when there is a sudden scream. —by Monk Yaogen80 Watching the river flow by makes me remember those who were demoted and banished; Gazing at the sunset, I am touched by the spirits of short-lived beauties. —by Huang Beicha81 The leaves were falling, when we parted in a deserted street. The lotus is fading, damming half the lake. —by Wang Rongfu82

An Excursion on a Pleasure Boat In the following section, the author describes an outing on Slender West Lake (Shou Xihu), in which he had taken part. To describe the event, he employed an essay that he had earlier written about the outing. It is one of the few occasions in the book when the author himself steps forward and offers his personal remarks. Thus, the section is not only interesting for its direct reference to pleasure boats (lending the book its title), but also as a rare moment when we hear the author’s own voice. The atmosphere of the described gathering is less formal and more relaxed than in the previous excerpt. The guests are not involved in any poetry competitions, but in activities such as telling

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anecdotes about otherworldly occurrences. In this account, one point is repeatedly emphasized that is crucial to the classic, early accounts: the idea of harmony in diversity. [12/11]83 The most scenic part of the Jiang Family84 Garden (Jiangyuan) lies behind the Hall of Delight (Yixingtang). I once took a trip there and wrote a record of it. It is appended hereafter as follows: A friend invited me to take a ride on the lake, on the sixth day of the seventh month, in the xinmao year (1771), after the jisi double-hour (9 to 11 a.m.). We took along a jug of liquor, five pecks of rice, a tripod stove, twenty-six lanterns, a portable chess set, and a flute, all of which were transported by two pole carriers. All in all, including the boat staff and the guests, there were twenty-two people in the boat. While the boat floated on the stream, some of us were seated and leaning against the railing, some bent over it watching the water flow by, some sipped tea, and some played chess while others watched them with interest. One man was painting a scene with his fingertip for another, but his technique, regrettably, was lacking. Another one sighed in bewilderment, pulling his beard. One man moaned to another that he had lost his chess game due to the advice from onlookers. Therefore, as soon as the game was over, they played another one: the outcome was reversed, so they battled again and again. Still others took their shoes off, some sang, and some composed verses to a set poetic form. One man looked behind pointing out something, while the gaze of one who sat next to him followed. Some were calling out to the passengers on other boats. Everyone kept changing seats, from here to there all across the boat, abandoning their seats before they could warm up. In due course, the boat pulled into Green Willow Bay (Lüyangwan) where it made a stop. We found a picnic site and started preparing the food. When we  had finished the meal, the host, distressed by the hubbub, forbade any more chess games, and we did not sail any further. We all sat together inside the Gazebo of Implied Emptiness (Hanxuge) and each of us told a story. The more relaxed our minds were, the more pointed our words became. Chatting casually, we came up with all kinds of strange tales and accounts from the Tang and Song dynasties. From an elder with grizzled hair up to a dazzlingwhite youngster, each man should be up to his words, and his words should be up to his deeds. There were also parables and tales about immortals and demons, entering a realm for which there is no evidence. What a brilliant variety there was!

Depictions of Life in Yangzhou in Li Dou’s The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou Somebody would point to a piece of land and say with agitation: “Once upon a time, such and such event happened there, I have heard it from my ancestors.” Or, “It was at this village and, well, I witnessed it as a child. . . .” Strange tales and incredible anecdotes were brought up, intricate and petty, entangled like threads, or straightforward like the teeth of a comb. As soon as something wondrous was mentioned, the listeners were astounded, and when something unheard-of was told, the listeners were all enraptured. There were trifles from songs to jokes, as well as Buddhist chanting and exorcists’ incantations. It was like retrieving the most precious treasure, like reading an extra-mundane book. Hardly did we notice that the long day was coming to an end. As the sky turned red and a haze fell on the landscape, we were still drinking inside the gazebo, with three rounds of drinks already gone by. Some played finger games, some poured a cup for themselves, some sang, some ate—everyone did whatever he felt like doing. Then the rowing boat was cleaving the waves from which mist was rising. The liquor was sweet and our ears turned hot, the flute played incessantly, and Herd Boy85 looked down upon us and we looked up to him. Autumn flowers on both banks, I feel sorrow at their fading colors. Clouds of sunset cover the land, The Milky Way scattered thin. Fragrant grass and fireflies, Their brightness reflects on us. The lament of crickets settles on the trees, They sob and sing all night. The growing moon has no strength, But her illusive transformation radiates into the deep waters. The night is still and the mountains are empty, The small boat is much the same. Lanterns glitter, Water chestnut and creeping plants are swaying. Bamboo is creaking and birds fly away, Dawn is urged to show its light. When at long last the monastery bell rang, everyone on the boat felt disconsolate about leaving this place. What night was this? Ever since ancient times, it is called the Seventh Night.86 The boat returned to Shining Clouds in the Bright Sky Tower (Tianguang yunyinglou), where we all slept. When the Seventh Night was over, the eighth day came and we climbed Shining Clouds

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A Ghost Story In the above item, everyone seems to enjoy tales, especially tales of the strange and mysterious. In the eighteenth century, this genre flourished and two major collections of such tales were written, What the Master Would Not Discuss (Zi bu yu) by Yuan Mei (1716–1797), and Random Jottings from the Cottage of Close Scrutiny (Yuewei caotang biji, 1789–1798) by Ji Yun (1724– 1805). The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou includes a number of such tales—one was included among the excerpts about courtesans (see above, 9/36). The apparitions were neither questioned nor doubted, but recorded as fact inseparable from the place described or the person introduced.87 [3/5] The Sensors of Hearing Cottage (Wenjiao‘an) used to be the timber merchants’ guild, and provided lodging for travelers. Once there was a patron who was a fortune-teller, and fond of drinking. Then there was old man Wang (Wang sou), also fond of drinking. The two became good friends. Every evening, they went to the market together to quench their thirst. So it went for a long time, until Wang told the fortune-teller, “I possess a secret power. I can tell the time of other people’s death. I shall tell you and you will predict it.” On this account, the fortune-teller was able to determine the day of someone’s death, and the local people considered his ability divine. Again, this went on for a long time, until the old man said, “On such and such day, I shall part from you. After my death, your wife may act as my host.” It did not take long before the old man indeed died. On that very night, a voice was heard from the belly of the fortune-teller’s wife. The voice spoke the old man’s words, and predicted when a person would die, just as before. Now, the fortune-teller’s magic indeed turned divine. From then on, however, the fortune-teller’s wife would not sleep with him anymore.88

Depictions of Life in Yangzhou in Li Dou’s The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou

Huang Wenyang Huang Wenyang (1736–after 1804) was a native of Ganquan, Yangzhou Prefecture, holder of the Tribute Student (gongsheng) degree. His collection of poetry, titled Poems from the Hut at Filth-Sweeping Hill (Saogou shanfang shichao), is extant. During the Qianlong Inquisition, he served as the director of a temporary Office of Theatre (Ciquju), and together with a small team of specialists compiled The Sea of Drama (Quhai), comprising the plot summaries of 1,013 plays, along with short notes on their authors and sources. The project took four years, and was completed in 1781. Regretfully, only the table of contents of this invaluable compendium survived in Chapter 5 of The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou. The following account reveals the special relationship Li Dou had with Huang Wenyang and his family. [9/78]89 Outstanding Talent (xiucai)90 Huang Wenyang, style Shiruo, studio name Qiuping, “Autumn Peace,” lives at Zenith Mound (Tianxindun).91 He composes poems and song lyrics, and old-style essays. He has collected hundreds of old coins dating from antiquity through the present time. In his Encyclopedia of Old and New (Gujin tongkao), in six chapters, he drew a picture of every single item and commented on it. He was able to identify the “Anyang Pingyang” as a coin from the Warring States period, and the “coin in reminiscence of the Divine Farmer” (shi Shennong qian) as a character inversion. All his commentaries are excellent and detailed. He also made a record of variety plays (zaju) and farce skits (yuanben) since the Yuan and Jin dynasties. He compiled them into an annotated cata logue entitled The Sea of Drama, in several volumes. Moreover, he wrote The Collectanea of the Hidden and the Strange (Yinguai congshu) in twelve volumes and Collected Works of a Subaltern Official (Bingguan ji) in several volumes. He is fond of bottle gourds and grows them everywhere, by the gate, at the walls of the inner yard and of the toilet—in all sizes and shapes. He ties them onto a rope so they look like a string of pearls. He also painted images of numerous gourds on the walls inside the house, and wrote A Catalogue of Bottle Gourds (Hulu pu). He perfectly understands how to maintain the equilibrium of yin and yang. Nothing compares to the sugar he produces, and to the chrysanthemum he grows. His wife Zhang Jingyin, called Yin, is a poet and painter. She wrote the Collection of a Refined and Talented Lady (Shuhua ji). His son Huang Wujia,

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called Jin, acquired the technique of composing Tang-style quatrains. They are, for sure, the number-one “family of able poets” in Northern Jiangsu. Besides, Huang Wenyang also wrote An Introduction to General History (Tongshi fafan) in thirty volumes.

The Girls’ Troupe In the heyday of Yangzhou culture, when the Qianlong Emperor repeatedly visited the city, some twenty or thirty theatrical troupes, official and private, were active. Li Dou’s account of a girls’ troupe of actors stands out for the fact that women actually were not supposed to appear on stage. It referred to the current state of the girls’ troupe, their acting skills and individual qualities as discussed from the point of view of a playwright who must have been personally acquainted with them.92 Judging from, for example, the section about the actress named Affluence, one is tempted to assume that he may have been one of the girls’ teachers of singing. As to the social standing of the young actresses, the remarks made about Third Delight and Little Fish seem to indicate that some of them had been recruited from brothels. Regrettably, the text does not say anything about the places at which they performed, or about how long the troupe was active. [9/48] On the Fift h Watchtower (Wuditai), there is the Little Qinhuai Teahouse (Xiao Qinhuai chasi). Enter the gate and follow ten or more steps winding down to a small building, three bays wide. Next to it stands a two-baywide pavilion, and a rockery with pointed peaks made of yellow stones, on which a dozen or so old trees grow. Further below is an open-air enclosure with tables and seats of stone, in front of which a square kiosk has been built. To the left of the kiosk there is a river house of four rooms. For a very long time, it has been called Beautiful Piece of Writing (Jiagou). Renamed as Eastern Fence (Dongli), it has recently been turned into a guesthouse. The people who stay there are the idle connoisseurs who like to comment on the acting technique of the girls’ troupe, and the brothel mothers [who raised the young actresses and] who come to visit them. [9/49] Auntie Gu (Gu ayi) from Wumen (Suzhou) has girls trained in Kunqu opera (Kunqiang), and has established the Double Clarity Troupe (Shuang-

Depictions of Life in Yangzhou in Li Dou’s The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou

qingban). She employs teachers to instruct them. In the beginning, she and her troupe stayed at the Little Qinhuai Guesthouse, later on, they moved to Peony Alley (Shaoyaoxiang). Delight (Xiguan), the leading actress of this troupe, performs the scene “Pursuing the Dream” (Xun meng), emulating Jin Dehui’s mode of singing.93 Jade (Yuguan) plays the young man’s role (xiaosheng). Indeed, she has a male appearance. Clever (Qiaoguan) has beautiful, delicate eyes. She is widely read. She plays the role of the young official (shamao xiaosheng), and makes the palace boots for onstage all by herself. She is magnanimous in character. Little Jade (Xiaoyu) is Delight’s younger sister. Delight plays the role of Cui Yingying and Little Jade accompanies her in the role of Hongniang. Or, Delight plays the role of Du Liniang, while Little Jade accompanies her in the role of Chunxiang.94 They are appreciative of each other. Golden (Jinguan) has a proud and arrogant personality. Among the troupe, she is nicknamed the Bellicose Cricket (Douchong) and is given the roles of quarrelling and cursing characters. She seems to have been made by superhuman craftsmanship. Doggie Xu (Xu Gou) is graceful and sophisticated. Her thin figure is as if carved from jade. She eats and drinks very little. When she sits in the dressing room, it is as if she were chastely hidden deep inside the women quarters. But as soon as she appears on stage, quite unexpectedly, she turns into a flashy young lady from a wealthy family. Third Delight (Sanxi) is a dignified person. But once she had an affair with a stranger surnamed Xi, she began to knit her brows and to have wrinkles on her forehead, and her technique onstage deteriorated. Beauty Gu (Gu Mei) is Auntie Gu’s daughter, and therefore places herself above the others. They yield to her in the troupe, but also keep her at a distance. Second (Erguan) plays Zhao Wuniang.95 All through her life, she had “to chew ginger and swallow vinegar,”96 but her manners are nonetheless cordial. Delight Pang (Pang Xi) plays the role of the matron (laodan). She hangs her head and looks as gloomy as a crane standing in the rain. Little Fish (Yuzi) is only twelve years old; she plays the clown role (chou). Her body and face are agile, and due to her flexibility, she always finds engagements for herself.

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Jade Ji (Ji Yu) entered the realm of love and romance when she was eleven. Despite her young age, she understands what it’s all about. Elegance (Xiuguan) has a graceful personality, her conduct is correct and emotionless. She often acts parts in stories about chaste women. When she has nothing to do, she hides her hands in her sleeves, walks in composed steps, and seems to be scrutinizing everything, with an overbearing air. Affluence (Kangguan) was not very bright when young. She was always tearful and disorderly, but her voice was exceptionally clear. It is enough to teach her a song only once. When she sang “Foolish Complaint” (Chi su) and “A Drop of Perfume” (Dian xiang),97 the whole audience was sighing with ecstasy as soon as she appeared on stage. Gu Jie, a blind woman, sold her daughter to this troupe on the condition that she would play the blind girl in “Foolish Complaint,” at Affluence’s side. Their attitude in this scene was absolutely divine, as if they truly felt the mutual love of mother and child. In general estimate, it was one of the finest performances ever in the business. Ninth (Shenguan) and Tenth (Youbao)98 are sworn sisters who play in Double Desire for the Profane World (Shuang si fan).99 Blackie (Heizi) plays the Girl with the Red Silk Ribbon (Hongxiao nü), and Sixth plays Li Sanniang.100 These were the top actresses in the troupe. The choir at the backstage is one of boy singers. Fourth (Siguan) beats the gong, but he can also perform warrior roles. He is best when he performs “Making a Scene in the Village” (Nao zhuang) and “Saving a Lady” (Jiu qing).101 Besides, his laughing resembles that of Fan Songnian.102 Xu Shunlong, a son of the teacher, sometimes performs with this troupe, playing the female lead role. He sings together with Jade in “Farewell at Nanpu” (Nanpu zhubie).103 People call them “the reversed couple.” This troupe comprises eighteen actresses, five musicians, two teachers, one actor of female roles, and four men in charge of the props. These constitute the troupe. In the Collection of Oubei (Oubei ji), by Zhao Yunsong,104 there is a verse about this troupe: One single night, with a green goblet in his hand, He’s reunited with her, One hundred years, with rouge powder on her face, She performs for him.

Depictions of Life in Yangzhou in Li Dou’s The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou

Storytellers In the eighteenth century, Yangzhou was a flourishing center of storytelling. The prevailing style was the spoken genre of pinghua, which continues to be performed today. Unlike Kunqu opera, which has also survived, but was the amusement of the elite, storytelling primarily addressed an audience of commoners. Li Dou jotted down quite a lot of valuable material on storytelling, approaching it in various ways. For instance, he described a special auditorium for storytellers’ per formances.105 The excerpts selected below focus on three celebrated storytellers. [9/52] Pu Lin’s informal name was Tianyu (Celestial Jade). His right hand was shorter and twisted, so he was nicknamed Peizi (Puncher). When he lost his parents as a child, he started begging in town and sleeping at the almshouse. When he had grown up, a woman from the neighborhood wanted to find him a wife. Puncher was terrified, but she told him he had nothing to fear. She inquired about the name of the bride who henceforth would be his beautiful wife. One day, she told him that the wedding date and place had been fi xed, but he thought it was just a hoax. On the wedding day he was nowhere to be found. The matchmaker was very anxious. She had to use all kinds of tricks to get him around. Finding the place crowded with people and the air scented he had no other choice but to get married. From then on, he stopped begging and began to work as a street sweeper. One year passed. An old woman who ran a teahouse on the southern side of Angling Bridge (Diaoqiao) asked him to assist at the gambling. Once he had the business up and running, he always won. From then on, he eventually started accumulating some money of his own and rented a room at the Fifth Watchtower, near the old woman’s place. The old woman had a nephew who did storytelling (pinghua) as a profession. He practiced at her house every day. For an extended period of time, Puncher’s ears were immersed in what he heard. Storytelling, he thought, was not difficult to learn, but he did not like the topics that were familiar to all. So he created a story of his own based on a true incident. He renamed the main character Rogue Fift h (Pi Wu) and the setting as Clear Wind Sluice (Qingfengzha).106 He composed the story in moments of inspiration, trained his voice, and consolidated his rhetorical style. He carefully worked on it for some time. It was about a young girl who had recently

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committed suicide. He told this story in a furious tone. The audience was laughing merrily and without end.107 Puncher thus became a master of his art. He was quite corpulent, used to spit a lot and, above anything else, he loved to sleep. Furthermore, he was good at telling jokes and vocal mimicry. He often made fun of moral rules and admonitions. His primary intention was to be humorous. In old age, he loved to do good and was committed to philanthropy. There is a biography of him by Jin Zongting.108 [11/19] When Wu Tianxu told the Three Kingdoms (Sanguo) episode “Zhang Yide Holds the River by Razing the Bridge” (Zhang Yide ju shui duan qiao),109 at first, he was getting ready to shout at any time, and everyone was all ears. But he would open his mouth, roll his eyes, gesture with his hands, and still utter not a single sound. Even so, in the hall packed with listeners, everyone had the impression that an earthshaking tempest was taking place. He once commented on this to someone saying, “How could one ever master the voice of Marquis Huan (Huan hou)!110 Getting a grip on the role means that instead of producing the sound with my mouth, I make it spring from everybody’s heart. Only thus can I achieve a passable resemblance.” Although storytelling is a minor art form, Wu Tianxu pushed it to the limit. This was not accidental! [11/20] Big Song (Da Song) and Little Song (Xiao Song) were brothers, originally from an honorable Zhejiang family. Having fallen into extreme hardship, they became storytellers at Rainbow Bridge. Big Song played the round lute (yueqin), while little Song accompanied him with the wooden clapper (tanban). They sang on pleasure boats, thus earning their livelihood. After one year, Little Song died of malnutrition. Big Song was nineteen at the time. He started playing the tunes of Yan and Zhao, for which he became quite popular. He once traveled to the Capital, among the entourage of an eminent official, who took him on a hunting tour. When they stayed in tents, after the hunt, everybody started drinking, and they ordered Song to produce the voice of a warrior who first kills a tiger in the mountains, and then shoots an eagle on the plain. His impromptu work for some time became known as the “Ballad from the Frontier” (Jinshao qu). But he also composed the ballad “Longing for Jiangnan” (Wang Jiangnan), which was so plaintive and grieving that a woman neighbor died by morning, after having listened to it. When they

Depictions of Life in Yangzhou in Li Dou’s The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou

passed through the mountainous Donga region,111 and his fellow travelers were about to lose courage, Big Song sat crossed-legged in his chariot and recited the song “Thinking of Home” (Si gui). Everybody present shed tears like raindrops. In old age, he lived in seclusion. I don’t know how he ended.

Widow Chastity Among the topics that seemed extremely popular at the time were filial piety and, closely related, female chastity. In the Confucian society, wives were supposed to have only one husband in a lifetime, and never remarry; a woman could only legally be married once as a proper wife (qi). A childless young widow became nothing but a burden to her in-laws, this was one reason why she would rather decide to kill herself. Or, she did so in order to avoid another union she may have been forced into, as in a story below. Such a suicide was considered an act of the highest virtue, and if subsequently the government recognized her as a “chaste” widow and posthumously granted her that title, it in fact brought a great honor to the bereaved family. For this reason, relatives would have allegedly pressed the desolate one to take such a step, in hopes of attaining the honor after her death. In The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou, stories about female chastity are frequently recorded. The tragic lives of five distinguished widows are related in Chapter 16, which takes the readers far away from the walled town, up to the distant Shu Ridge. It may be noticed in passing that, in The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou, only two chapters (9 and 11) describe the downtown area; all the other chapters focus on sites outside the city walls. [16/41] The Tomb of the Five Chaste Ones (Wuliemu) lies on the Western Peak of Shu Ridge. Previously, there were just a couple of tombs, built by Vice Minister of the Court of State Ceremonial (honglusi cheng) Li Tianzuo, Grand Secretary (zhongshu) Wu Song1, and Department Vice Magistrate (zhoutong) Jiang Shidong in the forty-sixth year of Kangxi (1707), to revere two heroines—woman Chi (Chi lienü), and woman Huo (Huo lienü). Woman Chi came from a very poor family and lost her mother while still a child. When she came of age, her father married her off to Wu Tingwang, the eldest son of the Wu family. Tingwang joined the army and died in Yue (Guangdong). It was her father-in-law’s wish that she become the spouse of his second son. She learned about it, and when she heard that her father-inlaw had gone out, she hanged herself.

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Woman Huo was the ninth child of a commoner’s family. She served her family members with much fi lial piety. Then she was betrothed to one Li Zhengrong, but he died only ten days later. The woman then killed herself for this reason. The villagers buried them together. Hence, Education Supervisor and Companion for the Heir Apparent (duxue zhongyun) Yang Zhongne composed the following epitaph: On the Shu Ridge heights, at the side of Level with the Mountains (Pingshan), everything is quiet and green. When I look from the top to the west, I cannot but sigh, “Two virtuous women from our town have their tranquil abode here.” The twelft h year of Yongzheng (1734)

One year later, there was the case of the wife of Sun Dacheng, née Yi (Yi shi), who lived by Yellow Jade Bridge (Huangjueqiao). Even as a child, she was known for her fi lial piety. The first moment she came to Dacheng’s house, she realized that her mother-in-law and sister-in-law were indecent. One month later, she visited her own mother. Before taking leave, Yi gave her mother a white ribbon and said, “Your child must not disgrace her mother’s house.” On some other day, her sister-in-law and two other women were drinking with a customer. Desirous of improper things, the guest removed his clothes and harassed Yi. She locked the door, twisted a white string twice around her undergown and hanged herself. The next day, when her mother arrived, the sister-in-law distorted the truth saying that Yi had been disobedient, and took a suit to the district court. In addition, she involved Yi’s brother Zhenyuan, claiming that he had stolen some things in their house. The office accepted the suit, and had Zhenyuan flogged. As a matter of fact, one of the sister’s customers was a district clerk. But one neighbor knew that this was a made-up story about one who had been a pretty young woman, and also that injustice had been inflicted on Zhenyuan. He gave testimony at the prefectural court. Prefect Kong Yupu meted out justice and punished the sister-in-law along with her customer. Moreover, he had a tomb erected for Yi right next to the tomb of the two virtuous women. She was called Chaste Belle (Lie‘e). Song Jieshan wrote down her biography, and at the time, as many as eighty-five authors composed poems about her. Next, there was Xiang Qihu’s wife, née Cheng (Cheng shi). Her husband left for Guangxi for trading immediately after the wedding, and he died at Cenxi District.112 When the news arrived, one year later, she hanged herself.

Depictions of Life in Yangzhou in Li Dou’s The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou

This happened in the second year of Yongzheng (1724). The villagers buried her there, and the village elder Wang Yuanxi wrote the stele inscription, “The grave of the virtuous wife Xiang, née Cheng.”113 All these women received imperial recognition for their chastity, and the place became known as the Tomb of the Four Chaste Ones (Siliemu). Next to it, there used to be the tomb of the wife of Chen Guocai, née Zhou (Zhou shi), from Jiangning (Nanjing). Chen had moved to Jiangdu, but died at the age of twenty-six. Zhou yielded and did as was expected of her. She swallowed not even a single grain of rice or a spoonful of water, and after twenty days, she died. At the time, she was not listed with the other local virtuous women, because her husband hailed from Jiangning. But later, when Gong Jianxiang was in charge of Ganquan County, he requested imperial recognition for her. The epitaph was written by Ma Liben,114 while Wang Yinggeng115 rebuilt the Tomb of the Five Chaste Ones, adding three portraits to the original Two Martyrs’ Shrine, and renaming it the Shrine of the Five Chaste Ones (Wulieci). Education Supervisor Yang Zhongne and Ma Liben wrote the epitaphs, and the Magistrate of Ganquan, Gong Jianxiang, put them down in script. He added the date and had everything carved on a stone slab inserted into the wall of the shrine.

Mountain of Merit The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou mentions a great number of temples and other religious sites. However, while some mentions are short, giving just the basic information on an institution, others are quite extensive and provide facts about an institution’s history, layout, treasures, residents, and visitors. Since the text of the book introduces places by their location, the material on religious activities is not presented in any systematic way. One of the most fascinating items with regard to religious cults is the description of the annual pilgrimage to Guanyin Mountain, located north of the walled city.116 [16/2] Mountain of Merit (Gongdeshan), also known as Guanyin Mountain (Guanyinshan), is thirty-three zhang high. It lies in Dayi Village, at the eastern slope of Shu Ridge. Guanyin Monastery, also known as Guanyin Pavilion, was built on the peak. In the Chronicle of the Baoyou Reign (Baoyou zhi), published during the Song dynasty,117 it appears under the name Touching-the-Stars Monastery (Zhaixingsi), and in the Weiyang Gazetteer (Weiyang zhi), published in the Ming dynasty,118 it figures as “the ruins of the Touching-theStars Pavilion” (Zhaixingting). In the Topography Book for Visiting Places of

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Scenic Beauty (Fangyu shenglan)119 it is called Touching-the-Stars Tower (Zhaixinglou). In the Yuan, Monk Shenlü built the first monastery on this mountain, and in the Ming, Monk Huizheng founded the monastery, naming it Mountain of Merit, or Forest of Merit (Gongdelin). Later, Monk Shanlü built the front gate that bears the inscription “Forest of Clouds” (Yunlin), as written by Commissioner Yan Zhen. In our present dynasty, merchant Wang Yinggeng had the site renovated. After the dingchou year (1757),120 Cheng Dizan, a son of merchant Cheng Zhan, had additional renovations made. The Emperor presented two tablets inscribed “Forest of Merit” and “Heavenly Pond,” an inscription of the couplet “The clear water is clean and shiny, / The green mountain has the charm of old landscape paintings,” and four handsome characters, “Towering Peaks Are Masters,” written in the style of Wu Juyue’s calligraphic scroll. The Emperor’s inscriptions were all carved in stone and bestowed upon the monastery. [16/3] Mountain of Merit stretches out over several miles. The road from its southeastern edge connects with the Lotus Flower Pier, now Lotus Flower Bridge (Lianhuaqiao). The big road leading north from the town is today’s Guanyin Pilgrimage Road (Guanyin xianglu). On the gate to this road, there hangs a stone tablet with the inscription “Mountain of Merit.” Keep along the same road up to the building that is Longevity and Peace Monastery (Shou‘ansi) Teahouse. From there, the road continues straight uphill. It is called Guanyin Street (Guanyinjie), or Beggars’ Street (Huazijie). The markets take place on Guanyin’s Sacred Birthday, in the second, sixth, and ninth months. They are comparable with the great festivals at the various major and minor sacred mountains of Jiangnan, such as the Nine Glorious Mountains (Jiuhuashan) or Three Maos Mountain (Sanmaoshan).121 There are several routes that lead up the mountain. The eastbound one crosses the Bridge of Eternal Spring (Changchunqiao) by the Celestial Realm Monastery (Shangfangsi), and merges into the rising Guanyin Street. If southbound, it follows Rainbow Bridge Road outside Fixing-the-Huai Gate (Zhenhuaimen), passes by Sea-of-Dharma Bridge (Fahaiqiao), and merges into rising Guanyin Street at Lotus Flower Bridge. Westbound, it follows West Gate Street (Ximenjie) up to Twenty-four Bridge (Niansiqiao), and on the spirit road leading up to [Five] Heroes Shrine (Situmiao).122 It goes up, linking two of the Shu Ridge peaks—the West Peak and the Central Peak. Finally, there is Like-Water Pier (Ruoshui matou), on the east

Depictions of Life in Yangzhou in Li Dou’s The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou

bank of Nine Crooks Pond (Jiuquchi). The bank is paved, and a square timber wedge is built on it. It bears the inscription “Vulture Mountain Ridge over Clouds in the Depth” (Jiuling yunshen). [16/4] The scenery known as “Vulture Mountain Ridge over Clouds in the Depth” is above the slope. In order to get there, pass by the Roadside Pavilion (Guojieting) where you can “View the Wilderness from a Mountain Gazebo” (Shanting yetiao). Turn to the left and enter the fi rst gate to the Mountain of Merit. On the side of the gate, there stands a statue of the Earth God (Tudi).123 Pilgrims wash their hands there. From this gate, a paved way winds up to the main gate, where you will have a panoramic view toward the south. This is the place described in the Topography Book for Visiting Places of Scenic Beauty as “the view of the entire region between the Yangzi in the south and the Huai in the north. In one panoramic view, you can see it all.” Inside the gate, there are two golden statues, both one zhang and eight chi high,124 one on each side. The central way is paved with decorative bricks. Turn to the left and up above there is the second gate. Inside there are statues of Vajrapani, Maitreya, and Weituo.125 In the courtyard behind the hall stands an iron tripod for burning incense. At each celebration of the birthday of Guanyin the bright light of the flames in the tripod shines over thirty li. The main hall is five bays wide. On the altar in the middle there is the goddess Guanyin, seated on a rocky islet, with the Dragon Girl (Longnü) as the attendant on her left, and the boy Sudhana (Shancai) as the attendant on her right. Above them hangs a canopy spliced with strings of pure pearls, combined with corals. This then is the statue of Guanyin crafted on Jiang Mountain (Jiangshan)126 at the Holy Water of Eight Merits (Ba gongde shui).127 At the walls to both sides, eighteen Arhats are seated in two rows. On the back wall, there is a painted mural of the story about the boy Sudhana’s fift y-three visits to famous Buddhist masters.128 Still further back stands the Shrine of Ksitigarbha (Dizang).129 His statue was also made by the Holy Water of Eight Merits workshop on Jiang Mountain. On the side, there is a hall where the ten kings of Hell are given offerings. Their statues stand there in two rows. To the left of this hall, there is a smaller one, three bays wide. This is the Hall of Plentiful Sons (Baizitang). Outside the main gate, on the right side, there are a side entrance and a platform, in the middle of which a governmental pavilion130 has been built. There is also a square pond. The zigzag-shaped small building next to the pond is where the

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Emperor’s inscription “Heavenly Pond” is presented. In the right wing of the main hall there is a side gate, from where a trail leads down the hill to Moon above the Water and Pine Breeze Bridge (Songfeng shuiyueqiao). [16/5] According to local custom, the celebrations of Guanyin’s Sacred Birthday take place on the nineteenth day of the second, the sixth, and the ninth months. The pilgrimage societies flourish in the surrounding villages. The shopping streets and lanes downtown are the second busiest area. People gather on the day before the festival, welcome the palanquin, fast, and pray. For this time, they have kept in storage sandalwood and other incense, which they put into linen bags with the words “going on pilgrimage to the mountain” written on them. The sight of the worshippers walking with measured steps, under flags, parasols, canopies, and lanterns, is most splendid. The local people, dressed in drab clothes, with their hair loose and their feet bare, hold wooden trays with burning incense on them. Each step they take is accompanied by a bow. They sing hymns about going up to the mountain, their voices mournful and decorous. These people are called “pilgrims.” The best view of this spectacle is on Guanyin Street, leading from Lotus Flower Bridge north, up the mountain. On both sides, there are crowds of beggars, therefore, it is also called Beggars’ Street. Along this street, basins with water are provided for the pilgrims to wash their hands. This act is called “purification.” Those who go up the mountain on the night of the eighteenth day are referred to as the “night pilgrims,” and those who go up the mountain in daylight are called the “first pilgrims.” Those who join rituals on ordinary days are called the “incense fi re pilgrims,”131 but those who come during the festival are called the “procession guard pilgrims.” As soon as the procession guard arrives, the sound of gongs shakes the sky. Those who arrive first will be lucky. This is called “the gong opens up the mountain.” They kill roosters and spill their blood, which is called “the clipping of lives.”132 Finally, they reach the main hall and perform their dances, with the evil ghosts all lined up. Nobody could describe it exhaustively. During the days and nights, the hill gradually turns into a market. Nobody could change this.

The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou The final chapters 17 and 18 are supplementary: one of them is on garden building, while the other provides a list of the pleasure boats operating on the

Depictions of Life in Yangzhou in Li Dou’s The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou

sightseeing canals. What follows is the opening paragraph to the latter part. It is notable that both of the supplementary chapters relate to subjects closely linked with timber and timber building. Furthermore, throughout the preceding sixteen chapters, there are numerous passages in which timber plays an essential role, for example, one on the setting and dismantling of the stage at Heavenly Tranquility Monastery (5/1), one on the wooden sculpture inventory of various temples, not to mention the meticulous descriptions of garden structures, or a description of an inn at the former guild of timber merchants (see the translation above, 3/5). It is quite obvious that Li Dou had a strong interest in this subject, and this prompts questions as to whether he might have been involved in the timber trade, timber processing, or the timber building industry. [18/1] The earliest pleasure boats in Yangzhou were the “drum sheds” (gupeng),133 which originally had been boats for shipping salt in Taizhou. When they became rotten and were no longer suitable for carry ing loads, they were temporarily employed on the canals, for which a superstructure was set up on them. The bigger ones could accommodate three tables and were referred to as “big triple tables” (dasanzhang), whereas the smaller ones were referred to as “small triple tables” (xiaosanzhang). Small boats plying between the bank and the salt boats had sheds reminiscent of pumpkin poles, so they were called “loofah prop poles” (siguajia). What we refer to as “flying immortals” ( feixian) are boats with cabins, designed after the sailing taverns in Suzhou. Boats of a kind known by the name of “Sha’s flyer” (Shafei) were originally produced by Master Sha (Sha shi) from the inner town, and had poles for punting. In the rear cabin of a Sha’s flyer there is a kitchen stove. Boats without a kitchen are called “Long River boats” (Jiangchuan). If they have a steering oar, they are called “rocking boats” (yaochuan). What we refer to as a “cow’s tongue” (niushetou) is a boat with tables in the front and a cabin at the back. Such boats have an oar for rowing. If they have two oars, they are called “a pair of flying swallows” (shuangfeiyan) or “Southern Capital barge” (Nanjingpeng). They are what Hang Jinfu, in his Collection from the Hall of Discoursing about Antiquity, meant when he wrote: “An eight-mast boat splits the waves with oars aslant.” Sha’s flyers have doubleeave roofs with flying rafters. Boats with a folding hood are called “universal peace boats” (taipingchuan). Boats with a removable, flat roof are called “covered cabins” (zongding). Boats with stained-glass windows are called “glass boats” (bolichuan). And so on, up to the officials’ boats that carry visiting

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dignitaries from all places and the officials of our city. They are in on call at the North Gate Pier and are not intended for the ordinary visitor.

Notes I would like to sincerely thank those who helped me understand, translate, and revise the texts: Michael Ballard, Duncan Campbell, Trevor Curnow, Joy Hsieh, Paul Katz; and the Yangzhou Club members who kindly offered advice and comments, in particular Roland Altenburger, Rüdiger Breuer, Alison Hardie, Colin Mackerras, Malcolm McKinnon, and Liu Zhen. 1. Li Dou, Yangzhou huafang lu, ed. Wang Beiping and Tu Yugong (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1960), henceforth YHL. All the translations are based on this edition. Its editor added punctuation, divided the text into paragraphs, and numbered them. When referring to the text, e.g., 12/2, the first number indicates the chapter, and the second one the paragraph according to this edition. 2. About this genre, see also Colin Mackerras, “Unofficial Regional Records,” in Essays on the Sources for Chinese History, ed. Donald D. Leslie et al. (Canberra: Australian National University Press, 1973), 75–82, esp. 80. For a more detailed introduction to this text, see Lucie Olivová, “Reminiscences from the Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou: A Book about City,” Acta Universitatis Carolinae: Philologica 1, Orientalia Pragensia 14 (2001): 127–149. 3. Li Dou quotes verses old and new, but also full poems by recent and contemporary poets, such as the four poems about the “Purification Rites by the Rainbow Bridge” (Xiuxi Hongqiao) by Lu Jianzeng (1690–1768), and also includes verses by the Qianlong emperor. As for essays, Li Dou quotes, for example, the complete text of “Dialogue about Guangling” (Guangling dui) by Wang Zhong (1745–1794), which is introduced and translated by Marc Winter in Chapter 5 of the present volume. The author also frequently quotes from the verses of Fragrant Verses of the [Yangzhou] Dream (Meng xiang ci), by Fei Xuan (dates unknown), a bamboo-branch song cycle that was very popu lar at the time. 4. For more information, see the respective entries for the first two titles in William H. Nienhauser Jr., ed., The Indiana Companion to Traditional Chinese Literature (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1986), 597–598, 832–834. 5. See the survey of its historic editions and printings in Lucie Olivová, “Reminiscences from the Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou,” 142–146. 6. In fact, Ruan Yuan (1764–1849), Li Dou’s patron, wrote the preface (1797) and two afterwords (1834, 1839). In addition, the first edition also included prefaces by Xie Rongsheng ( jinshi 1745), Yuan Mei (1716–1798), and the author himself, as well as more than fift y dedicative poems (tici) by contemporary Yangzhou poets. Fang Junyi et al., eds., Xuzuan Yangzhou fuzhi (Yangzhou: Yangzhou fushu, 1874), 13.19a. 7. Some of these sources were quoted in Lucie Borota Olivová, “Li Dou and Theatre: The Case of an Eighteenth Century Yangzhou Playwright,” in Chinese at Play: Festivals, Games and Leisure, ed. Anders Hansson, Bonnie S. McDougall, and Frances Weightman (London: Kegan Paul, 2002), 109–136. 8. On Li Dou’s imaginary route, see Lucie Olivová, “Where Does the Pleasure-Boat Stop Next? Tracing Li Dou’s Route through Yangzhou,” in Urban Life and Culture in Modern China, 15th–20th Centuries, ed. Luca Gabbiani (Paris: Editions de l’Ecole française d’Extrême-Orient, forthcoming). 9. Ling Tingkan, “Yu Ruan Boyuan gexue lun Huafang lu shu,” in Ling Tingkan, Jiaolitang wenji, ed. Wang Wenjin (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1998), 206. The quotation is excerpted from a long and rather negative review of The Plea sure Boats of Yangzhou, written by

Depictions of Life in Yangzhou in Li Dou’s The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou Ling Tingkan in a letter to Ruan Yuan. He pointed out numerous factual mistakes in the text, and recommended that the book be revised before being republished. 10. Previous versions of some of the translations (YHL, 3/73, 8/6, 11/19) were published as Li Dou, “The Painted Barges of Yangzhou: Excerpts,” trans. Lucie Borota, Renditions 46 (1996): 58–68. 11. For description of garden sites, see YHL, 8/1, translated by Winnie Yuen Lai Chan in Chapter 7 of the present volume. 12. Wang Yinggeng (life dates unknown), a native of Shexian, Huizhou Prefecture, Anhui Province, was a rich salt merchant and benefactor. The title of Minister (guanglu), a prestige title for civil officials of the first rank, was bestowed on him in 1733, in recognition of his beneficial deeds during a famine resulting due to a natural calamity. See Wang Cheng, Yangzhou lishi renwu cidian (Nanjing: Jiangsu guji, 2001), 459. 13. Cheng Mengxing (1679–1755), a native of Jiangdu, jinshi 1712, was a poet and builder of a garden in Yangzhou. He served in the Hanlin Academy, as the official title Academician (taishi) indicates. 14. Zhao Zhibi (dates unknown) served in Yangzhou as the Chief Commissioner of Salt Transport. His book was published in 1765. 15. On Wang Zhong (1744–1794) and his work Guangling tongdian, see Chapter 5, with translation and commentary by Marc Winter, in the present volume. 16. “White Pagoda under a Clear Sky Spotted with Clouds” was one of the “Twenty-four views” of Yangzhou. 17. The name of this building refers to its irregular layout. For a description, see YHL, 15/78. 18. “Tea-and-snack houses” (hunchasi) referred to tea houses offering beverage and food. 19. Qionghua, also known as the jade flower, is a shrub with white or yellow fragrant flowers. It is a rare species of hydrangea that has not been cultivated elsewhere. Modern Yangzhou adopted it as its emblematic flower. See Hui-Lin Li, The Garden Flowers of China (New York: The Ronald Press, 1959), 103–108. 20. This and the following excerpts were translated by Joanna Waley-Cohen. She wishes to acknowledge the assistance with fish specifics provided by Zvi Ben-Dor Benite and Chung-hao Pio Kuo. 21. This likely referred to Zhu Huaigan and Sheng Yi, eds., Jiajing Weiyang zhi, in Siku quanshu cunmu congshu: Shi bu, vol. 184 (Jinan: Qi Lu shushe, 1997). Of this 1523 gazetteer, only a fragment of eighteen juan from an original total of thirty-eight juan is extant. 22. On salt merchants and the salt industry, see Ping-ti Ho, “The Salt Merchants of Yangchou: A Study of Commercial Capitalism in Eighteenth Century China,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 17 (1954): 130–168; and Antonia Finnane, Speaking of Yangzhou: A Chinese City, 1550–1850 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Asia Center, 2004), 117–147. 23. For alternative translations of this item, see Ho, “The Salt Merchants of Yang-chou,” 155–156; and Ginger Cheng-chi Hsü, A Bushel of Pearls: Painting for Sale in EighteenthCentury Yangchow (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 2001), 14–15. These previous translations, however, do not include the opening and closing sentences about the salt merchant Cheng, which lend the passage a moralistic outlook. 24. Bao Zhidao (1743–1801). 25. An Qi (hao Lücun, 1683–1745/46) was one of the richest salt merchants of Yangzhou. He assembled, among other things, a large collection of paintings and calligraphy. 26. The term budaoweng refers to a kind of round, bottom-heavy toy, made of plaster and painted as an old man, that cannot be toppled.

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Lucie Olivová 27. For an account of Jiang Chun’s life and career, see Zhu Zongzhou, “Qingdai Yangzhou yanshang jutou Jiang Chun,” Yangzhou shizhi 19 (1991): 17–20; see also Finnane, Speaking of Yangzhou, 124; and Ho, “The Salt Merchants of Yang-chou,” 160–161. 28. Qi Shaonan (zi Cifeng, 1706–1768), native from Zhejiang, was a historian. See Arthur W. Hummel, ed., Eminent Chinese of the Ch‘ing Period (1644–1912) (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1943–1944), 1:129–130. 29. Qiuyu was the style name of Ma Yueguan; for more on him, see the next excerpt. 30. Zha Shenxing (1650–1727), native of Zhejiang, was famous as a poet. See Hummel, Eminent Chinese of the Ch‘ing Period, 1:21–22. 31. A local species of herbaceous peony; see Li, The Garden Flowers of China, 32–36. 32. Lu Jianzeng (hao Yayu, 1690–1768), scholar, official, and publisher, served as the Chief Salt Commissioner in Yangzhou in 1737, and again in 1753–1762. See Hummel, Eminent Chinese of the Ch‘ing Period, 1:541–542. 33. Qian Chenqun (1686–1774), official, scholar and calligrapher. See Hummel, Eminent Chinese of the Ch‘ing Period, 1:146–147. 34. Kang Hai (hao Duishan, 1475–1541) was a well-known Ming-dynasty writer. See L. Carrington Goodrich and Chao-ying Fang, eds., Dictionary of Ming Biography 1368–1644 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1976), 1:692–693. 35. Zhang Feng was a eunuch who, in 1766, fled the imperial premises with a large amount of stolen money. While hiding in Yangzhou, he was denounced by Jiang Chun and arrested. See Zhu Zongzhou, “Qingdai Yangzhou yanshang jutou Jiang Chun,” 18. 36. The banquet for one thousand sixty-year-old worthies (qiansouyan), given in the Capital in 1761 by the Emperor, was part of the celebrations of the Empress Mother’s eightieth birthday. Zhu Zongzhou, “Qingdai Yangzhou yanshang jutou Jiang Chun,” 18. 37. Chen Menggong, or Chen Zun, from the Han dynasty, was known for his generous hospitality. 38. It may come as a surprise that Li Dou, in spite of his vocation, did not mention Jiang Chun’s passion for the theater. However, throughout Chapter 5, Li Dou wrote about it at length. As a matter of fact, Jiang Chun established two private theatrical troupes, in 1773 and 1788, respectively—the Deyin, “Sound of Virtue,” troupe that performed Kunqiang style, and the Chuntai, “[Jiang] Chun’s Stage,” or “Spring Stage,” troupe that performed the local folk style (huabu). On the latter, see the translation by Colin Mackerras in Chapter 10 of the present volume. 39. See Luther Carrington Goodrich, The Literary Inquisition of Ch‘ien-lung (Baltimore, Md.: Waverly Press, 1935). It does not, however, cite the Decree of 1774, translated in the passage below. 40. See also the entry about Ma Yueguan in Hummel, Eminent Chinese of the Ch‘ing Period, 1:559–560. 41. Weiduo (Skt. Veda), elsewhere written as Weituo, refers to a divine warrior who vowed to protect Dharma. In Chinese Buddhist temples, his statue is placed inside the gate, facing the buddhas in the main hall. 42. A handscroll depicting this par ticu lar gathering, dated 1743, with figures painted by Ye Fanglin (possibly identical with Ye Zhenchu) and the background by Fang Shishu, is kept in the Cleveland Museum of Art. See Wai-kam Ho et al., eds., Eight Dynasties of Chinese Painting: The Collections of the Nelson Gallery-Atkins Museum, Kansas City, and the Cleveland Museum of Art (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1980), 372–376. 43. In Huizhou Prefecture, Anhui Province. 44. In the Forbidden City.

Depictions of Life in Yangzhou in Li Dou’s The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou 45. Zhu Yizun (hao Zhucha, 1629–1709) was a scholar and poet. Jing yi kao, in 300 juan, was his chef d’oeuvre. The edition referred to was printed in 1777; it has recently been reprinted in four volumes (Beijing: Zhongguo shudian, 2009). 46. On the editions sponsored by Ma Yueguan, see Fang Shengliang, Qingdai Yangzhou Huishang yu Dongnan diqu wenxue yishu yanjiu: yi “Yangzhou er Ma” wei zhongxin (Beijing: Renmin wenxue, 2008), 180. 47. The special examinations of 1679 and 1735, termed as boxue hongci (in two different writings), were orga nized in order to lure more eminent Chinese scholars into the civil service. Being summoned was only the initial step, however. In 1735/1736, only 15 candidates out of 176 succeeded. See Hummel, Eminent Chinese of the Ch‘ing Period, 1:525, 2:617. 48. That is, song lyrics (ci) and arias (qu). 49. The scholar Hang Shijun (1696–1773, hao Jinpu) in the late 1760s taught in the Anding Academy (Anding shuyuan) at Yangzhou. 50. See R. Kent Guy, The Emperor’s Four Trea suries: Scholars and the State in the Late Ch‘ien-lung Era (Cambridge, Mass.: Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University, 1987), 34–37. 51. The “pacification” campaigns (1755–1759) were part of the conquest of Eastern Turkestan, the most important military gain of the Qianlong reign. The campaign in Jinchuan, in the Tibetan regions of Western Sichuan, took place in the years 1771–1776. The campaigns were glorified in prose and poetry writings as well as on paintings and prints. It is of interest that the court painters who produced them also included several Jesuits. See Joanna WaleyCohen, “Commemorating War in Eighteenth-Century China,” Modern Asian Studies 30, no. 4 (1996): 869–899. 52. Mao Yanshou (d. 33 B.C.E.) excelled in portraits; Chen Chang, also of the Western Han dynasty, painted animals and birds. See Yu Jianhua, ed., Zhongguo meishujia renming cidian (Shanghai: Renmin meishu, 1981), 51, 1023. Mao is widely known as the portraitist of the court lady Wang Zhaojun. He is reputed to have distorted her portrait to make her look unattractive, which is the situation behind the famous Yuan-period zaju play Autumn in the Han Palace (Hangong qiu). 53. Gu Kaizhi (zi Changkang, ca. 341–ca. 402) was a celebrated figurist and the first Chinese artist whose paintings survived. Yu Jianhua, Zhongguo meishujia renming cidian, 1544. 54. Tao Zongyi (zi Jiucheng, 1316–1403); see Nienhauser, The Indiana Companion to Traditional Chinese Literature, 769. 55. Tianting, literally, “the heavenly yard,” refers to the central part of the forehead, in par ticu lar, the spot between the eyebrows. 56. This corresponds to the effect of three-dimensionality in Western art. 57. Yayu was a studio name of Lu Jianzeng; see note 32 above. 58. Tang was the founder of the Shang dynasty, and Yi Yin his minister. After Tang’s death, Yi Yin usurped rulership for seven years. 59. Fu Yue, originally a slave, became the minister of Shang ruler Wuding (d. 1200 B.C.E.), who is the Gaozong mentioned in the text. 60. The Great Yu is a mythical hero and emperor. The Three Epochs (san dai) refer to the ancient dynasties Xia, Shang, and Zhou. 61. Dong Qichang (1555–1636), the leading painter and calligrapher of his period. 62. An entry on “The portraits by the two Dings from Jingjiang” is also included in Lin Sumen, Hanjiang sanbai yin, ed. Liu Yongming (Yangzhou: Guangling shushe, 2005), 7:100– 101. On this work, see Roland Altenburger’s translation and discussion in Chapter 8 of the present volume.

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Lucie Olivová 63. Active 1796–1802. 64. “Mother” is used here as a term of reference for the proprietress and manager of a brothel. 65. Literally, “They cooked up words and embroidered texts” (zhu zi xiu wen). 66. Huang Jingren (zi Zhongze, 1749–1783) was a leading poet of the period. The account would seem romantically embellished, since Huang was younger than thirty-eight when he died. 67. The woman bought a young girl, raised her, and then sold her again. 68. The plant polygonum (heshouwu) is believed to prevent, or slow down, hair turning grey. The translator wishes to thank Dr. Vladimír Ando for the identification of this plant. 69. Or, Old Man He (He laoren). The surname evidently alludes to the plant’s name. 70. According to Wei Minghua, Ershisiqiao mingyue ye (Nanjing: Nanjing shifan daxue, 2005), 52, the term Yangbang referred to a local female singer performing on a boat in the fashionable Suzhou style of singing. Li Dou (YHL, 9/29) mentions that Yangbang and similar colloquial terms indicated the singing prostitutes who took over the role of the official singers and dancers (guanji) during the Spring Rites, after the Music Offices (yuehu) had been abolished during the Kangxi reign. In any case, Little Treasure’s nickname implies that she was an excellent singer. 71. Zhu Yedong was an actor of xiaodan roles; see YHL, 5/35. 72. On the siege of Yangzhou in 1645, see also YHL, 8/2, translated by Winnie Yuen Lai Chan in Chapter 7 of the present volume. 73. The term shike gongxiang, translated here as “portrait,” referred to either a linear portrait carved in a stone tablet, or a statue; the latter would be quite unusual, though. 74. Prince Rui was the title of Dorgon (1612–1650), the conqueror of China and regent for the Shunzhi Emperor (r. 1644–1661). Shi Kefa’s reply, with his decision not to surrender, is summarized as “cordial but firm.” See Hummel, Eminent Chinese of the Ch‘ing Period, 1:219. 75. Jiang Shiquan (1725–1785), poet and dramatist, was an eminent personality in Qing literature. 76. This is the antique and book market in Beijing. 77. This is likely to refer to the most widely used rhyming manual that originated in Zhou Zhaoji’s (d. 1817) Essential Explanations on Poetic Rhymes from the Honoring Literature [Library] (Peiwen shiyun shiyao) that was fi rst published in the Qianlong era and later redistributed in numerous variations and improvements. See Shiyun (rpt., Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1983), preface. 78. Li Zhounan (died after 1818), was a native of Ganquan County in Yangzhou Prefecture. He received the juren degree in 1806, but never held office. See YHL, 8/27. 79. Zhang Sike’s family originated from Lintong, Shaanxi Province, then settled in Yangzhou and became rich in the salt trade. For a biographical entry, see YHL, 15/57. He is mentioned several times in The Plea sure Boats of Yangzhou, but occasionally the name Zhang Sike is erroneously written as Zhang Shike. He built the Garden of Yielding (Rangpu) and orga nized a literati gathering there. He was a good friend of the Salt Commissioner Lu Jianzeng. He wrote a collection of poetry entitled Collection of Poetry and Song Lyrics (Shici ji). 80. Monk Yaogen is briefly introduced as a calligrapher in YHL, 2/106. 81. Huang Yu (zi Beicha, 1695–1769), was a native of Jiangdu, a Government Student, and a poet. See Wang Cheng, Yangzhou lishi renwu cidian, 702; see YHL, 12/36. 82. Wang Zhong (zi Rongfu, 1744–1794). For more about him, see the translation and discussion by Marc Winter in Chapter 5 of the present volume.

Depictions of Life in Yangzhou in Li Dou’s The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou 83. The translation omits an only loosely related opening passage about a par ticu lar garden house. 84. Jiang Chun, introduced earlier, was a member of this family. 85. Herd Boy, the name of a star visible on that night. 86. The seventh day of the seventh lunar month, or the Double Seventh, is a festival related to the popu lar legend about the Heavenly Weaver and the Herd Boy. 87. On the question of belief and disbelief, see Leo Tak-hung Chan, The Discourse on Foxes and Ghosts: Ji Yun and Eighteenth- Century Literati Storytelling (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1998). 88. For an alternative version of the same story, see Qian Yong, Lüyuan conghua (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1997), 2:15.397–398. 89. A previous translation of this item was included in Olivová, “Li Dou and Theatre,” 129–130. 90. This was an unofficial reference to a Government Student, that is, a scholar of the first degree. 91. Tianxindun was an area in the Old City, right at the Western Canal. 92. For more on this, see Olivová, “Li Dou and Theatre.” 93. “Pursuing the Dream” is a favorite scene from The Peony Pavilion (Mudanting), the famous chuanqi drama by Tang Xianzu (1550–1617). I am grateful to Professor Liu Zhen for his guidance in identifying some of the acts, actors, and roles in this excerpt. Jin Dehui was a Yangzhou actor starring in the role of Du Liniang. He is briefly introduced in YHL, 5/38. 94. Both pairs of female characters represent a young lady and her maidservant. The fi rst pair, Cui Yingying and Hongniang, is from Wang Shifu’s Story of the Western Chamber (Xixiang ji); the second pair, Du Liniang and Chunxiang, is from Tang Xianzu’s Peony Pavilion. 95. Zhao Wuniang is the female protagonist in the Story of the Lute (Pipa ji), by Gao Ming (ca. 1305–ca. 1370). 96. That is, she went through much hardship. 97. These are the scenes twenty and twenty-one, respectively, from the play Beautiful Clouds Pavilion (Yanyunting) by Zhu Zuochao (fl. 1644). 98. Shen and you are the ninth and the tenth of the twelve Earthly Branches, a common form of enumerative naming. 99. This is an alternative title for the play Descending from the Mountain (Xia shan), about a monk and a nun who decide to leave their respective monasteries, and happen to meet each other on the run. 100. The Girl with the Red Silk Ribbon is the main role in The Red Duster (Hongfu ji), a chuanqi drama by Zhang Fengyi (1527–1613). Li Sanniang is the main role in The White Hare (Baitu ji), a drama written in the fi fteenth century. 101. These were scenes from the Kunqu opera Xiao guang jian (Sword shining in the night), also known by the title Xiao guang ji (Story of the nightly shining), by Xu Fuzuo (1560–ca. 1630). 102. Fan Songnian was a famous Kunqu actor of the Deyin troupe. 103. This is the fi ft h scene from The Story of the Lute. 104. Zhao Yi (zi Yunsong, hao Oubei, 1727–1814), poet and historian. 105. For a translation of this description and more on storytelling in The Plea sure Boats of Yangzhou, see Lucie Borotová, “Storytelling in Yangzhou in the Eighteenth Century,” in The Eternal Storyteller: Oral Literature in Modern China, ed. Vibeke Børdahl (Richmond, Va.: Curzon, 1998), 197–209.

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Lucie Olivová 106. For more on this and the novelized version of this narrative, see Margaret Wan’s translation and discussion in Chapter 9 of the present volume. 107. The same phrase also appears in Huang Zongxi’s (1610–1695) “Liu Jingting zhuan” (Biography of Liu Jingting). See also Rüdiger Breuer’s translation and discussion of Wu Weiye’s “Biography of Liu Jingting” in Chapter 2 of the present volume. 108. Jin Zhaoyan (zi Zongting, jinshi 1766), Erudite of the Directorate of Education (Guozijian boshi), poet. 109. This refers to an episode featuring the warrior Zhang Fei (Yide) in Chapter 42 of the novel Romance of the Three Kingdoms (Sanguo yanyi). 110. That is, Zhang Fei. 111. In Shandong. 112. In present-day Guangxi Province. 113. Here, there must be an error in the text: the woman was introduced as née Cheng, but here her name is given as Chen, which has been corrected accordingly in the translation. 114. Ma Rongzu (zi Liben, 1686–1761), a scholar-official from Jiangdu; see Wang Cheng, Yangzhou lishi renwu cidian, 21. 115. On Wang Yinggeng, see note 12 above. 116. See also the corresponding passage in the novel Guangling chao by Li Hanqiu that describes the same pilgrimage a hundred years later, which is included in the translation by Stefan Kuzay in Chapter 14 of the present volume. 117. This very early gazetteer from the Baoyou reign (1253–1258) is not extant any more, but entries from it were included in later gazetteers. 118. See note 21 above. 119. By Zhu Mu, first published in 1239. 120. This was a year in which the Qianlong Emperor visited Yangzhou. 121. Jiuhuashan, in southern Anhui, is a sacred Buddhist site for the worship of Ksitigarbha. Three Maos, or Mao Mountains, is a sacred Daoist site on the border of Jiangsu and Anhui Provinces, where the three Mao brothers lived in the second century B.C.E. 122. This actually refers to Wusitumiao. Situ, an ancient bureaucratic title, stands here for the five heroes revered by the local folk. The story of the five heroes, united by oath, exists in several versions, set in various historical periods. See YHL, 16/45. 123. See E. T. C. Werner, A Dictionary of Chinese Mythology (Shanghai: Kelly and Walsh, 1932), 527–528. 124. This equals about six meters. 125. See note 41 above. The god referred to is the same, but the name’s writing is different. 126. Located in Nanjing, also known as Zhongshan (Central Mountain), or Zijinshan (Purple-and-golden Mountain). 127. This Buddhist term refers to water believed to be taken from the pool in the Western Paradise. Here it seems to be the name of the Buddhist institution that provided the statue. 128. The legend of Sudhana is summarized in Wilt L. Idema, Personal Salvation and Filial Piety: Two Precious Scroll Narratives of Guanyin and Her Acolytes (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2008), 31. For the main source of this narrative, see Thomas Cleary, trans., Entry into the Realm of Reality. The Gandavyuha, the Final Book of the Avatamsaka Sutra (Boston: Shambala, 1989). 129. This bodhisattva presided over the Underworld and over the ten kings, or judges, of Hell who appear in the next sentence. In China, he is revered as the rescuer of souls suffering

Depictions of Life in Yangzhou in Li Dou’s The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou in Hell. The center of his cult is the mountain Jiuhuashan, and the main pilgrimage took place on the thirtieth day of the seventh month. 130. Tingshi, a small building serving the local government’s businesses. 131. They prevent the incense fire from extinguishing. 132. The fact that this temple featured underworld deities, Ksitigarbha and the ten kings of Hell, is critical for explaining why judicial rituals like chicken beheadings could be performed in the Guanyin Temple; see Paul Katz, Divine Justice: Religion and the Development of Chinese Legal Culture (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009). 133. They were small boats with a shed in the shape of a drum, hence their name.

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Building and Gardening Practices in Eighteenth-Century Yangzhou The View from Li Dou’s The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou (Yangzhou huafang lu, 1795) Introduced, translated, and annotated by Winnie Yuen Lai Chan

The artistic traditions of eighteenth-century China were divided between the Qing court in the capital Beijing, on the one hand, and other centers, here represented by Yangzhou, on the other. These two traditions have often been distinguished as amateur versus professional, and academic versus professional. There has been a tendency to view the exchange between South and North as one-directional, involving the appropriation of “Southern” cultural practices and manners of self-fashioning by the Qing court, the imperial inspection tours to the South, and the “institutionalization” of Southern fashions and styles in the imperial palace. However, new documentation and therefore a more complex understanding of Qing imperial power has revealed that the exchange was in fact two-directional, and that much of what had become fashionable in Beijing later spread back to the South. Studies have found that the Yangzhou elite learned from the court as much as the Qianlong Emperor came to Yangzhou to learn.1 Parallels between the tastes of Yangzhou salt merchants and those of elite bannermen families in Beijing in architecture, interior décor, and exotica were accentuated.2 Official painting records also indicate that numerous artists and craftsmen trained in Beijing returned to the South and popularized what they had learned in the capital. The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou (Yangzhou huafang lu) by Li Dou (zi Aitang) contains invaluable information on this new direction of study, focusing on craft and architecture. The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou is an urban chronicle from the second half of the eighteenth century, which describes in classical style the multi-

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faceted life of Yangzhou.3 The author Li Dou claimed in his preface (1795) that it was based on firsthand data-collecting and eyewitness accounts of local sights and personages throughout the city over three decades. Around 1765, at roughly the same time that Li Dou started working on his book, Salt Commissioner Lu Jianzeng (1690–1768) ordered the launch of an official set of woodcut illustrations of the twenty-four views of Yangzhou.4 By the mideighteenth century, garden construction projects in Yangzhou were taking place on an unprecedented scale, doubling the size of the existing city.5 These gardens were constructed not merely for their owners’ private aesthetic and philosophical pleasures, but also to display their wealth, status, and power. The fashionable, extravagant, architecturally accomplished garden villas had utterly transformed the city landscape. This landscape beautification was further intensified by the amicable relations that the garden owners enjoyed with the Qing court and its officials during the Southern expedition tours by the two emperors Kangxi (r. 1662–1722) and Qianlong (r. 1736– 1795). The eminent scholar-poet Yuan Mei (1716–1797),6 in his 1793 preface for Li Dou’s book (translated below), described the resulting transformation of Yangzhou’s landscape. Although little is known about Li Dou’s links with the building trade, his strong interest in and familiarity with building, including the construction of gardens, is detailed in Chapter 17 of The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou. Chapter 17 also includes a city map. Li acquainted himself and collaborated with the experienced cartographer Liu Maoji from Anhui, who had produced the Maps of the Two [Parts of the] City of Yangzhou (Yangzhou liang cheng tu, 1765) at age seventy.7 The map covers the Old and New City in such detail that it appears as fine as a fingerprint. Places such as markets, gates, moats, government offices, neighborhoods, wells, winding alleyways, and high streets are all indicated. This map was widely circulated and imitated. For instance, the Jiangdu County Gazetteer (Jiangduxian zhi) of 1883 includes a detailed street map that was still based on Liu’s survey.8 An early translation of Chapter 17 was featured in the Bulletin of the Society for Research in Chinese Architecture (Zhongguo yingzao xueshe huikan) in 1931 and published also as a separate volume by the Society.9 The chapter contains such detailed information and uses technical terms so expertly that it could be considered a professional handbook of construction. Li Dou mentioned the sources he had consulted,10 all of which are still extant and are as follows:

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1. Regulations and Precedents Concerning Technical Instructions for the Building Crafts by the Ministry of Public Works (Gongbu gongcheng zuofa), 74 chapters, 35 volumes, ed. Yunli et al., 1734;11 2. Current Regulations and Precedents on Interior Handicrafts in the Inner Court’s Garden of Perfect Brilliance (Neiting Yuanmingyuan neigong zhuzuo xianxing zeli), 43 volumes, Qianlong era manuscript;12 3. Illustrations of Palaces in the Classics (Qunjing gongshi tu), 2 chapters, by Jiao Xun; 4. Description of the Capital and its Environs (Chenyuan shilüe), 16 chapters, 1788, by Wu Changyuan; 5. Classic of Lu Ban (Lu Ban jing).13 Li Dou’s knowledge of building is demonstrated by his citing of both official and popular works on construction. He cited the ancient carpentry handbook Timberwork Manual (Mu jing), and he consulted contemporary “evidential research” (kaoju) scholarship and surveys in the course of writing his book. Li Dou seemed to place equal value on official and popular sources. Phrases like “the Regulations and Precedents [Concerning Technical Instructions for the Building Crafts by the Ministry of Public Works] says,” or “these are set out by the [Regulations and Precedents Concerning Technical Instructions for the Building Crafts by the] Ministry of Public Works,” and references to “folk customs” (su), and to “appropriateness” (yi1) and “inappropriateness” ( ji2) can be found throughout. One example is the instructions for the structural carpentry (damuzuo) of ceremonial arches and pavilions.14 It contains an enumeration of wood components that is derived from Regulations and Precedents.15 Citations from the Classic of Lu Ban include technical advice on earthworks (tuzuo),16 commencement rituals prior to the construction,17 as well as a listing of suitable and unsuitable dates for house building.18 There is also evidence that Li might have been in contact with personnel from the Ministry of Public Works and master carpenters in charge of public works in the capital, and he might also have come across some “regulations and precedents” (zeli) in these fields.19 This raises the question of the relationship between high officials working for the workshops of the Imperial Household Department (Neiwufu) and the outside world. How much of court life was known to an outsider like Li Dou? We can find a host of detailed descriptions in Japanese guidebooks on China, such as Okada Gyukuzan’s (1737–1812) Illustrated Description of the Famous Sites of China (Morokoshi meishō zue) and Nakagawa Chusei’s (1753–1830) Recorded

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Accounts of Qing Customs (Shinzoku kibun); both were published in the late eighteenth to early nineteenth centuries for the Japanese market, but incorporated a wide range of then-available Chinese sources. The aforementioned surveys provided Li with an informative “insider’s take” on the Beijing environs and a glimpse into the high levels of arts and crafts attained in the Emperor’s public and private realms. Specialized knowledge was regarded as a source of social prestige on account of the emphasis on “practical knowledge” (shixue) advocated by evidential scholars. In the Qing, in a departure from the Ming amateur ideal, specialized professionals therefore enjoyed some social status, as is evidenced by the highly skilled officials at Jingdezhen who gained recognition for their expertise.20 The movement of experts between the capital and their southern hometowns encouraged the exchange and diff usion of building skills and styles. From the diversified and specialized works carried out in Yangzhou,21 we discover that there too the technical instructions set out by the Ministry of Public Works were followed, being carried out by skillful workers and craftsmen who were familiar with building practices in the capital and at the court.22 Li Dou drafted an invaluable list of artisans involved in these projects,23 including, for instance, experts in decorative enamels, and workers specializing in “making models” (tangyang) and architectural calculations, who possibly came from the two public bureaus, the Model Bureau (yangfang) and the Calculation Bureau (suanfang).24 Thus, an examination of the relevant chapters in Li Dou’s book together with the Qing official building standards, the traditional carpentry manual Classic of Lu Ban, and evidential research scholarship allows us to better understand the practice of garden architecture in Yangzhou in Li Dou’s time. In imperial China, the size and decoration of buildings were regulated by law.25 During the Qing dynasty, the Code of the Great Qing (Da Qing lüli) set out the limitations on building size based on the number of bays ( jian) and purlins ( jia), as well as the colors and decorations of the beams, columns, blocks and brackets (dougong), eaves and door designs.26 But the status of the owner could be conveyed in certain ways; for instance the decorative patterns of architectural paintings were regulated according to official rank. One passage in Li Dou’s text indicates that the regulations were well observed in Yangzhou: Paintings are mainly in ink and gold and are supplemented by various colors. [ . . . ] Amongst all the decorative patterns, the Suzhou-style pattern is the best. [ . . . ] However, the gold-foil-covered five-clawed dragons can only

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Winnie Yuen Lai Chan be used by the Imperial Princes (qinwang), but carved dragon heads are not allowed even to them. The Commandery Princes ( junwang) use goldpainted four-clawed dragons. The Beile (beile), Beile Prince (beizi) or even lower ranks use various flowers and grasses as decorative patterns. Commoners are not allowed to use any gold foil.27

It was not uncommon to have gardens with majestic halls with numerous bays, tiered terraces, and elaborated roofs with several eaves. The new building practice was so idiosyncratic, with its mixture of court styles with vernacular and foreign elements, that the existing building code of practice was no longer able to satisfy contemporary needs. Examples of local practices for the construction of stupa and doorways, as described in The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou, tell us something about such a change: At the peak there were the stupas ( futu) that originally were manufactured from metal: the first-ranked use silver, the second- and third-ranked red, and the fourth- and fift h-ranked blue. Nowadays, the lakeside pavilions and pagodas usually use gilded copper, the lesser ones bricks and ceramics. To acquire a vermilion red glaze piece from the kilns of Jingdezhen that produces the colored ceramics according to a secret method, would cost a thousand liang of silver. A recent and convenient method is to place an inverted vase on the top.28 Regulations for doorways: [ . . . ] the gates of high-ranking, middle and small households, of the prefectural and district yamen, of Buddhist and Daoist monasteries, and of the residents of ordinary commoners are differentiated. [ . . . ] There are regulations for gates (men) but not for single-leaved doors (hu). Nowadays, gardens and pavilions have large doorways that imitate the ancient standards and all belong to a household.29

Apart from technical texts on garden architecture, discursive garden descriptions form the majority of garden-related passages in The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou. The local garden culture can be understood by examining the historical contexts of the text. In Chapter 8, “West of the Old City” (Cheng xi lu), Li Dou included in the opening passage a detailed account of the Garden of Shadows (Yingyuan).30 As the historian Zhu Jiang pointed out, the late Ming period was a “revival era” for Yangzhou gardens.31 Li mentioned illustrious personages involved in the various intellectual and artistic productions set in this garden, thereby featuring a famed historic garden of the late Ming that exemplified a style that had its effect on later gardens. The nonlocal

The View from Li Dou’s The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou

painter-calligraphers Dong Qichang (1555–1636) and Chen Jiru (1558–1639) both contributed to the naming and the inscriptions of the garden complex and structures, and many celebrated scholars participated in the literary gatherings set in this garden. Besides, the Huizhou-native garden master Zheng Yuanxun (zi Chaozong, 1603–1644) credited in his personal record the efforts made by Suzhou native Ji Cheng, the author of the Ming garden treatise Craft of Gardens (Yuan ye), who supervised the garden’s design. Li Dou introduced Zheng Yuanhua (zi Zanke), the brother of Zheng Yuanxun, who created the Garden of the Pleasing Trees (Jiashuyuan), thereby placing their biographies against the backdrop of local historical events. The garden records praised the two Zheng brothers, nicknamed “Loyal” (Zhong) and “Righteous” (Yi), for the crucial role they played in local affairs and the politics of defense. The garden itself became the physical expression of the Confucian virtues that the garden owners had mastered and practiced.32 Li Dou therefore presents this garden to the reader as a literary place.



The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou Excerpts Preface by Yuan Mei In the past, there were the Records of the Famous Gardens of Luoyang (Luoyang mingyuan ji) and the Record of the Millet Dream (Meng liang lu) from the Eastern Capital (Dongjing, i.e., Kaifeng), both of which served to highlight the prosperity and peace of the cities, and to indicate the famous scenic spots. However, the imperial house of the Song enjoyed only partial peace, and people later became exhausted and did not sufficiently give form to the glorification of its splendid virtues.33 The present dynasty’s fate is in the hands of Heaven. The ten thousand things are abundant and splendid.34 The single Prefecture of Yangzhou also is a place of the highest fashions and glories. Even studios and side chambers are lavishly decorated just like the abodes of immortals in the clouds as they have long been known from Qiu Ying’s paintings.35 I remember four decades ago, when I visited the Hall Level with the Mountains (Pingshantang), I began my tour by boat starting from outside Heavenly Tranquility Gate (Tianningmen). The long canal was as slender as a string around twenty zhang wide. There were only a few

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Figure 7.1. Map of Level with the Mountains Hall, 1765. (Zhao Zhibi, ed., Pingshantang tuzhi, 1765)

pavilions and towers alongside the stream, which was more like a sewer, and the grass and trees were just rushing in the wind. After the xinwei year (1751), when the Son of Heaven toured the South, officials, acting in response to the merchants’ and the townspeople’s wishes, organized labor for construction works, beautified the buildings, and massively expanded their dimensions. Deep water was held back for nine bends, loft y mountains were made to slope, trees were planted, a carpet of peach and plum blossoms was prepared, and parks and gardens were carefully laid out, in relation to one another. When the clouds disperse and the sun suddenly shines in, what marvelous scenery this creates! Such a spectacular and colorful scene is something that not even Gu Kaizhi and Lu Tanwei could have painted; nor could Ban Gu and Yang Xiong have composed a rhapsody about it.36 Li Aitang (i.e., Li Dou), thanks to his utter talent, has had the mastery to record all this. The entire range of phenomena, from heavenly palaces and kingly residences down to fenced humble houses and armory warehouses, with the wine shops and teahouses on the side; the spectacles of townsmen and actresses, the shows of spear-fighting as well as the stories about magistrates and clerks—there was nothing he did not classify, thus making it

The View from Li Dou’s The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou

understandable. The book is so comprehensive that it covers every aspect, well beyond the set of ivory tallies with the twenty-four views.37 Every detail of one par ticu lar time has thus been preserved, and will last for a thousand years. Alas, I am getting old. Set apart by a stretch of water, I regret not being able to visit Hanjiang in order to ascend the mountains and enjoy the scenery.38 Having found this book however, I can lie down and enjoy it, idling at home and flipping through the scroll, which is even superior to riding on a crane.39 I have therefore written these words as a preface to this book for those who want to compose a “Rhyme-prose on the overgrown city” (Wucheng fu) but have not yet found any teacher to guide them.40 Written on the fifteenth day of the twelfth month, the fifty-eighth year of the Qianlong reign (1793), by Yuan Mei in Harmony Garden (Suiyuan) at the age of seventy-eight.

Artisans and Craftsmen [2/148] [ . . . ] On both banks of the river are garden pavilions constructed by the method of “stalls” (dangzi), as is commonly done in Beijing. People from the Southern and the Northern provinces are not able to master this if they are unfamiliar with the Inner Court’s constructions. Zhu Hong, style Hechao, a Government Student (zhusheng), is talented in governing the state and pacifying the people and therefore trusted by Mr. Chai. His elder brother Dongshu is proficient in board games. Yao Yutiao, a native of Suzhou, is skillful in small-scale calligraphy and proficient in medicine. His son Weichi has special talents. He is good at making models and is able to construct a natural-seeming environment from leveled land and inanimate rocks.41 Zhu Tang, style Huinan, has a profound understanding in mathematics. Shi Songqiao can produce models of an extraordinary kind. His son Chunling, style Shouzhuang, a renowned Government Student, is also among his selection. As far as Wang Shixiong is concerned, he is skillful in cloisonné enameling and fond of meeting friends. People in Beijing call him the “King of Enameling” and he is also a superb craftsman.42 There are others who either master a particular craft at an extraordinary level or a particular technique to an ingenious degree. Whenever I hear about or witness more such remarkable craftspeople, I will add them to my list of fame according to their actual merits.

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The Garden of Shadows [8/1] The Garden of Shadows (Yingyuan) is located on an elongated islet in the middle of a lake, to the north of the Chan-Buddhist Monastery of Ancient Enlightenment (Gudu chanlin). Adjacent to it is the shrine of the two gentlemen Zheng, the “Loyal” and the “Righteous.” In the hall sacrifices are offered to these two masters, Zheng Chaozong and Zheng Zanke. The garden was built by Chaozong. Regarding the name “Garden of Shadows,” Dong Qichang named it by reference to the reflections cast by the willows, the river, and the mountains. When the master was young, his mother dreamed of a place. She saw a garden being built. “And to whom does the garden belong?” she inquired. “Your second son,” was the reply. When the master grew up, he was talented at painting. In the renshen year of the Chongzhen reign (1632), Dong Qichang passed through Yangzhou, and discussed the Six Principles of Painting with the master.43 At that time, the master had acquired a garden lying waste in the south of the city. Qichang inscribed the plaque “Garden of Shadows.” The garden construction took more than a decade to complete. When his mother went to see the garden, all of a sudden, she became aware that it resembled the one in her dream twenty years ago. The garden is located on an elongated islet in the midst of the lake, to the right of the Chan-Buddhist Monastery of Ancient Enlightenment, and to the left of the Perch of the Precious Stamen (Baoruiqi). In front as well as to the back, it is bounded by a river, and across the water Shu Ridge (Shugang) undulates like a writhing serpent with all the force of a mountain.44 It has willow trees and lotus covering an area of a thousand qing2, with bulrushes growing on it. The households in charge of the garden face east, overlooking the river with the southern city wall on the opposite bank. Both banks are lined with peach and willow trees, and thus people call it “Little Peach Blossom Spring” (Xiao Taoyuan).45 Once through the gate, a mountain path describes several turns within a thicket of pine and fir. Here and there grow flowering plum, apricot, pear, and chestnut trees. Where the mountain ends, on the left, there stands a trellis of rose-leaf raspberry, beyond which there is a clump of bulrushes, where the fishermen gather with their nets. A small stream flows along the right-hand side, and beyond the stream grows sparsely planted bamboo, shielded by a low hedge made out of old branches. A surrounding wall has

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Figure 7.2. Illustration of Lianxing Temple Garden, 1771. (Gao Jin et al., eds., Nanxun shengdian, 1771)

been inlayed with assorted pebbles chosen for their mottled tiger-skin coloring, hence people called it the Tiger-Skin Wall (Hupiqiang). Two small gates are made out of gnarled tree trunks the shape of which resemble coiled dragons. Beyond the gates, tall paulownia trees grow, with their branches joining over the path. Further on again, through the gate, one comes upon the stone plaque “Garden of Shadows” inscribed by Dong Qichang. Turning onto a narrow path, there are many willow trees. Where the willows end, you cross a small stone bridge. A turn takes you into the Thatched Cottage of the Jade Hook (Yugou caotang), the plaque of which was inscribed by Zheng Yuanyue. The cottage is surrounded on all four sides by a pond in which lotus are planted. Upon the embankment on the opposite side of this pond, there grow tall willows, and beyond the willows again is the long river along the opposite banks of which, again, grow tall willows. In the midst of the willow trees are the gardens owned by the Yan, Feng, and Yuan families.46 To the south of the river is a ford. By the river there is a small viewing place, called the Half-Floating Belvedere (Banfuge). A garden boat, called

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the Swimming Hut (Yongan), is tied underneath. Beneath the cottage there grow two crabapples from Shu Prefecture. Rock steps are placed around the pond, which people call the “Lesser Thousand Men’s Throne” (Xiao Qianrenzuo).47 There are hibiscus bushes at the water, and flowering plum, jade magnolia, “Hanging Floss” crabapple, and red and white peach at the side of the water. Orchids of various kinds, “Beauty of Yu” poppy, fine ginger, “Sweet William” herb, and various kinds of flowers and grasses have been planted in the cracks of the rocks. Coming from the twisted plank bridge and threading one’s way through the weeping willows, there is a gate. A stone plaque is embedded at the top, with the words “Light Mist and Fine Rain” (dan yan shu yu), also inscribed by Zheng Yuanyue. Passing through the gate a winding corridor, with forks both left and right, leads to the master’s study. It is comprised of a three-bay chamber and a reception room, also three bays in size. Outside the window, there are a number of large rocks, three or four plantains, and a single sala tree.48 The ground is cobbled with goose-egg-sized pebbles. The cracks of the rocks are filled with crabapples. The belvedere to the left of the chamber is perfectly balanced with it. Ascending there, one can gaze into the far distance upon all the peaks of Jiangnan. At the time when bandits threatened the neighborhood and Salt Commissioner Deng (Deng gong) feared that the belvedere, due to its height, might be occupied by bandits, it was dismantled and replaced by a smaller structure. In the forecourt there are many interesting rocks. At the corners of the chamber, two rockeries have been formed, mainly planted with sweet osmanthus trees. Tree peony, “Hanging Floss” crabapple, jade magnolia, yellow, white, and red big pearl camellia, wintersweet, “Thousand Leaf ” pomegranate, blue-and-white crape myrtle, and sweet-smelling citron grow beneath the rockeries, providing the garden with color in all four seasons. Around the corner of the rock there opens up a small one-wing door that leads to a pavilion by the side of the water. The pavilion carries the words “In Hermitage” (gulu zhong), inscribed by Jiang Chengzong, studio name Kaixian, whilst the words “Pavilion of the Blue-Green Waves” (Kuocuiting), inscribed by Ni Yuanlu (studio name Hongbao) of Shanyin, is hung there too.49 Beyond the pavilion there is a bridge, and on this bridge there is another pavilion named the Drenched Eyebrows’ Prominence (Meirong).50 Joining the pavilion there is a belvedere called the Window of Prominence (Rongchuang). Two paths lead away from the back of the belvedere, one to a hexagonal doorway behind which there is a chamber and a reception hall,

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both three bays in size, named the Studio of a Single Stroke (Yizizhai). This is the place where Xu Shuo‘an used to teach. Below the steps grow a single ancient pine and seaside pomegranate tree. The terrace is shaped like one half of a sword ring, and tree peonies and white peonies are planted all around. Beyond the low wall one can see a rock face where two pines stretch up gracefully halfway to the sky. There is another large doorway opposite the hexagonal one, beyond which there is a winding corridor. The corridor has a single tiny doorway, through which one can see a sweet osmanthus tree. This route provides an alternative way out of the garden. Half Belvedere is located behind Drenched Eyebrows’ Prominence. To the left of the path, we find the inscription “Belvedere of the Love of Solitude” (Meiyouge) written by Chen Jiru (studio name Meigong).51 The belvedere is surrounded by water on three sides; on the remaining side there is a rock vis-à-vis on which are planted two “toothpick” pines. Beneath the rock runs a stony creek that allows the water of the pond to flow onto the plot of land. The creek is edged by large rocks that jut out fiercely like weapons in a battle, and five-color plum blossoms have been planted in the cracks. Having encircled the three sides of the belvedere, the creek then disappears into the river, with a single rock rising all alone in the midst of the water and a flowering plum nearby. The window at the rear of the belvedere overlooks the Thatched Cottage of the Jade Hook. This is the end point of the garden. A patch of surplus land has been retained several dozen steps away from the garden, with a lotus pond, a reed pavilion, and a nursery for replacement trees and flowers.52 A friend of the master, Wang Chun, style Xianmin, built the Perch of the Precious Stamen and designated this spot as a place for the releasing of live creatures.53 When Xianmin died, our master placed the wooden tablet for him here, and offered sacrifices. These are the scenic spots and the pavilions within the master’s garden as identified from his personal record. After more than a century, the relics of this site remain. According to the Jiangdu County Gazetteer (Jiangduxian zhi) it was sited in the south of the city, whereas the Yangzhou Prefecture Gazetteer (Yangzhoufu zhi) located it in the city’s east.54 Based on the present location of the garden, the county gazetteer is correct. The name plaque at the garden gate has long been lost. The rock that nowadays is integrated in the Leisurely Old Man’s Gate (Xiaosoumen), on Commerce Street (Maimaijie), is a relic from this garden.

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Biographies of the Two Garden Masters Zheng Yuanxun and Zheng Yuanhua [8/2] The shrines of the two gentlemen Zheng, the “Loyal” and the “Righteous,” are located south of the Garden of Shadows. The front entrance is just by the river, overlooking the South Gate (Nanmen) on the opposite bank. The hall inside has five bays, and serves for offering sacrifices to the wooden tablets of the two masters of the Ming dynasty: Zheng Yuanxun, the Secretary at the Bureau of Operations in the Ministry of War; and Zheng Yuanhua, the Grand Master for Glorious Happiness, Vice Commissionerin-Chief in the Chief Military Commission of the Right. Coming out the gate from the side chamber on the left, one moves on to the Tiger-Skin Wall and arrives at the hall by passing through a lower gate. The two Zheng brothers lived in Longevity (Changling1) Village in She County (Shexian), Huizhou Prefecture. Their two ancestors, Daotong, a Censor, and Juzhen, an Administrative Vice Commissioner, died in the Jianwen reign (1398– 1402) of the former Ming dynasty, after the Jingnan Campaign (1399–1402).55 Since then the lineage has accumulated virtues and merits. After seven generations, when it came to the two masters, the lineage began to proliferate. Both masters started to accumulate merits during the late Ming. For the two ancestors Daotong and Junzhen, prior to the two masters, the Shrine of Double Loyalty (Shuangzhongci) had been erected. Xiaru, Weiguang, and Weixu, who came after the two masters, entered the Shrine of the Local Worthies (Xiangxianci) in the present dynasty. Only the virtues of the two masters have remained hidden. Upon the death of Yuanxun, the local people erected a shrine right next to the Garden of Shadows. Zheng Yuanxun, style Chaozong, studio name Huidong, was the second son of Zheng Zhiyan. He was brilliant by nature. He passed the preliminary examination at the county level (tongshi), and was praised by Prince Zhang Bin (Zhang Bin wang) as a “state talent.”56 In the jiazi year of the Tianqi reign (1624), when he was twenty-one, he was awarded the sixth rank in the provincial examination in Yingtian Prefecture (Yingtianfu, i.e., Nanjing). At the time, there were repeated famines in the Jiang-Huai region. “Many people starved on the streets.”57 Xun (i.e., Zheng Yuanxun) therefore donated money to rescue kin, gathered the weight of a thousand dan of grain for distribution to every household unit,58 and gave out porridge in Heavenly Tranquility Monastery (Tianningsi) in order to feed the starving.

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A friend of Xun once annoyed a eunuch. When the eunuch sought to take revenge on the friend, Xun hid him in a separate room, so the eunuch could not get hold of him even with a large-scale search. After the eunuch finally gave up, Xun could bid farewell to his friend. Luo Wanzao from Yuzhang once encountered fierce bandits on the way and was seriously injured. When he passed by Yangzhou, Xun sheltered him, provided him with medicine, and sponsored his journey. Wan Shihua from Nanchang died when he sojourned in Yangzhou. Xun personally oversaw the placement in the coffin, accompanied his body and coffin and, to avoid having any regrets, helped with pulling the ropes at the interment. In the early days, when the garden was built, banquets were held and celebrated scholars were invited to write poetry and drink wine. Not a single day passed without such big gatherings being held. In the guiwei year of the Chongzhen reign (1643), a branch of yellow tree peony was placed inside the garden.59 It was a big poetry-writing gathering of song-lyric (ci) poets. All the excellent poets were invited to take part. The names of the participants were concealed, and recorders were employed to transcribe the poems, to prevent favoritism, before the ranking was determined. The first-place winner was awarded the capacity of two ancient vessels (gong) of gold, engraved with the words “Primus of the Yellow Tree Peony” (huang mudan zhuangyuan). At the time this was regarded as a magnificent event.60 In the guiwei year, Xun was awarded the third rank in the Metropolitan Examinations, but after he declined office, he returned to Yangzhou for leave.61 Upon return he met Gao Jie in Yizheng and Yangzhou.62 At the time, those based in Yangzhou for military defense were: Grand Coordinator Huang Jiarui, Vice Commissioner of Military Defense Circuit Ma Minglu, Prefectural Judge Tang Laihe, and the Magistrate of Jiangdu, Li Richeng. Minglu bore a grudge against Laihe due to an event in the past. Laihe’s father was a fellow of master Xun, both were awarded the degree of Presented Scholar in the same year, and hence Xun got along well with Laihe. Minglu suspected Xun at every opportunity, and they clashed several times. When Jie was once a subordinate, he had committed crimes and was to be executed. Xun pledged for him and was exonerated. Hence, Jie owed Xun a debt.63 At the time, the master said, “The matter is very urgent, I don’t care much about myself if I can rescue my kin from suffering, and I am ready to carry it out and ride a horse on my own.” The family servant Jiang Ziming stopped the horse and pleaded. Xun scolded him and said, “For the peace of the people of Yangzhou, even if I sacrifice myself there is hardly any harm.”

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Eventually, Xun entered Jie’s camp in order to perform the great virtue, and he held Jie to account for the pillaging. Jie did not defend himself and said, “This is actually the fault of my subordinate Yang Cheng.” He issued the command to retreat and to punish Yang Cheng. (Yang Cheng, originally named Chengzu, hailed from Qin. He was assigned to the office of the Regional Military Commission, in charge of the northwestern troops. Soldiers coming to the south were mostly from the northwest, and they kept close to Chengzu. Hence, Chengzu was able to take advantage of them and to engage in pillage. There was talk about this amongst the soldiers. Further details can be derived from the introductory preface to the Poetry Collection of Tower of Another Shadow (Bieyinglou shi), by Feng Shigao from Jiangzhou. (Others say that it was neither one Yang Cheng 㣳ㆹ nor one Yang Cheng 㣳婉.) Jie then presented the master with several hundred passes allowing traders to go in and out of the city, putting them into his sleeve. He also withdrew his troops to a distance of five li. The city gates on the northwestern side were opened temporarily to bring in grain and fuel. When Xun encountered people, he often raised his sleeve and distributed passes to them. He gave them away as he proceeded, and mid-way, the supply of passes was exhausted, and the latecomers could not get any. They then accused the master of avarice, or even shockingly suspected him and circulated the rumor, “Gao Jie avoided the death penalty because of some fellow called Zheng; this can’t but be a close relative of Zheng Yuanxun; he is certainly receiving a payoff; he must die.” In the course of one evening these words swept through the city. That night, Minglu unleashed a barrage of stones at Gao Jie’s troops. Enraged, they again pressed around the city with a great hubbub, as though about to attack. In the middle of the night, the populace clamored and accused Zheng of belonging to the party of the bandits. There was also a message passed on that mistook the phrase “killing the man Yang Cheng” (zhu Yang Cheng 娮㣳 婉) for “massacring the city of Yangzhou” (zhu Yang cheng 娮㎃❷).64 They then exposed the blades of their swords and surrounded Xun many times over. All of a sudden, all the blades were raised and Xun was killed. His bondservant Yin Qi also sacrificed himself in the struggle. This event is described in the Yangzhou Prefecture Gazetteer and Lu Lindu’s Yizheng County Gazetteer (Yizhengxian zhi).65 Hang Jinpu from Yuanhe also described it in particular detail in his Collection from the Hall of Discoursing about Antiquity (Daogutang ji).66 Zheng Yuanhua had the style Zanke. In the prime of life, he was awarded the title of Vice Commissioner-in-Chief in the Chief Military Commission

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of the Right due to his relation with Xun (i.e., Zheng Yuanxun). He was generous, brilliantly decisive, did not fear those with power and wealth, had seen a lot of things in the world, and was not corrupt as an official. All his elder and younger brothers could establish themselves and made brilliant official careers. Hua (i.e., Zheng Yuanhua), however, in old age, wore a fur coat and cotton clothing, ate simple food, and lived a modest life. He was generous, considerate, and loyal. He practiced virtue and goodness in his county, and all the villagers stood up for him. He had a son named Weixu. The present Garden of the Pleasing Trees (Jiashuyuan) was the hermitage place of Master Hua. The two masters transmitted the merits of their ancestors and passed on virtue and righteousness through the nine generations that followed after the Two Loyalists. For these events,  refer to the third edition of the Gazetteer of the Garden of Rest (Xiuyuan zhi)67 and the genealogy of the eminent Zheng lineage (Zheng shi wangzu).68

Manuals on Garden Construction Consulted by Li Dou [17/9] In former times Yu Hao compiled the Timberwork Manual (Mu jing), and Ding Yuan and Li Ju advanced to become the two unsurpassed master carpenters at the [Han] court.69 Later generations inherited their techniques. [ . . . ] Every palace room in the successive periods had its own standards. In the present dynasty, the Ministry of Public Works revised and defined the methods of construction and manufacture and published them as precedents for the inner court, so the construction works for the Garden of Perfect Brilliance (Yuanmingyuan) have been carried out in accordance with the presently practiced regulations and precedents. It is more detailed than the precedents set by the Ministry since it covers aspects like courts and temples, palace rooms, famous artifacts, decrees, and regulations. To examine the ancient precedents, one can consult the Illustrations of Palaces in the Classics (Qunjing gongshi tu) by Jiao Xun, style Litang; to evaluate the present, one could refer to Description of the Capital and Environs (Chenyuan shilüe) by Wu Changyuan, style Taichu.70

Notes I would like to thank the editors and organizers of this project, as well as Michele Matteini, Lucie Olivová, and other participants, for their comments on this paper. I am also grateful to my supervisor Shelagh Vainker and my contemporaries at Oxford who took part

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Winnie Yuen Lai Chan in the classical Chinese seminars at the Institute of Chinese Studies, for the discussions and comments made on earlier drafts of the translated excerpts. 1. James Cahill, “The Three Zhangs, Yangzhou Beauties, and the Manchu Court,” Orientations 27, no. 9 (1996): 59–68; Wu Hung, “Beyond Stereotypes: The Twelve Beauties in Qing Court Art and the Dream of the Red Chamber,” in Writing Women in Late Imperial China, ed. Ellen Widmer and Kang-i Sun Chang (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1997), 306–365. 2. For descriptions of interiors, see the last chapter of Jonathan Hay, Sensuous Surfaces: The Decorative Object in Early Modern China (London: Reaktion, 2010). 3. For the text of Yangzhou huafang lu, references are to the standard edition, ed. Wang Beiping and Tu Yugong (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1960, 2007 printing, hereafter YHL, cited according to chapter/paragraph). For more background information on this text and its author, see: Li Dou, “The Painted Barges of Yangzhou: Excerpts,” trans. Lucie Borota, Renditions 46 (1996): 58–68; Lucie Olivová, “Reminiscences from the Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou: A Book about City,” Acta Universitatis Carolinae: Philologica 1, Orientalia Pragensia 14 (2001): 127–149; Lucie Olivová, “Li Dou and Theatre: The Case of an Eighteenth Century Yangzhou Playwright,” in The Chinese at Play: Festivals, Games and Leisure, ed. Anders Hansson, Bonnie S. McDougall, and Frances Weightman (London: Kegan Paul, 2002), 109– 136. Also see the discussion and translation by Lucie Olivová in Chapter 6. 4. YHL, 10/38. Lu Jianzeng was the Salt Commissioner of Yangzhou in Li Dou’s period. A drinking game called “ivory tallies of the twenty-four views” (yapai ershisi jing) was said to have been played in the elegant gathering he convened for the official launch of the views (YHL, 8/6). The scenes were then included in Li Dou’s book as illustrations, though the total number varies. For Lu’s short biography, see Wang Cheng, ed., Yangzhou lishi renwu cidian (Nanjing: Jiangsu guji, 2001), 115. The painter Zhang Quan had a painting entitled Picture of Yangzhou’s twenty-four views (Yangzhou ershisi jing tu; see YHL, 15/20). The “twenty-four views” refer to the long-lost Twenty-four Bridge (Ershisiqiao) that was once the cultural symbol of the city. See Philip Kafalas’ discussion of the bridge in Chapter 3 of this volume, note 8. About the painter of the illustrations, see Olivová, “Reminiscences from the Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou,” 140–141. 5. See Chen Zhi and Zhang Gongchi, eds., Zhongguo lidai ming yuan ji xuanzhu (Hefei: Anhui kexue jishu, 1983), 393–419. 6. For a short biography of Yuan Mei, see Arthur W. Hummel, ed., Eminent Chinese of the Ch‘ing Period (1644–1912) (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1943– 1944), 2:955–957. For a monograph-length treatment, see J. D. Schmidt, Harmony Garden: The Life, Literary Criticism, and Poetry of Yuan Mei (1716–1798) (London: RoutledgeCurzon, 2003). 7. YHL, 9/1. The life dates for Liu Maoji are unknown. 8. See Xie Yangeng et al., eds., Guangxu Jiangdu xianzhi (rpt. of 1883 ed., Nanjing: Jiangsu guji, 1991), 1.1a–5b. 9. Kan Duo, “Gongduan yingzao lu fu Yangzhou huafang lu sheji yingzao zhi jishu,” Zhongguo yingzao xueshe huikan 2, no. 3 (1931): 1–64. 10. YHL, 17/9. 11. Here we refer to the edition Wang Puzi et al., eds., Gongcheng zuofa zhushi (Beijing: Zhongguo jianzhu gongye, 1995). See also Liang Sicheng, Qingshi yingzao zeli (Beiping: Zhongguo yingzao xueshe, 1934). Christine Moll-Murata, Song Jianze, and Liu Qiang, “Union List of Handicraft Regulations of the Qing Dynasty in Chinese and International Collections,” in Chinese Handicraft Regulations of the Qing Dynasty: Theory and Applica-

The View from Li Dou’s The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou tion, ed. Christine Moll-Murata, Song Jianze, and Hans Ulrich Vogel (München: Iudicium, 2005), 542–543, item 3–1–1. 12. Moll-Murata, Song, and Liu, “Union List of Handicraft Regulations of the Qing Dynasty,” 529, item 1–4–6. 13. Klaas Ruitenbeek, Carpentry and Building in Late Imperial China: A Study of the Fifteenth-Century Carpenter’s Manual Lu Ban Jing (Leiden: Brill, 1993, hereafter LBJ). For the text of Lu Ban Jing, the English translation by Ruitenbeek serves as the reference edition (cited according to Ruitenbeek’s counting of chapter/paragraph). His reference edition, being the earliest extant copy of Lu Ban Jing, dating from ca. 1600, held at Naikaku Bunko, is included as appendix to his book. Ruitenbeek pointed out that Li Dou cited Lu Ban jing several times without giving any credit to the book. LBJ, I/1, I/2, I/16, I/18, I/21–25, I/31, I/60. Ruitenbeek, Carpentry and Building in Late Imperial China, 33, n. 100. 14. YHL, 17/3–4. 15. Wang Puzi, Gongcheng zuofa zhushi, chapters 21–23. 16. YHL, 17/2; LBJ, I/31. 17. YHL, 17/10; LBJ, I/1, I/2. 18. YHL, 17/19; LBJ, 1/18, I/21–25. 19. Kan Duo, “Gongduan yingzao lu,” 1. For a list of handicraft regulations, see MollMurata, Song, and Liu, “Union List of Handicraft Regulations of the Qing Dynasty.” 20. Jonathan Hay, “The Diachronics of Early Qing Visual and Material Culture,” in The Qing Formation in World-historical Time, ed. Lynn Struve (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2004), 303–334. 21. The steps of works include earthwork, structural carpentry, bracketing work, scaffolding work, tile layering, bricklaying, glazed tiles (liuli) work, stonemasonry, interior fittings, copper and iron work, paint manufacturing, paintings, paper hanging, furniture, and implements. 22. The different types of workers are master carpenters, carpenters, experts in material estimates, bracketing workers, installation workers, scaffolding masters, tile layers, bricklayers, stonemasons, wood carvers, bell engravers, sawyers, copper- and ironsmiths, painters, specialists in chisel works, water-polishing, wax-polishing, dry-polishing, veneered work, and experts in inlays. YHL, 17/9, 17/11, 17/12, 17/17, 17/20, 17/23, 17/26. Li Dou also explains that “workers for tile layering” (wazuo) were called “plasterers” if they were from the north of Yellow River, and “tile layers” if they were from the south. YHL, 17/12. 23. YHL, 2/148. 24. Li Dou discusses a paper model technique termed tangyang in YHL, 17/1. Tangyang is a miniature model made of paper, or papier mâché, in designing buildings, which Ruitenbeek has referred to as “made by the principal, to show the carpenter what kind of house he desired.” Ruitenbeek, Carpentry and Building in Late Imperial China, 50. The monumental collections are those made by the architects of the Lei family, nicknamed “the Model Leis” (Yangshi Lei), who supervised the imperial model department for seven generations throughout the Qing period. 25. There were two types of law in imperial China: the Code (lü) and the Collected Statutes (huidian). For the Ming, Da Ming lü (The Great Ming code), see Jiang Yonglin, trans., The Great Ming Code: Da Ming Lü (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2005); and Ming huidian (Collected Statutes of the Ming). For the Qing, Da Qing lüli (The Great Qing code), see William C. Jones, trans., The Great Qing Code (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994). 26. Jones, The Great Qing Code, 180, “Article 175: Violating the rules on clothing and houses.”

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Winnie Yuen Lai Chan 27. YHL, 17/32. Imperial Prince was the designation conferred on all sons of each reigning emperor, other than the Heir Apparent. The title of Commandery Prince was granted to sons of Imperial Princes. Beile and Beile Prince are imperial Manchu noble titles. 28. YHL, 17/22. 29. YHL, 17/24. 30. YHL, 8/1. See also Zheng Yuanxun’s “Personal Record of the Garden of Shadows” (Yingyuan zi ji), translated by Alison Hardie in Chapter 1 of this volume. For an alternative introduction and translation of this text, see Zheng Yuanxun, “A Personal Record of My Garden of Reflections,” trans. Duncan Campbell, Asian Studies Institute Translation Paper 5 (2004). The text is also included in Chen Zhi and Zhang Gongchi, Zhongguo lidai mingyuan ji xuanzhu, 220–227. 31. Zhu Jiang, Yangzhou yuanlin pinshang lu (Shanghai: Shanghai wenhua, 1984), 80. For studies on Yangzhou gardens in English, see Tobie Meyer-Fong, Building Culture in Early Qing Yangzhou (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 2003), 165–196; Antonia Finnane, Speaking of Yangzhou: A Chinese City, 1550–1850 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Asia Center, 2004), 172–212; Lucie Olivová, “Building History and Preservation of Yangzhou,” and Věna Hrdličková, “The Culture of Yangzhou Residential Gardens,” both in Lifestyle and Entertainment in Yangzhou, ed. Lucie Olivová and Vibeke Børdahl (Copenhagen: NIAS Press, 2009), 3–36 and 75–86, respectively. 32. YHL, 8/2. 33. Here, Yuan Mei compares Yangzhou huafang lu to the records about two Song cities: Li Gefei’s Records of the Famous Gardens of Luoyang (Luoyang mingyuan ji, 1095); and Wu Zimu’s (fl. 1300) Record of the Millet Dream (Meng liang lu), on Hangzhou. Yuan Mei might have confused the Record of the Millet Dream with Meng Yuanlao’s Dream of Splendors Past in the Eastern Capital (Dongjing meng hua lu), which describes the Northern Song capital Bianliang (present-day Kaifeng). 34. “Ten thousand things” means everything. 35. Qiu Ying (hao Shizhou, ca. 1482–1559), a painter in Ming-dynasty Suzhou, was famous for painting courtly residences of immortals in the technique known as “boundary painting” ( jiehua). 36. The first two were Six Dynasties painters, while the last two were Han poets. 37. “Ivory tallies with the twenty-four views” (yapai ershisi jing) was a special kind of wine-drinking and poetry-writing game themed on Yangzhou’s twenty-four scenic sites. In YHL, 8/6, Li Dou laid out the rules of this game, which uses a set of tallies made of ivory, each about half an inch wide and inscribed with a par ticu lar character. Each player receives between ten and one hundred character tallies. Then the players are asked to assemble them into the verses of a poem—a task that requires considerable skill. The resulting poems are then carved, published, and distributed around town within three days. The translation is based on Li Dou, “The Painted Barges of Yangzhou,” 65. 38. Yuan Mei lived in Nanjing, which is located further upstream and on the southern bank of the Yangzi. Hanjiang is an archaic name for Yangzhou. 39. On the concept of “recumbent traveling” (wo you), see note 30 to Alison Hardie’s translation in Chapter 1 of this volume. Riding on the back of a crane is generally a symbol of transcendence to immortality, but here alludes specifically to the famous verse line “If girding yourself with cash is your aim, / Fly up to Yangzhou on the back of a crane,” attributed to Yin Yun. 40. Historically, the image of the city of Yangzhou was often associated with loft y palaces and imperial gardens of the lost dynasties. The earliest such allusion can be traced to the

The View from Li Dou’s The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou Western Han; in 160 B.C.E. Bao Zhao mentioned in his “Rhyme-prose on the Overgrown City” (Wucheng fu, 459 C.E.) the devastation of the city. The Ming-loyalist painter Shi Tao (1641–ca. 1707) had a painting bearing the same title. In the poem “Passing through Yangzhou again in the sixth month of the jihai year (1839)” (Jihai liuyue chong guo Yangzhou ji), Gong Zizhen (1792–1841) compared what he saw in Yangzhou with Bao Zhao’s descriptions. Gong Zizhen, Gong Zizhen quanji, ed. Wang Peizheng (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1974), 1:185–186. 41. A garden designer-practitioner specialized in model making, the treatment of water, and the piling-up of strange rocks. 42. Yangzhou artist Wang Shixiong, who was a master of cloisonné enamel vessels, joined the court in 1739. For his short biography, see Wang Cheng, Yangzhou lishi renwu cidian, 48. 43. The Six Principles (liu fa) were first suggested by Xie He in his Classified Record of Ancient Painters (Guhua pinlu) from the late sixth century. They remained the key criteria for Chinese painting. 44. Shu Ridge lies to the north of the city of Yangzhou. 45. The popu lar naming alludes to the realm of reclusion described in Tao Yuanming’s essay “Record of the Peach Blossom Spring” (Taohuayuan ji). For an English translation, see John Minford and Joseph S. M. Lau, eds., Classical Chinese Literature: An Anthology of Translations: Volume I: From Antiquity to the Tang Dynasty (New York: Columbia University Press, 2000), 515–517. 46. No information on these gardens exists, to the author’s knowledge. 47. Thousand Men’s Throne (Qianrenzuo) refers to a par ticu lar rock at Tiger Hill (Huqiushan) in Suzhou. 48. Sala is a kind of teak tree that came from South and Southeast Asia. 49. Jiang Chengzong was a member of the Restoration Society (Fushe). Ni Yuanlu (1593– 1644) was a calligrapher–painter and a loyalist official who died for the Ming at the time of its fall; see Hummel, Eminent Chinese of the Ch‘ing Period, 1:587. 50. Zheng Yuanxun pointed out in his personal garden record that the bridge overlooks the water just as an eyebrow overlooks the eye. Hence, Zheng adds the “water” radical to the character mei 䚲 (eyebrow) to form the character mei 㷭 (“the margin of a lake”). Besides, the belvedere has projecting eaves, and therefore the character rong (“splendor”) is chosen that has the technical meaning of “overhanging eaves.” Zheng, “A Personal Record of My Garden of Reflections,” 22, n. 36. 51. Chen Jiru was an eminent writer of the time. Zheng Yuanxun collaborated with Chen Jiru in the compilation of the collection Literary Amusements from the Belvedere of the Love of Solitude (Meiyouge wenyu), an anthology of prose of the Ming dynasty. The character mei ⩃ in the compilation’s title is an allusion to Chen’s style name. Zheng, “A Personal Record of My Garden of Reflections,” 22, n. 37. 52. “Several dozen wu” means at short strolling distance from the garden. 53. “Releasing live creatures” (fangsheng) refers to the Buddhist practice of liberating sentient beings serving the accumulation of good deeds. For the biography of Wang Chun, see Guoli Zhongyang Tushuguan, ed., Mingren zhuanji ziliao suoyin (Taibei: Guoli zhongyang tushuguan, 1965), 1:69. 54. In fact, the Gazetteer of Yangzhou Prefecture (Yangzhoufu zhi) of 1810 locates the garden in the city’s west. See Akedang Axiu et al., eds., (Chongxiu) Yangzhoufu zhi (1810), rpt. in Zhongguo fangzhi congshu (Taibei: Chengwen, 1974), vol. 145, 31.51b. 55. This refers to the battle among the potential successors to the fi rst Ming Emperor.

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Winnie Yuen Lai Chan 56. Guoqi, literally, “a [useful] vessel for the state,” is a figurative expression for a person with outstanding talents for ser vice in the administration. 57. This phrase is a quotation from the Zuo Commentary (Zuo zhuan), “Third Year of Duke Zhao” (Zhao gong san nian). This sentence remained untranslated in James Legge, trans., The Chinese Classics (rpt., Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 1960), 5:589. 58. Fangguo is the basic unit of an urban household. 59. This is a variety of mudan, commonly known as “King of the Flowers” (huawang). Its cultivation technique is discussed in the horticultural manual Mirror of Flowers (Hua jing, 1688) by the Ming writer Chen Haozi (b. 1611). Zheng, “A Personal Record of My Garden of Reflections,” 19, n. 3. 60. The resulting poems were published together with Zheng’s “Personal Record of the Garden of Shadows” under the title The Jasper Flower Collection from the Garden of Shadows (Yingyuan yaohua ji), which Li Dou referred to. 61. Zheng Yuanxun was awarded the Presented Scholar ( jinshi) degree in 1643. 62. Gao Jie (d. 1645) was a former bandit chief who later turned into a Ming loyalist. Hummel, Eminent Chinese of the Ch‘ing Period, 1:410–411. 63. For a brief history of this, see Finnane, Speaking of Yangzhou, 83. 64. Gao Jie’s promise to punish Yang Cheng was meant as retribution not against his own subordinate but against the city of Yangzhou (Yang cheng ㎃❷). 65. Chen Bangzhen et al., eds., Yizhengxian zhi (1693), in Xijian Zhongguo difangzhi huikan, ed. Zhongguo kexueyuan tushuguan (Beijing: Zhongguo shudian, 1992), 13:8.44b-45a. 66. Hang Shijun, Daogutang wenji (rpt. 1888 ed.), in Xuxiu Siku quanshu, ed. Xuxiu Siku quanshu bianzuan weiyuanhui (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1995–2002), 1426:28. 67. This refers to Zheng Qinghu’s (b. 1736) Gazetteer of Yangzhou’s Garden of Quiescence (Yangzhou Xiuyuan zhi, 1773). 68. This title does not necessarily refer to a published book, since most lineage genealogies remained in manuscript form. 69. Yu Hao (whose name has been written with variant characters) was a master carpenter in the Five Dynasties period. His Timberwork Manual is mentioned in Shen Kuo, Mengxi bitan (Shanghai: Shangwu yinshuguan, 1937), 18.113. Ding Yuan and Li Ju were master builders at the Western Han court and responsible for the construction of the Zhaoyang Palace in Chang’an for Consort Zhao Hede of Han Emperor Cheng (Chengdi, 33–37 B.C.E.), recorded in Ge Hong, Xijing zaji (Yangzhou: Jiangsu Guangling guji keyinshe, 1984), 1.3a. 70. On Jiao Xun (1763–1820), see the discussion by Colin Mackerras in Chapter 10 of the present volume. Jiao Xun’s Illustrations of Palaces in the Classics “is an illustrated treatise on the plans, technical terms, and uses of the houses, palaces, temples and other kinds of buildings mentioned in the various classics.” Hummel, Eminent Chinese of the Ch‘ing Period, 1:145. Its earliest printing date is unclear. The work by Wu Changyuan (fl. 1770), Description of the Capital and its Environs, was also contemporary. There is a 1788 edition.

8

Observations of a Changing World Lin Sumen’s Bamboo-Branch-Style Songs Three Hundred Poems of Hanjiang (Hanjiang sanbai yin, 1808) Introduced, translated, and annotated by Roland Altenburger

Lin Sumen (zi Suyun, Budeng, hao Lanchi, ca. 1748–1809) was a native of Yangzhou’s Ganquan District and grew up in this city.1 It is unclear whether he ever took any steps up the examination ladder, but evidently as a young man he already must have gained some renown for his vast erudition, for in 1780 he was invited to join the editorial team of the Complete Library of the Four Treasuries (Siku quanshu, 1773–1782) project as an assistant editor, a position he held for ten years, until about 1790. Subsequently he was given an honorary position in the residence of a hereditary descendant of Confucius at Qufu, in Shandong Province. Lin was a maternal uncle to Ruan Yuan (1764–1849), who became one of the most brilliant scholar-officials of his time.2 Ruan won the Presented Scholar ( jinshi) degree in 1789 and, after a period of ser vice in the imperial Hanlin Academy, began a distinguished career as a high-ranking administrator. In 1793 Ruan was appointed the Director of Education of Shandong Province and in 1794 invited his maternal uncle Lin Sumen to join his growing retinue of private secretaries as a highly respected member. At the places where Ruan was holding office, he made it a habit to hire regionally known scholars as editors to some prestigious large-scale compilation and publication projects, through which he recommended them (and also himself) to the throne. Lin’s course of life, after he joined Ruan’s entourage, remained closely linked to the latter’s, as he followed Ruan Yuan to the subsequent stations of his official career. Thus, in 1795, Lin followed Ruan to Hangzhou, the provincial capital of Zhejiang, while the latter served as this province’s Director of Education, and subsequently he also accompanied him to the Capital. In 173

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Figure 8.1. Portrait of Lin Sumen in Three Hundred Poems of Hanjiang, 1808. (Lin Sumen, Hanjiang sanbai yin, rpt. 1808 ed.)

1799, when Ruan was sent back to Zhejiang, now as acting Governor, Lin followed him again and stayed with him in Hangzhou until 1805. That year Ruan took a temporary leave from his duties to mourn for his deceased father, and Lin returned with Ruan to their native city of Yangzhou for a little over two years. Lin Sumen gained a modest renown as an author of so-called bamboobranch songs (zhuzhici) about Yangzhou. This lyric genre of four-line poems, formally similar to heptasyllabic quatrains (qiyan jueju), but with a freer prosody and a more colloquial style, was appreciated throughout the late imperial period for its unique capacity to describe scenes of local culture, folk customs as well as all kinds of local peculiarities, often with an ironical undertone, or an outright satirical intent.3 There are numerous cases of single bamboo-branch songs, but more frequently they come in groups or as a series, often forming entire cycles with up to one hundred texts, sometimes even more. Bamboo-branch songs were written about virtually all the major cities, and about some localities in particularly large numbers, as several recent large-scale compilations of the genre have revealed.4 For instance,

Lin Sumen’s Bamboo-Branch-Style Songs Three Hundred Poems of Hanjiang

a compilation of bamboo-branch songs about cities in Jiangsu Province includes around 6,700 pieces by over 400 authors.5 As a result of the recent re-editions, historians have begun to discover the considerable and in many regards unique source value of this lyric genre.6 Such bamboo-branch songs were commonly written in the vernacular, occasionally even in a colloquial style. In many cases they are nonetheless hard for readers to understand nowadays, which is due to the frequent localdialect expressions, on the one hand, and the allusions and the jokes aiming at contemporary situations and conditions, on the other. Even though it seems likely that such songs were primarily written with a local audience in mind, some bamboo-branch song cycles also include prefaces or comments to each individual song, providing contextualizing information, which also made the songs accessible to a nonlocal audience and to later generations of readers. Bamboo-branch songs are sometimes mistaken for a folk literary genre, but the authors typically were literati. While bamboo-branch song cycles were written by learned authors and primarily distributed in print (which is the main reason why so many of them have come down to us), some song cycles appear to have become quite popular and perhaps were being recited in the streets. This may have given them a folksy veneer, but they should still not be considered as primarily a genre of oral literature. Despite the genre’s hypothetical folk-literary roots, we have no indication whatsoever that bamboo-branch songs had ever been publicly performed in late imperial times. The leaning toward the vernacular in terms of style was partly due to its range of topics, mostly referring to aspects of popular culture and social life, and partly due to its readership, which is likely to have included a major segment of commoners. Often the authors themselves were locals, who via this genre demonstrated their close familiarity with their native city and its customs. However, there are numerous counter-examples in which authors were unfamiliar with, or estranged from, the place and the phenomena they described, and who through a series of bamboo-branch songs were actually documenting their response of puzzlement about, or alienation from, what they had observed.7 Thus, it may be argued, bamboo-branch songs were, to their authors, a genre meant for the literary documentation of precise observation, including the seeming trivialities of everyday social life; and to their audiences, a medium that on the one hand contributed to the representation of the local community and to the creation of group identity, but on the other hand also promoted a

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critical collective self-perception and self-reflection by pointing out the problematic sides of the local culture. Among the dozens of major bamboo-branch song cycles about Yangzhou that have been handed down,8 the best-known one was Bamboo-Branch Songs on Yangzhou (Yangzhou zhuzhici) by Dong Weiye (zi Chifu, hao Aijiang), which carries a preface dated 1740 by the famous painter, calligrapher, and poet Zheng Banqiao (ming Xie, 1693–1765).9 Lin Sumen wrote a cycle of  bamboo-branch songs that he titled “Sequel to Bamboo-Branch Songs on Yangzhou” (Xu Yangzhou zhuzhici, preface 1800). It comprised exactly ninety-nine poems, the same number as Dong Weiye’s work, and even echoed the rhymes his predecessor had used. Thus he signaled that his work was a direct continuation of, and response to, Dong’s widely known cycle of poems. In the course of his long years of absence from Yangzhou, Lin Sumen had developed feelings of homesickness. In 1797 he finally got permission for a temporary visit to his native city, and he wrote his first series of bamboobranch songs, closely following Dong’s, on the basis of “what he heard and saw” during this stay. In 1805, he returned to Yangzhou for a longer period of time, since this time he followed his patron Ruan Yuan, who returned to his native city to observe mourning for his late father. This stay of somewhat over two years allowed Lin to monitor and document more closely the numerous changes that meanwhile had taken place in the manners and customs of his hometown’s population. Lin had lived in other important cities of the empire, such as the capital Beijing and the provincial capital Hangzhou, which provided him with a rich experiential basis for comparison, besides the Yangzhou he had known up to 1780 during his youth and early adulthood. Three Hundred Poems of Hanjiang (Hanjiang sanbai yin, 1808)10 was the literary harvest he produced during this second stay. This major work comprised a total of 350 poems on 305 topics. Each topic is introduced by a short prose text that serves as a preface to the poem (or series of poems) that follows. In his own preface to the book he compares his work to Hunting in the Wilderness of the Wanli Era (Wanli yehuo bian) by Shen Defu (1578–1642), a famous late-Ming collection of notes (biji).11 Indeed, in Lin Sumen’s work the emphasis should be on the prose; the prefaces are generally more substantial than the poems, which often serve a merely decorative function. Nevertheless, the collection’s title emphasizes the poems, and not only does the classic round number of “three hundred poems” allude to The Classic of Songs (Shijing), but even the number of 305 topics appears to consciously replicate

Lin Sumen’s Bamboo-Branch-Style Songs Three Hundred Poems of Hanjiang

the actual number of 305 songs in the ancient classic. The prose texts, if read as prefaces, often provide indispensable context for making sense of the poems, whereas the reverse is rarely the case. The collection Three Hundred Poems of Hanjiang clearly follows the tradition of bamboo-branch song cycles, as is also indicated by the numerous implied references to its predecessor, Dong Weiye’s work.12 But even in terms of form, Lin Sumen’s work was unconventional in several respects: about half the poems included in it use five syllables per line rather than the seven syllables that are the rule for bamboo-branch songs; and besides the typical quatrain, the majority of poems are longer, in some cases much longer.13 Moreover, the entire work’s considerable length and the division in ten thematic sections (men) or chapters ( juan) were also unusual for the genre and actually allowed it to be published as a separate book.14 Due to these formal peculiarities, the work Three Hundred Poems of Hanjiang has not been included in any of the large-scale compilations of bamboo-branch songs. However, beyond these formalistic considerations, scholars of social and cultural history have not hesitated to consider it an outstanding work of bamboo-branch songs.15 A nephew of Lin Sumen’s, Lin Pu, in the preface to a collection of bamboo-branch songs of his own, praised his uncle as having “compiled an outline of the exemplary achievements of Yangzhou, providing a rich document of its time.”16 The text often includes comparisons in time and place, referring to the Yangzhou that Lin Sumen had known decades ago, on the one hand, and to other important places in the empire such as Hangzhou, Suzhou, and Beijing, where he had stayed, on the other. Antonia Finnane examines the text in terms of its keen interest in new trends in fashion and lifestyle and its particular attention to items imported from abroad. Lin’s treatment of this topic also includes a good deal of mockery about the Yangzhou people’s exaggerated desire for being trendy and showing off.17 But the work’s thematic scope is actually much vaster and includes the following ten topics: (1)  “Transmitting Yangzhou’s past achievements;” (2) “Major and minor magnanimous deeds;” (3) “Popular customs and current practices;” (4) “Home living and private experience;”18 (5) “Utmost sincerity and sentimental text;” (6) “New and sensational clothing and accessories;” (7) “Trendy and elegant pastimes;” (8) “Appropriate leisure activities;” (9) “Names for food and drinks;” (10) “Bantering and local-dialect expressions.” The selection of translated excerpts, as presented below, is meant to convey a sense of the diversity of themes and approaches found in Lin Sumen’s work. These themes include, among other topics, entries on the author’s

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investigations, in the manner of evidential scholarship (kaozhengxue), into the naming of places; acts of charity by his patron Ruan Yuan; descriptions of local mores and their changes over time, always with the implied claim of contributing to the rectification of local ways and the appropriate terms used for them; descriptions of new and foreign, and therefore exciting, gadgets; and finally, comments on some revealing local expressions. The prose passages are written in standard classical style, whereas the poems oscillate between colloquial style and a highly allusive literary style.



Three Hundred Poems of Hanjiang Excerpts [1/26]19

Four Eyes Well Is Mistaken for Rouge Well In Chang Residence Lane (Changfuxiang), inside South Gate (Nanmen), formerly there was the Rouge Well (Yanzhijing), and the Four Eyes Well (Siyanjing) is also located in this same lane. When I was a child, I once heard an old man say: “The water in Rouge Well is so red that Madame General Chang used it for make-up. But residents have long fi lled up the well with garbage.” In the twelft h year of the Jiaqing era (1807), when my uncle, Governor Ruan Yuan,20 conducted a search for historic sites, there were those who believed that Four Eyes Well was Rouge Well. After I had compared their accounts to the hearsay of the past and wound the winch to draw water for a test, I knew that they were wrong. Four Eyes Well evidently is fenced in all around; The remains of the general’s site leave everybody much disappointed. It was only erroneously that it had attracted attention back then; But having tested the water I am afraid it can hardly be used to paint peonies.

[1/28]21

The Public Shop at Ding Family Bend The salt merchants mostly reside within the New City, in the north and the south, and down at the riverside. The site of Ding Family Bend (Dingjiawan) is nearby. Those who do the brokerage for the merchant families always gather

Lin Sumen’s Bamboo-Branch-Style Songs Three Hundred Poems of Hanjiang

there. But since one cannot talk while standing up, there was one group of people who rented several rooms that they called the Public Shop (Gongdian). It allows the traders to get in contact and make transactions. During daytime it feels deserted, but at nighttime it is quite thriving. This shop is not the sandy field where the salt is exposed to the sun and boiled down.22 For the product there is a system of classifying it by four grades of quality. The trade is without self-interest, thriving late at night; Those who are not concerned with their own businesses bustle for others.

[2/6]23

The Bone- Collecting Altar Outside South Gate, in the region of the Autumn Rain Nunnery (Qiuyu‘an), on a piece of land near Dirt Sweeping Hill (Saogoushan), there is the greatest number of abandoned tombs. Over the years, the calamity of bone exposure has occurred. My late father, Patriarch Lin Qingquan, had his final resting place near this temple, and for this reason I caught sight of it. Upon return I said to the family members: “The salt censor of LiangHuai loves to bestow grants. Why then does he turn a deaf ear to this alone?” My nephew-uncle, Governor Ruan Yuan, already had become aware of this in his childhood years. In the spring of the bingyin year of the Jiaqing era (1806), the Governor was the first to donate money for the construction of three rooms, in an empty space to the left of the nunnery, where the good monks could collect and store the bones laid bare. He exhorted the district magistrate Wang Yanlin (Mengxing) to take charge of this matter. In a hall to the right-hand side of the nunnery he raised an altar. When the benevolent gentlemen24 in the city heard this news, they supplied more donations, so it was completed in only a few months. They also erected a charity tomb, in order to bury those who had starved on the road.25 Chen Xiangshan (Jingxian) donated to have it made alongside the nunnery’s garden, for which he was particularly praised as extremely benevolent. The Governor, moreover, had a wall built around it to protect it against digging by dogs. What a shameful sight, the cemetery along the road: Bleached bones and nobody to collect them. Under the cold sky the sun conceals in the west;

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Roland Altenburger Only whispering voices can be heard. By day encroached on by rain and snow, At night fed upon by fox spirits. Lamenting about what grief you have, The passing traveler feels sadness. Benevolent indeed are acts of charity, moisture for the dried up. Saving the living and saving the dead have just the same merit. One zhang high the altar springs up from the ground, Just like a seven-story pagoda. Down at the Yellow Springs, boundless the joy that arises; Innumerable ghosts and will-o’-the-wisps, inextinguishable. The haze is washed away under the high frosty sky; In front of Autumn Rain Nunnery the moon is like water.

[5/11]26

Burning Incense in Ten Temples If a Yangzhou family has been longing for a son and finally is so fortunate as to get one, they will not consider it the result of their cultivation of virtue, but the merit for having invited the luck. When they come across a temple, they have the desire to offer incense, and whenever they get sight of a sculpture of a deity, they burn incense to pay their respects. The idiom of “ten temples” refers to their praying for protection by the gods to get “ten” tenths full luck. How erroneous that is! At the birth of one’s first child, one is busy fulfi lling vows to gods; At first one has to apply prayers and rituals in ten temples. Offspring will have their own luck; How could it depend on sincere offerings of incense.

[5/25]27

Carrying a Second One “Second one” is another word for concubine. When one is buying a concubine in Yangzhou, one must first let her be carried in a sedan chair, to provide for the selection. One does not call this “buying a concubine,” but “carrying a second one.” In a small sedan chair she is being carried, the second miss. A little star can also be a pearl in the palm. One ought not to loathe the true name for it and call it “a second one;” Henceforward she will call her good old man “my true man.”28

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[5/27]29

Carrying a Second One but Fearing That the Main Wife Finds out about Her Wife and concubine are categorized as the “main one” and the “second one.” Main wives who are perfectly tolerant toward a concubine in their own residence are rare. Lately it has become an almost inevitable outcome at the selection of a second one to install her in separate quarters, and not even to let the main wife know about her. How fearful that is! Yesterday on the lake the fragrance of peach blossom was intense; The spout of the agate goblet was bright red. Today in the street a willows-and-flowers jade; While being carried in a small sedan chair, the curtain induces the green. Whiff upon whiff of profuse orchid and musk fragrances; Her coiff ure and make-up are done in a brand-new and clever style. After a thirty-year absence from Guangling, There is still the same old custom in my hometown.30 When in my hometown a concubine is carried in, she is called a second one. The girl, ten years young, is not of child-bearing age yet; “By night she goes swift ly,”31 hugging a quilt and a coverlet; When she dreamt of a wild bear, she had long divined it.32 As a general rule, jealousy arises in a wife’s heart. “The roaring of the Hedong lion”33 has been heard in the past and the present. Yet, as the saying goes, what counts is virtue not appearance; Set up a little faraway place that is only a short distance away. The second one is actually content with this, for it is both good and low;34 She got married to this man, but seldom gets to meet him personally. While the man intends to have tender affection for his concubine, His main wife will turn pale when she finds out about her. Why hide her in a golden room, As he fears that the news will travel through the residence’s curtains. Looking back, would he regret having taken a concubine in the first place? If one is seeking flowers and asking for willows, one has to bear an icy wind.

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[4/6]35

Butterfly Shoes The famous Yangzhou-style shoes—people from Suzhou and Hangzhou really envy us for them. I thought this was a great mistake, but recently, while I was temporarily staying in Wulin (Hangzhou), I had an opportunity to compare them with the shoes from Suzhou and Hangzhou, and so I began to believe that these are far inferior to those manufactured in Yangzhou. They equally have the same felt sole, but in Yangzhou it is made from entire pieces of thin felt that are laid up to ten or more layers high, and this fashion has not changed for a long time. As concerns the upper part of the shoe, it either all depends on raw silk, or on imported wool in various colors, on feathers, crepe silk, Nanjing silk, and the like. The edge is made of black 36 satin, extremely finely and exquisitely done, and absolutely le dernier cri. Now, the upper part of the shoe is either in purple or in grey, and they do not limit themselves to imported wool and such either. On the toe and the heel of the shoe, big butterflies are created from either black nest down, or from black and white satin, and attached to the top of the upper part of the shoe there is a little butterfly on each side. This is why they were named “butterfly shoes.” Back then, when I was a child, they were made out of black silk and sold on the market for five or six qian. In more recent times, the shoe shops also have quite a few of this kind, but if their price is asked, it is around one liang and two to three qian. One may well say that there is a large disparity between then and now. Not having locked the window, as the innkeeper demanded, On my feet I am wearing flowers, “and in things small and great we follow them.”37 If out of shock I were made to suffer a “split of the heel,”38 I would still have a dream of being another Zhuang Zhou.39

[7/7]40

A Clock in the Hall Chime clocks to tell the time are being used in Yangzhou’s trendy families. In recent years, there are those who set up a chiming clock in the hall. When a full hour has elapsed its minute hand has come full circle, and before it starts another round, there is an indistinct sound as if from the wooden clapper of a night watchman. Once the minute hand jumps, there is a sound like a large bell. Originally it indicates the hours by the number of

Lin Sumen’s Bamboo-Branch-Style Songs Three Hundred Poems of Hanjiang

chime strokes. This particular clock, though, at the verge of each new hour, is all of a sudden sonorous, like playing music. When the noise is over, it strikes, and the number of strokes also indicates the time. Since the hall is the place where guests are coming and going, the clock helps to astonish people when they see and hear it. Spinning round and round, unit by unit, how smoothly it is going. An outright uproar overturns the harmony. The parlor is fi lled with those “who know the sound.”41 When the music is playing, at the beginning and the end, there is always the chime clock.

[7/9]42

A Watch with Three Needles This is also an object to tell the time. It is made from a bronze case and a face of porcelain, with a glass cover added. In the inside it accumulates screws and parts that look like seal script characters. Its precision all depends on the spiral power spring.43 On the face it has painted signs like the eight trigrams,44 and additionally it has marks for the hours where the needle goes. Inside the dustcoat one can see with one glance where the needle is pointing at, thus one knows exactly what hour and how many minutes it is. A foreigners’ watch with one needle sells for a price of not over several dozen gold pieces. In recent years, watches with three needles on the face have appeared on the market. Their time telling is more precise, and their prices are even higher. The trendy people of Yangzhou, under the pretext of telling the time, also often carry one at the waist, for the sake of adornment and for others to see. Showing it off at the waist when looking for a bosom friend, “Dangling from the waist” and “hanging down,”45 made from jade and metal. Merchants have recently been selling them for high prices; “Two thirds of all the full-moons”46 will have three needles.

[8/6]47

The Storytellers’ Place (Four Poems) As a Yangzhou custom, whenever there is something to celebrate and a banquet is to be hosted for guests, every household, whether big or small, must select a renowned storyteller or a storysinging performer.48 They invite

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them to serve for one day, rewarding them with amounts varying between three to five qian and one to two liang of silver. For this occasion they rent several empty rooms and then invite two or three workers to fi x therein a rectangular table on high stilts, just like a theater stage, the use of which is not limited to singing and storytelling. The audience of the storytelling consists for the most part of loafers and idlers who sit in a circle on long benches. They listen cheerfully and untiringly, and in between they are offered tea. Thus a full cycle of storytelling of a major text49 is being performed. Every time three or four sessions (hui) are being sung or told, during the intermissions, the storyteller approaches the seated audience to collect money, though mostly not over ten wen. Toward evening, the coins that were accumulated in the course of the performance are distributed according to the number of persons involved. The storytelling performance is announced in advance with bills that are stuck in the wide alleys and the narrow lanes. On such bills is written the date of the performance and the performer, and where the storytellers’ performance will take place. The venue is called “the storytellers’ place.” The master’s singing / Is more than superb. Truly, those among the audience / Will always remember it. The master’s storytelling / Is just excellent. Truly, of all the performances / None can be missed. The essence he summarizes, / So the strings can be plucked. With the board he wakes people up, / So his performance can be judged. Storytellers, oh storytellers, / When will you finally gather in one place? Place, oh place, / When will I be at leisure and the others busy?

[10/1]50

Hoping to Make a Cantonese Fortune Western goods are purchased in Guangdong and then resold in other provinces. The profit in this trade initially had been large, but the storm waves on the ocean side51 have become too dangerous. This is what is meant by the proverbial expression “crossing the ocean.”52 As a Yangzhou custom, people who seek to make money often happen to die before they have made a fortune. When they meet with disaster, those who do not turn round on their heels always do so because they are not aware of the risk they take. If

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one day they take a wrong step, they deeply regret it their whole lives. Is it perhaps rash action that gives rise to such an idea? Those who sneer at them call this: “hoping to make a Cantonese fortune.”53 An old man who wants to make a fortune makes daily progress on his wealth. Leaving Jiangnan he hopes it would come from the ocean. He clearly knows that the arrangements of heaven and earth are fi xed. Why ought everything to lean only to one thought?

[10/2]54

Being Able to Speak Western Language “Western Ocean” is another term for the Western barbarians. Their language is different from the gobbledygook of the savages in the South. The people from Yangzhou who rarely encounter them find it most strange and always believe that the Western language is unintelligible. When confronted with a problem that cannot be fully grasped by human reason, or when they want to say that something runs counter to logic, they categorically label it as “being able to speak Western language.” When we meet someone who says something that is too vast, Our comprehension is entirely beyond making a random show of superiority. If it is not a southern dialect translatable into northern dialect, Evidently someone has learned the language of the Western Ocean.

Notes 1. The primary source for Lin Sumen’s biography is his “Author’s preface” (Zixu), in Lin Sumen, Hanjiang sanbai yin, ed. Liu Yongming (Yangzhou: Guangling shushe, 2005), 9–10; and the “Author’s preface” to his previous work of bamboo-branch songs, “Xu Yangzhou zhuzhici” (Sequel to bamboo-branch songs on Yangzhou), in Lei Mengshui et al., eds., Zhonghua zhuzhici (Beijing: Beijing guji, 1997), 3:757. See also the “Publishing explanation” (Chuban shuoming, i–v) in the same work; and Gu Nong, “Hanjiang sanbai yin,” Xun gen 4 (2009): 59–61. 2. See Betty Peh-T‘i Wei, Ruan Yuan, 1764–1849: The Life and Work of a Major ScholarOfficial in Nineteenth- Century China before the Opium War (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2006). Ruan Yuan’s mother is only known as née Lin (Lin shi, 1735–1781). Her father (who was also Lin Sumen’s father) had earned the Provincial Graduate ( juren) degree in 1753 and served as a district magistrate. The family therefore evidently was also part of the scholar-official elite. See Wei, Ruan Yuan, 26. 3. Di Wang, “The Rhythm of the City: Everyday Chengdu in Nineteenth-Century Bamboo-Branch Poetry,” Late Imperial China 24, no. 1 (2003): 37–38. See also Di Wang,

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Roland Altenburger Street Culture in Chengdu: Public Space, Urban Commoners, and Local Politics, 1870–1930 (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 2003). 4. See Lei Mengshui et al., eds., Zhonghua zhuzhici, which is orga nized according to regions. For the section on Yangzhou, see 2:1282–1614. For a compilation of bamboo-branch song cycles from Jiangsu Province that also includes a major section on Yangzhou, see Zhao Ming et al., eds., Jiangsu zhuzhici (Nanjing: Jiangsu jiaoyu, 2001), esp. 108–231. 5. Pan Shuguang, “Xu” (Preface), in Zhao Ming, Jiangsu zhuzhici, i. 6. For recent examinations of the genre’s potential as a historical source, see Wang Zhenzhong, “Shiyi de lishi: Zhuzhici yu diyu wenhua,” in Wang Zhenzhong, Qian shan xiyang: Wang Zhenzhong lun Ming Qing shehui yu wenhua (Guilin: Guangxi shifan daxue, 2009), 306–336; and Xiao Tian, “Zhuzhici zhi shehui shi yiyi: Yi Jiangnan wei li,” Xueshu yuekan 39, no. 5 (2007): 130–138. 7. For a study of an example about an author who, by way of the bamboo-branch song genre, extensively documented his (often alienating) experiences and observations during a term of exile in the remote region nowadays known as Xinjiang, see Roland Altenburger, “Fantasizing the Homeland: Ji Yun’s Recollections of Exile at the Western Frontier (1769–1770),” in Diasporic Histories: Cultural Archives of Chinese Transnationalism, ed. Andrea Riemenschnitter and Deborah L. Madsen (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2009), 127–142. 8. For a survey, see Wei Minghua, “Lun Yangzhou zhuzhici: Jianlun mei mingqi de zuojia he you jiazhi de zuopin,” in Wei Minghua, Yangzhou wenhua tanpian (Yangzhou: Guangling shushe, 2004), 281–299. For bibliographic descriptions of twenty-seven titles, see Wei Minghua, “Yangzhou zhuzhici xulu,” in Wei Minghua, Yangzhou zhanggu (Suzhou: Suzhou daxue, 2001), 95–105. 9. This work was also included in Chen Henghe, comp., Yangzhou congke (rpt. of 1936 ed., Yangzhou: Jiangsu Guangling guji keyinshe, 1987), fasc. 9. 10. Hanjiang is an alternative name for the canal named as Han‘gou, and hence also for the city of Yangzhou that in early times had been called Hancheng. See Antonia Finnane, Speaking of Yangzhou: A Chinese City, 1550–1850 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Asia Center, 2004), 19. 11. The comparison refers specifically to one feature, that is, the paralleling of adjacent pairs of items. Lin Sumen, “Zixu,” 9–10. 12. For an homage to Dong’s work, see Lin Sumen, Hanjiang sanbai yin, item no. 1/9, p. 7. 13. Due to the formal irregularities, Hanjiang sanbai yin was not included in any of the recent large-scale compilations of bamboo-branch songs. But I argue that it should nevertheless be viewed in that tradition. 14. According to Wang Cheng, Yangzhou keshu kao (Yangzhou: Guangling shushe, 2003), 200, the first edition of ten juan, dated the thirteenth year of the Jiaqing era (1808), was printed by the author himself. There is a photomechanical reproduction of Lin Sumen’s Hanjiang sanbai yin, first edition, in two volumes (Yangzhou: Jiangsu Guangling guji keyinshe, 1988). 15. See Wang, “Shiyi de lishi,” 315. 16. Lin Pu, “Xishan yuchang,” in Wang Liqi et al., eds., Lidai zhuzhici (Xi‘an: Shaanxi renmin, 2003), 3:2578. 17. See Finnane, Speaking of Yangzhou, 284–293; and Antonia Finnane, “Yangzhou’s ‘Mondernity’: Fashion and Consumption in the Early Nineteenth Century,” Positions—East Asia Cultures Critique 11, no. 2 (2003): 405–411. 18. The term written as gongshuai ℚ䌰 I tentatively read as 幕䌰. 19. The translation excerpts are based on the edition Lin Sumen, Hanjiang sanbai yin, ed. Liu Yongming (Yangzhou: Guangling shushe, 2005, hereafter, HSBY), and the items are identified by juan and item number within each juan in the text. This item, 14–15.

Lin Sumen’s Bamboo-Branch-Style Songs Three Hundred Poems of Hanjiang 20. In terms of kinship, Ruan Yuan was Lin Sumen’s nephew. However, since Lin served in Ruan’s retinue for over two decades, in the references to his patron he employed this reversed term of kinship reference. See further below, “nephew-uncle.” 21. HSBY, 15. 22. Finnane, Speaking of Yangzhou, 129: “The salt merchant and the salt maker moved in different worlds.” 23. HSBY, 23. 24. The term shanshi can also refer specifically to Buddhist laymen. 25. A charity tomb (yizhong) was a collective tomb for bodies that were not claimed by anyone and therefore were in danger of remaining unburied. See Zhao Yi, Gaiyu congkao, ed. Luan Baoqun and Lü Zongli (Shijiazhuang: Hebei renmin, 2003), 27.552–554. 26. HSBY, 66. 27. HSBY, 70–71. 28. The term da zhangfu emphasizes a man’s manliness, but the term zhangfu, with da as an honorific, designates a husband, so this term, if used by a concubine, did not represent the reality, either. 29. HSBY, 71–72. 30. This is an implied reference to Lin Sumen’s extensive period of absence from Yangzhou. 31. Allusion to Shijing, “Xiaoxing” (“Swift ly by night we go”), Mao no. 21, in James Legge, trans., The Chinese Classics (rpt., Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 1960), 4:31. 32. To dream of a bear was considered an omen for giving birth to male offspring. See Shijing, “Sigan,” Mao no. 189, in Legge, The Chinese Classics, 4:306. 33. A proverb implying a virago who dominates her spineless husband. It originated from a poem by Su Shi (hao Dongpo, 1037–1101) quoted in Hong Mai, Rongzhai suibi (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2005), 1:457. 34. “Low” apparently has here the double meaning of “low in price” and “low-down.” 35. HSBY, 80. 36. In the Qing, the character yuan ⃬ was conventionally used to replace the tabooed character xuan 䌭 (black), the tabooing of which was due to its appearance in the Kangxi Emperor’s personal name Xuanye. There are several more occurrences of this further below in this text. 37. The phrase xiao da you is an implied allusion to Confucius’ Analects (Lunyu), 1/12. See Legge, The Chinese Classics, 1:143 (my italics): “The phi losopher Yû said, ‘In practising the rules of propriety, a natural ease is to be prized. In the ways prescribed by the ancient kings, this is the excellent quality, and in things small and great we follow them.’ ” 38. The term zhongjue is an allusion to the Daoist work Zhuangzi, 28/9. Victor H. Mair, trans., Wandering on the Way: Early Taoist Tales and Parables of Chuang Tzu (New York: Bantam Books, 1994), 291 (my italics): “When Master Tseng was dwelling in Wey, he wore a robe quilted with hemp whose outer layer was missing. His face was swollen and inflamed, his hands and feet were callused. He would go three days without lighting a fire and ten years without having any clothes made. If he tried to put his cap on straight, the throat band would break; when he tugged at his lapels, his elbows would be revealed; and when he put on his shoes, the heels would split.” Hence, the allusion implies the meaning of “being in a state of poverty.” 39. This is another allusion to Zhuangzi, in this case to the famous story of the butterfly dream (2/14). See Mair, Wandering on the Way, 24. 40. HSBY, 94. 41. This is the literal meaning of the term zhiyin that denotes “bosom friend.”

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Roland Altenburger 42. HSBY, 94–95. 43. The word written as fatiao 㱾㡆 is likely to be a miswriting for fatiao 䘥㡆. 44. This probably is a tentative reference to Roman digits. 45. Both terms, weipei and chuishen, are derived from The Book of Rites (Li ji) and denote utter politeness, since in the moment a person is bowing, his waist pendant is dangling and his girdle hanging down. See Séraphin Couvreur, trans., Mémoires sur les bienséances et les cérémonies (Paris: Cathasia, 1950), 1:70–71, 1:704. 46. The phrase is an allusion to a line from Xu Ning’s early ninth-century poem “Remembering Yangzhou” (Yi Yangzhou): “Of all the full-moon nights in the empire, / Without a doubt two thirds are in Yangzhou.” See Peng Dingqiu et al., eds., Quan Tang shi (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1960), j. 474, 14:5377. The phrase usually epitomizes the beauty of landscape, and particularly that of Yangzhou. Here, however, the full moon stands for the watch. 47. HSBY, 109–110. The verses of this piece are notable for their unusual prosody. Each verse line ends on the sighing interjection xi, “ah!”, which has remained untranslated here to avoid redundance. This solemn-sounding style, reminiscent of The Elegies of Chu (Chu ci), sharply contrasts with the farcical content. 48. Yangzhou storytelling (here: pingci) relies only on spoken narration, whereas in Yangzhou storysinging (here: xianci), sung and spoken passages alternate, though with a domination of telling over singing. On the difference between the two forms, see Vibeke Børdahl, The Oral Tradition of Yangzhou Storytelling (Richmond, Va.: Curzon, 1996), 7–8. 49. The term dashu refers to the major story cycles on the great historical subject matters, such as Three Kingdoms (Sanguo) or Water Margin (Shuihu). See Børdahl, The Oral Tradition of Yangzhou Storytelling, 8. 50. HSBY, 133. 51. The term yang can be understood as both “Western” and “Ocean.” 52. The expression piao yang is an abbreviated version of the idiom piao yang guo hai (crossing the seven seas). 53. Antonia Finnane explains that this phrase was “used of a family that had lost its wealth.” Finnane, Speaking of Yangzhou, 292. 54. HSBY, 133.

9

Regional Fiction Clear Wind Sluice (Qingfengzha, 1819) Introduced, translated, and annotated by Margaret B. Wan

In the famous guidebook The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou (Yangzhou huafang lu, 1795) Li Dou lists ten local storytellers as the masters of their art and names the most famous tale told by each. Three of the titles listed correspond to extant novels published within a couple of decades in Yangzhou: Clear Wind Sluice (Qingfengzha, 1819), Chart of Good and Evil (Shan‘e tu, n.d.), and The Braggart’s Tale (Fei Tuo quanzhuan, 1817).1 Up through the twentieth century, Clear Wind Sluice was still being performed in Yangzhou storytelling under the title Pi Fift h the Hot Pepper (Pi Wu Lazi). Besides this intriguing connection to local storytelling, the publication and narrative technique of Clear Wind Sluice mark it as a product of Yangzhou. In The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou, Li Dou states that the character Pi Fift h (Pi Wu, Pi Fengshan) in the oral repertoire Clear Wind Sluice is autobiographical, based on the storyteller Pu Lin’s own experiences.2 He gives a brief biography: orphaned in his youth, Pu Lin was a beggar until a townswoman took pity on him and found him a bride. He made a living by sweeping the streets, then gambling, then taught himself the art of storytelling. Here we seem to have the nucleus of the novel Clear Wind Sluice. Pu Lin’s biography in The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou leads one to conclude that he created at least the core story of Pi Fift h out of whole cloth. This stands in sharp contrast to most repertoires of Yangzhou storytelling, which are created on the basis of well-known stories. Another biography by Jin Zhaoyan ( jinshi 1766) from Anhui gives us two important pieces of information: the storyteller Pu Lin was a native of Yangzhou, and he was illiterate. Apparently he also drew on written popular culture, mediated through others’ reading. Jin Zhaoyan also writes that Pu Lin performed before the “ladies and gentlemen” (shi nü) of Yangzhou, and recounts an incident where his storytelling moved the rich ladies and even their maids and cooks to charity. Pu Lin seems to have become affluent later in life, through storytelling or 189

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gambling, depending on the account. Jin’s biography notes his initiative to provide warm coats for the poor and to fi x the roads of Yangzhou.3 By doing such good works, Pu Lin acted in an elite manner. As we have it, the novel Clear Wind Sluice consists of two strands: a courtcase frame story revolving around a murder, and the central story of Pi Fifth the Rogue (Pi Wu Laizi), a notorious swindler.4 It starts out with Sun Dali, a timber merchant from Taizhou, Zhejiang Province, who gets stranded in Dingyuan County with his wife and his daughter Xiaogu. He settles down there and becomes a clerk. His wife soon dies, and he remarries. Meanwhile, Sun Dali takes pity on Sun Xiaoji, a literate orphan beggar; he sets him up as a clerk, trains him, and adopts him as a nephew. His new wife, née Qiang (Qiang shi), starts an affair with the adopted “nephew,” which leads her to murder Sun Dali. She covers the crime by making it look like suicide; the neighbors see Sun jump into Clear Wind Sluice. She then marries Sun Xiaoji and rids herself of the daughter by marrying her off to the ne’er-do-well Pi Fifth the Rogue. Pi Fift h (Pi Wu), often called Master Fift h or Old Fift h, continues to gamble, paying almost no attention to his bride, who relies on the matchmaker Mama Zhang (Zhang mama) to survive. When Xiaogu is on the point of committing suicide one night, her father’s ghost appears. It gives her a verse to help solve the crime, helps her borrow money from Sun Xiaoji, and tells Pi to treat his daughter better or else. Pi continues drinking, gambling, and swindling. On New Year’s Day, when Pi has gambled all their possessions away, he begins winning. After a few days, dressed respectably, he is invited by the shop owners to a gambling party. He wins a huge fortune over two days. He buys a grand house, hires servants, and invites Mama Zhang to live with them. He gives up drinking and becomes a pawnbroker, then buys status as a Vice Director (yuanwailang). He and Xiaogu have a son. Later, when Judge Bao (Bao gong) is sent to the area, Xiaogu gets Pi Fift h to air her father’s grievance. Judge Bao solves the case, and née Qiang and Sun Xiaoji are executed. Pi Fift h and his family live happily ever after. The striking fluidity of Pi Fift h’s identity calls to mind Bakhtin’s rogue, who can play roles at will and whose outrageous deceptions are justified as a lie to liars.5 While the narrative censures Pi Fift h’s shenanigans, their outrageousness makes them entertaining.6 Both the narrative of the novel Clear Wind Sluice and the biographies of Pu Lin portray someone adept at negotiating the boundaries of local society, appealing to rich and poor, sojourners and natives alike.

Clear Wind Sluice

Figure 9.1. Illustration of Pi Fift h in Clear Wind Sluice, 1819. (Qingfengzha, reprint in Guben xiaoshuo jicheng)

The text Clear Wind Sluice appeared in the Jiaqing era (1796–1820), well after the oral storytelling repertoire by the same name became famous. Aside from the title, however, it never explicitly makes the connection. Instead, the preface and physical format package it as a novel. But Clear Wind Sluice makes a strange novel. Although its preface, title, and physical format (chapter divisions and headings) fall within the conventions of the novel, the narrative does not. It never became a national bestseller in the Qing, but succeeded in appealing to local audiences, perhaps in part due to its evocation of local storytelling practices. For example, while the traditional Chinese novel uses markers like “he said” and “she thought” to set off dialogue and monologue, in Yangzhou storytelling (Yangzhou pinghua), dialogue without markers abounds. In oral performance the storyteller’s manner of speaking would mark the change from one character to another, making tags like “he said” or “she asked” unnecessary.7 This break with the conventions of the novel occurs frequently in Clear Wind Sluice.8 Yangzhou dialect appears throughout the novel Clear Wind Sluice. Distinctive usages such as zaikuai ⛑⾔ [there] /zae kuae/, ba ㈳ /ba/ as main verb “give,” and meide 㱊⽀ [does not have] /me’ de’/ are too many to list.9 Significantly, they occur in the narration as well as in dialogue. While traditional

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Chinese novels do make use of dialect to allow characters to speak in role, extensive and consistent use of dialect was rare before the nineteenth century. Even then, dialect generally appears in dialogue rather than narrative. To the extent that Clear Wind Sluice diverges from the conventions of the novel, it evokes Yangzhou storytelling’s distinctive manner of speaking rather than transcribing it in standard Mandarin. While Yangzhou storytelling often plays with linguistic registers, it is performed in Yangzhou dialect. Thus language also marks the text of Clear Wind Sluice as local.10 What might “local” mean in Qing Yangzhou? As Antonia Finnane points out, because of Yangzhou’s special position as the center of the salt monopoly, “sojourners” from other parts of China, especially Huizhou merchants, dominated Yangzhou society. It was mostly the little people who were from Yangzhou and the surrounding area. In her discussion of the construction of identity in Qing Yangzhou, Finnane notes three sets of social distinctions (city versus towns and rural areas; moneyed elite versus common people; and sojourner salt merchants versus natives of Yangzhou), which she argues “can with some license be collapsed into one.”11 These three sets of distinctions provide a way to discuss how Clear Wind Sluice was marketed, the implications of its narrative techniques, and the view of Yangzhou regional identity it presents. For the purpose of this section, I define the “local” Yangzhou region primarily by shared dialect features. Dialect in the novel Clear Wind Sluice appears on the page as grammatical divergences from standard Mandarin such as the examples listed above, as well as particular idioms. Dingyuan County (the setting of Clear Wind Sluice) belongs to the same subgroup of Jiang-Huai Mandarin as Yangzhou.12 This definition of the region by dialect coincides with the practice of Yangzhou storytellers, who operated in a large area around the Grand Canal and the lower Yangzi.13 On the other hand, it preserves the distinction Finnane notes between “locals” and “sojourners” in the Yangzhou region. Thus in either Dingyuan County or Yangzhou, the Huizhou sojourners would stand out.14 As merchants and pawnbrokers, they exerted a considerable influence over the towns in which they lived. A saying current in the region went, “without Huizhou merchants, there would be no town” (wu Hui bu cheng zhen).15 The lines between “locals” and “sojourners” are best understood as linguistic and social rather than administrative boundaries.16 Clear Wind Sluice borrows the material for its framework from the early vernacular court-case story “Judge Bao Solves a Case through a Ghost That

Clear Wind Sluice

Appeared Thrice” (San xian shen Bao Longtu duan yuan).17 The court-case framework allows a low mimetic level. Most of Pi Fift h’s antics are related in the light-hearted spirit of the early vernacular short story “Song the Fourth Greatly Torments Tightwad Zhang,” which also has indirect ties to Judge Bao and most likely has roots in oral storytelling.18 Just as in the story of the master thief, in Clear Wind Sluice we are not outraged by Pi Fift h’s stealing, but wonder how he will trick people and get away with it. Although Pi Fift h’s only assets are his quick mind and utter brazenness, his self-aggrandizing speech and manner remind one of the martial hero (haohan) tradition in literature. Pi Fift h, however, is neither standing up for others nor opposing hypocrisy. He is simply looking out for himself. Clear Wind Sluice forms an interesting counterpart to the courtesan novel Dream of Romance (Fengyue meng, preface 1848), the first “city novel” in China.19 Clear Wind Sluice and Dream of Romance both show close ties to Yangzhou in their origins, and both give detailed descriptions of the region and daily life. The two diverge in most other respects, however. Dream of Romance comprises a true city novel, never leaving Yangzhou, while Clear Wind Sluice is set in a town in a prefecture bordering Yangzhou. The sense of local identity, while strongly present in each work, differs in both substance and expression. Thus each work embodies the interest in local identity in its own way. If the courtesan novels can be read as a kind of handbook to the pleasure quarters, Clear Wind Sluice’s depiction of the details of daily life, such as shopping, ritual occasions, and festivals, gives a sense of the norms of day-to-day existence. However, while Dream of Romance spends whole pages describing local practices step by step, Clear Wind Sluice apparently assumes knowledge of the rituals it merely refers to. In this way Clear Wind Sluice evokes rather than describes, forcing the reader to fi ll in the gaps. This suggests that the narrator and implied reader belong to the same community. Similar techniques are common in oral storytelling, for instance, in which the storyteller assumes that the audience has a general knowledge of the tale he is telling, and can simply refer to other parts rather than needing to explain.20 Another clear difference between Dream of Romance and Clear Wind Sluice is the setting and how it is experienced. Dream of Romance appeals primarily to the eye, with its page-long descriptions of dress and scenes of Yangzhou.21 Clear Wind Sluice, on the other hand, takes place in a town in the hinterland of Jiangbei, and appeals primarily to the ear.22 The aural approach achieves particularly good effect in the scene where Xiaogu is married off to

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Figure 9.2. Illustration of Sun Xiaogu in Clear Wind Sluice, 1819. (Qingfengzha, reprint in Guben xiaoshuo jicheng)

Pi Fift h the Rogue. From the time she goes into the bridal sedan until the morning after the wedding, it is clear that she knows only what she hears. Thus the scene plays with dramatic irony. Based on what she hears, Xiaogu deduces that her husband must be a man of some reputation, who had a big wedding banquet, and is up early to go to work. The reader already knows that, conversely, he has nothing to his name, and he goes off early to gamble at his usual place with another local rogue, Chicken Thief Wang Second (Chaji Wang Er).23 In the ongoing oral tradition of Yangzhou storytelling, Clear Wind Sluice (or Pi Fift h the Hot Pepper) came to be one of the quintessential representatives of that art. However, both the practice of oral storytelling and the hinterland setting of the novel Clear Wind Sluice remind us of the linguistic and cultural ties between the city of Yangzhou and the surrounding region. Yangzhou and a swath of Jiangbei stretching north and west to Dingyuan County, Anhui, shared dialect features in grammar and usage, storytelling traditions, and to some degree the dominance of sojourners. Indeed, it seems that the use of language itself was one of the central attractions of quite a few local Yangzhou narratives. The wide use of dialect in ephemeral entertainment genres may have provided a regional alternative to the na-

Clear Wind Sluice

tional bestselling novel. The novel Clear Wind Sluice points to a sense of regional identity, including, but not exclusive to Yangzhou. The selection of Clear Wind Sluice translated here, Pi Fift h’s wedding, is a farcical ceremony that creates a true bond. In this chapter we see the antics of Pi Fift h the unrepentant trickster, along with the beginnings of his transformation.



Clear Wind Sluice Chapter Fourteen At the Bridal Chamber, a Gathering of No-Good Friends A Broken Water Vat Serves as a Dressing Table A poem goes: Today a hubbub of friends and guests,24 The red phoenix on high shines on the bridal chamber Pity the ill-fated, forced to marry away. Who could have known the family has nothing to its name?

Now when Xiaogu in the sedan heard Mama Zhang’s words, and the two men were so scared that they ran like the wind, she wondered if it really was as Mama Zhang said, that he [her fiancé] had a great reputation. She stopped crying and wondered, “Oh, well.25 Everything is fated, nothing is up to us.” Thereupon the sedan-chair bearers flew along, with Mama Zhang escorting the sedan to the foot of the city wall. Mama saw Master Fifth, and said, “Please go out and let the bride come in.” Master Pi Fift h went out and the bearers carried the sedan chair in. Mama Zhang said, “Raise it up, again raise it up, raise it to beside the bed, raise it again.”26 Where do you want me to raise it to? Thereupon Mama Zhang helped the girl down. First she changed the girl out of her mourning clothes and hid them under the bed. She yelled, “Master Fift h, come home!” When the sedan bearers heard this they flew like the wind, carry ing the sedan chair away—they were afraid Master Fift h would take the roof of the sedan and exchange it for liquor to drink. Mama Zhang got anxious and yelled, “Master Fift h, come quickly, come quickly and borrow some wine vessels!”

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“Grandma, we’re not particular, just cups will do.”27 Right away he told Yes-man Tao to take a few qian and get some liquor. Master Fift h saw that there were four rush mats there. His house was too narrow to fit them, so he put them at the foot of the city wall. He said, “Let’s eat a little earlier today!” Let’s tell of how Master Fifth and Yes-man Tao carried a basket and went to the neighbors and shops in front and back of them knocking on doors. “My name’s Pi. I’ve come to speak with the man of the house.”28 The old lady said, “He’s not in.” “When he comes back, tell him he’s invited to my place to drink at my wedding. If you have any utensils, loan me some to use a while.” Thereupon the old lady found a broken platter and ten bowls, big and small, thick and thin, and put them in the basket. They went to the next house, entered the gate and saw a woman. “Is the master of the house at home?” The woman replied, “He’s not home.” “When he comes home, be sure to tell him to bring a gift.” And they borrowed some broken things. They went to four gates and sought some presents, then went back. Let’s tell of how Yes-man Tao put the things down and left. Master Fift h came back near dusk, told someone to get wine, and put out the rush mats. A bunch of no-good friends first looked at the bride, then drank. The crowd said, “Old Five, what good gambling! Not bad, in the future you’re going to make a fortune!” Enough of this idle talk. Let’s tell again of how the nogood friends played the drinking game guess-fingers, one spoke first and three matched it to make one set. The thing that drops silently to the ground is fluff y snow, The thing with four feet that can walk is a turtle. If you want one thing to turn into three things Bamboo shoots grow into bamboo which is cut into thin strips. The thing that drops silently to the ground without sound is fluff y frost, The thing with four feet that can walk is a river deer. If you want one thing to turn into three things Wood is changed to make a spear. The thing that drops silently to the ground is fluff y fog, The thing with four feet that can walk is a rabbit. If you want one thing to turn into three things Cotton twisted into thread is spun into cloth.

Clear Wind Sluice

After the crowd of no-good friends had finished the wine and filled up on food, even polishing off every bit of the rice-crust in Master Fift h’s home, they dispersed. It was lamp lighting time, and Mama Zhang told Master Fift h to go into the house. As she helped him change his clothes, [he] said “How would I dare, it’s too embarrassing! How can I do it?” Mama said, “For riches and honor, drink the loving cup. This is the great event of a lifetime, it’s important!” Thereupon Master Fift h drank a sip, and Mama brought the cup to the girl. Master Fift h said, “She doesn’t know how to drink, I’d better go and cut my throat!!” After they did “riches and honor,” Master Fift h went home with Yes-man Tao to gamble a little while. He came back and ate dinner with Mama Zhang. Let’s tell of how Master Fift h stared at the lamp flame for a while. Although he was poor, in his heart he understood; later he would have both riches and honor. But that comes later. Let’s tell of how Mama Zhang went home to sleep. Master Fift h blew out the lamp, got into bed, and completed “the ritual of the Duke of Zhou”29 with the girl. Before the sky was light, Master Fift h got up, rubbed his eyes, pushed open the rush door and went out onto the street, straight to Chicken Thief Wang Second’s place at the foot of the city wall outside the Western Gate to gamble, not coming back until late. Let’s tell of how Xiaogu saw Pi Fift h go out: “He must be going to do business. An early riser gets thrice glory, the late riser thrice famine. He’s not back yet, he must be relieving himself.” After another quarter of an hour when he still didn’t come back, she said [to herself], “Someone must have dragged him to the teahouse. Yesterday I heard there must have been quite a few tables at the banquet, so he must not be just an empty name. What’s there to worry about him having some tea!”30 Then she opened her eyes, got down from the bed and looked outside. She couldn’t help feeling a wave of pain, and silently shed tears. “How bitter my fate! Who could have known Mama Zhang would act as a go-between to marry me to a husband like this! So we live in a thatch hut with a reed door?” So she shut the door, and sat on the edge of the bed in a stupor for a while. She heard the sound of the reed door, and she thought Master Fift h had come back. She didn’t expect it was Mama Zhang. Mama carried in her hand a carry ing box, in it an oil roller, a comb, an oil saucer, a string, and some miscellaneous items. She called the girl, then went outside to fi ll up one qian worth of water and bought ten big meat buns for the girl to eat. But how could she possibly eat them? She had to get off the bed, and comb her hair

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without a mirror. She walked to the broken water vat to look at herself. Mama Zhang, looking at the girl, could not but feel sad. She could not help but curse herself, “Old bitch, you have accommodated Madam Qiang, but you have damaged your own longevity.” She said to the girl, “Miss, don’t blame me, it was all because of your step-mother who has a hard heart. I can’t explain it all. You just have to blame your fate. Miss, I’m leaving, but will come back to see you.”31 With that she left. From then on, Mama Zhang came on holidays, or when there was no firewood or rice, she helped out whenever there was a need. Let’s tell of how Xiaogu saw her husband leave and not come back for seven days. On the eighth day, Master Fift h came home. The girl stood up and called, “Master Fifth!” She grabbed him, “You left and only returned just now! You’re out so late! What business are you doing?” Master Fift h said, “Missus, what danger you have encountered! You never checked me out before you married me. Missus, wait for me to tell you, listen now, let me tell you my official station, listen well. I’m the court’s rebellious son, a die-hard trickster, the crow-devil, a moth in the rice. I’m the Warm Wine Star in heaven come to earth, the reigning Emperor of the Con Men. Name’s Pi Fengshan, nicknamed Fifth the Rogue, do you understand?” After the girl heard that, she cried and said: “Master Fift h, you drink and are brutal, gamble and fight, isn’t that already enough for you to qualify as a rascal? But if you do not care for your wife at home to provide firewood and rice, whom do you think your wife should ask for these?”32 “Missus, stop nagging. If you continue carry ing on, you will have a taste of my fists! I drink, I gamble, who dares control me? Even my parents could not. How could you?” Master Fift h ran away in a rage to Chicken Thief Wang Second’s house again to gamble until midnight before he came home. Drunk, he ran to the foot of the town wall shouting, “We, the king, are returning to our palace, all ministers get out of the way!”33 Let’s tell of how the night was gone, and at daybreak Master Fift h pinched the blanket from the bed and took to his heels; he didn’t care that the poor girl was not up yet. He took the quilt and ran straight to a pawnshop. He pawned his quilt for eight qian of silver, and even sold the pawn ticket for 700 wen. He went to Wang Second’s house and lost it all. He returned home at midnight, really drunk. He went to sleep and tossed and snored. Before day broke, he pulled off the mattress and went to the pawnshop for six qian of silver, and sold the pawn ticket for 400 wen. He went to Wang Second’s house and lost it all again. Once again, he returned home at midnight as

Clear Wind Sluice

“We, the king, returning to his palace.” On the third day, he got up and unexpectedly tried to talk to the girl; she answered him with a few words. He walked up to the girl, grabbed her hairpin, and dashed to the pawnshop for money. He gambled until midnight and again came up empty-handed. There was nobody in the street; he walked home and went to bed with his clothes on. It was the end of the ninth month. The cold days of the tenth month,34 when we count by nines, were coming soon. The west wind was pressing. Master Fift h found his own conscience. He said, “The girl in my home has suffered hunger all along. How can I bear it?” He got up and went out to find something to bring home for the girl to eat. He went to the street and saw a man still there. He ran like the wind to a tofu shop. There was a guy there35 pumping a bellows by the door. He said, “I want to warm up my feet.” “You!” That master called to him, “Master Fift h, take your feet away! They stink unbearably!” He said, “The soybean milk should be boiling.” The master said, “It’s boiling.” Master Fift h walked to the wok and took ten sheets of soy pancakes and ate them himself. He then asked to borrow a hotpot. The shop owner had no choice but to find one and give it to him.36 He put in fire, put in some husk, got a big bowl of soybean milk and five sheets of soybean pancakes. Then he said, “I will bring them home for my missus. You should thank your shop’s bad luck.” Master Fift h ran over the streets to the drawbridge. A gust of wind blew some sparks from the hotpot onto his shoulder; his hand let go of the hotpot and the soybean milk all spilled, right over some dog shit on the ground. Master Fift h sighed, “Missus, what a bitter fate you have!” He turned and ran toward the South Gate. In the street he heard the sound of some firecrackers; he thought there must be a shop opening. He could not help but dash over like the wind. He looked around and was about to enter a shop to con dumplings to eat. Just listen to the next chapter.

Notes 1. Clear Wind Sluice, Chart of Good and Evil, and The Braggart’s Tale show signs of adaptation from storytelling, though the exact relationship to the oral is beyond recovery. For editions, see Otsuka Hidetaka, Chūgoku tsūzoku shōsetsu shomoku (Tokyo: Kyuko shoin, 1987), 151–152, 169, and 166. On the Yangzhou location of these printing houses, see Wang Cheng, Yangzhou keshu kao (Yangzhou: Guangling shushe, 2003), 300–302. 2. Li Dou, Yangzhou huafang lu (rpt. of 1795 ed., Taibei: Shijie shuju, 1963), 455–456, 561. 3. Tan Zhengbi and Tan Xunsou, eds., Pingtan tongkao (Beijing: Zhongguo quyi, 1985), 78.

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Margaret B. Wan 4. In the tradition of Yangzhou storytelling, he is called Pi Fift h the Hot Pepper (Pi Wu Lazi). While close in pronunciation (and homophones in Yangzhou dialect), the two orthographies emphasize different aspects of his character. His name in the “novel,” Pi Wu Laizi, reveals him to be an idle rascal, while that in the modern storytelling tradition emphasizes his sharp tongue and aggressiveness. 5. Mikhail Mikhailovich Bakhtin, The Dialogic Imagination, ed. Michael Holquist (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1981), 404. 6. Roger Chartier notes a similar moral ambiguity in some of the literature of roguery in the popu lar Bibliothèque bleu, in which the text “both lauds and censures its hero, [ . . . ] sympathizes with his tribulations yet celebrates his punishment, and [ . . . ] humorously presents his ‘subtle’ robbing techniques but then holds them as culpable behavior.” He attributes this “unevenness” to material from oral tradition being refashioned under the strict morality required by the genre and era. Roger Chartier, The Cultural Uses of Print in Early Modern France, trans. Lydia G. Cochrane (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1987), 331. 7. Vibeke Børdahl, “Storytellers’ Scripts in the Yangzhou Pinghua Tradition,” Acta Orientalia 66 (2005): 255, 269. 8. For example, [Anonymous], Qingfengzha, reprinted in Guben xiaoshuo jicheng (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1990), 5.50–51, 10.79–81, 11.87, 16.118. It also appears in the other two anonymous novels whose titles correspond to tales by master storytellers listed in Li Dou’s Yangzhou huafang lu: Shan‘e tu and Fei Tuo quanzhuan. Fei Tuo quanzhuan flouts narrative conventions even further by foregrounding verbal play (puns and reified idioms) to the point that plot serves merely as an excuse for such wordplay. It reads almost like comic dialogue (xiangsheng), rather than a novel. 9. For example, Qingfengzha, 2.31, 4.41, 5.49, 5.50, 6.56, 7.62, 7.63, 8.66, 9.74, 11.85, 11.87, 11.89, 13.97, 13.99, 14.107, 15.109, 17.124, 19.133, 20.138, 25.164, 26.169, 28.178, 31.188. For the distinctive usage of these patterns in Yangzhou dialect, see Vibeke Børdahl, The Oral Tradition of Yangzhou Storytelling (Richmond, Va.: Curzon, 1996), 106–107, 113–115, 117. Yangzhou dialect pronunciation in phonemic transcription is given within oblique bars / /; Børdahl, The Oral Tradition of Yangzhou Storytelling, 72–76. The unusual orthography of zai kuai ⛑⟳, which Qingfengzha renders as ⛑⾔, suggests that the sound took precedence over the meaning when it was written down. 10. On the play with registers in Yangzhou storytelling and the use of “round mouth” versus “square mouth” styles therein, see Børdahl, The Oral Tradition of Yangzhou Storytelling, 83–98. She notes that “square mouth” often serves to characterize heroes or important personages; it is closely related to the formal “official’s language” (guanhua). In contrast, “round mouth” generally portrays the speech of “small persons” (xiao renwu); it is “associated with smooth everyday Yangzhou vernacular” and includes “low-style patois” (tuyu). Up through the twentieth century, Clear Wind Sluice was part of the Yangzhou storytelling repertoire under the title Pi Fift h the Hot Pepper. The eschewal of historical subjects in Pi Fift h’s story allowed Pu Lin to draw freely on his own experience, and the language of performance in present-day Yangzhou storytelling is primarily “round mouth.” For a comparison of Clear Wind Sluice and the published Pi Fifth the Hot Pepper, see Xu Duanrong, “Qingfengzha yanjiu,” Huagang wenke xuebao 25 (2002): 71–95. 11. Antonia Finnane, Speaking of Yangzhou: A Chinese City, 1550–1850 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Asia Center, 2004), 288. 12. The Yangzhou usage of zaikuai (there) is also typical of present-day dialect in Dingyuan County. See Dingyuan difangzhi bianzuan weiyuanhui, ed., Dingyuanxian zhi (Hefei: Huangshan shushe, 1995), 831. Both Yangzhou and Dingyuan belong to the Hongchao subgroup of

Clear Wind Sluice Jiang-Huai Mandarin; see S. A. Wurm et al., eds., Language Atlas of China (Hong Kong: Longman, 1988), B3. 13. See the map in Figure 18.1 in Vibeke Børdahl’s introduction to “Wu Song Fights the Tiger” in Chapter 18 of this volume. 14. Some linguists consider Huizhou speech an independent dialect. See Li Huimin, “Jianghuai guanhua de guishu yu tezheng yanjiu gaishu,” Anhui shifan daxue xuebao (renwen shehui kexue ban) 32, no. 5 (2004): 602; and Wurm et al., Language Atlas of China, B3, B10. 15. Wang Zhenzhong, “ ‘Wu Hui bu cheng zhen’ tu shuo: Xiuning Fang shi yu Dingyuan Luqiao zhen,” Xungen 2 (2002): 28–33. 16. Dingyuan County belonged to Fengyang Prefecture, which bordered Yangzhou Prefecture to the west. While we now recognize Yangzhou and Dingyuan County as belonging to two different provinces, in the early Qing both were part of Jiangnan Province. Only in 1667 was it divided into Jiangsu and Anhui. Finnane, Speaking of Yangzhou, 29. 17. Jingshi tongyan (Stories to caution the world), chapter 13. See Feng Menglong, comp., Stories to Caution the World: A Ming Dynasty Collection, Volume 2, trans. Shuhui Yang and Yunqin Yang (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2005), 198–211; Y. W. Ma, “Kung-an Fiction: A Historical and Critical Introduction,” T‘oung Pao 65 (1979): 252. It is impossible to know whether or not the court-case frame story (borrowed from the Ming short story) was part of Pu Lin’s telling of Clear Wind Sluice. 18. Gujin xiaoshuo (Stories old and new), chapter 36. See Feng Menglong, comp., Stories Old and New: A Ming Dynasty Collection, trans. Shuhui Yang and Yunqin Yang (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2000), 617–642; and Patrick Hanan, The Chinese Vernacular Story (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1981), 50–51. 19. See Patrick Hanan’s discussion of Dream of Romance in Chapter 12 of this volume. 20. Børdahl, The Oral Tradition of Yangzhou Storytelling, 184, 186. 21. Patrick Hanan, “Illusion of Romance and the Courtesan Novel,” in Patrick Hanan, Chinese Fiction of the Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries: Essays (New York: Columbia University Press, 2004), 38–39. 22. For an extensive study of how late Qing martial arts novels use sound to evoke the storyteller, see Pieter C. A. Keulemans, “Sounds of the Novel: Storytelling, Print-Culture, and Martial-Arts Fiction in Nineteenth-Century Beijing” (PhD diss., University of Chicago, 2004). 23. The writing of this nickname varies within the chapter; “Chicken Thief ” (Chaji) is also written as Chaxi ⍲⤃. 24. Taking binming 屼㖷 as an orthographic error for binpeng 屼㚴, friends and guests. 25. The exclamation here, hai, can express surprise, regret, or hurt. 26. This is a pun; “raise” (sheng ⋰) sounds the same as “bear (children)” (sheng 䓈). 27. The dialogue marker is missing here in the original text. This translation reflects this feature of the original, omitting dialogue markers when the Chinese text does. The Chinese text also sometimes uses only a verb without a pronoun to indicate dialogue, for example “said” instead of “he said.” 28. The dialogue marker is missing here in the original text. 29. “The ritual of the Duke of Zhou” (Zhou gong zhi li) means the consummation of a marriage. The Duke of Zhou was the regent during the Eastern Zhou dynasty when the king was too young to rule, and is generally referred to as a sage. The Analects of Confucius (Lunyu) refers to this time as a model society. Legend credits the Duke of Zhou with establishing the importance of the ritual of marriage.

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Margaret B. Wan 30. “Morning tea” (zaocha) is a Yangzhou custom in which one goes to a teahouse with friends to drink tea and eat all kinds of dumplings and steamed bread with meat or vegetables. See Antonia Finnane’s discussion of “Food and Local Place” in Chapter 15 of this volume. 31. Mama Zhang calls her guniang, literally, “girl.” 32. The pronoun used here for “whom,” nayige ⒓ᶩᾴ instead of shei 婙, is typical of Yangzhou dialect. See Børdahl, The Oral Tradition of Yangzhou Storytelling, 106. 33. Here he uses the imperial “we,” guwang. 34. This refers to the traditional lunar calendar. The tenth month would usually fall around December by the Western calendar. 35. Here Yangzhou dialect grammar is used in narration; “there” is zaikuai ⛑⾔. 36. Here Yangzhou dialect grammar is used in narration; the verb “to give” is ba ㈳.

10

Theater for the People in the Yangzhou Region Jiao Xun’s Peasant Chats on Popular Local Theater (Huabu nongtan, 1819) Introduced, translated, and annotated by Colin Mackerras

In the late eighteenth century, Yangzhou was among China’s foremost centers of popular local theater (huabu). Although apparently in decline in the early nineteenth century, Yangzhou’s popular local theater still ranked high in the big picture of Chinese theater. Its distinction in local drama is an important and interesting aspect of its cultural history during that period.1 Jiao Xun (1763–1820) and his Peasant Chats on Popular Local Theater (Huabu nongtan) is one of the main sources for this topic.2 As its name implies, this book is actually notes on the author’s chats with peasants. While he may have been happy for his comments to be read beyond Yangzhou, the notes are specifically about a scholar’s conversations with local peasants in the Yangzhou area late in the eighteenth and early in the nineteenth centuries, and the insights they provide are unique. Although a very short work, it contains detailed personal experience not available elsewhere and written by a scholar with encyclopedic knowledge of the history of Chinese drama. It is written in an accessible style, but contains many references that assume some intimacy with Chinese history, as well as with the Chinese theater and its history. Here I translate the preface to the work, dated 1819, and also two sections about historical plays.3 In these two extracts, Jiao Xun shows great interest in how the plots of dramas reflect and depart from Chinese historical reality, especially judgments about the behavior of particular famous figures. One contemporary authority has written more generally about Jiao Xun: “what he talks about most is the relationship between the content of the plays and records either of historical fact or of hearsay.”4

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The focus on history is actually a very important point, because Chinese people, other than the educated elite, have always tended to base their judgments on historical characters on dramas they have seen. Of the two sections translated here, one is about military drama, the other civil. This is also of great interest, because the distinction between military (wuxi) and civil drama (wenxi) has always been among the main divides in Chinese theater. By the eighteenth century, there were two broad divisions of Chinese theater. One was the Kunqu, which arose in Kunshan, near Suzhou, Jiangsu Province, in the sixteenth century and derived from an earlier form called “marvel tales” (chuanqi), a term earlier designating prose stories or legends in short novella form from the Tang and Song dynasties, but by the fourteenth century applied to southern drama. Because Kunqu music was soft and melodious and dominated by such instruments as the transverse flute dizi, and because this was the theater the educated elite favored, it was referred to as yabu, meaning “elegant theater” or, more literally, “the elegant section.” There was also an array of local or regional theater styles, collectively called huabu, “flower theater” or, literally, “the flower section.” This was popular or folk theater, and the educated elite looked down on it. Contempt is evident in the term frequently used in the literature, luantan, which means “confused strumming.” Jiao Xun was a distinguished philologist, but the range of his interests was very broad, and included history, mathematics, theater, and the Chinese classics, especially the Book of Changes (Yijing).5 His significance for Yangzhou is that he came from there and spent most of his life either in the town or its surroundings. He lived the last years of his life in a country residence he called the Mushroom-Carving Building (Diaogulou). He was one of the main compilers of the 1810 edition of the Gazetteer of Yangzhou Prefecture (Yangzhoufu zhi). Jiao’s significance for the history of Chinese theater is twofold. First, he wrote two important works about it: Sayings on Drama (Ju shuo),6 a set of critical writings on theater in Chinese history completed in 1805, and the Peasant Chats that I partially translate here. Second, he differed from most of his class in admiring the local popular theater, a fact that becomes very evident in the present work. Wang Weikang, a contemporary writer of the People’s Republic, praises him for his “total affirmation and high evaluation” of the popular local theater, huabu, and for highlighting its long-term rise and the corresponding decline of the

Jiao Xun’s Peasant Chats on Popular Local Theater

elite theater, yabu, in the Qianlong and Jiaqing periods.7 Connected with this is Jiao’s advocacy of the notion of bense in theater, which means in essence that the words of the drama as well as other aspects like style, plot, and performance arts, should be simple and natural, and so easily understandable to ordinary people. Wang Weikang praises him for believing in a theater that “approached real life.”8 We now turn to consider the three specific passages translated here. The first is the preface, which emphasizes Jiao’s fondness for huabu and his preference for it as compared with Kunqu. He mentions a few Kunqu he rates highly, some of them like The Story of the Lute (Pipa ji) among the most famous in the repertory, but is not too impressed with most of those he has seen in the Yangzhou area. The reason for his general preference is that the content of the popular local theater tends to place more weight on virtues like filial piety and loyalty, in other words, to be more Confucian. There is much irony here, because the prevailing view among theater lovers was precisely the opposite, in other words, that the Kunqu were better ideologically and as literature, whereas popular local theater tended to be raunchy and irreverent, and hence inferior. Most members of the educated elite class would consider themselves demeaned if they were seen at these popular performances. Jiao Xun does mention the evil influence of an actor he calls Wei San‘er, but the latter had after all been in Yangzhou some thirty years before Jiao was writing. He tends to shrug off Wei’s impact by saying that things have gone back to the way they had been before his visit, and that was a very good thing. This actor, with the formal name of Wei Changsheng (1744–1802), was actually very important in the history of Chinese theater, especially of Beijing Opera (Jingju).9 He was a female impersonator (nandan) and took the Beijing theater world by storm when he went there from Sichuan in 1779. However, the censors considered him immoral, accusing him of lewd acting, and eventually expelled him. He went to Yangzhou in 1788, where he became a prized member of the most important of the huabu companies in Yangzhou. Called Chuntai, it flourished in the mansion of the salt merchant Jiang Chun, the most significant of all theater patrons in late eighteenthcentury Yangzhou.10 The second section I have translated is about the drama Two Wolves Mountain (Lianglang shan), a popular “military” drama that focuses on historical detail and moral judgments made about actual figures. The story is based on the famous generals of the Yang family of the early Song dynasty.

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Although Jiao Xun’s work is the first to comment on it as specifically performed in the Yangzhou region, it was absorbed into the repertoire of the genre known under the People’s Republic as Yangzhou Drama (Yangju).11 Jiao does not state to which specific genre the item belonged but it may well have been a form of “flower-drum plays” (huaguxi), a widespread form of popular local theater, the Yangzhou variant of which found its way into the Yangzhou Drama. The late-Ming novel The Romance of the Yang Family Generals (Yang jia jiang yanyi) is based on historical reality, but far from faithful to it. It is the source of many dramas, the most famous being Two Wolves Mountain. This item has entered the repertoire of a large number of regional drama styles in China, including Beijing Opera, in which genre it normally carries the title The Li Ling Stele (Li Ling bei). It is about the defeat of Yang Jiye at the Two Wolves Mountain in 986 and his suicide by dashing himself against the stele of Li Ling.12 Both novel and dramas put the blame for the disaster on Yang Jiye’s commander Pan Mei and paint him as a traitor for failing to provide reinforcements. The historical context was an attempt in 986, under the second Song Emperor, Taizong, to regain sixteen prefectures lost to the Liao during the Five Dynasties period (907–960). The commander was Pan Mei, who had helped the Song come to power, while his main deputies included Yang Ye and Wang Shen. Yang led his troops into the Chen Family Valley (Chenjiagu) to attack the Liao forces, while Pan and Wang were to stay at the entrance to the valley in case of emergency. In the event, despite instructions from Pan to remain in his assigned place, Wang withdrew his troops and tried unsuccessfully to attack on another front. Yang was defeated, and starved himself to death, his son Yang Yanyu was killed in action, and both Pan and Wang took flight. Pan was probably a weakling rather than a traitor, while Wang’s disobedience was one factor in the disaster that befell the Song.13 Although the Song made up a few losses, the war against the Liao was indecisive. In 1004, the famous statesman Kou Zhun (961–1023), who enjoys an extremely positive historical reputation, was able to effect a peace treaty in Shanzhou (in present-day Henan Province), under which the Song recognized the permanent loss of the sixteen prefectures. According to Wang Weikang, Jiao believed that historical dramas should be generally accurate in their presentation of history. On the other hand, Wang is further of the view that Jiao did not necessarily follow all the details of the historical source books.14 Actually, in the section translated below, Jiao

Jiao Xun’s Peasant Chats on Popular Local Theater

argues that the interpretation of events presented in Two Wolves Mountain is “at variance with the historical record,” especially in its negative portrayal of Pan Mei and in omitting the character of Wang Shen altogether. At best, this comment might back up the suggestion that a valid overall interpretation of history need not include accuracy of detail. But it may be reasonable to go further and argue fully against the idea that Jiao Xun supported presenting historical veracity in theater.15 I have omitted the last sentence of the section. A pronunciation gloss, it adds nothing to the text’s meaning. The third and last section translated below is the longest in the work. It strengthens Jiao’s overall theme that the popular local theater is preferable to Kunqu, largely because it brings out the moral issues better, and is more convincing in the way bad people are punished. The main review is of the popu lar local drama The Pure Wind Pavilion (Qingfengting). According to a leading authority on the Yangzhou theater, there is still a work with this title performed in the Yangzhou region as an “incense-fire plays” (xianghuoxi).16 This is a genre that took its origin from religious celebrations involving requests, thanks, or repentance to the gods and performed by clerics or shamans.17 The Pure Wind Pavilion is in essence about the punishment meted out to an unfilial and arrogant official. However, Jiao makes comparisons with two Kunqu dramas, both of which he considers inferior. The plots of The Pure Wind Pavilion and the two Kunqu dramas are actually rather different other than being about the struggle between good and evil. Jiao Xun’s concern in all three items is the dramatic effect of a thunderclap as a way of bringing about the death of a negative character. He suggests that the way the thunderclap is used makes the popular local drama The Pure Wind Pavilion superior to the two Kunqu dramas both dramatically and morally. Although he explains The Pure Wind Pavilion and its historical associations well, Jiao Xun’s comments on the two Kunqu dramas selected for unfavorable comparison are so terse as to require some additional explanation, which I offer here to facilitate understanding of Jiao’s text. The first is The Story of the Double Pearl (Shuangzhu ji), by the late-Ming dramatist Shen Jing (precise dates unknown).18 The play is based on a tragic story told in the Records of Ceasing Ploughing (Chuogeng lu),19 but the dramatist has embellished it and given it a happy ending. It is about a commander Li Kecheng who lusts after his subordinate’s wife, sending him to prison to get rid of him. The wife determines to die to avoid the shame, but first sells her son to give him a chance in life. She ties a precious pearl around

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his neck and throws herself into an abyss, but is saved by a spirit. Later the son does very well in the examinations and, through the pearl, is able to find his parents again.20 The second Kunqu drama, The Story of the Western Bower (Xilou ji) by Yuan Yuling (1592–1672),21 concerns the love of Yu Shuye from Suzhou for a noted local courtesan, their secret meetings being at the Western Bower (Xilou). When his former friend and rival Zhao Bujiang maliciously informs Yu’s father, the latter has the woman sent away to Hangzhou. However, overcoming great resistance, the couple’s devoted love leads to their final union anyway. Yuan Yuling actually wrote this play in prison, where his father had him sent for a love affair with a prostitute. So the main protagonist Yu Shuye is an obvious autobiographical representation of the author Yuan Yuling himself.



Peasant Chats on Popular Local Theater Excerpts Preface 22 The general trend for theater is to admire the sounds of Wu (i.e., Kunqu). As for the “flower section” (huabu, i.e., the popular local theater), the tunes and text are widely regarded as vulgar and dismissed as “confused strumming” (luantan). I seem to be the only one who really likes it. To be sure, Kunqu music does have its own elegance, and its tunes do conform to certain standards of harmony and delicacy, but if listeners don’t have the written script in front of them they’ll have no idea what’s going on. There are a dozen or so items that are good, such as The Lute (Pipa),23 Killing a Dog (Shagou),24 The Dream of Handan (Handan meng),25 and A Handful of Snow (Yi peng xue).26 Other than those, most are trivial and salacious items about affairs between men and women, such as The Western Bower (Xilou) and Red Pear Blossom (Hongli),27 and not in the least worth seeing. The flower section, on the other hand, comes down directly from the much better Yuan drama, and the content is mostly about loyalty, filial piety, chastity, and righteousness, concepts that are really moving. The words are straightforward and accessible, so that even women and children can understand them. The music is noble, as well as arousing and exciting.

Jiao Xun’s Peasant Chats on Popular Local Theater

There is an old tradition by which, in the second and eighth lunar months, all the villages outside the city hold performances one after the other, the old peasants and fishermen gathering to enjoy themselves. After the Sichuan actor Wei San‘er (Changsheng) began singing his salacious songs and trivial and vile words, a generation of actors in the marketplaces, such as Fan Ba and Hao Tianxiu,28 have imitated him and brought his bad influence to the outlying villages. Fortunately, we seem gradually to have gone back to the old ways. I’m especially keen on the performances, and whenever they are put on I take my old wife and young grandchildren on a small boat, go along the lake, and watch the dramas in turn. On very hot days, or when the farmers relax and take it easy, they can sit in the shade of the willow trees or beanstalk sheds. At such times they may tell each other stories, and most of them come from flower section (huabu) dramas they have seen. When I explain a few things to them about the dramas, they all clap me and laugh in appreciation. A scholar in one of the villages noted it all down and showed it to me. I say: “These are peasant chats, and no more. You wouldn’t put them among writings for the cultivated.” Anyway, I’ve cut and winnowed the notes and here is what is left. Dated the first day of autumn, the eighteenth day of the sixth month of the jimao year of the Jiaqing reign (8 August 1819) and written by the Master of the Mushroom-Carving Building.

Section on Two Wolves Mountain29 Yang Wudi30 was defeated at the entrance of the Chen Family Valley, and he and his son Yanyu both died in this calamity. The reason was Wang Shen’s failure to attack and come to his rescue. At the time the commander was Pan Mei. Yang Ye originally wanted to wait until the strategic moment and then take action, but Mei refused to implement his strategy. When Shen went into hiding, Mei was unable to prevent him from disobeying orders, so he also took flight, escaping along the river. Yang Ye’s troops fought at the entrance to the valley, but there were no reinforcements as he has had expected, so he shouted out: “A traitor has deceived me.” He returned to the battle and died. If it could be established that it was Mei who betrayed Ye, then his defeat would not have been entirely due to Wang Shen, for if Pan Mei had been a good general, how was it that he could not restrain Wang Shen? Following this defeat, the power of the state suffered greatly, and the weakness of the Song would in reality be due to Mei. Later, Emperor Taizong

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(r. 976–997) did all he could to make up for the loss; he summoned Kou Zhun from Qingzhou, and gave him the rank of Long Life Prince (Shou wang). The frontier arrangement at Shanzhou all but washed away the earlier disgrace. There is a huabu drama called Two Wolves Mountain (Lianglangshan), which is a stage presentation of Yang Ye’s death; it puts all the blame and responsibility on Pan Mei. Yanzhao (Yang Ye’s sixth son) lays an accusation against him at court, calling on Kou Zhun to make a judgment about the case. The result was a detailed exposure of Pan’s traitorous action toward a worthy man, and Kou’s hatred of evil. It’s as if to say: If Kou Zhun were to make a full judgment about Yang Ye’s death, then Pan’s punishment would go beyond merely stopping him from being promoted. Song’s relations with the Liao got weaker due to Pan Mei, but stronger due to Kou Zhun. Everybody hated the fact that at that time there was nobody like Zhun who was willing to sacrifice himself for his country as well as to reject evil. A man like Zhun would have judged him (i.e., Pan) in court, would have had him beaten, would have pointed at him and cursed him loudly. He would have managed the case by getting people to stand as fake gods and spirits backing up the case against him.31 But actually Mei was able to escape all blame because there was nobody like Kou Zhun who dared act against him.

But maybe that is all just nonsense, and you can put a different spin on the events, one that shows Mei in a good light but Wang Shen as the evil one. Pan Mei was just then leading a double division, the court sent officials to arrest him for failing to save Yang Ye and running away, but they didn’t dare act. So then Wang Shen, who harbored a grudge against Mei for killing his elder brother, had him arrested and taken off to prison in a cart, with Shen himself taking over leadership of his army. So that would have made Mei look as if he was betraying Yang Ye and casting the blame for his own crime on Wang Shen, just as the historians have written on this question of responsibility. As for specifically putting the word “traitor” into Yang Ye’s mouth, painting Mei as the traitor, this makes it into a kind of fact and gives it gravity, as if it were recorded in the famous and authoritative Chinese classic The Spring-and-Autumn Annals (Chunqiu). The writer of this drama left out the character of Wang Shen altogether, and specially put all the blame on Mei. This was at variance with the historical record.

Jiao Xun’s Peasant Chats on Popular Local Theater

Section on The Pure Wind Pavilion32 Zhang Rengui of the Tang was the son of a concubine of a Minister (shangshu) surnamed Zhang. Through jealousy the first wife found his presence intolerable, so the minister sent him far away to become the adopted son of a retired scholar, also with the surname Zhang, sending a personal handwritten letter as evidence of what he had done. As Rengui grew up, he found out he was the son of a senior minister. So he stole the evidence in the form of the handwritten letter and ran away with it to the capital. After doing well in the examinations and achieving an official career, he forgot the righteous behavior of the retired official who had brought him up. Because he lacked the evidence of what had happened, the retired official sank into melancholy and died of a broken heart. When Rengui heard about this, he hanged himself at a government courier-pavilion while on an official mission. Tradition has it that the retired scholar Zhang had laid an accusation against him in hell to have him punished. This matter is recorded in the Fragments on Northern Dreams (Beimeng suoyan).33 It is also the subject of a local popular drama (huabu) with the title The Pure Wind Pavilion. In the drama the retired scholar Zhang still has the same surname, but Rengui instead becomes the son of the Xue family. The plot is more or less unchanged, and goes as follows: A retired scholar and his wife weave straw sandals and grind beans to make a living. They find an abandoned child, with a letter written in blood begging somebody to take him in and bring him up. Though poor in strength, the retired scholar adopts and looks after him, and he survives and grows strong. When he gets to be ten and more years old, it happens that his real mother passes by, so he steals the letter written in blood and runs away together with her. He does well in the examinations, becomes an official, and goes on government missions. From the time their son ran away, Zhang’s wife has daily become more and more ashamed and mortified. She falls ill through thinking of the ungrateful son and cannot grind beans any more. Every day, Zhang supports his sick wife to go to the Pure Wind Pavilion and watch for their adopted son’s return. In this par ticular year, they are both aged seventy-odd. For a long time, they have been getting more decrepit as they have grown older, while poverty and distress have driven them to begging. Eventually, whether taking their meals or just resting, they spend all their time at the Pure Wind Pavilion looking out for their adopted son.

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Colin Mackerras One day, rumor spreads that a high official is coming and will take a rest at the Pavilion. When the local head is sprinkling and sweeping in preparation, he sees the two old people and says to them: “Yesterday I saw the high official; he looks extremely like that son of yours that ran away. Tomorrow, when the official rests here, you two old people go and hide somewhere near. I’ll make sure he really is the one and, if he is, I’ll come and tell you.” The two old people are delighted. The next day, the local head checks it out as promised. Sure enough, the official is who he had thought it would be. Very happy, he goes to get the two old people. In high spirits, they both go into the pavilion and take a look at him; he is definitely their adopted son. They go towards him, calling out to him, but he says angrily: “Who are these beggars? They’ve obviously come here by mistake.” The two old people tell him the details of how they brought him up and educated him over a decade or more. He is unmoved and just says: “Show me some proof.” The proof (i.e., the letter written in blood) was already stolen, so they don’t have it. Instead, the two old people prostrate themselves in obeisance before him and kowtow. The old man says: “Your lordship, how could lowly people like us claim a father-son relationship through the mean labor of bringing you up, if it wasn’t true? For over ten years we couldn’t do without each other. My wife waited on and looked after the two of us like a house servant or suckling slave. She fed us in life, and would have provided a coffin in death. She saved us from starvation or violent death by the roadside. Surely she has the right to expect something from you!” His attendants and slaves are moved by this outburst. They kneel down and plead with the official on behalf of the two old people. But this son just says: “These are two beggars, two hundred strings of cash should do them!” So he gives them two hundred strings of cash and motions them out of the pavilion. Signaling to him to go first, the old woman says to her husband: “How full of hatred our son is! All you’ve ever done is to correct his mistakes in reading, and all I’ve done is look after him. All his life he’s never experienced a single day with nobody to comfort and care for him. You withdraw for the time being. I’ll look for him and talk to him by myself. Maybe he’ll remember me with a bit of pity.” She goes into the pavilion again. But this son curses her even more bitterly. The old woman bursts into loud sobs. She strikes him in the face with the money (the two hundred strings of cash), dashes herself against the pavilion and falls dead. The old man waits for a long time and when she doesn’t come back he goes to look for the old woman and sees her body. Also upset beyond description, he dashes his head on the ground and dies. This son turns on the local head

Jiao Xun’s Peasant Chats on Popular Local Theater and tries to put the blame on him, but meets with stubborn resistance. The son waves to his mounted retinue to depart. A thunderstorm breaks out. The local head braves the rain and goes below the pavilion. There he notices somebody kneeling and covered in hair. Suddenly a clap of thunder strikes the kneeling man dead. The local head looks to see who it is, and sure enough it is the former high official. In his right hand he is holding two hundred strings of cash, and in his left the letter written in blood. In a loud voice, the local head enumerates his crimes as further punishment.

This is the stage performance version of how Retired Scholar Zhang dies of grief and hatred, and how Rengui is punished in the afterlife. It’s an absolutely splendid stage presentation of somebody dying of grief and hatred. Changing hanging oneself to being struck dead by a thunderclap brings out a sense of terror, and is really a masterstroke. Among the Kunqiang (i.e., Kunqu) plays, there are two in which characters are struck dead by a thunderclap. One is The Story of the Double Pearl, in which this happens to Li Kecheng and Zhang Youde. As a commander, Kecheng commits the crime of plotting to take a subordinate’s wife illicitly, while at the same time arranging to bring about his death, which leads the wife to become a splendid example of chastity through her own death. The historical details are recorded in the Records of Ceasing Ploughing. The subordinate gets release through his wife’s death, and the son she’s sold comes back to her. It’s only the commander who hasn’t got retribution, so it would be possible to think of his being killed by a thunderclap as something satisfying. The writer of The Story of the Double Pearl has the subordinate’s wife selling the son, and throwing herself into an abyss. But then a spirit saves her and she doesn’t get killed. Since father, son, husband, and wife are reunited, there is no need for heaven to punish Li Kecheng. So although in Double Pearl Li Kecheng and Zhang Youde are struck by a thunderclap and killed, this is still just not enough to arouse or move the audience.34 As for Zhao Bujiang in The Western Bower, it’s only because of jealousy that he goes behind Yu Shuye’s back and tells Yu’s father about his illicit liaison with the courtesan, something his father would never have permitted. Zhao is definitely working off his own spleen and everything he says is undoubtedly aimed at criticism of Yu. Yet, for him to meet with death through a thunderclap because of this is really quite pointless. Because Yuan Yuling bore a grudge against Zhao Mingyang and hated him deeply, it gave him some satisfaction to have Zhao killed by a thunderclap.

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Zhao Bujiang in The Western Bower is the historical Zhao Mingyang. Mingde’s human qualities and scholarship were not up to Yuan Yuling’s, so Feng Youlong35 cut and revised The Western Bower, boldly leaving out this scene. I recall that in my youth I went with my late father to watch village drama. On one day the scene “Heaven Strikes” (Tianda) from Double Pearl came on; the audience watched it but were rather lukewarm about it. The next day they performed The Pure Wind Pavilion. At first everybody clenched their teeth in anger, but as it went on they became more and more enthusiastic. On the first day, when the cymbals and drums had stopped, people looked at each other solemnly as if to say that there was no theatricality in the item. But after the second, they were loud in their praise for days afterward. Whoever says local popular drama (huabu) is inferior to Kunqu is just talking like a lowly fellow with no sense of decency and propriety.

Notes 1. See further discussion on this topic in Colin Mackerras, “Yangzhou Local Theatre in the Second Half of the Qing,” in Lifestyle and Entertainment in Yangzhou, ed. Lucie B. Olivová and Vibeke Børdahl (Copenhagen: NIAS Press, 2009), 207–224. 2. The edition used for these translations is contained in Zhongguo xiqu yanjiuyuan, ed., Zhongguo gudian xiqu lunzhu jicheng (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju, 1959–1960), 8:225–231. For brief discussion of available editions, see Colin Mackerras, The Rise of the Peking Opera, 1770–1870: Social Aspects of the Theatre in Manchu China (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972), 236. 3. There are already translations of the preface and one other very interesting and long section with Jiao’s comments on the drama Competing with the Lute (Sai Pipa). See Faye Chunfang Fei, ed. and trans., Chinese Theories of Theater and Per formance from Confucius to the Present (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1999), 91–94. The title Competing with The Lute is due to the fact that the drama is on a theme very similar to the famous Story of the Lute, a work Jiao mentions in his preface. The preface is necessary to make sense of the work and an alternative translation is useful anyway. Despite its interest, there seems nothing to be gained by retranslating the section on Competing with The Lute. 4. Ming Guang, “Jiao Xun xiju lilun xin yi,” in Yangzhou wenhua yanjiu luncong: Di san ji, ed. Zhao Changzhi (Yangzhou: Guangling shushe, 2009), 85. 5. See a biography of Jiao Xun in Arthur W. Hummel, ed., Eminent Chinese of the Ch‘ing Period (1644–1912) (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1943– 1944), 1:144–145. 6. Ju shuo is in six juan and contained in Zhongguo xiqu yanjiuyuan, comp., Zhongguo gudian xiqu lunzhu jicheng, 8:81–220. 7. Wang Weikang, “Jiao Xun xiju guan chutan,” in Yangzhou wenhua yanjiu luncong: Di yi ji, ed. Zhao Changzhi (Yangzhou: Guangling shushe, 2008), 158. Also, Fei calls him “the first theorist to laud the merits of the diverse, vital, and popu lar regional theater forms” (Chinese Theories of Theater and Per formance, 91). 8. For example, see Wang Weikang, “Jiao Xun xiju guan chutan,” 160. 9. For an account of Wei Changsheng, see Mackerras, The Rise of the Peking Opera, 91–98.

Jiao Xun’s Peasant Chats on Popular Local Theater 10. Li Dou, Yangzhou huafang lu, ed. Wang Jun (Beijing: Xueyuan, 2001), 131–132. This work, part of which is translated in Chapters 6 and 7 of the present volume, is prefaced 1795. For an account of the salt merchant troupes and in par ticu lar Wei Changsheng in Yangzhou, see Mackerras, “Yangzhou Local Theatre in the Second Half of the Qing,” 212–216. 11. Wei Ren, Yangzhou xi kao (Yangzhou: Jiangsu guji, 1999), 860. Before 1949, this genre was called Weiyangxi, and it is under that name that Wei Ren discusses it at length in his Yangzhou xi kao, 89–130. However, it was formally renamed Yangju just after the People’s Republic was established (131). 12. This was the Former Han dynasty general who infuriated Emperor Wu (Wudi, 140–87 B.C.E.) by surrendering to, and living among, the Xiongnu with whom the Han were frequently at war. Like Yang Jiye, Li Ling was trapped in a valley and defeated for lack of reinforcements. Li’s surrender led to the execution of his entire lineage for treason, and the castration of the famous historian Sima Qian (145–85 B.C.E.) who had defended him. Li Ling thus became allegorical for Yang’s fate. 13. See the discussion in Gong Debai, Xiju yu lishi (Taibei: Gong Debai, 1962), 326–329. See also Mackerras, The Rise of the Peking Opera, 264–266. 14. See Wang Weikang, “Jiao Xun xiju guan chutan,” 160–162. 15. See also the analysis of Ming Guang, “Jiao Xun xiju lilun xin yi,” 86–87. 16. Wei Ren, Yangzhou xi kao, 859. 17. See Mackerras, “Yangzhou Local Theatre in the Second Half of the Qing,” 210. For a detailed treatment of the xianghuoxi, see Wei Ren, Yangzhou xi kao, 45–59. 18. This author, whose name is written 㰱污, is not to be confused with the much more famous Shen Jing 㰱䑈 (1553–1610). 19. Records of Ceasing Ploughing, by Tao Zongyi (1329–1410), was completed in 1366. It is a good source for late-Yuan historical material, including that relevant to cultural, geographical, and artistic matters, covering such diverse matters as peasant rebellion and drama. 20. See also Wang Peilun, Xiqu cidian (Taibei: Zhonghua shuju, 1967), 599–600, which includes the relevant passage from Records of Ceasing Ploughing quoted at length. 21. Yuan Yuling, from a distinguished family of Suzhou literati, was a dramatist both of romance (chuanqi) and variety drama (zaju). Although he did well in the examinations, his career in the bureaucracy was not particularly successful. One Western authority categorically denies rumors spread by his detractors that he was the man who surrendered Suzhou to the Manchus, but he did not do well under the new regime, which cashiered him from a provincial position for embezzlement. See William H. Nienhauser Jr., ed., The Indiana Companion to Traditional Chinese Literature (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1986), 734. As noted earlier, he also got into trouble in other ways. William Dolby, A History of Chinese Drama (London: Paul Elek, 1976), 99, describes him as “a roguish wag who twice ruined his career, once through his love for a whore and once through his sharp humour.” 22. Zhongguo xiqu yanjiuyuan, Zhongguo gudian xiqu lunzhu jicheng, 8:225. 23. The Story of the Lute by the fourteenth-century writer Gao Ming was the most famous of the early chuanqi dramas. There are several major translations and a critical literature on this important work, which the first Ming Emperor Zhu Yuanzhang (r. 1368–1398) specifically selected for praise. See Dolby, A History of Chinese Drama, 78–82. 24. The Story of Killing a Dog (Shagou ji) is one of the “four great romances” (sida chuanqi), which were among the most widely performed plays in the early chuanqi repertoire, “early” meaning the fourteenth or beginning of the fifteenth century. Its theme is wifely virtue. See Nienhauser, The Indiana Companion to Traditional Chinese Literature, 725–727. 25. The Dream of Handan by the famous Tang Xianzu (1550–1616) was completed in 1600 and concerns a man who dreams an entire lifetime in a few minutes.

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Writing about Things in the Nineteenth Century Scholar Zhou’s Dream of Yangzhou (Yangzhou meng, 1850s) Introduced, translated, and annotated by Antonia Finnane with Fan Xiong

Of the many “dreams of Yangzhou” in Chinese literary history, the memoir written by Jiaodong Zhou Sheng (Scholar Zhou of Jiaodong) sometime after 1857 is the longest, and also the richest in historical content.1 Part Three, a section of which is translated here, is unique as a record of commodities and material culture in Yangzhou in the years 1841–1852. The material remains of this period of Chinese history are on the whole poorly represented in contemporary museums, including the Yangzhou Museum. It is fortunate, then, that a corpus of writings remains to us from this period, helping fill the hiatus in knowledge resulting from twentieth-century indifference to nineteenth-century things. In the West, as Craig Clunas has commented, the nineteenth century has generally been regarded as a period when the glorious “tradition” was “exhausted,” leaving little creative energy for the production of objects worth collecting in museums.2 In China, much the same attitude can be detected. Yet while the nineteenth century was still running its course, people were not indifferent to its products. Lin Sumen’s Three Hundred Poems of Hanjiang (Hanjiang sanbai yin, 1808), the novels Clear Wind Sluice (Qingfengzha, 1819), and The Dream of Romance (Fengyue meng, preface 1848), as well as Dream of Yangzhou (Yangzhou meng, 1850s), all document, albeit to different degrees, the things of daily life in Yangzhou.3 Scholar Zhou’s preoccupation with such things is particularly intense, but his account in prose is prefigured by Lin Sumen’s “bamboo-branch songs.” It is worth comparing these middlebrow, even vulgar, writings with Li Dou’s The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou (Yangzhou huafang lu), composed in 217

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the late eighteenth century. Ling Tingkan (1757–1809), who wrote a preface for Lin Sumen’s Three Hundred Poems, commented on what Li Dou had failed to include in The Pleasure Boats: “Clocks, water cannon, water-pipe tobacco, snuff, and recently things produced by the English such as lamps and air-rifles, weren’t around in former times but can now be found in Yangzhou. Information on all of these could appropriately have been sought from experts and included in the chronicle (of The Pleasure Boats).”4 The inference is that there was a shift in approach to what could be written about between the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, between the reign of the Qianlong Emperor (r. 1736–1795), who in 1793 proclaimed that China did not need things from foreign countries, and the reigns of his son and grandson. Li Dou’s Yangzhou was a city of gardens, teahouses, opera, artists, and literati, a city such as Europeans might have imagined in their fondest fantasies of far Cathay. Even from Li Dou’s account, however, it can be seen that this was not a city isolated within a self-contained Middle Kingdom milieu. In an absorbing study of cosmopolitanism in late Qing China, Yue Meng draws attention to the dense network of long-distance trade routes centered on eighteenthcentury Yangzhou. “The exoticism of Yangzhou’s material culture,” she writes, “was a conscious manifestation of an urban society capable of luxurious consumption, with a high demand for rare goods from afar.”5 With the decline of merchant wealth, the “high prosperity” ( fanhua) of Yangzhou faded, and Shanghai began to displace Yangzhou as the locus of Qing cosmopolitanism. If no longer describable as fanhua, what did material life in Yangzhou look like in the nineteenth century? A browse through Scholar Zhou’s Dream of Yangzhou provides a glimpse of the city around half a century after the era of The Pleasure Boats. The portrait is less ambitious and the tone more conversational than in the earlier work. Lacking Li Dou’s historical and literary knowledge of Yangzhou, Scholar Zhou wrote mostly about what he personally saw and experienced, or had occasion to think about. The outcome was an unusually detailed portrait of everyday life in a nineteenth-century city that in Zhou’s eyes, at least, was still quite indescribable in terms of material wealth. From the perspective of its subject matter, Dream of Yangzhou is well named. The locus classicus of the “Yangzhou dream” is a line in a poem by Du Mu, “Ten years late I woke at last out of my Yangzhou dream” (shi nian yi jue Yangzhou meng),6 a reference to the poet’s life of dissipation in the courtesan houses of Tang-dynasty Yangzhou. The first of the four parts of Scholar

Scholar Zhou’s Dream of Yangzhou

Zhou’s book is entitled “People of the Dream” (Meng zhong ren), and is devoted to stories of prostitutes in Yangzhou, a total of twenty-two women being identified. Among these, “some in the Old City seemed like prostitutes but were not prostitutes,”7 a comment, perhaps, on the economic difficulties being experienced in the city in the 1840s. Elsewhere Zhou remarks on the recent increase in the number of prostitutes in the city, including women from formerly well-to-do families.8 Part Two of the book, “Words of the Dream” (Meng zhong yu), consists of verses written by Zhou and his associates, mostly in the context of life in the pleasure quarters. Part Three, “Things of the Dream” (Meng zhong shi), focuses on local customs and what might best be described as material culture, or commodities. Part Four, “Sentiments of the Dream” (Meng zhong qing), consists of reflective anecdotes with moral commentary. The author never wanders very far from the bordello. He had a more successful later life than the wastrels who frequented the brothels in the novel The Dream of Romance, but otherwise seems not unlike them. Dream of Yangzhou is not now a widely read and celebrated book but it has appeared in a number of editions. The earliest extant copy is an undated typeset edition in Tsinghua University Library, thought to date from the late Qing. If this is the work advertised by Dianshizhai in the Shanghai newspaper Shenbao in 1911, then the available evidence would suggest that, like many other literary works of the mid-nineteenth century, Dream of Yangzhou took a while to appear in published form.9 The Taiping Rebellion wiped out much of the publishing industry along the lower Yangzi River,10 leaving a vacancy that was to be filled by the print entrepreneurs of Shanghai. In 1915, Wenming Books (Wenming shuju), described by Christopher Reed as the “largest and most important publishing company” in early twentiethcentury Shanghai,11 brought out a lithographic edition of Dream, which was reprinted in 1925. World Books (Shijie shuju) published a typeset edition in 1936.12 The book was then well known in literary circles of the Republican era. It was one of a number of important prose writings of the late imperial period to be studied by Guoxue congkan (National Learning Journal) editor Zhu Jianmang (1890–1970) in the 1930s.13 Lu Xun (1881–1936) referred to it in 1926 by way of illustrating the flights of fancy typically to be found in old books.14 Lin Yutang (1895–1976) regarded it highly: Dream of Yangzhou contains some fine pieces of writing, including “Bisheng’s Wife” (Bisheng fu) and the two passages on Yulin and Yuzhen. The

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Antonia Finnane with Fan Xiong tone of the book as a whole is leisurely, the minutiae described in detail, and realistically, very much like Six Chapters of a Floating Life (Fu sheng liu ji). The “things” in “Things of the Dream” are interesting; the people in “People of the Dream” are vivid; and the sentiments in “Sentiments of the Dream” are wonderfully intriguing.15

Readers of the book were long puzzled as to the identity of the author, which was unknown to Zhu Jianmang. The puzzle was solved in 2004 when two scholars at Nanjing Normal University, Wu Chunyan and Lu Lin, established that “Jiaodong Zhou Sheng” was Zhou Boyi (1823–1895), a minor scholar, poet, and calligrapher of the late Qing.16 In consequence, something can now be said of the author of Dream of Yangzhou. He was born in 1823, in Zhenjiang, on the other side of the Yangzi River from Yangzhou, to a family in humble circumstances. His first teacher was his widowed mother, his second a local teacher named Shao Shiqi, under whom he studied for three years before becoming employed in business, presumably as an apprentice.17 At seventeen he abandoned commerce for further study. His interests were wide ranging: astronomy, geography, military strategy, martial arts, and calligraphy. He was skilled at ink-stone engraving, a topic covered in the portion of his writing translated here. At the age of twenty-five he passed the local examination, becoming a Government Student (xiucai), but he advanced no further along the examination route. The years following his early success were devastating for the lower Yangzi delta, as one city after another—including both Zhenjiang and Yangzhou—fell to the forces of the Heavenly Kingdom of Universal Peace (Taiping Tianguo). It was during this period, probably at a safe distance from the conflict, that he wrote Dream of Yangzhou. All this is known because Zhou Boyi later became a noted local historian, as well as a teacher of young men who would in their turn become prominent figures in Zhenjiang. His achievements won him an entry in the local gazetteer.18 Among his extant published works are little gazetteers of local mountain areas: Jinshan and Beigushan.19 Different as these are in content and style from Dream of Yangzhou, they confirm him as a man of his times: the study of localities proliferated during the nineteenth century. Also extant is a collection of poems by himself and his immediate circle, the socalled “seven latter-day men of Zhenjiang” (Jingjiang hou qi zi). The senior figure in this group of seven was Yang Lütai (1811–1883), a provincial graduate of 1840, whom Zhou Boyi met at Yizheng (west of Yangzhou, and a county within the prefecture) in 1847. Others of this group were with Zhou

Scholar Zhou’s Dream of Yangzhou

while he was living in Yangzhou.20 The 1840s were obviously formative years for him in both social and literary terms. Dream of Yangzhou includes writings that were produced during these years, most notably the poems that form Part Two of the work. Sections of Part Three may have been written at this time: the detail is such as to suggest that Zhou Boyi kept a diary. Here, too, we find a poem or two, but the basic genre is random jottings (biji), a genre supremely well suited to the subject matter. Zhou Boyi was an observant sojourner. He wrote in a precise way about the material culture of the city, from potted flowers, seal-stones, and goldfish right down to games of chance and the price of noodles. The diversity of commodities he describes is comparable to anything described for Guangzhou or Ningbo, Treaty Port cities where foreigners were exposed to breathtaking displays of goods in splendid shop fronts. But foreigners did not always know quite what they were looking at. The things that they glanced at sometimes seemed too ordinary to be worthy of collection and preserved for posterity in museums. Of the vast array of lamps that Zhou Boyi describes, for instance, it seems unlikely that many have survived. By identifying particular unfamiliar or little-known items, and describing generically more familiar items, he succeeded in creating a record of a material culture that has largely disappeared, while presenting the reader with a rather disordered but full and busy picture of a nineteenth-century town. As important as the record of the things themselves is their placement in relationship to the place, the people, and to other places and people, within and beyond the confines of the empire. Worth noting is the way in which foreign goods are shown to have been absorbed into the Yangzhou market. Liang Zhangju (1775–1849), who like Zhou Boyi was in Yangzhou when the Grand Canal was blockaded during the Opium War, once commented on the rage for “foreign things” (yangwu) in China: “yang copper, yang porcelain, yang paint, yang linen, yang cotton, and yang blue, yang red, yang marten, yang otter, yang paper, yang pictures, yang fans, the list is endless.”21 Zhou Boyi, however, makes no special effort to identify foreign things in his environment: they come up incidentally, items among many others in the possession of well-to-do households, products of an insistently expanding world trade to which Yangzhou was becoming attuned. Like Zhang Dai’s Dream Reminiscences of Tao‘an (Tao‘an mengyi), Zhou Boyi’s Dream of Yangzhou can be read as a retrospective account in which the writer looks back to the past over the wasteland of war. Tobie MeyerFong has written evocatively of the painful process of recouping social life

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Figure 11.1. Stone Boat by Slender West Lake, 1980. (Photo by Antonia Finnane)

and culture in the decades following the post-Taiping decades.22 This was a process in which Zhou Boyi was engaged in relationship to Zhenjiang, where he contributed much to rebuilding a local literary and historical legacy through the writing and editing projects he conducted in the later decades of his life. His work on Yangzhou, too, can be located in the post-Taiping era: a sense of twilight in some passages is palpable. But the content as well as the context is important. For China at large as well as for Yangzhou in particular, the years between the Treaty of Nanjing (1843) and the outbreak of the Taiping Rebellion (1850–1864) can seem lost to history. A glimpse of daily life in the city during these years helps to recover the time, as well as to rediscover the place.



Dream of Yangzhou Part Three: Things of the Dream Dreams,23 whether long or short, are much the same as each other; things, whether great or small, are all of a kind. In dreams about poems, things are

Scholar Zhou’s Dream of Yangzhou

pure and clear. In dreams about blossoms, things are new and fresh. In dreams about otherworldly beings, things are far removed. In dreams about the fair sex, things are soft and tender. Such are the things of dreams. Yangzhou is divided between the constellations of the Dipper and the Ox. People there are literary and refined. This is in accordance with the stars. It lies in the direction of the third Earthly Branch, which belongs to the Dipper. It is the place where one can gaze up, from a reclining position, at the Cowherd constellation. Coming as I do from the other side of the Yangzi River, I might as well have been thinking about “crossing the stream to meet the Weaving Girl!”24 One moonlit night we drifted across the lake. For the sky above I would have given ten out of ten and for the lake below ten out of ten as well, so for the two together that makes twenty. Yet how can we speak of two when sky and lake have merged into one? It had just stopped snowing, and light gleamed from a little window. Xiaochi invited me to join Zixing, Xiaoxian, Shouzhi, Suting, and Lu Xiang25 on a balcony overlooking the garden with its trees and rockery, there to compose colophons for Luna’s26 portrait. I was about to return to the South, and could not delay. I took the brush Shouzhi had hanging from his belt, set up the ink before me, and using the regular script of the Flying Soul Sutra,27 quickly wrote out ten poems and two postscripts, a thousand or more characters that filled two fascicles, with the second one serving as an appendix to the first. Scholars of renown and beautiful women stood all about, right and left, watching as I wrote, making sounds of approval. My heart fi lled with quiet delight, I was scarcely conscious of my brush flying down the page. The night was cold, but I was protected from the wind by a screen of human flesh. Occasionally I warmed my hands with my breath. But I could feel the open room turning white, becoming a motionless pavilion of mist. The Dragon Boat and Mid-Autumn festivals are everywhere celebrated as festivals. I came up with a plan to form a “festivals society” with some friends. We would conduct activities once a month, except for the first and twelft h months. At the Flower (Huachao) festival in the second month, we would appreciate flowers. On the Forenoon (Shangsi) festival in the third month, we would go to a site with running water to perform the cleansing ritual. On the eighth of the fourth month, we would take the opportunity of the Buddha’s birthday to bathe his heart with poems, old and new. On the eighth of the sixth month, we would celebrate the blooming of the lotus flower. On the eve of the seventh of the seventh, we would observe the festival

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of Begging for Handicraft Skills (Qiqiao). On the ninth of the ninth month, we would climb somewhere high. On the first of the tenth we would gather round a stove. On the fi fteenth of the eleventh, we would appreciate the full moon.28 The members of the society could divert themselves with poetry or with chess, each to his own, and could speak or remain silent, as they wished. We would take meats with our liquor, and slake our thirst with fruits of the season. When joking, it would be for our mutual amusement, not at each other’s expense; and rules would be interesting rather than strict. By general agreement, a lovely lady of good understanding would be placed in charge. She would be known as Master Flora of the Everlasting Spring. Scenery looks its best in spring and autumn, and is not bad in winter, either. Summer is the exception, due to the scorching heat. Not so in Yangzhou, however, even at the height of summer. Mooring our boat in the shaded lake, with willows like a canopy overhead, fanned by a slight breeze, we find it easy to forget that we are in a field of heat. Returning at twilight, in the deep alleyways we see a Yang Guifei by every door, all freshly bathed, and clad in short jackets with trousers of thin silk, sashes trailing the ground. In their hair they wear sprigs of flowers that look like butterflies dancing. Their fragrance reaches one from yards away, truly intoxicating! [ . . . ]29

 Great mansions with many rooms, square columns of hewn nanmu wood, winding verandas, turned-up eaves—these characterize suitable places for scholars to gather together and hold poetry salons. For old friends to have their heart-to-heart talks, or for a rendezvous with a pretty girl, the ideal place is a low-roofed dwelling with a zig-zag fence, and windows fitted with green gauze. The walls should be done with a whitewash of powdered oyster shell.30 It should be equipped with a couch, a small table, a zither, and an ink-stone. One might light some incense, or if not in the mood for that, sip some new tea. The maid should be discreet and the parrot hushed. Then one would truly be in a place of bliss. Ethereal beings like to dwell in loft y buildings, far removed from the dust and noise of the world. A building located in water is even more thus, suspended in space, cut off from mundane things. Buildings near a lake, with brocaded screens one after the other, painted woodwork at each entrance, and curtains drawn, seem to be the abode of someone special. With the rain

Scholar Zhou’s Dream of Yangzhou

falling among the peach blossoms, and the wind waft ing through the poplars and willows, spring rises from her silken footsteps, and vapors from her gossamer skirts. That ballad written in praise of the goddess Luo surely need not apply to the Imperial Consort Zhen alone?31 When visiting the chamber of Mistress Gui, I was first taken upstairs: it was dark and stuff y, yet winding around for a few paces brought me to a small room that was light and lovely, and where I felt quite relaxed. I pushed open the window, and saw two empty flowerpots by a small stone table, looking as though they had just landed from the sky. Below, there was a well, surrounded by a wall. Although the enclosed area was less than half a mu, it looked as spacious as though there were no sky above, and as farreaching as though there were no earth. Sitting here keeping time with some music would be most suitable, especially on a summer night, with a fresh breeze blowing, or in autumn, when the moon above is at its best. The deep alley allowed no sunlight. The return balcony provided shelter from the rain; fans and coverings here would simply be a bother. Women were out buying flowers, their chatter and laughter as clear as the sounds of songbirds in a deep valley. The tap of wooden heels as they tripped along was like the sound of flowers dropping on a shady path—truly enchanting. Railings in the pattern of the character ṵ; Walls in the pattern of the character ṇ; Curtains in the pattern of the character ᶪ; Windows in the pattern of the character ⋶; Inkstones in the pattern of the character 桑; Incense in the pattern of the character ⽬; Wine cups in the pattern of the shape ⢦; All these things suit someone with: Eyebrows in the pattern of the character ℔; And bowels of compassion in the shape of the character ᷴ.32

One day I took this little ditty and showed it to my friend Rangquan, covering up the last few words, and asked him to complete it. His response was “and with the alternative name Zhou Lang.” It’s really he rather than I who should be termed the “flourishing talent”!33 Fine gentlemen enjoy spring outings, their horses whinnying, the grasses fragrant. When members of the fair sex venture out in the rain, their carriages take them through the greenwoods. Of old there were no conveyances of bamboo. But now with cabins of jade-like bamboo, and the wood

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of the betel-nut palm for shafts, there are windows to protect the feather in one’s hat, and panels to rest one’s hands. On the roof are fastenings and curtain headings; at the corners are ropes and knots. There is glass on each side, while within are blinds of Huzhou crepe, left hanging on the side facing the sun and rolled up on the side facing away. The curtains are in two layers, and tied at the top with rattan. When there is a wind the curtains are lowered, but if there is no wind they are raised up. The carriage poles are lacquered and the short rods scarlet. The fittings are of plain fabrics with colored linings, with hangings of coarse material and pelmets of fine; a sturdy cabin and soft seats, a bag hanging on the left, a tobacco purse hanging on the right. There are four footmen at the front and two at the rear. If  the carriage encounters a crowd in the marketplace, they can be heard shouting, high and low. The passengers, male and female, all like to make a great show. The type of sedan chair used by officials has a top shaped like the roof of a pavilion. In rain or snow, it is covered with oilcloth. The type called “sheet of tiles” is made of woven bamboo, looking like tiles overturned, painted grey, good for cloudy weather and clear. The door covers open like spreading wings, with two extra pieces fastened on the outside. The window curtains come in two types, one for warm weather and the other for cool. The upholstery is covered with drapes, as is the case with the official’s sedan chair as well. There are street sedan chairs from my hometown, borne by fellows in short jackets. When street urchins spot one they laugh, recognizing from far away that it’s someone from Zhenjiang. Summer and autumn are the right times for boating. Many boats have no windows, just simple awnings, and colored curtains on both sides, held up with bamboo rods. Garlic-shaped weights are used to hold them down. There are carved railings around the rim, with a gap to allow exit and entry. The upper level of the boat has a couch, with a tea table set crossways, and a long table as well. On each side there be will three or four benches, and a couple of tables with short legs that on board can be folded to make a single table. If a round table top is placed on it, then the passengers can gather around it. In the boat’s stern is a tea brazier. The boat is propelled by oars, and passage is very smooth as well as swift. Apart from these, there are speedy painted craft with glass cabins, known as “glass speedboats” (bolikuai) that go to Level with the Mountains (Pingshan).34 They used to be particularly numerous here, but now Tiger Hill (Huqiu) in Suzhou has more.

Scholar Zhou’s Dream of Yangzhou

Figure 11.2. Sedan Chair with Four Bearers in a French Engraving, 1812. (Breton, China: Its Costumes, Arts, Manufactures)

Riverboats are known by the name “The River Brims Red” (manjianghong).35 They travel on a diagonal, relying on the wind and the waves, changing direction as they please, looking like great generals from west of the pass. I doubt not but that high-toned men of mature years, on entering into the bowels of such a ship, will find everything clean and bright, complete with elegant calligraphy tablets and literary hangings on the walls. As long as they are not in a ner vous state, they will feel just as if they were in some hermit’s hut in a secluded valley, with the soughing of pines and the babble of the creek in their ears. Who would need to lie down and listen to a flute when he can relax in a riverboat and listen to the wind and water? As for canal boats, there are many types, each known by a different name. Li Dou set these out in detail in The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou. The passenger craft have prows shaped like a peony or like a rush sandal. All necessary equipment is supplied, and is of fine quality. I just find them rather flat and heavy, and they don’t move fast. (Riverboats come with eight oars, and

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fly along like birds: often they will speed along lightly with only three.) One or two boatwomen do the cleaning, keep everything looking smart, and do the cooking. The midday meal consists of four dishes, beautifully prepared. The cost for a day’s outing does not exceed one thousand pieces of qian. Many who have to come to the city for work get employment in this business. Fur coats are made from the backs of tiger-claw otters (huguata), and lined with lambskin or so-called “scholar’s marten.” Japanese leopard furs are also costly; next comes white wolf and lynx. Grey fox furs lined with the wool of the purple sheep (zigao) were valuable items in the old days, but recently uppity servants have encroached on this style, and now it is everywhere to be seen. On one occasion a servant dressed thus was seized by a scholar, who tore his coat into pieces and distributed the fragments among beggars in the street. Due to this scholar, the very taverners in the city know to keep their place. He later succeeded in the top exam, and became an official historian. For underclothing, select soft material that clings to the body. For outer garments, choose material that will give firm corners and hems. Long gowns, whether lined or not, should also be of hard material. Soft materials include Huzhou and foreign crepes. Hard materials include court brocade and corded silk. Fabrics from overseas include broadcloth and camlets.36 Genuine camlets are a bit coarse: the finest cost several times the price of the others. In summer, Zhejiang gauze is popular, even for trousers. At the height of summer, muslin and hemp cloth (ge) are the most popular. There are two types of muslin, dense and open weave. Open weave is cooler. Good quality hemp cloth is much more expensive than muslin. As for women’s dress, one garment can be ruinous. If the border is trimmed with braid in a lotus-flower design, with gold ribboning to give a serrated effect, then the base price is increased three- or four-fold. And there are constantly new fashions. Once a style is outdated, the garment will be put away on a high shelf. It’s really terribly wasteful. Yet these are moderately priced compared to the richly embroidered garments described in stories such as The Western Chamber (Xixiang) or Red Mansions (Honglou). Those cost tens or hundreds of liang. Using blue thread for the warp and multicolored thread for the weft gives silk a variegated color, although the character for variegated, xuan, is here pronounced xian. Looked at front on, it is the color of deep jade, but in the sunlight it varies between red and green, like the colors of the rainbow, the

Scholar Zhou’s Dream of Yangzhou

halo round the moon, phoenix feathers, or the plumes of some other fabulous bird.37 The women here sometimes wear it when attending the procession of the gods in the fourth month, but the men are not yet getting these “Grand Minister of State” jackets made up for themselves.38 Of the five colors, sky blue holds pride of place. For informal hats, deep red is the best color.39 Dark blue or jade-green are colors that servants can also wear. A single song, unaccompanied, can reap priceless rewards: clothing of fine brocade and embroidered bedding, made of stuff the singer cannot even name, and does not know how to care for. When Luna saw my jacket of Huzhou crepe, she referred to it as Sichuan silk and praised its simplicity, so little did she know about silk. Her patterned bed curtain was wonderfully fine, but once when she was talking to me she used it to wipe away her tears. When her nose drips, her expensive lotus-pattern handkerchiefs pile up, half-filling the house. There really are people like this in the world. If peace reigns for a lengthy period, it is difficult to garner rewards from the battlefield. I heard there had been conflict on the coast, following which there were reports of decorations won in military ser vice, a real honor. After seeing a combat expert from the army heading out to a banquet wearing a two-inch long jadeite official decoration, his relatives and hangers-on also looking resplendent, I felt anxious about the tone of society here for quite a long time.40 When one has been feasting on rich food day after day, a simple meal of vegetables tastes wonderful. In the dead of night, carousing at an end, the ladies would leave by sedan chair. Fearing inspection by the night patrol, they would put away their pearls and jade and don old blue cotton jackets, pretending to be commoners’ wives returning from visiting family. With their simple earrings, and tattered clothing, lingering and looking back, they exuded quite a different charm. The shoes crafted by Master Huang do not lose their shape even when worn out. They cost several times more than ordinary shoes. This is well known to all. The perfumes made by Dai Chunlin and Xue Tianxi are also known all over the empire.41 And lately we have Su-Guang shops,42 which deal in brocades, along with phoenix shoes, women’s boots, and gauze stomachers fitted with pockets of fragrance. The items come in a variety of styles, and are all exquisite. The weather suddenly cleared one day before I had time to change out of my spiked rain clogs. Some young smart-alecks scoffed at me, saying,

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“What heavy rain!” Only wet-and-dry shoes with oiled soles come without spikes. They are suitable for rain or shine. On overcast days many people wear them. In dress, I like Hangzhou muslin, Huzhou crepe, and Hangzhou silk, also pepper-bodied Boyuan ( jiaoti boyuan) silk.43 I like the firm feel of woolen cloth. Woolen cloth can’t be worn as winter clothing.44 For a jacket of scarred leather,45 I like a lining of jade-green silk, although light or dark blue is also acceptable. I like over-socks, which are easy to wash, and for informal wear Grand Minister of State jackets, which are easy to put over one’s gown. I like Heavenly Official shoes with reinforced soles,46 which support the feet and do not easily break at the pressure points. Simplicity in design accords with my nature. Just so, whereas women’s handkerchiefs come in many colors, with houndstooth borders in colored thread, I prefer dark colors. Once, all of a sudden, Luna changed over to dark colors. She said she did so without meaning anything in particular. At a banquet she snatched my handkerchief away, and switching it between hands with hers, required me to pick out mine. Knowing what was being inferred, I identified the wrong one. “That’s right!” she said. No one else knew the difference. Thereafter, she was deeply appreciative of my understanding of her, and whenever she was distressed, she would use my kerchief to wipe away her tears. On the sixteenth day of the tenth month of the renzi year (1852), she wrote the following lines: “I dreamt I was filled with sorrow, And on waking, I wept.” If anyone were to say I was untrustworthy, the handkerchief would prove otherwise. Liu Jingting 47 was entertaining when he argued, and was good at settling differences between people. He cannot be regarded as a mere boor. He would deliberately create a puzzle in the tale that nobody could knot out, then suddenly turn about with a solution that no one could have thought of. Those wise to him said that he was inclined first to write with many twists and turns, and only then to write plainly. When cracking a joke, he would introduce multiple twists and turns getting to the punch line, at which people laughed till they choked. It was enough to make anyone feel inspired. There was a street storyteller who had a broad face and plump cheeks, and wore a dark-colored satin jacket. He looked like a man of means. In the afternoon he would take a seat high in the teahouse and relate one or two episodes from a chantefable, and earn several thousand qian. But he was rarely invited to perform by the grand families. The Huang family, who often had guests and girls to the house, was partial to the performance of

Scholar Zhou’s Dream of Yangzhou

musical rhymes. I loved their style. As for women whiling away the summer days: they like most to hear a blind girl playing the pipa and chanting tales about beautiful women and talented scholars. The good-looking servants in brothels are precisely the sort that are chosen by people with a taste for beauty. Why would grand families set store by such servants? It is because before the master arises in the morning, the servant brings the hubble-bubble pipe to his bed; and when nothing is ado and the mistress is lonely, the servant can go to her in the innermost confines of the house. How can distinction between high and low be accompanied by a lack of discrimination between male and female? Servants of this sort can be disloyal and dangerous. They can attack you when you are unaware, or bring pressure to bear on you, and you won’t know how to respond. They can take advantage of your kind concern for them, and force you to do things, relying on their sure knowledge of you to get their own way. Someone once saw a young woman of the family going out to clean the chamber pot; he peeped around, saw there was no one in the house, and said to his friend: I can have my way with this one! While her back was turned, he dashed in and threw himself naked on the bed. When she came back in and saw him, she was startled almost out of her wits. He said, “You summoned me here. If you don’t want to submit, you can go ahead and call out.” She complied most reluctantly, and implored him not to come back, but he did return at the end of the day. I don’t know what happened to the woman, but the man in the end died without descendants. In another, a merchant’s wife was walking outside at nightfall and hadn’t brought along a candle. A manservant took her for a slave girl, followed and grabbed her from behind. When he heard her voice he scuttled off. The woman got her husband to pursue him. The matter was not bruited abroad. Take this as a warning. Be the mistress of the house ever so stern, are not dangers to the slave girls and concubines ever present? If you have to choose servants, be sure to exclude the bad types. Twenty years ago, sturdy maidservants began to replace young boys as attendants for women traveling in sedan chairs. Recently they have been wearing tight sleeves, barbarian boots, and buttoned up vests. At hazardous parts of the road, their task is to hold the sedan chair steady. On reaching home, they carry the young masters inside. In former times, there was an elderly woman of talent belonging to a prominent family. When she went out visiting she would leave the sort of visiting cards that are used in the

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Figure 11.3. Old Teahouse by the Yangzhou City Moat, 1980. (Photo by Antonia Finnane)

capital. How is it that there are so many of these female “men” around these days? The master’s manservant is called Second Master. Second Master’s servant is called Third Master. In Zhenjiang, the wife of a manservant is called Number One Boy, and in the countryside she is called Elder Son, or Second Son. In Yangzhou, the lowest maidservants are called Big-Foot Third Boy. They are all ranked by numbers. Zhang Youfu48 told me a ditty about the Big-Foot Third Boy orioles:49 “in round-toed shoes with sturdy sides, they come and go like wisps of smoke.” This can be said to describe them exactly. Now they can be found only in Jiangnan. In Yangzhou there are very few. In Yangzhou, the seamstresses in big households and the hairdressers in brothels have delicate little hands and feet. Morning and evening I sit in the teahouse on the street corner looking through the window coverings at the women shuttling back and forth, presenting flowers and distributing gifts, all dainty and trim, looking like the respectable wives of small households. Ah, me! Women with a strong step are hard to find. No wonder those traveling in sedan chairs have to borrow their husbands’ pampered boy servants. A Buddhist devotee of my acquaintance, a lady who practiced fasting, had a maidservant to wait on her. The girl would serve tea and hold up the

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curtain, waiting for me to enter or leave. She was as pretty and dainty as they come: not a peony in the land could compare with her. Later a merchant of some means took her as a concubine. Once she went back to visit the mistress of the house. She took a glass-windowed sedan chair, attended by four or five sturdy servants fore and aft. When she had been sitting awhile, two young maidservants started fanning her, performing the same ser vice as she used to of old, and for which she is now being rewarded. Juting told me she had a very good heart and deserved this good fortune. Mama Jing was the wet nurse for Yusheng. She could manage the household for her mistress, and was loyal and true. She would insist on doing my washing herself. She could make grass cloth as yellow as chrysanthemum, and imported cotton as white as cream, coarse cloth as soft as silk. With other people’s clothes, some other washerwoman would take care of them. Usually a banquet would cost tens to hundreds of thousands of qian. Host and guests would each be accompanied by one or two courtesans, each costing fourteen thousand qian. Emoluments were due also to attendants, storytellers, barbers, and those who filled water pipes. The room would be fi lled with lamps. Sedan chairs for coming and going required a lot of money. By contrast, the cost of the food, even if it consisted of bird’s nest, shark’s fin, and dried scallops, would not exceed ten thousand qian. The saying goes: a single banquet for the rich and mighty is half a year’s food for the poor man. Why not save the money to cater for the needs of those with too little? Surely it would cover more than half a year? There was a monk from Zhao Village (Zhaocun) who shaved his head in frustration after encountering difficulties in his career and sorrow through his children. One winter day he invited me to a feast at the Ruan Family Retreat (Ruanjia‘an). I entered first into a quiet room with green windows, where one took tea. A piece of my calligraphy in the “eight part”50 style adorned a horizontal board. Shortly thereafter I turned into a hall hung with lanterns brighter than the moon, showing the shadows of the curtains fluttering in the breeze. I felt as though I were entering the pearly gates of Penglai. We drank wine down to the dregs, then partook of some noodles. We requested more, but they said there was none left, so we poured our duck soup over sweet potato and wolfed it down before dispersing in great good humor. Only by meeting in a place away from the monk’s normal residence was it possible to forget formalities. Otherwise the host could offer only meager hospitality and the guests would be disagreeably ceremonious, leaving both sides ill at ease.

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On the nineteenth day of the winter month of the xinhai year (1851), Luna fibbed to me that it was her birthday and repeatedly pressed me to come over the next day with my companions Yanweng and Yifeng. Shouzhi and Xiaoxian also came.51 At the banquet in the evening wine was served and Luna urged me to drink. The wine had barely moistened my lips when suddenly I vomited. Luna helped me to the bed, covered me up and sat in attendance by me, looking conscience-stricken. Head swimming from the wine, I thought she was some ethereal being. Due to this incident, she was more inclined to believe I spoke truly about drinking, and confided in others that she regretted pressing me. The six plates of bêche-de-mer made a decent repast. With the shark’s fin, we could begin to call it a feast. Among the dishes was deep-fried codfish, wonderfully fragrant and crisp. It must be allowed that this was the pièce de résistance, except that it was flavored with sweet-and-sour sauce—which no more added to its quality than the flattery of some poor scholar might add to the beauty of a woman. The sour flavor worked well enough but the sweet was unbearable. The same could be said for the deep-fried gluten, another of the dishes. A man called Ren Zifang once crossed the Yangzi for the monthly plum flower divination.52 He dined at a restaurant on the lake, where he was served crisp fried sweet-and-sour fish. He took a bite and frowned. Knowing that it was the top seasonal dish and cost, moreover, four qian, he consumed it in great mouthfuls, gagging and hardly able to force it down. He laughed to himself, saying: “What a disagreeable task—having to finish this off so that the restaurant won’t benefit from the leftovers.” At the time, people seated elsewhere in the restaurant were looking on enviously, mouths watering. The sweet round dumplings (tangyuan)53 available commercially, although made with finely ground rice flour so that they are fine and smooth without lumps, are still very chewy. An old serving woman in the Zhang family uses just the finest grade of rice flour without any water to build up the layers. The flesh is twice as fine as ordinary ones. They melt in the mouth as soon as you pop them in. No one else can make them like this. There is a type of flaky pastry that is stuffed with pork fat seasoned with sugar and salt, a mixture called “duck and drake oil” (yuanyangyou), and then coated with sesame seeds. When you smell the aroma, borne along by the breeze, the fragrance really makes you hungry for one. And then when it has been divided by a pretty mouth, and tasted by a quick tongue! One

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afternoon Luna bit into several pastries that she then gave to me, and also snatched from me the remains of what I was chewing to eat them herself. How lucky can a greedy man get! Amazing that such a beauty should be eating morsels straight from my mouth. The Five Clouds Shop (Wuyunguan) sold fine pastries, flavored variously with goose fat or spiced salt and costing between 160 and 190 wen per jin. Being a coarse fellow, I disliked the oily flavor of these expensive pastries and could not swallow a single piece. Only the cakes were to my taste, and I occasionally ate those. Luna also had strange tastes. She would pour soup over sweet potato and then cook it till it was dry, mix it with sugar and eat it. I would accompany this just with warm tea, lest it lose the basic crisp flavor. Breakfast dumplings include baozi and jiaozi, along with less delicate food such as cakes, plain or sweet, buns, or steamed bread twists. In the Huizhou Restaurant these are all rather small, and sold at half the normal cost, at one qian each.54 They tend to be rather dainty. In winter the teahouses sell vegetable jiaozi for three qian each. They are better than any stuffed with meat, but they do not have soup-filled dumplings. Dried bean curd without its skin is shredded finely and tossed in a dressing before eating, and mixed into a soup with shredded chicken and codfish. The taste is excellent. Other places don’t have this dish. The same is true of the dried bean curd with soy sauce served at the Grassy Slope Stop (Zhucaopo). The noodle restaurants sell bowls of noodles for one qian of silver, one qian and two wen, one qian and six wen, up to two qian. There is a discount of 20 percent on each qian. An eight-wen bowl is called “servant noodles” ( jiemian) and is only for consumption by menials. Stored up high are ingredients such as chicken skin, chicken wings, chopped entrails, cod, globefish, shark, and golden-legged crabs. Customers can select what they like. When the customers arrive, the owner will ask the host whether he wants the twoqian or the one-and-six qian noodles. In front of the honored guests, the host can hardly go with the smaller amount: he would be too embarrassed. Those with experience will get in touch beforehand, and the owner will then make sure the noodles are of good quality. Frequent customers are also treated thus, while those who come frequently and spend lavishly enjoy even better noodles. I often went to the Xun Garden Restaurant (Xunyuan). One time the manager met me with his face wreathed in smiles, as if I were an old acquaintance, and asked: “How is it that you have come so early today, sir?” When the noodles arrived the quantity was small but the quality excellent. I paid him a hundred bits55 thinking this rather generous, but the

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manager looked surprised as though I had paid less than usual. He seemed as if he did not know what he had done to give offence, and could not presume to ask for more. I said to him, smiling: “I’ll give you more next time.” I knew he had mistaken me for someone else but I had a lot to do and could not wait around to see what would happen when the other man arrived. People of my prefecture (i.e., Zhenjiang) are reluctant to spend money. They take an early seat in some teahouse in the Parade Ground and get the manager to go buy them some top quality soy, vinegar, and sesame oil, then pour it over dry-cooked noodles at the noodle house. They explain all this in terms of their liking for cleanliness, covering up their miserliness by taking the high moral ground. Yangzhou people dismissively call them “the Zhenjiang clique.” Lately, such people have become fewer. Opium is harmful. It makes the quick-tempered lethargic and the equable unreasonable. Moreover, after the development of the addiction, life will extend no more than thirty years. It is a fire that consumes the spirit. Some have tried to exploit it as a means of staying awake at night to read, only to expire within two years of gastric illness. The situation can be imagined when it is used as an aphrodisiac. Yet six or seven in every ten people in Yangzhou take opium. Dandies and sophisticates actually use it for social intercourse. Lying down facing each other with opium lamps, there is nothing they will not say to each other, and everything is arranged with ease. Sometimes breathing in just a few mouthfuls will restore the heat of vitality, and the spirits will be completely revived. If they have nothing to do, people can just indulge in a little slumber, like a wine-induced doze, feeling their souls floating around like an immortal’s. As for people who hang around the alleys, they look on taking opium as something done by the high and mighty. Courtesans entertaining their guests would be embarrassed to say they could not take opium. An honest fellow being pressed to take it by a beautiful woman will find it difficult to decline. In the beginning, people exercise care, abstain from taking it between days, and say that everything is alright, without realizing they are already addicted. Ordinarily someone might be dissuading his friends from taking it, in no uncertain terms, only to find in no time that he is treading the same path. Another friend comes along to dissuade him, with the same consequence. To pre-empt talk of having to quit and put a stop to being bothered, people will even say falsely they have already quit. I myself was baking in this furnace for more than ten years, and know the sweetness and bitterness of it as if I had myself been an addict. When I first met Luna she offered me opium as a sign of courtesy. I

Scholar Zhou’s Dream of Yangzhou

tried to decline, saying my constitution would not tolerate it, and she should not force me. Taking half a swallow, I made as if to throw up, then lay down for a little. A moment later I aroused myself, and talked and laughed with her in front of the opium lamps, seemingly quite carried away with delight. This was a ruse that I long used. I once asked some questions of a friend whose addiction had caused him exhaustion to the point of desiring death. When he heard of a physician who could restore him to health, he was agitated that the man could not come to him immediately. But when the addiction is deep, is it possible to see the opium and not desire it? Thus those who claim to have stopped are lying. Yet there are good ways of stopping. I have a secret recipe, which is to take tobacco ash, cook it into a paste with water from the steamer, water chestnut juice, and brown sugar, and administer it at the rate of one qian worth of the cure to one qian worth of the addiction, reducing the amount in proportion to the reduction in opium taken, until it is all used up and the habit finished. Poor or rich, you’ll still find it cheap, and it has proved efficacious for many people already. Another method is to take two ounces of fishy grass,56 forty-nine red dates, peeled and stoned, forty-nine fruit of the Rangoon creeper, two ounces of brown sugar, and two qian worth of tobacco ashes. These should be pounded together, boiled up into a paste, and administered in proportion to the addiction, as before. But the amount is not gradually reduced. When people have finished using it, they throw it away. After two doses, no one will fail to have been cured. It does not make you sick, or taste bitter. Moreover, once you have broken the habit this way, taking opium will make you vomit. You will never again be able to consume it. There is another secret recipe and method that I am not recording here. It is like the former methods but more effective, and not so likely to have people disbelieving it. Addiction comes from doubts about life. The harm is an effect of who knows what depths of recklessness. In recent times local customs have become more and more ugly, and the opium is often mixed with impurities so that even heavy addicts are not looking as emaciated as in former times. I hope that in the future it will be ever weaker and less pure, and in the long run be wiped out. This is what I hope from the creator of all things. Glass windows are translucent on both sides, yet looking from the dark side through to the light side they appear clear, while looking from the light side into the dark side they look shadowy. For this reason, offices or studies have green gauze coverings the same size as the glass windows. In the daytime, these screens are rolled up, because the sunlight is blocked by shadows,

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making it difficult to peep inside. In the evening, the curtains are let down for protection so that the servants outside can’t look in and see important documents under the light. The Di Garden (Diyuan)57 had a rockery where a mirror screen with twelve leaves was installed, facing the columns of stone. The brilliance of the sky and the shadows caused by the clouds reflected in the mirrors looked like a series of constantly changing paintings. When the plum blossoms opened amidst the winter snow and rain, standing opposite that screen of mirrors was like being in a solitary mountain, and roaming the peak of Yu, or arriving in a world of glass. Not many houses have silk gauze dividers,58 but those that do exist are wonderfully decorative. In winter, people squash into a room with heavy curtains, huddling around a stove to enjoy lamb meat and wine there. These dividers are not needed. On summer nights, people like to stay cool in an open courtyard with maids standing by to fan them. Having dividers would feel oppressive. With a board above and screen below, carved all over into windows, they are no protection against common people slipping into the interior of the house. Once inside people like this can hide in the dark like mice. Try as one might, it would be hard to get rid of them. Everyday household items of wood are usually made from hard chestnut, pear, nanmu, or red sandalwood. But all these wooden things are pieced together by fish glue.59 In the moldy season, the glue disintegrates, and the furniture can easily be damaged. The yearly care of this is annoying, especially as concerns large pieces of furniture such as beds and wardrobes that are in daily use. Double-layered bed curtains60 can be opened from either side: the inner linings are just the same as the outer frame. One can chat over tea, or play a game of chess, lit by red candles. No one need know you are there. In a world full of troubles, it is a place one can prepare for special occasions. High wardrobes are heavy and clumsy. In recent times people have been using low wardrobes. The surfaces are inlaid with characters in seal or clerical style, along with flowers and grasses. They look very elegant. Lacquerware from Yangzhou, bamboo carvings from Jiading, and wrought-iron pictures from Wuhu can be ranked together as three marvels of artisanry. Exceeding even these is a type of grey cloth, inlaid with a variety of precious materials to form flowering plants, birds, mandarin ducks, jasper, Chinese holly, and coral, more exquisitely depicted than even someone not from this mortal world could produce. Large pieces are the size of a

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screen or wardrobe door, small ones the size of a tea tray or the lid of an inkstone box. All are intricately worked, and delicate. Next in quality comes mother-of-pearl inlay, and then Jiangxi porcelain of five colors. And the types of carved work with gold inlay are too many to be counted. Window hangings are made of bamboo, the best being mottled bamboo. It is now a long time since hangings of pearls or crystal have been seen. Winter coverings for windows are also called hangings. The ones on the interior are like drapes that can be hung on the right and left. Those on the exterior are clamped by three horizontal wooden bars at the top, middle, and bottom. The glass window is set in the middle. The hangings can be of lined cloth or of leather. They offer good protection from wind and snow, and can be rolled up when the weather is fine. The best lamps are of glass. Next are those of colored glazed ware (liuli). Glass lamps come in square and hexagonal shapes. Glazed-ware lamps are either round or long. Every lamp has a decorative top with a tassel of silk or beads, red or multicolored. Plain lamps have tassels of white or blue. There are also foreign lamps, with tin plates above and below and a glass column between, the parts held together with hooks and cords. There is a lamp with four sides made of mirror glass, on a cross-shaped frame of red sandalwood (zitan), with decorative inlay on the flat wooden surfaces. Before each mirror is a small piece of bamboo so that the candles can be positioned centrally. It too has tassels. There are picture lamps. Wrought-iron pictures from Wuhu may be of landscapes, or grass and insects, or orchids and bamboo. Cast out of pig iron, the shapes are superlatively realized and look very lifelike. The pieces are worked on both front and back. The insides of these lamps are lined with gauze. Usually, they are constructed of very large pieces. Sometimes people do colored or ink paintings on white silk or aged damask for this purpose. Some who are able write calligraphy thereon, in four different styles.61 When the surface is glass or glazed ware, then the painting is executed on the back so as to be viewed through the transparent material. Flower lanterns are made by cutting glazed tiles and dying them various colors, in the shapes of different flowers, up to one hundred flower heads on a lamp in many cases. There are bead lamps. The square ones are of wood, with threaded beads arranged on the surface into patterns of grasses and flowers. The more delicate ones have an internal construction of thin wire with threaded beads used to make a cover in the pattern of birds. The part where the candle is placed is of carved sandalwood inset with glass. There are gauze lanterns, made of deep red crepe stiffened with paste.

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There are wall lamps, made of tin or wood, or covered with gauze. Large lamps are suitable for placing on stands in the living room. Smaller ones are appropriate for the eaves, or the corridor. Flower lamps are suitable for a place of retreat, or for a study. Bright mirror lamps, too, are made of glass. They are square, with the mirror glass placed so as to make an inverted-V shape.62 Each piece of mirror is placed thus, with a candle for each mirror. Each candle gives off three reflections, and with the mirrors reflecting off each other, there are a thousand candle images. With four such lamps on a central stand in the living room, the light is as brilliant as the morning sun, and brighter than common lamps ten-thousand fold. Candlesticks for banquets should be long with a heavy base and two prongs. These are called “twin candles from the same root.” Hand warmers and foot warmers are made of the best grade of cupronickel and are engraved with landscape designs. They are filled with charcoal.63 They can also be made of red copper. A man’s sleeve warmer is as big as a kickball. Small pieces of charcoal are wrapped in a cloth and then inserted in the sleeve. A monk in Zhenzhou64 used an embroidery needle to make shallow carvings on the bamboo fan handles of square, one-foot fans. The carvings were of human figures, flowers, and birds. They looked as if done in ink,65 and were smooth to the touch. When turned to the light, the carvings seemed as fine as oxhairs, vivid and lifelike, demonstrating the most wonderful skill. In recent years, Wang Sheng has developed this skill. He charges five hundred qian per handle. Often, the design is supplied by Li Xiaobai, who does a painting or calligraphy, again very fine and delicate work. There was another man, I forget his name, who cut characters out of gold leaf and stuck them on fans of oiled paper. He was a veritable Zhao Mengfu.66 He would also cut thick or thin pieces of gold sheet into pictures, which he would rub with a fragrant oil to prevent them being soiled. But his apprentices in recent times are just fools. Those who like that sort of thing make rubbings of pictures of hortensias to serve as fan faces. The Bao family has pictures of the Di Garden on fans.67 I myself am thinking of making a carving of the Liuyao music score,68 which I purchased a long time ago, using charcoal to make a rubbing of it for a woman’s fine folding fan. A fan with one side of blue paper and the other of gold costs 1,400 qian. The gold side is appropriate for “great bluegreen” landscapes;69 the blue side is suited to calligraphy in tiny regular

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script. Zhixian once asked for some calligraphy in azure blue on an unadorned fan. And the writing was excellent! I also planned to do a rubbing for a round fan, using an old Seven Skills picture for the back of the fan,70 while for the front would be of drawn silken threads. I have seen a woman making a fan of silken threads. They were extremely fine, dyed cinnabar and blue to create the likeness of flowers and birds. There are five sorts of use for stones. One is as precious things: examples are coral, agate, jadeite, mother-of-pearl, green jade, amber, Sunggari jade, crystal, garnets, and diamonds.71 They can be inset in antique-style wine vessels, or used to adorn headwear and clothing, and make jewelry and jewelry boxes. The second is as plain stones, such as from Duanxi (in Guangdong), Shexian (in Huizhou, Anhui), Qingtian (in Zhejiang), Changhua (in Zhejiang), and Shoushan (in Fujian). These are used to make inkstones, seals, and penholders. The third is decorative, such as marble (Daliyan), mica, Luojia stone, and the pebbles from Ling‘an and Raining Flower Terrace (Yuhuatai). Stones of all these types can be made into screens and the backs of chairs, used for the surfaces of tables and chairs, or carved into snuff bottles or mortars for grinding ink. The fourth is imposing: the sandstone of the peaked rocks of Lake Tai (Taihu), which can be piled up to make rockeries or ornamental potted landscapes to place on the desk. The fift h is coarse: granite and grey marble.72 These can be used to build bridges, stacked to form walls, or laid as stairs. They can be used to pave floors, form the base of a column, or build roads. In the Di Garden I saw a circular screen of stone. On the front were mountains and waterways in profusion, which I did not investigate very closely. On the back was depicted a scene of an autumn night, the moon in a blue sky, with woods and hills, and majestic rocks jutting. I did not note down the four characters inscribed thereon. Also, I obtained a seal of Shoushan stone engraved with a picture of the sun over the sea, the clouds rosy in a splendid sky, and an angler sitting fishing all by himself with drooping rod at the end of a jetty, his face depicted in white, his clothes in purple. On a worn-away edge I used clerical script to write: “painting produced by nature,” as a way of describing how wonderful it was. But if one is really looking for what is useful, it is only coarse materials that are really of great ser vice to the world, and it is only those that exist in great quantity. Members of our little society had a lot of name seals, but Suting’s was distinguished by the reverse inscription of the two characters for mandarin ducks. Yin‘an73 had a chain of three seals that were inscribed with the

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characters “red bean stolen” (meaning he had lost his heart), one character per seal. I wrote a couplet about this: “The single-hearted Daoist Yiqing can stroll the heavens, but cannot escape one small chain.” I possessed connected jade seals. On the upper I wrote: “she dreamt of a baby boy in red, and gave birth,” and on the lower, “called a talented man on account of a fine hand.” The connecting ring bore a design in intaglio carving. And on a five-petal plum flower seal, I wrote five words, so that they could be read one after the other: “cultivation leads to several lives.”74 The middle was engraved with my name. On the lower surface were engraved the words “Ziru’s style name became Goodmouth.” The meaning comes from “a bottle-gourd with a good-sized mouth.” People look on me as accommodating in speech, and so compare me to a wide-mouthed bottle gourd. I doubted whether I should not change it to the phrase: “Am I really a gourd?” As I have written a book entitled History of Flowers, I also have a chain of seals with the words “Mister Flower Historian” (Hua shi shi).75 When I had just finished that book, I had a long seal made with the words “madman talking about dreams.” In calligraphy I like to execute unusual, ancient characters. I was once drafting an engraving of an alternative style name “Flourishing Talent Eighth Son of the Zhou Family.”76 Hui thought this a wonderful idea, and said she should get the words “sixteenth jade girl” engraved. Subsequently she presented me with precisely such a seal, which I later lost. I engraved another to replace it, adding the words: “orchid graduate.” Lantian once gave me a seal with the words “young knight-errant from East of the River.” In the xinhai year (1851), I am already twenty-nine, so I won’t be able to use this much longer. I have written some lines: Having wasted my fortune and won no appointment, I rely for my meager reputation on traces left on stone. I have earned my living with a brush these ten years, But fear no brushwork of mine will descend down the ages. My character unchanged: I feel this deeply, looking back. It would be wrong to blame the passage of years: I feel shame at my conceit. I should abandon the past; think no more on’t, seek not to replace it. The plans I had then I should forsake, and those old poems put away.77

I engraved this on the stone with my own hand. I also engraved a copper knife seal with the words “maidservant of the Zhou family / with the diminutive ‘beloved,’ ” in memory of Luna, and put it away safely. I then wrote

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a commentary saying, “Luna asked me to engrave her orchard painting, and I did not respond. In the dingsi year (1857), I made up for this, and keep it as my large seal.” Yin‘an obtained a jade tablet from an old market, white and glossy, with seal characters in conformity with the ancient style. It could have been used as the top of a seal. Unfortunately it was taken by jade dealers. A warming bowl of old consisted of a frame and a basin. It was used to heat good sorghum spirits. Now it consists of a shallow bowl placed on a deep bowl, the latter serving as the base in which boiling water is poured. When the water has cooled after a while, pieces of charcoal can be placed underneath. The dishes on small stoves for holding dumplings are like this except that most have a lid as well. One summer afternoon I happened by The Garden of Wood and Stone when Luna had just risen and was engaged in her morning toilette. Seeing the sweat pouring off me, drenching my back, she took the towel from her basin to give to me. Another guest mocked her, saying: “The other day I was washing my hands and took your towel by mistake, and you made out it was utterly fi lthy and washed it repeatedly. What’s with today?” She had no answer to give. Opium paraphernalia are exquisitely made. An opium lamp is especially simple and convenient. Even I installed one so as to read inside my mosquito net on summer nights. Timepieces were once like private tutors. One could afford them only at the peak of prosperity. At the first sign of loss of fortune, one disposed of them. But those were expensive ones. Nowadays, they are cheap, and clockmaking has become a popular profession. Likewise teaching is cheap and the Way increasingly impoverished. I consulted the Book of Changes and it said the prediction for teaching was inauspicious. Instead of pupils seeking me out, I would be seeking out them. Collectors have many useless things, ingeniously crafted and extremely costly. I have seen a dragon boat made of agate, hollow inside, and dainty, equipped with everything a boat could need, and manned by twelve oarsmen, each with his own countenance. I have also seen an exquisite jade sculpture of a white cat catching a black butterfly, symbolizing “long life.”78 Something else I have seen is a large peach stone carved to form a pair of dragon boats with a lotus flower in the cabin and an infant on the lotus flower. This was prepared as a gift from a merchant to a governor-general. The inferred meaning is the parental affection of his reverence for the child

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begotten in his sixties, derived from the homophones ren ṣ and ren Ṫ, zhou ␑ and zhou 凈, jia 䓛 and jia ⣧.79 Objects of this sort are beautiful beyond measure. Handscrolls and hanging scrolls with calligraphy and paintings by famous men of former times are numerous. In the middle room of the Clear and Distant Library (Qingyuan shuwu) there is an ink painting of Mount Mi (Mishan) by Tang Liuru.80 The mist and clouds fi ll the paper, giving it an ethereal feel. It could not have been done by a mere craftsman. It bears a colophon by Jingzhao,81 in one thousand miniscule characters in regular script, truly the last word in elegance. This is a real treasure in ink. Cleverly crafted crackers were known as fireworks. They started with an explosion of normal crackers, which would expose a structure in their midst: buildings, terraces, and figures, like a theatrical scene, all made of gauze. Like shooting stars or fireflies, flames would dart through the structure without the gauze suffering any damage. Finally, furious flames would burst forth like a thousand soldiers, ten thousand horses, shooting upward, and forming balls of fire that filled the sky, and the structure would finally be consumed. Before fireworks of this sort died out, they were available in many different designs. They could have been used to create new weapons of war. A person without a peck of grain to his name who was yet able to wager a fortune was considered something of a hero in the Han dynasty. In Guangling nowadays there’s not a layabout who doesn’t do this. There are limits to how far they can take gambling with cards, but with dice they press on even when they have been brought low, and are bound to end up ruined. There are some young fellows now who come along, girls at their side. They draw lots to gamble and split the profits. They say in this way they don’t do harm to their own purses. In past years, when I played Official Promotions,82 I would end up doubling what I had staked, and good things would ensue. In the renzi year (1852), I won again, and told Luna, “I got it again this year.” She said it was a lucky sign. There was a scholar who, when someone first came to consult him, could immediately tell the client’s surname, his given name, where he lived, his family members, what was written on his door, the position and orientation of his ancestors’ tombs, and what business he came on. To those who were ill, he would give a prescription. To those with problems, he would provide a solution. For those requesting divination, he would write out a Daoist

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charm. Without waiting for anyone to utter a word, he treated one hundred cases without a single failure. Everyone thought him a god. He traveled far and wide, squandering his money, and this way obtained several concubines. He was capable of using people’s resources for the purpose of making “the elixir of life.” Some said he had discovered a treasure. He would receive money for performing rites to ensure good health.83 For this reason, he was never in want. Someone whose father was ill came to consult him about it. It happened that he was out. The client stood by the door till next morning. When his concubines heard about this, they sent people in all directions to bring him back. On arriving he apologized, saying, “you have been waiting for a long time.” He wrote out ten charms, told him which day to burn which text, and by way of medicine, which text to use on which day, and how. When the charms were finished, they had still not achieved the desired effect, and the client again came. The scholar said: “Last year I was in great haste and really did not concentrate. Your father is not in danger. What concerns me is your respected wife. The cause lies in her obsession with the gold and silver in her chamber. Go home and if you pull up a brick in suchand-such a place you will see it for yourself. If you are willing to spend ten or more gold coins to perform the Daoist ritual for seven days, your wife will not suffer illness, and you, moreover, will garner much treasure. I too will benefit from a share in your fortune.” The client agreed and asked the scholar to conduct a séance for his father. The scholar had him travel a distance of two li and buy some yellow paper, half of which was to be used for a Daoist charm, while the other half was to be placed on a desk. Then he had to take the glass from a window and place it on top of the paper on the desk; hang a brush in the air above it; cut two inches off the paper, and in an instant the brush would move, and words would appear on the paper. The client did more or less what he was told, but when he returned home found it was all to no effect. A friend of mine studied under a diviner, again to no effect. Can such things be transmitted through a private tutor? The ways of the Creator are not readily divulged. There are other people who tell fortunes. When you ask them they will immediately say “I am not a diviner. I discern things from the Book of Changes.” Such people were typically boatmen working for the salt transport merchants. The ones from Chenzhou (in Hunan) hang horizontal poles on their boats. Three poles means the practitioner can write Daoist charms. Twelve poles means there is nothing he cannot do. These are the secret signs they use. Once a dealer in the market was fooling around,

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and he threw a bowl, accidentally injuring a man’s head. The man was already dead when he was seen by a Chenzhou man. The latter wrote out a charm, picked up the bowl, and chewed till it was reduced to a powder. He applied the powder to the man’s injury, and the man sat up. Five days later, even his scar fell off. Other marvelous results I have personally witnessed in detail. Sometimes divination skills are passed on to a man’s wife, without the son knowing, or passed on to the son-in-law, without the daughter knowing. It does not answer to do this for money. Only in cases of real poverty can it be used to earn a living. Of the four blessings of wife, fortune, son, and official position, a diviner will always be one short, by way of showing that he was not created perfectly. There is a fortune-telling business run by a woman in the Parade Ground (Jiaochang) that has been there for around twenty years. I once asked her to tell my fortune through dissecting a character,84 and write out the exposition. Her speech and handwriting showed her to be not lacking in talent. A pity no one had taught her to chant poetry. “In the market, water chestnuts are as plentiful as rice; in the city, household provisions are piled higher than the mountains”: such a description still does not do justice to Yangzhou. I love eating crabapples and watermelon here. The crabapples come from Zhenzhou (Yizheng). They have red patches on them, like the rosy cheeks of a beautiful woman. They are big and really crisp. Watermelons come from the North. The “triple white” variety has white skin, white seeds, and white flesh. They are very superior to the red ones from Tangqi and honey-flesh ones from Suzhou. I have also eaten a variety with red flesh and red seeds, which was, again, delicious. In winter there are persimmons, bright red: a slight bite of the skin and you can suck out the flesh, like eating a peach or a soup-filled dumpling. They have cooling properties, and opium eaters love them. There are other things whose names I forget, but I suspect they include “fire dates” and “ice peaches.”85 At the fi rst get-together at Luna’s place there was an incident involving steamed pears.86 As I was about to take a pear, Luna used her chopsticks to plop one before me. Everyone laughed at her naivety, not understanding that she acted with deep meaning. During the feast, she was waving a fan to cool me. As I was enjoying her ser vices, I heard a rustling sound. I looked down and saw that there were melon seeds all over the floor. Luna turned her face away and laughed. I longed for my hands suddenly to be extended by three feet so as to be able to pick up the seeds one by one from beneath her skirts.

Scholar Zhou’s Dream of Yangzhou

The deep red oranges from around Dongting Lake are sucked while you hold the skin, having first extracted the pith from each segment and turned the flesh outward. Clever as the women might have been, they still needed to be taught how to eat things like this properly. While we were seated at our leisure in a patio by a little hut near the water, peddlers would come by selling sweetmeats, and we could point out whichever we liked. They would respond to what we called out by tossing over whatever we asked for. The girls would open the purses of crimson gauze attached to their girdles to pay the due price. Gold coins would be scattered over the ground as if Magu87 had been casting pearls there, or heavenly maidens had been scattering flowers. After eating a melon, we would use a small knife to carve the rind to make a lamp. Where the rind was removed there were holes, held in place by the bits that remained connected. The impression was of blue-and-white porcelain, in a pleasingly random pattern. If sprayed with alum water the edges would lose their sponginess and become firm. Pumpkins are yellow; they were carved into Buddha hands. Chokos were carved into flower baskets and hung on the bean trellis. We had a refi ned term for enjoying the cool of the evening, which is “listening to the autumn crickets.” Other pastimes included making the shape of mandarin ducks and drakes from melon seeds; forming the constellation of the South Pole Star from peach stones and peanuts; dividing a single gingko nut to form two flower baskets; and making daisy chains out of lotus seed pods in the form of human figures. These are all relaxing and refined pastimes. Yangzhou’s prosperity was without compare in the empire. But through the ages it has also suffered the turmoil of warfare. Of ancient pines and loft y trees, there are none surviving. What chance the jade flower?88 The jade flower is as round as an embroidered ball, with a single large blossom, not quite sufficient grounds for reigning supreme over all others from antiquity to now. I read a story in which mention was made of a tree with glorious blossoms. When a petal from one fell, it tinkled like jade, before changing into a butterfly. That captures the essence of a “jade flower.” On New Year’s Day, horticulturalists bring peonies along to place in the middle of the incumbent official’s courtyard. This means “wealth and honor in the first degree.” If narcissus is added, then it means “wealth, honor, and an ethereal life.” If snow peaches are added, it means “wealth, honor, and longevity.” The meaning selected is appropriate to the man. The rewards to the giver are incalculable. The blooming of so-called Tang flowers is hastened

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by warming with fire.89 These flowers wilt and die quickly because of damage sustained by the roots. One can see from this that all things should take their natural course. To hasten arrival means to hasten death. Brutal handling of plants involving the cutting of roots and clipping of sprouts is not something I find acceptable. In the Peach Blossom Retreat (Taohua‘an), peach blossoms are not all that many. On the lake, too, the lotus flowers are sparse. But in the Flower Sellers Village (Maihuacun) in the ninth month, the colors of autumn are entrancing. Fields of chrysanthemums in out-of-the way places are a riot of color. People transplant them into flowerpots, twisting and turning them for effect. Many adorn the arrangements with names of hermits, rather as if they were carry ing Mount Tong (Tongshan) back home.90 There is a famous garden with a large plantation of impatiens. Ascending a high building and gazing out, one is met with the wondrous sight of flowers planted so as to form phrases such as “peace everywhere under heaven” or “one man thrice dux.”91 The flowers of Chu can dance, but Demoiselles can weep.92 The dew falls from them in face of the wind. Seeing them along the stony road or by the hedges prompts from me a murmur of melancholy. I hate not having some peonies here at the same time, to lend the scene some brilliance and dispel the autumnal vapors. At the Foreign Mansion93 there is an ancient crock of green porcelain, in which there grows an old plum tree, as if on a cliff top. By its twisted branch are visible the heavy window blinds, unrolled. Within, a fire in the stove provides a gentle warmth, and there is a small couch to lie down on. One would feel as if floating on gossamer, like an ethereal being with no obligation to return to earth, drunk to the bones from the fire’s fragrant fumes. At the Guanyin Shrine (Guanyintang) there are the stumps of two ancient pines. The one with green buds is like a white crane, with one foot on the ground and the other drawn. The pink one has double roots and is shaped like a deer with two front feet kicking the air. The pots are as large as pickling urns. The trees have been flowering for perhaps a hundred years. At the beginning of every year, the yamen hall is adorned left and right with what looks like a pile of velvet flowers. It is really a marvel to behold. But in the end they lack the natural character of flowers, and one is left feeling that they are stiff and lifeless. As for four-season flowers, there is the orchid, with spring orchid, summer orchid, sword-leaf orchid, and winter orchid. The sword-leaf orchid is the most expensive, and is very difficult to care for. Enthusiasts put dozens

Scholar Zhou’s Dream of Yangzhou

of pots in their courtyard, and each pot costs upward of ten liang. Each foot of the frame holding the pot is placed in a small earthenware basin fi lled with water to keep the ants away. In winter they are placed in a greenhouse, with a gentle fire to provide heat. The windows are sealed with paper so as to keep out the wind. But the fragrance of these orchids after all is not as great as that of the spring orchids, even though they are longer lasting. Recently I heard that at the Three Wu Orchid Festival (Sanwulanhui) there was a gold orchid and also an ink orchid, unusual kinds that are very difficult to obtain. One flowering plant that blooms perennially is the four-season cassia. It has a powerful fragrance, but does not flower in profusion. The fragrance of the jasmine is borne on the night air. Its flowers are very lovely. Members of the fair sex like to wear them in their hair or sculpture their form with silver threads on pillows. Flowers in a purse can be carried in the hand and sniffed at will. Old flower sellers thread them on copper wire and form bird shapes, or weave them into flower baskets to be hung inside the mosquito net. They last for two days. Each one costs a foreign dollar. When Emperor Min94 went on an outing, his sedan was decorated with beautiful flowers on the four sides. Sometimes there were several layers of such flower decorations. In my hometown, the Dutian Festival is the most splendid occasion,95 but it does not feature such floral arrangements. A parrot will screech with fright at the sight of a cat, so it would be desirable to get rid of the cat were it not that there are mice in the house. The solution to the problem is to keep a close eye on the cats during the day so as to make sure the parrots are calm and at ease. At night, the cats can be let loose to scare the mice and prevent them from scampering around. Cranes trample snakes underfoot. Famous gardens all raise cranes as a protection against snakes. It takes twenty jin of fish daily to feed them. The owners first use the hanging walls of the rockeries and create cages to contain them. In due course they become accustomed to their abode and won’t fly far. Their eggs are enormous. I suppose it’s only immortal cranes that bear their young live.96 In the city not many people raise dogs. Dogs barking at the door are very annoying, and when they wag their tails and beg it is even more unpleasant. At midnight, with no dog’s bark to disrupt the homely scene, the neighborhood looks wonderfully serene. This is a fitting description for Yangzhou. Creatures beautiful enough to arouse affection are mostly not of practical use to people. Goldfish with their dragon eyes and phoenix tails: are they not beautiful to behold? They look like various sorts of carp.97 With their

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scales glinting in the sun, one would think they were about to change form and fly away. But they just like feeding in the pool, seeking the shade provided by the pondweed. They merely give pleasure to the eyes and ears, and can’t compare with triangular bream, silver bream, cod, and shark, which can be served to guests and offered as sacrifices to the spirits. The skull bones of a stone-head fish resemble a butterfly, and if stuck on a wall, look like the genuine article. The bones of the hilsa herring can be made to form a white crane. The inside of a crab shell has the image of the sea monk.98 When children are playing, they use their forefingers to replicate the Buddha. The recipe book can do ser vice as the Classic of Birds (Qinjing).99 Cricket fights are held in late autumn. People wager fortunes. The winning cricket is awarded a plate of white jade, and is placed in a box of nanmu wood. He is clad in red with gold flowers, and called general, for having won glory for his master. What a glorious creature! I do admire his martial air. There are no mosquitoes around Lujin Shrine (Lujinci)100—the good spirits have driven them away. There are none in front of the post station either, probably because it opens to the sun. Gentle breezes occasionally waft through, preventing those little demons from hanging around. In places more secluded, a danker atmosphere is unavoidable, and they will torment one. I could wish with all my heart that no one in the wide world, down through the generations, might ever again endure the misery they inflict.

Notes 1. Jiaodong Zhou Sheng, Yangzhou meng (Taibei: Shijie shuju, 1978). On the “dream of Yangzhou” in the Chinese literary tradition, see Wei Minghua, “Xi ‘Yangzhou meng’: Da shiren Du Mu he ta de qian nian fengliu meng,” in Wei Minghua, Yangzhou wenhua tanpian (Beijing: Sanlian shudian, 1994), 109–122. 2. Craig Clunas, “China in Britain: The Imperial Collections,” in Colonialism and the Object: Empire, Material Culture, and the Museum, ed. Tim Barringer and Tom Flynn (London: Routledge, 1998), 47. 3. On Qingfengzha, see Margaret B. Wan, “Local Fiction of the Yangzhou Region: Qingfengzha,” in Lifestyle and Entertainment in Yangzhou, ed. Lucie Olivová and Vibeke Børdahl (Copenhagen: NIAS Press, 2009), 177–206. Fengyue meng has been translated into English as Anonymous, Courtesans and Opium: Romantic Illusions of the Fool of Yangzhou, trans. Patrick Hanan (New York: Columbia University Press, 2010). For more on all of these works, see the contributions to this volume by Lucie Olivová, Winnie Yuen Lai Chan, Roland Altenburger, Margaret B. Wan, and Patrick Hanan in Chapters 6, 7, 8, 9, and 12, respectively. 4. Ling Tingkan, Jiaolitang wenji, ed. Wang Wenjin (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1998), 208. 5. Yue Meng, Shanghai and the Edges of Empire (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2006), 145.

Scholar Zhou’s Dream of Yangzhou 6. Du Mu, “Easing My Heart” (Qianhuai), in Peng Dingqiu et al., eds., Quan Tang shi (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1960), j. 524, 16:5998; translation adapted from A. C. Graham, trans., Poems of the Late T‘ang (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1965), 123. 7. Jiaodong Zhou Sheng, Yangzhou meng, 16. 8. Ibid., 39. For more on the women who figure in his account, see Wu Chunyan, “Qinglou xiaoshuo Yangzhou meng nüxing yishi jiedu,” Ming Qing xiaoshuo yanjiu 92 (2009): 193–197. 9. Liu Yongwen and Wang Jinglong, “Shenbao yu wan-Qing xiaoshuo chuanbo,” Shanghai shifan daxue xuebao 32, no. 6 (2003): 46. 10. Edward L. Shaughnessy, Sources of Western Zhou History: Inscribed Bronze Vessels (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), 12. 11. Christopher A. Reed, Gutenberg in Shanghai: Chinese Print Capitalism, 1876–1937 (Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 2005), 60. 12. Jiaodong Zhou Sheng, Yangzhou meng: Si juan (Shanghai: Wenming shuju, 1915, 1925). Jiaodong Zhou Sheng, Yangzhou meng: Si juan (Shanghai: Shijie shuju, 1936, 1946). The edition used for the present translation is a 1978 reprint of the 1946 edition. Wu Chunyan, “Xiexin zhixiang xia de tizhi chonggou: Lun Qingdai wenyan xiaoshuo Yangzhou meng,” Yuejiang xuekan 6 (2011): 126. 13. Zhu’s essay is published as the introduction to the edition of the text used here: Zhu Jianmang, “Yangzhou meng kao,” in Jiaodong Zhou Sheng, Yangzhou meng (Taibei: Shijie shuju, 1978), 1–7. Another work studied and published by Zhu as part of the same project was Zhang Dai’s Dream Reminiscences of Tao‘an. See the discussion and translation of this work by Philip Kafalas in Chapter 3 of this volume. 14. Lu Xun, “Xiaoshuo jiuwen chao xuyan,” in Lu Xun quanji (Beijing: Renmin wenxue, 1981), 10:65. 15. Lin Yutang, Lin Yutang sanwen, ed. Liu Zhixue et al. (Shijiazhuang: Hebei renmin, 1991), 2:119. 16. Wu Chunyan and Lu Lin, “Jiaodong Zhou Sheng ji Dantu Zhou Boyi,” Ming Qing xiaoshuo yanjiu 71 (2004): 84–112. 17. Wu Chunyan, “Wan-Qing wenxuejia Zhou Boyi jiaoyou kao,” Luoyang shifan xueyuan xuebao 6 (2007): 81. 18. Cited in full in Wu Chunyan and Lu Lin, “Jiaodong Zhou Sheng ji Dantu Zhou Boyi,” 91. 19. Ibid., 93. 20. Wu Chunyan, “Wan-Qing wenxuejia Zhou Boyi jiaoyou kao,” 82. 21. Liang Zhangju, Tui‘an suibi, Jindai Zhongguo shiliao congkan, vol. 438 (Taibei: Wenhai, 1971), 7.16a–b; translated in Yangwen Zheng, The Social Life of Opium in China (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 72. 22. Tobie Meyer-Fong, “Gathering in a Ruined City: Metaphor, Practice and Recovery in Post-Taiping Yangzhou,” in Lifestyle and Entertainment in Yangzhou, ed. Lucie Olivová and Vibeke Børdahl (Copenhagen: NIAS Press, 2009), 37–61. 23. Jiaodong Zhou Sheng, Yangzhou meng, 34–35. 24. The story of the Cowherd and the Weaving Girl is among the most popu lar of any in Chinese folklore. For the story and its relationship to the constellations, see Haiwang Yuan, The Magic Lotus Lantern and Other Tales from the Han Chinese (Westport, Conn.: Libraries Unlimited, 2006), 105–107. 25. These are the names of Zhou Boyi’s male companions in Yangzhou, who are not identified by surname.

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Antonia Finnane with Fan Xiong 26. For the sake of consistency, the name Luna has been chosen to refer throughout the translation to the main object of Zhou Boyi’s affections, Yuexian (lit., “moon immortal,” or “moon fairy”), proper name Aizhu (Love Pearl), also known as Huiniang (Miss Clever). Zhu Jianming compares the love story between Zhou and Luna to that between Mao Xiang (1611–1693) and Dong Xiaowan (1624–1651). See his introduction in Zhou Sheng, Yangzhou meng, 2–3. On Mao Xiang and Dong Xiaowan, see Lily Xiao Hong Lee, A. D. Stefanowska, and Sue Wiles, eds., Biographical Dictionary of Chinese Women (Armonk, N.Y.: M. E. Sharpe, 1998), 1:33. 27. The Flying Soul Sutra (Lingfei jing) was written out by Zhong Shaojing (695–746) in a small script that was acclaimed (and hence canonized) by Dong Qichang (1555–1636). The Metropolitan Museum of Art holds an album of nine leaves of the sutra. 28. Of the unidentified festivals here, the eighth day of the sixth month is not actually a festival but a refi ned or literary gathering (yahui), in this case to appreciate lotus flowers. See Min Wen, “Xianhua renjie,” in Yangzhou fengqing, ed. Cao Yongsen (Nanjing: Jiangsu wenyi, 1991), 83. The “double ninth” is the Double Yang (Chongyang) Festival, associated with chrysanthemums and climbing to a high vantage point to counter the effects of too much yang, or heat. The first day of the tenth month marks the beginning of winter, the Winter Clothes (Hanyi) Festival, when people put on their winter clothes. The fi fteenth day of the eleventh month is the Winter Solstice (Dongzhi). 29. For reasons of space, the next section of the text (pp. 35–43 of the source text) has been omitted from the translation. The content of these pages mostly concerns life in the brothels that Zhou Boyi frequented, including anecdotes about the young women with whom he consorted. The following translation section (pp. 43–54 of the source text) covers the remainder of the chapter. 30. For a description of this preparation as used in nineteenth-century America, see Roger W. Moss, Paint in America: The Colors of Historic Buildings (New York: John Wiley and Sons, 1995), 110. 31. The ballad referred to is “The rhapsody on the goddess Luo” (Luo shen fu) by Cao Zhi (192–232). On the connection between this ballad and the consort (posthumously Empress) Zhen, see Robert Joe Cutter, “The Death of Empress Zhen: Fiction and Historiography in Early Medieval China,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 112, no. 4 (1992): 577–583. 32. Here the author uses characters to suggest the shape of or pattern on material objects. In the first and seventh lines, the author has used rare forms of the characters. In some cases the image is immediately suggestive: for example, the inverted Swastika ⋶, a Buddhist sign, was commonly used in decorative work, including latticed windows. See Chen Congzhou et al., Chinese Houses: A Pictorial Tour of China’s Traditional Dwellings (Pleasantville, N.Y.: Reader’s Digest Association, 2008), 103. On inkstones shaped like the character 桑, see Wei Zhang, The Four Trea sures: Inside the Scholar’s Studio (San Francisco: Long River Press, 2004), 38. The last two lines of this little passage refer to a soft-hearted beauty. Eyebrows shaped like the character ℔, to give a gently melancholic appearance, were commonly used in the depiction of beautiful women, to a point where they served as a metaphor for loveliness. For an example from popu lar song in Jiangsu, see Victor H. Mair and Mark Bender, eds., The Columbia Anthology of Chinese Folk and Popular Literature (New York: Columbia University Press, 2011), 126. The character ᷴ offers quite a good image of viscera, or bowels, the seat of the emotions in Chinese thinking, as also in old English and classical Roman and Greek thought; hence the biblical expression “bowels of compassion.” The correlative in English today would be “heart,” which clearly does not look like the character ᷴ at all. 33. Word games were one of the most popu lar pastimes for Qing literati, but are difficult to render into English. Here, the ditty uses the formula “character + zi + object,” e.g., bing zi lan ṵ⬀㪭 (railings like the character ṵ). Because the word for “character,” zi, also denotes

Scholar Zhou’s Dream of Yangzhou an alternative personal name, given on coming of age, Scholar Zhou’s friend was able to make a pun, following ba zi emei ℔⬀嚧䚲 (eyebrows shaped like the character ℔) with bie zi Zhou Lang ⇎⬀␑㛀 (alternative name Zhou Lang). The joke lies in the identity of Zhou Lang, a.k.a. Zhou Yu (175–201), the great strategist of the Three Kingdoms period, who was responsible for the victory of the State of Wu in the Battle of Red Cliff. Strategy in war and strategy in love are implicitly compared. The reference to “flourishing talent” (xiucai), a term for a first-degree graduate, or Government Student, reminds the reader that the author was in fact a first-degree graduate. 34. The nearest thing to a mountain in the vicinity of Yangzhou, Pingshan was a site of great historical and cultural significance. It marked the end of the route followed by the pleasure boats. See Antonia Finnane, Speaking of Yangzhou: A Chinese City, 1550–1850 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Asia Center, 2004), 189–192. 35. The title of a poem associated with Yue Fei (1103–1141), the metrical pattern of which has been used for poems in the heroic mode ever since. 36. See Samuel Wells Williams, The Chinese Commercial Guide (London: A Shortred and Co., 1863), 106. Williams points out that the trade in these, especially broadcloth, was declining in the 1860s, because “the Chinese officials who used to buy them have either become too poor [ . . . ] or else the fashions have changed” (107). 37. The fabulous bird referred to here is luan, for which there is no good English equivalent. 38. On the procession of the gods (saihui), a heterodox practice that drew official wrath, see Jonathan Ocko, Bureaucratic Reform in Provincial China: Ting Jih-chang in Restoration Kiangsu (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Asia Center, 1983), 43. The reference to “Grand Minister of State” ( junji) in connection with jackets made of this sort of silk suggests that such jackets were fashionable among high officials in Beijing. 39. An informal hat (bianmao), also known as a small hat (xiaomao), is the term used for the hemispherical, rimmed hat commonly seen on men in unofficial dress in the Qing and early Republican eras. Zhou Xun and Gao Chunming, eds., Zhongguo yiguan fushi da cidian (Shanghai: Shanghai cishu, 1996), 78–79. 40. The implication is that someone was sporting military honors without the right to do so. 41. These retailers were well known and, in the case of Dai Chunlin at least, had branches in other cities. See Kong Lingren and Li Dezheng, eds., Zhongguo laozihao (Beijing: Gaodeng jiaoyu, 1998), 4:298–299. 42. Suzhou-Guangzhou shops proliferated through the lower Yangzi region after the Opium War, and were associated with tailoring. See Hanchao Lu, Beyond the Neon Lights: Everyday Shanghai in the Early Twentieth Century (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999), 255. 43. There is a reference to boyuan silk, relatively modestly priced, in Qi Si, ed., “Danghang zaji,” in Jindai shi ziliao, no. 71 (Beijing: Shehui kexue, 1988), 95. The term jiaoti, here translated as “pepper-bodied,” is obscure. 44. The implication here is that wool was not suitable for padding with cotton or silk floss. 45. This comes from a four-character phrase, fan qiu shang pi, “when the fur jacket is worn inside out, the leather will be damaged.” 46. Pudi tianguan, apparently a brand of shoe. 47. Liu Jingting (1587–ca. 1670), who also appears as a character in Kong Shangren’s drama The Peach Blossom Fan (Taohua shan), is regarded as the forefather of Yangzhou storytellers. See the contribution by Rüdiger Breuer in Chapter 2 of this volume. 48. That is, Zhang Zhenglu, a close associate of Scholar Zhou’s and one of the few people he identifies by surname. See Wu Chunyan, “Wan-Qing wenxuejia Zhou Boyi jiaoyou kao.”

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Antonia Finnane with Fan Xiong 49. Paul Ropp writes that “orioles and swallows represent young beauties in Chinese poetic imagery,” and that reference to them carries sexual imagery. Paul S. Ropp, Banished Immortal: Searching for Shuangqing, China’s Peasant Woman Poet (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2002), 133. 50. The square, regular “eight part” (bafen) style of calligraphy was developed on the foundations of Qin-dynasty official script. For definitions and description, see Peter Sturman, “The Aesthetic Dimensions of Calligraphy,” in Double Beauty: Qing Dynasty Couplets from the Lechangzai Xuan Collection, ed. Peter Sturman and Jason Kuo (Hong Kong: Art Museum, The Chinese University of Hong Kong, 2003), 31–37. 51. In this sentence, Luna is called by her proper name, Aizhu. Xiaoxian is apparently the same Xiaoxian mentioned at the beginning of the chapter, though written slightly differently. 52. A method of forecasting from The Book of Changes devised by Shao Yong (1011–1077). See W. A. Sherrill and W. K. Chu, An Anthology of I Ching (London: Routledge, 1978), 55–77. 53. These small white balls of sweetened rice flour are typically eaten at the Lantern Festival (Yuanxiao), fi fteen days after the New Year. 54. Lin Sumen also comments on the daintiness of Huizhou food compared to local Yangzhou food. See Finnane, Speaking of Yangzhou, 291. 55. I have used here an old English slang term for a coin (as in three-penny bit) to render the Chinese qingfu (lit., “water-beetle”), which was a slang term for the smallest unit of currency. 56. “Fishy grass” is here used to render yuxingcao, a sort of grass that has a fishy odor. 57. Located in the southern part of the New City (the walled city’s eastern wing), this garden dated from the Ming dynasty and passed through a succession of owners before becoming the premises of the Hunan native place association after the Taiping Rebellion. Zhu Jiang, Yangzhou yuanlin pinshang lu (Shanghai: Shanghai wenhua, 1984), 109. 58. David Hawkes translates this term, bishachu, as “silk gauze casement.” Cao Xueqin, The Story of the Stone. Volume 1: The Golden Days, trans. David Hawkes (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1973), 512. 59. The reference (haipiaozhan) appears to be to isinglass. Samuel Wells Williams writes “Isinglass, or fish-glue, is made from the sounds and noses of some sorts of fish, as the bynni carp, or Polynemus; it is much used in cookery, and the manufacture of false pearls.” Samuel Wells Williams, The Middle Kingdom: A Survey of the Geography, Government, Education, Social Life, Arts, Religion, &c, Of the Chinese Empire and Its Inhabitants (New York: Wiley & Putnam, 1848), 2:401. 60. The meaning of the phrase hehezhang is obscure, but the words hehe seem to point to a nuptial or quasi-nuptial relationship, and zhang to curtains. Although chatting and playing chess could be between two men, doing so in the light of red candles might be more likely if a courtesan was keeping a man company. 61. The four styles are regular (kaishu), clerical (lishu), seal (zhuanshu), and grass or running (caoshu). 62. Literally, “in the shape of the character” ṣ (ren, person). 63. The word for charcoal used here, shilan, is also the name of a Chinese medicinal herb. Although charcoal is not given as a dictionary meaning, the author on the very next page uses the same word to indicate what he is using to produce a rubbing of a carving (see below). Children’s author Favell Lee Mortimer provides a description of these warmers that is consistent with Zhou Boyi’s, showing that she had read accurate descriptions of them, for she never actually left England: “the Chinese warm their feet and hands by putting charcoal into brass and copper baskets with grated covers. Besides these foot warmers, which are large and strong, they have tiny ones, prettily worked and enameled, which they can put up their long

Scholar Zhou’s Dream of Yangzhou sleeves to keep their hands and bodies warm.” Favell Lee Mortimer, Far Off, or Asia Described (London: Hatchards, 1879), Part 2:96. 64. An old name for Yizheng, a county belonging to Yangzhou and located west of the prefectural capital, on the north bank of the Yangzi. 65. The phrase is wang ru shuimo (to look at [something] as if it were a water-mill). Mo, “mill,” could possibly be mo, “ink.” Dictionaries give shuimo as “polishing with a waterstone,” but waterstones are used to grind metals, and it is hard to see how this simile would work. 66. Zhao Mengfu (1254–1322) is one of the most famous calligraphers in Chinese art history. For a recent study, see Shane McCausland, Zhao Mengfu: Calligraphy and Painting for Kubilai’s China (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2011). 67. The Di Garden was owned, indeed created, by the Bao family, which made its fortune through the salt monopoly. Zhu Jiang, Yangzhou yuanlin pinshang lu, 109. 68. The Liuyao, also known as Lüyao, is a dance tune dating from the Tang dynasty, and famous in the history of art as the dance being performed by (it is speculated) Wang Wushan (fl. 961), in the tenth-century painting The Night Revels of Han Xizai (Han Xizai yeyan tu). Dong Xijiu et al., eds., Yue wu zhi (Shanghai: Shanghai renmin, 1998), 179. For the painting, see Michael Sullivan, The Night Entertainments of Han Xizai: A Scroll by Gu Hongzhong (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008), esp. 28–29. 69. “Great blue-green” (da qinglü) landscapes and “small blue-green” (xiao qinglü) landscapes differ in the brilliance of the coloring, which is greater in the former than the latter. Yangmu Wu, Techniques of Chinese Painting (London: Herbert Press, 1990), 102. 70. Seven Skills are the handicrafts for which women prayed on the evening of the seventh day of the seventh month, the Begging for Handicraft Skills Festival (Qiqiao), one of the festivals mentioned by Scholar Zhou at the beginning of this part of the book. See page 224 above. 71. These are, in order, shanhu, manao, feicui, chequ, qingjing, mila, songhua, shuijing, biyaxi, jingangshi. There were two different ways of writing biyaxi (garnet), a transliteration of an Arab term of Persian origin. The stone was imported from Burma, like many other precious stones, including crystal—also mentioned here. For the etymology, see Takeshi Hamashita, “The Lidai Baoan and the Ryukyu Maritime Tributary Trade Network with China and Southeast Asia,” in Chinese Circulations: Capital, Commodities, and Networks in Southeast Asia, ed. Erica Tagliacozzo and Wen-chin Chang (Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press, 2011), 122. 72. The terms given are not standard today. For granite, Zhou Boyi gives mashi, and for marble, qingpi. For a reference to qingpi in a local context, see Yangzhou pinghua yanjiu xiaozu, ed., Yangzhou pinghua xuan, vol. 1 (Shanghai: Shanghai wenyi, 1962), 14, 22. John Francis Davis notes the use of “coarse, grey marble, or a reddish granite” for building bridges in Jiangnan. John Francis Davis, The Chinese: General Description of the Empire of China and Its Inhabitants (London: Charles Knight and Co., 1836), 309. 73. Scholar Zhou here uses a rare form of Yin, written with the character for “gold” ( jin 慺) in the place of the character for “now” ( jin ṳ). Wu Chunyan identifies this person as Qian Yin‘an (b. 1823), who was among the closest of Zhou’s friends. Wu Chunyan, “Wan-Qing wenxuejia Zhou Boyi jiaoyou kao,” 83. 74. Literally, “several lives can be achieved through cultivation” ( ji sheng xiu de dao), a reference to Buddhist practices. 75. By “flowers” he means courtesans. 76. Here the author may be taking advantage of his own surname to invoke the muchvenerated Zhou dynasty, ancient source of seal characters. Scholarship on Zhou dynasty

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Antonia Finnane with Fan Xiong bronzes and their inscriptions flourished during the Qing, and interest in the subject was intense among Zhou Boyi’s contemporaries. See Shaughnessy, Sources of Western Zhou History, 12–13. 77. The term “plans” here is an interpretation of jinnang, literally, “a brocade bag or purse” that contains advice for dealing with situations. The figure of speech comes from an episode in chapter 105 of the Romance of the Three Kingdoms. See “The Plan of the Silken Bag: The Bronze Statue with the Dew Bowl,” in Lo Kuan-chung, Romance of the Three Kingdoms, trans. C. H. Brewitt-Taylor (Singapore: Tuttle Publishing Co., 2002), 2:505–516. 78. Maodie, a pun on the words for cat and butterfly, means a person of advanced years. 79. In other words, da ren zhong zhou hua jia zi ⣐ṣ慶␑剚䓛⫹ (His reverence holds dearly the child born in his sixties) could be written as ⣐Ṫ慶凈剚⣧⫹ (The large almond [or peach stone] / a double boat / a boy within a flower). 80. Tang Yin (1470–1524), one of the “four great painters of the Ming.” 81. Zhu Yunming (1450–1527), a contemporary of Tang Yin’s and an esteemed calligrapher. 82. Shengguantu, a “board” game (actually a chart of paper), played with dice, thought to have been designed by Ni Yuanlu (1593–1644). See Su Tongbing, Lishi guangjiao jing (Taibei: Taiwan shangwu yinshuguan, 1996), 274. 83. “Rites to ensure good health” (zhaijiao) refers to Buddhist and Daoist ritual ceremonies. 84. “Dismantling a character into its components parts” (chaizi) was a popu lar form of fortune-telling. See Richard J. Smith, Fortune-Tellers and Philosophers: Divination in Traditional Chinese Society (Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, 1991), 201–204. 85. These terms appear to relate to the “arts of the bedchamber.” See Douglas Wile, Arts of the Bedchamber: The China Sexual Yoga Classics, Including Women’s Solo Meditation Texts (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1992), 177. 86. Consumption of steamed pears (zhengli) is prescribed in Chinese medicine for a dry cough. Marnae C. Ergil and Kevin Ergil, Pocket Atlas of Chinese Medicine (New York: Thieme, 2009), 316. 87. Magu is a female Daoist adept. See Patricia Bjaaland Welch, Chinese Art: A Guide to Motifs and Visual Imagery, Illustrated (Singapore: Tuttle, 2008), 206–207. 88. The jade flower (qionghua) has legendary associations with Yangzhou. The term was once loosely used, but the name finally settled—apparently before Zhou Boyi’s time—on the Chinese snowball bush, which on 18 July 1985 was declared the Yangzhou floral emblem. See further Zhu Jiang, Yangzhou yuanlin pinshang lu, 64–66. 89. Tanghua (Tang-dynasty flowers) can also be written with the character tang (hall). The practice Scholar Zhou describes is also mentioned by Wang Shizhen (1634–1711), who refers to it as common in Beijing around New Year. It is possible that Zhou Boyi had read Wang’s comment. See Qiao Jitang and Zhu Ruiping, eds., Zhongguo suishi jieling cidian (Beijing: Zhongguo shehui kexue, 1998), 107. 90. The Tong, or Copper, Mountains of southern Henan, dominated by Tong Peak (Tongfeng), were historically associated with Buddhist and Daoist monasteries and monks. 91. In the second of these phrases, yi shou san yuan, san yuan refers to winning fi rst place at the prefectural, provincial, and capital examinations. Touch-me-nots, or garden balsam (fengxian), are a type of Impatiens. 92. The reference to the flowers of Chu may be a metaphor referring to ancient Chu dances. See Gopal Sukhu, “Monkeys, Shamans, Emperors and Poets: The Chuci and Images of Chu during the Han Dynasty,” in Defining Chu: Image and Reality in Ancient China, ed. Constance Cook and John S. Major (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2004), 147. I have used “Demoiselles” here as a name for nü‘erhua (lit., “girl flowers”). Scholar Zhou may here be

Scholar Zhou’s Dream of Yangzhou referring, again, to a garden balsam, a type of Impatiens, for which a common name still is “good girl flowers.” 93. This is an early date for a “foreign mansion” (yanglou) in Yangzhou, but it may have been built for the Jesuits, who returned to Jiangnan very soon after the conclusion of the Treaty of Nanjing and were stationed in Yangzhou certainly by the time of the Taiping Rebellion. See Finnane, Speaking of Yangzhou, 308. 94. Emperor Min (Mindi) of the Southern Tang, Li Conghou (r. 914–934). 95. The Dutianhui was an annual festival held in honor of the Bodhisattva Dutian, described as “a deity with the magical power to dispel omens and bestow blessings.” Daniel L. Overmyer and Shin-Yi Chao, eds., Ethnography in China Today: A Critical Assessment of Methods and Results (Taipei: Yuan-liou, 2002), 234. On the festival, which was declining in frequency in the early twentieth century, see H. A. Ottewill, “Note on the Tu-T‘ien-Hui Held at Chinkiang 31st May 1917,” Journal of the North China Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 49 (1918): 86. 96. According to the Huainan ba gong xianghe jing (Classic of Crane Physiognomy of the Eight Princes of Huainan), cranes were magical creatures with a lifespan of centuries, and gave birth to live young. Li Shizhen Compendium of Materia Medica: Bencao gangmu, trans. Luo Xiwen (Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 2003), 3718. 97. Two kinds of carp are mentioned: li2 and ji3. 98. The Sea Monk (Hai Heshang) is a mythical creature that terrorized fisherman on the South China coast. He has an equivalent in Scandinavian lore, also known as the Sea Monk. 99. This whimsical passage is a reflection on things of one nature assuming the appearance of other things altogether. On the Classic of Birds, see Roel Sterckx, “Transforming the Beasts: Animals and Music in Early China,” T‘oung Pao 86, nos. 1–3 (2000): 30. 100. Lujin Shrine, a temple some fi fteen kilometers south of Gaoyou, lying north of Yangzhou on the Grand Canal, is noted for a stele carry ing an inscription by Mi Fu (1051–1107). It was built to honor a young woman who refused to compromise her virtue by taking shelter inside a house where an unrelated man was staying. She died as a result of mosquito bites— hence Scholar Zhou’s comment here.

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A Yangzhou Novel Hanshang Mengren’s Dream of Romance (Fengyue meng, preface 1848) Introduced, translated, and annotated by Patrick Hanan

Fengyue meng (Dream of Romance) is a novel in thirty-two chapters by an author known only by his pseudonym, Hanshang Mengren (The Fool of Yangzhou). His preface is dated the equivalent of 1848, although the first known edition, by the Shenbaoguan in Shanghai, appeared only in 1883. The novel is written in a form of Mandarin enlivened by an occasional use of Yangzhou dialectal expressions. In his preface the author describes his work as based on his own personal observation during a thirty-year infatuation with the courtesans of Yangzhou. Now utterly disillusioned with the brothel scene, he offers the novel both as an act of penitence and also as a warning to young men. The title, Dream of Romance, in fact means romantic illusions, the illusions of courtesan love, and the novel is built upon the liaisons of five friends with their courtesan paramours from two Yangzhou brothels. In the history of the Chinese novel, it stands out as the earliest courtesan novel and also the earliest city novel. By the term “city novel” I mean not only that it is set entirely in Yangzhou, but that it attempts in a variety of ways to give the reader a sense of Yangzhou city life. Although it deals primarily with the seedy underside of Yangzhou, it also contrives to give an impression of the city’s scenic places, its streets and gates, its holidays, its religious cults and festivals, its entertainments, its tea houses, restaurants, and shops. Furthermore, the description is precise and concrete. At the beginning of the novel in chapter 2, for example, the young dandy Lu Shu, who will in the course of the novel fall in love with the heartless young courtesan Fragrance (Yuexiang), is introduced to the reader with an extraordinarily detailed account of the splendid clothes that he is wearing. Here and elsewhere the author eschews the hyperbolic, often allusive, descriptive practices so common in the traditional novel. 258

Hanshang Mengren’s Dream of Romance

Figure 12.1. Illustration of the Characters Fragrance and Lu Shu from Dream of Romance, 1886. (Fengyue meng, 1886 ed.)

To give the reader a spatial sense of the city, the author in the same chapter describes Lu Shu, a stranger to Yangzhou, as he makes his way street by street to the famous Parade (Jiaochang). He samples the various entertainments on the Parade and then drops into the Fanglai Teahouse (Fanglai chaguan), where he happens to meet Yuan You, an old friend. In the following chapter, after accepting an invitation to Yuan You’s house, he again makes his way there street by street, past shops, docks, and a great city gate that teems with people carry ing produce between the city and the surrounding countryside. Although crowds are an essential part of city life, they are seldom convincingly rendered in fiction, but the reader of Dream of Romance cannot help being impressed with a sense of crowdedness, as in the account of people thronging through the city gate in chapter 3, or along the river during the Duanyang Festival1 in chapter 13, or at the Guanyin Temple in chapter 16. The novel is equally thorough in describing the working of various features of city life: for example, opium smoking, which is described through the eyes of the unsophisticated Lu Shu in chapter 3; or loan-sharking in chapter 4; or the county prison in chapter 24; or the precarious finances of one of the brothels in chapters 8 and 9; or the gangs who terrorize brothels; or the courtesans and their “protectors”; or an exorcism in chapter 15; or riddles, a Yangzhou specialty, in chapter 10; and many others.

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The city is also seen as distinct from its surrounding towns and villages. Most of the courtesans come from outside of the city, and for them Yangzhou represents an escape from poverty. In chapter 26, Phoenix’s (Fenglin) sister comes to see her from the country. The sister is miserably poor, supporting her whole family by doing laundry and needlework, and of course Phoenix helps her out. In the following chapter Phoenix actually buys a fiveyear-old girl from the child’s mother, a widow living in the country who cannot afford to keep her. Once or twice Yangzhou is also seen as a city in something of a decline. In chapter 5 there is a discussion between Lu Shu, the newcomer, and his friends over the dilapidated state of some of the famous buildings outside the city proper, and in chapter 25 Phoenix tells her lover that an agent for a Shanghai brothel has endeavored to recruit her by promising her a substantial payment in advance. During the nineteenth century Shanghai did, of course, surpass Yangzhou as a center of entertainment. The friends, who swear brotherhood, are named Yuan You, Lu Shu, Wu Zhen, Jia Ming, and Wei Bi. Their paramours at Qiang Da’s brothel are Phoenix, Cassia (Guilin), Paria (Shuanglin), and Lucky (Qiaoyun), and at the Jinyulou, Fragrance, Cloud (Cuiyun), and Lute (Cuiqin). (Mother Xiao [Xiao lao mamazi] is the madam at the latter.) In the first of the two episodes from chapter 13 that follow, Lu Shu hires a boat and takes his sworn brothers and the courtesans on a visit to the famous Slender West Lake (Shou Xihu) and neighboring sites during the Duanyang Festival; in the second episode the same people celebrate Fragrance’s birthday at the Jinyulou.



Dream of Romance Chapter Thirteen The Dragon Boat Festival and the Courtesan’s Birthday Party 2 By the fourth of the month Lu Shu had completed all of the arrangements for the excursion Fragrance had asked for. On the morning of the fift h, he paid his respects to his uncle and aunt and, on the pretext that he had been invited to celebrate the festival at a friend’s house, hurried off to the Jinyulou, where Mother Xiao and the staff offered him compliments of the season. He then went upstairs to Fragrance’s room. She, too, offered him her compliments, and the maid served him tea and tobacco. Fragrance told the maid to

Hanshang Mengren’s Dream of Romance

unwrap a dish full of dumplings3 and herself picked up a small multicolored plate of fine porcelain fi lled with rose flower syrup preserved in refined sugar and invited Lu Shu to eat some dumplings with it. When he had eaten one, she speared another one with a chopstick, dipped it in the syrup, and then, taking half of it between her teeth, put her mouth to his and transferred the other half to him. They were in the midst of this game when the four sworn brothers came into the room, and they quickly swallowed the dumpling. Compliments were exchanged, and Fragrance invited them to share the dumplings. She also told a servant to light the opium lamp for Wu Zhen. Fragrance began hastily to dress herself, and when she had finished, Jia Ming said, “Let’s go down. I’m afraid the others may arrive before we do, and they won’t know which boat to board.” Fragrance invited Mother Xiao, Cloud, and Lute to come with them. When they arrived at the dock, they walked down the stone ramp to the boat. On boarding, they noticed that on the after deck several cooks were engaged in slaughtering chickens and ducks in preparation for the feast. The guests then took seats in the cabin and chatted together. After a while, Phoenix, Cassia, Paria, and Lucky arrived in their sedan chairs, with Sanzi and the maids following on foot. The men at once went ashore, and each of them helped his favorite to board. For this occasion the courtesans wore gorgeous clothes and brilliant jewelry. Compliments were exchanged, and the order was given to start. The boatman cast off, pulled up the gangway, and began to work the sweep oar. He brought the boat past Rainbow Bridge (Hongqiao), and at Little Gold Hill (Xiao Jinshan) they went ashore and strolled about enjoying themselves. The pomegranates were a fiery red and the artemisia a delicate green. Lu Shu and Wei Bi gambled and won a large number of Water Mice and Yellow Mists,4 which they brought back to the boat to celebrate with. By the time they had had their lunch, pleasure craft large and small were plying their way back and forth in great numbers, and the air was fi lled with the sound of gongs and drums, while in the distance the pennants of the boats were so numerous that they obscured the light of the sun. Dragon boats of various colors came flying in their direction. Two of them had awnings like those on foreign-style buildings, and both awnings were spanking new. Over their sterns hung what appeared to be young boys. The fellows standing at the dragon’s head wore brilliant clothes, and from their belts hung foreign watches, penknives, purses, fan cases, kerchiefs, and so forth. On their heads they wore the latest style of tasseled summer hat and on

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their feet the latest style of satin boot. They were young, their clothes were new, their feet were planted firmly on the boat—they looked supremely handsome. On a few other dragon boats the awnings, although not new, were still brightly colored. To the stern of each boat a sheet of colored cloth was attached. A small red wooden bar was fastened to it, and on each bar sat a ten- or eleven-year-old boy. The boys’ hair was drawn up in two tufts on top of their heads with crimson tassels hanging down on each side. They wore pale pink nankeen tunics, jade-green silk trousers, and sandals but no socks. Of the fellows standing at the dragon’s head, some wore medium blue unlined crepe-silk robes; some wore dark brown unlined pongee robes; others wore unlined robes of Suzhou-blue cotton cloth; and still others wore gowns fastened with belts. There was one dragon boat with multicolored pennants of which the red had turned black and the white yellow, no doubt because it had only a few days before been released from the pawnbroker’s and still bore the marks5 of its detention. The boy at the stern had on a pair of well-worn trousers. The fellow standing at the dragon’s head was in his twenties. He had on a red straw sun hat with red tassels that he wore at a rakish angle. His tunic was of pale pink nankeen embroidered all around with black silk thread in a lamp grass pattern and fastened with red-bean and walnut-style buttons. Over it he wore a sleeveless jacket, no longer new, of medium blue silk lined with white imported cloth. He also wore white nankeen trousers fastened by a belt of crimson nankeen and light green silk, and a pair of worn over-trousers of pine-green imported crepe lined with crimson pongee. The feet of the overtrousers still bore traces of where the broad, embroidered hibiscus trim had been removed. He wore flared lined socks of white Shanghai cotton and thin-soled leather shoes with images in reddish-blue satin of the Eight Treasures.6 On his left thumb he wore an archery ring of imitation emerald, and on his left wrist a green porcelain armlet. In his right hand he held a black oilpaper fan with a black bamboo spine on which were depicted the 108 warriors of the Water Margin (Shuihu).7 This young man stood in the prow of the dragon boat, fanning himself constantly, watching the people in the passing boats and throwing out challenges to a contest. There were nine dragon boats in all. Behind them was a small open boat with two bamboo baskets containing a dozen or more live ducks. There were also several large boats on whose bows were pairs of tall lanterns glued together from yellow paper depicting dragons in a variety of colors. The red lettering stuck onto the pictures of the dragons read “By Imperial Appoint-

Hanshang Mengren’s Dream of Romance

ment Pacifier of the Waves and Bringer of Children, the (such and such a color) Dragon.” Inside the cabins were incense altars with paper offerings dedicated to the image of the Crown Prince Spirit. There were also ten-piece bands and troupes from Suzhou popularly known as Mashangchuo, who played their instruments and sang both grand opera as well as Xipi and Erhuang in the cabins. The nine dragon boats went back and forth between Little Gold Hill and Lotus Flower Bridge (Lianhuaqiao) followed by the rowboats full of spectators. The large boat that Lu Shu and his friends were in had stopped by East Peak of Little Gold Hill, but it was not long before the fellow on the prow of one of the dragon boats noticed their boat moored there and realized that one of the passengers was the man who had deflowered Fragrance. He at once told his front oar to take two strokes to the right, bringing the dragon boat alongside, then hailed the passengers while his companions struck up their gongs and drums. The boy on his red bar at the stern began his acts, such as “The Red Boy Bows Low before Guanyin” (Honghai bai Guanyin),8 “The Carp Falls Back Three Times” (Huangyu san diezi),9 and “Zhang Fei Sells Meat” (Zhang Fei mai rou).10 When he had finished, the passengers handed out envelopes of cash. After that, all of the dragon boats with boys on the stern came alongside and had their boys perform. The boat with the ducks also drew alongside, and two men leapt from it onto their prow, hailed the passengers, and called out to Fragrance: “Miss Fragrance, we’ve come specially to offer these prizes on your behalf.” They pulled up the two wicker baskets from their boat and laid them on the prow. The nine dragon boats then struck up their gongs and drums to herald the contest, rowing back and forth in front of them. The other pleasure boats heard that the contest was being held over there and came swarming along until they completely surrounded them. The two men on the prow of Lu Shu’s boat, seeing that a blue dragon had rowed close to them, seized a duck from one of the baskets and threw it into the river. On board the blue dragon one of the oarsmen, stripped to the waist, wearing nothing but a pair of close-fitting shorts, his queue bound up like a bunch of pickled vegetables, was squatting on his prow when he saw the duck thrown into the water and leapt in, seized it, and clambered back on board. That dragon boat then rowed away, and the green dragon boat that was behind it rowed up. The two men in the prow of Lu Shu’s boat seized another duck and threw it into the river. Someone in the prow of the green dragon leapt into the river and seized the duck, after which that boat, too, rowed away. Then there came in

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succession the red-gold, black, pale rose, jade-green, yellow, white, and multicolored dragons. As well as throwing ducks into the river, the men in the prow also threw them to people waiting to catch them, who then leapt into the river themselves. The nine dragon boats came and went, and when each of them had caught two ducks, the men throwing them took their baskets back to their own boat. The passengers on Lu Shu’s boat said to them: “We’ll see you at the Cold Garden (Lingyuan) on the Parade tomorrow morning.” The two promised to be there, bowed, leapt back onto their own boat, and went elsewhere to stage another contest. The dragon boats moved off to the Lotus Flower Bridge area, while the pleasure boats scattered in all directions. Yuan You told the boatman to set off, and they followed the dragon boats to watch the activity. It was the Yangzhou custom at the Duanyang Festival for everyone to flock to the river. The banks were lined with sightseers, men and women, some leading little boys by the hand, some carry ing little girls on their shoulders. The women from the villages had calamus, mugwort, pomegranate, and buckwheat flowers hanging from their heads. Heavily waxed and powdered, they ran helter-skelter along the river bank, wearing new blue cloth shoes decorated in a variety of colors with red embroidered heel straps, calling out to their relatives, pushing and pulling—and streaming with sweat from the strong sun. There were also a few drunkards, reeking of liquor, who careened into them. Petty tradesmen of all kinds did a brisk trade. It was the liveliest scene imaginable. A poet of that time wrote a regulated-verse poem entitled “On Watching the Dragon Boats at the Duanyang Festival:” When we come to the Duanyang Festival, The dragon boats’ colors dazzle the eyes. Their pennants block the light of the sun; Their gongs and drums to the heavens rise. The custom of mourning Qu Yuan is old; Men compete to be first to seize the prize. That boy over there is truly daring, As above the water on his swing he flies.

Lu Shu and his guests followed the dragon boats and watched as beside Lotus Flower Bridge prizes were thrown from other pleasure craft. They also saw a man somersault into the river from the prow of a dragon boat, then break the surface a long way off, a feat that is known as a Water Leap and is even more exciting than catching ducks.

Hanshang Mengren’s Dream of Romance

As the sun set, the dragon boats began to stream back. When the guests on Lu Shu’s boat had had an evening drink and supper, they, too, ordered their boat to return. By the time they reached the Tianning Gate (Tianningmen) dock, the sedan chairs were already there waiting for the courtesans from the Qiang Da house. They thanked Lu Shu and Fragrance and asked their lovers to escort them back, but Wu Zhen said, “You go on ahead. We’ll join you before long, after we’ve seen Brother Lu back.” Each of the courtesans then whispered something in her lover’s ear before getting into her sedan chair and heading into town. Lu Shu took Fragrance’s hand and invited the others to go ashore and return to the Jinyulou.

 On the morning of the tenth, after finishing her toilette, Fragrance changed her clothes from head to toe, dressing in the new garments that Lu Shu had given her for her birthday. Mother Xiao and the staff brought wine, candles, peaches, and noodles, and Lu Shu accepted them and handed out money in return. In Fragrance’s room, a pair of large candles was lit, as well as a tall birthday candle. Fragrance went downstairs and lit a candle and did reverence before the kitchen god, then received birthday wishes from Mother Xiao and Cloud, and finally went upstairs to greet Lu Shu. As they frolicked about, Lute came in to offer her congratulations, and the entire staff did the same. After that, Jia Ming, Wu Zhen, Yuan You, and Wei Bi came in one after the other. Then the men arrived with the props for the vaudeville performance and took them upstairs. Phoenix, Cassia, Paria, and Lucky each came in her own sedan chair. Stepping out of their chairs at the gate, they went up to Fragrance’s room and offered their congratulations, then set down the breakfast pastries that they had brought. After everyone had eaten, Fragrance said to them, “You’ve gone to such a lot of expense for my birthday!” “It’s nothing,” they said. As they chatted, eight or nine members of the vaudev ille troupe,11 all wearing red-tasseled summer hats and formal gowns, came upstairs to offer their congratulations. “Have you had anything to eat?” asked Wu Zhen. “We had breakfast at the Baoshan Teahouse (Baoshan chaguan) on Lower Commerce Street (Xia Maimaijie),” replied one, who asked for four hundred qian to cover the cost. Then he moved a square table into the center of the middle room upstairs and spread a red felt rug on top of it. Two members of the troupe brought in a small lacquered tea tray covered with a silk cloth

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and placed it on the rug. The first man then stood beside the table and offered birthday wishes before raising the silk cloth, beneath which was a teacup of fine china that was turned upside down. With two fingers the man twisted the bottom of the cup, then raised it and placed it on the tray. He passed the cup from one hand to the other, then raised it again—and inside there was a gold cap ornament. He then covered the ornament with the teacup, made some idle remarks, and raised it again—and the gold cap ornament had changed to one of jade. He covered that with the cup, and when he raised it again, the jade ornament had changed to one of crystal. Again he covered it with the teacup, and when he lifted it, the ornament had turned blue. Once more he covered it and then raised the cup, and this time the blue had changed to crimson. “This is what’s called ‘climbing the ladder of success,’ ” he said, covering the crimson cap ornament with the teacup. He said a great many more things and then, when he next raised the teacup, the crimson cap ornament had turned into a gold seal. “This is what is called ‘The six states bestow their honors, and the general takes the seal of command,’ ”12 he said. He covered up the teacup with the silk cloth and removed it. Then the man standing beside him came to the center of the room and performed the acts “The Immortal Takes the Beans” (Xianren zhai dou) and “Duke Zhang Receives a Belt” (Zhang gong jie dai). When he had finished, he moved the table to one side. Now two new performers came on carry ing a red felt rug and stood in the middle of the room cracking jokes. One of them clapped his hands and patted his legs, chest, and rump before handing the rug to the other man, who took it and turned it over and over and then passed it back again. The first man threw it over his left shoulder and then spread it out on the floor, where it rose up in the middle. According to him, he breathed on it and uttered a magic charm. He then jerked the rug aside to reveal a large dish of longevity peaches, a large dish of steamed buns, and a big plate of Duanyang cakes, all of which he offered to Fragrance on behalf of the host. On her behalf, Lu Shu then rewarded the men with two liang. They picked up the red rug, handed it back and forth once more, spread it out, and underneath there was now a bowl of water with two live goldfish swimming in it. The audience burst into applause. These men now withdrew, to be replaced by three others who moved the table back to the center of the room. One of them, with a drum-song lute, sat in the middle. A second, with an octagonal drum, stood on the left, while on the right the third stood with his arms folded. The man who was

Hanshang Mengren’s Dream of Romance

sitting down spoke a few lines of prologue followed by some auspicious remarks, and then struck up a tune on the lute. The one on the left beat his drum, while the one sitting down sang a song in Beijing style, interlarded with jokes. The man on the right kept interrupting with irrelevant remarks and received a good many cuffs over the head from the one sitting down, which drew loud laughter from the audience. It was a performance known as “chaffing.” Although it was not commonly performed in Yangzhou, no party given by the aristocracy or high officials in Beijing could afford to be without it. The three continued their speech and song for some time before withdrawing, to be replaced by a lone performer. With a paper fan in his hand, he first imitated all kinds of bird calls, as well as the sounds made by pigs, ducks, cats, chickens, and dogs, and also by carts—little carts, big carts, ox carts, mule carts, carts with light loads, carts with heavy loads, carts going uphill, carts going downhill. After that he hung up a silk curtain and slipped behind it. The audience heard two cats in heat calling to each other and a woman in her seventies or eighties coughing and wheezing as she summoned her daughter-in-law. Then came a young woman’s voice in a Taizhou accent muttering to herself, “My old man left and hasn’t been home in days. I don’t know if it’s whoring or gambling that he’s so keen on, but he’s left me here on my own. In this gorgeous spring season he has left me alone in bed! How can I get to sleep? I feel limp and listless, but just listen to those two stupid cats yowling out there all the time. They’re driving me out of my mind!” Old woman: (in a croaking voice) “Daughter-in-law, come on, hurry up!” Young woman: (speaking to herself ) “The old lady’s in the back and needs reviving again.” Young woman: “Coming! Coming! Why did you call, ma’am?” “I wanted to take a midday nap, but I couldn’t get to sleep, my whole body’s so full of aches and pains. I called you back here to give me a massage.” “Just sit where you are. I’ll see to it.” (Sound of a back being gently pummeled.) Old woman: “Harder!” “I am doing it harder.” (Sound of the pummeling now hard, now soft.) “Be a dear and sing me a song to cheer me up.” “If I start singing popular songs in broad daylight, the neighbors will hear and laugh at me.”

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Patrick Hanan “Then sing soft ly, dear. No one will hear you.” “I don’t sing well. You mustn’t laugh.” “What does it matter how you sing? It’s all in fun. Who’s going to laugh at you?” Young woman: (singing a “Nanjing Air” (Nanjing diao) as she pummels her mother-in-law) Everyone loves romance; Only the gods refrain. Love romance, And it’s joy all day, unending joy. Love romance, And you’ll gladly pay a fortune for a smile. Crave romance; It’s sweeter than the sweetest honey. My only fear— He’ll have a change of heart.13 My only fear—He’ll have a change of heart.

Old woman: “My dear, you were pummeling me as you sang, just as if you were beating time. You really sing very well. When I was young I loved to sing popular songs, but I can’t any more. Now off you go and rest. I’m going to lie down in my room.” “Ma’am, why don’t you take a nap in the room at the back? I’ll go to the front room and lie down. Then later on I’ll make you your afternoon tea.” “Off you go, then, dear.” Young woman: (muttering to herself) “Once the old bag is off to sleep, I’ll go to the front door and have a bit of fun.” (Sound of a door bolt being slid aside and a door creaking open.) Young woman: (speaking to herself ) “The street is so quiet it’s eerie! Oh, look, there’s a young priest coming from the western end of the street with an alms basket on his back, and he’s so good-looking, much more so than my old man. When he comes to my door begging for food, I’ll try to seduce him. I wonder if he’ll play along.” Youth: “My lady, pray give us food. Amitabha Buddha!” Young woman: “Young priest, why isn’t your master here?” Youth: “His hernia has flared up. He’s in bed at the temple, and he’s sent me in his place.” “Young priest, come inside with me.” (As the youth assents, sound of a door being shut and a bolt slid into place.)

Hanshang Mengren’s Dream of Romance Youth: “My lady, I’ll be going as soon as I’ve received the food. There’s no need to lock the door.” Young woman: “If you just close it, there are ever so many thieves about who’ll get in. It’s safer to lock it. Put down your alms basket. There’s something I want to tell you.” “My lady, please give me the food and let me go back now. If I’m late, I’ll be in trouble with the priest.” “It’s still very early. Put your basket down on the table. Now, let me ask you this: How old are you?” “Fifteen.” “Are you engaged?” “Amitabha Buddha! We in the priesthood know nothing about engagement, or whatever it’s called.” “Young priest, come into my room with me. I have some food I want to give you.” “Amitabha Buddha! Why would the food be kept in your bedroom instead of in the kitchen? Look, I’m not a child! My lady, why are you lying down on the bed? Where is that food you were going to give me?” “Oh, dear! My stomach is terribly sore! Please do me a favor. Come and rub it for me.” “But I’m in the priesthood. How can I possibly rub your stomach?” “Never mind about that! Hurry up!” “I can’t rub your stomach.” (Sound of the woman laying hold of the priest.) “Dear boy, come on, hurry up!” Youth: (crying out) “Ooh! Aah!” Old woman: (calling out) “Who’s that crying out in the front room?” Young woman: “It’s nothing. I was just playing with the kitten.” Youth: “My lady, please let me go.” “You’re here now. You can’t go back.” “Oh! Oh! Stop pulling my trousers down!” “I’m going to, no matter what you say.” (Sound of sudden knocking at the door.) Youth: “My lady, we’re in trouble! There’s someone at the door.” Young woman: “Don’t make a sound. Let me see who it is. Who’s that knocking at our door?” Man in his thirties: (speaking in a Shanxi accent) “Ah’m back. Come on, open up!”

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Patrick Hanan Young woman: (panic-stricken) “Oh, dear! Young priest, it’s my husband. Quick, hide under the bed and don’t make a sound.” Youth: “This is my unlucky day. Oh, dear! I’ve hit my head!” Young woman: “Hurry up and hide! And don’t make a sound.” (Sound of repeated knocking.) Man with Shanxi accent: (shouting) “Why don’t you open up for me? Ah’m going to kick the door down!” Young woman: “Coming! Coming! The strangest thing happened. I was on the commode, and I couldn’t get up.” (Sound of a door being opened.) Young woman: “There you are!” Man with Shanxi accent: “Ah’m back. Hurry up and lock the door!” (Sound of a door being locked.) Man with Shanxi accent: “Where did this alms basket come from? What’s it doing on our table?” Young woman: “It belongs to an old priest, who left it here. He said he had some business to see to and would be back soon to collect it.” Man with Shanxi accent: “Ah’ve been playing Ten Lakes14 for two nights straight, and Ah needs to get some sleep.” “Why not go and lie down in mother-in-law’s room at the back?” Man with Shanxi accent: “Why should Ah sleep in the back room instead of in my own bed? Wife, that curtain is moving. What’s that under the bed?” “Go and lie down. I expect it’s just the cat chasing a mouse.” “Ah don’t believe you, Ah don’t. Let me pull up the curtain and see what it is . . . Who are you? Come on, out!” Youth: “Pray give us food. Amitabha Buddha!” Man with Shanxi accent: “Now, isn’t this just wonderful! You go out begging for alms and get yourself under people’s beds! Ah’m going to beat you up, you bald-headed little ass!” (Sound of blows and kicks.) Youth: “Benefactor, sir, you’re doing me wrong!” Old woman: (crying out) “What’s all that noise in the front room?” Man with Shanxi accent: “You go back to sleep. There’s someone here who’s expecting . . .” Old woman: “Who’s expecting? Call the midwife at once!” Man with Shanxi accent: “Don’t be ridiculous! Ah’ve caught someone in your daughter-in-law’s room.”

Hanshang Mengren’s Dream of Romance Old woman: “Wang Shuren, what are you doing in my house? We’re just celebrating a birthday and an engagement here. What would we want with an off-stage mimic?”

At that point the screen was pulled aside, and the performer poked his head out and then emerged. His name was Wang Shuren, and his self-mockery drew gales of laughter from the audience. Just as he was removing the screen, the clock struck two. Lu Shu gave orders that cups, chopsticks, noodles, plates, soy sauce, vinegar, and small bowls be set out, and invited everyone to drink wine and eat noodles. After the vaudeville troupe had finished, they asked for four hundred qian to go to the bathhouse and take a bath. When they returned, they played Ice Dish (bingpan), Bat and Ball (qiubang), and Soft and Hard Kungfu (ruanying gongfu), followed by various tricks of greater and lesser magic. Then everyone had afternoon tea, and the off-stage man sang a “Teasing the Concubine” (Diao yi) sequence. In the evening, they first provided dinner for the performers, then for everyone else. The guests played guess-fingers and drinking games, and the troupe did a number of lantern tricks. They also took a pair of tall glass lanterns with lighted wax candles in the middle and changed them into a large glass goldfish bowl with nine cups of water. The audience applauded repeatedly and rewarded them with notes. Then they sang several scenes from fan plays15 such as “Birthday Wishes for the Birthday Girl” (Shouxing shangshou), “Zhang the Immortal Provides a Son” (Zhang xian song zi), “A Dance for the God of Money” (Tiao caishen), “A Dance for the God of Examinations” (Tiao kuixing), “The Prodigal” (Da lianxiang), and “Beating the Flower Drum” (Da huagu). After they sang “The Priest Roasts Meat” (Heshang shaorou xiang), the audience again rewarded them with cash and notes. When the fan plays were over, Lu Shu gave the performers eight silver dollars. They thanked him, gathered up their props, and left. Lu Shu and Fragrance toasted all of the guests, who enjoyed themselves thoroughly. They played Flowing Cups based on the shou ⢦ character until the clock struck two, when they took their leave. After the maid and the handyman had tidied up the room and spread a thin brocade coverlet over the bed, Lu Shu and Fragrance undressed and lay down. Naturally Lu Shu wanted to celebrate Fragrance’s birthday with her and, equally naturally, she wanted to thank him for the birthday festivities. They were busy all night and did not fall asleep until dawn, but then slept on until the sun was high in the sky.

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Notes 1. Held on the fift h day of the fift h month, it commemorated the death by drowning of the poet Qu Yuan (343–278 B.C.E.). Dragon boats were an essential feature of the celebration. 2. The translation is adapted from Anonymous, Courtesans and Opium: Romantic Illusions of the Fool of Yangzhou, trans. Patrick Hanan (New York: Columbia University Press, 2009), 123–128 and 130–138. It is based principally on the text included in Wang Junnian, ed., Xiaoshuo er juan, Zhongguo jindai wenxue zuopin xilie (Fuzhou: Haixia wenyi chubanshe, 1990); and secondarily on the edition Hanshang Mengren, Fengyue meng, ed. Hua Yun (Beijing: Beijing daxue, 1990). Use has also been made of the edition by Shenbaoguan (Shanghai, 1883) in the Harvard–Yenching Library. 3. Zongzi, glutinous rice mixed with other ingredients and wrapped in bamboo leaves. 4. Types of fireworks. 5. The text refers to Huizhou, from which many of the Yangzhou pawnbrokers came. 6. Auspicious objects such as a pearl, an old coin, a mirror, and so forth. 7. The famous early novel Shuihu zhuan. 8. See the Journey to the West (Xiyou ji), chapters 40–42, in which the Red Boy monster is subdued by Guanyin. Li Dou describes it as one of the acts performed by boys on the stern of the dragon boats; see Li Dou, Yangzhou huafang lu, ed. Wang Beiping and Tu Yugong (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1960), 252 (11/4). 9. Carp trying to leap up the Dragon’s Gate symbolize candidates attempting to succeed in the civil ser vice examinations. 10. A story about Zhang Fei, one of the warrior heroes of the Romance of the Three Kingdoms (Sanguo yanyi). 11. According to the nineteenth-century Suzhou writer Gu Lu, vaudev ille reached Suzhou from Yangzhou. He lists a number of the turns described here; see his Tongqiao yizhuo lu (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1980), 12.163. 12. The strategist Su Qin in the third century B.C.E. helped to form an alliance of six states against the powerful state of Qin. He is said to have been honored by all six states. 13. There is a pun on fengyue, “romance,” in this line. 14. This refers to the homonymous shi hu, Ten Pots, a card game. 15. A widespread type of entertainment performed by two or three people, one of whom performed with a fan, while another played the fiddle. The titles belong to a standard repertoire.

13

Place and Personality Ling Xia’s “Song of the Eight Eccentrics” (Yangzhou ba guai ge, ca. 1897) Introduced, translated, and annotated by Michele Matteini

“Yangzhou painting” has generally come to define the art produced during the middle three or four decades of the eighteenth century, when local literary societies and an enterprising elite turned the city into a haven for artists, a transformation that redefined the very notion of urban culture. The earliest accounts on painting in Yangzhou, however, postdate that period by almost thirty years. Chapter 2 of Li Dou’s (fl. 1764–1795) famous guidebook The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou (Yangzhou huafang lu, 1795) provides the most comprehensive list of artists active in the city throughout the eighteenth century and praises the variety and high quality of pictures that had become available there.1 The patronage of officials like Zeng Yu (1759–1830) showed clear revivalist intentions and, by the end of the century, numerous compilations of local antiquities and lore had appeared. Speaking of Yangzhou painting was thus the result of a specific project of historiographical recovery, a retrospective look from a time when Yangzhou’s former glories had waned, or so it seemed. The idea that a particular cohort of artists embodied the best of Yangzhou’s mid-century artistic splendor and that they could be grouped and thus inscribed into a continuous historical narrative, occurred almost a century later. By then Yangzhou had lost much of its prestige. The Taiping Rebellion (1850–1864) and its aftermath had seen the city razed to the ground. The economic and cultural balance had shifted from the north bank of the Yangzi to the south—Jiangnan—and the burgeoning hub of Shanghai, making Yangzhou’s recovery all the more daunting.2 At that time, a new description of “Yangzhou painting” in its heyday was consolidated, one that included only a limited number of artists, who nonetheless were very diverse in geographical origin, social status, and artistic affiliation. In this formulation, “Yangzhou painting” became the object of intense scrutiny by a new generation of critics, 273

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collectors, and artists.3 The text introduced here, “Song of the Eight Eccentrics of Yangzhou” (Yangzhou ba guai ge), written by the Zhejiang poet Ling Xia (zi Zixing, hao Binghe, ca. 1820–1890s) around 1897, is a vivid and passionate portrayal of eight “extraordinary” individuals and their artistic accomplishments. It stands as a poetic corollary to this process of critical revision. Foregrounding self-reliance, originality, and familiarity with the modes and manners of antiquity, the poem offers a sympathetic look at eighteenth-century Yangzhou painting, one at odds with the emphasis on opportunistic commercialism and vapid sensationalism that would come to occupy much of our present-day scholarship on the subject. The poem is the least known of the three sources that first make use of the term “Eight Eccentrics” (ba guai) to denote the most experimental fringes of eighteenth-century Yangzhou painting. The scholar Wang Yun (ca. 1816– 1886) is usually credited for coining, or at least popularizing, the term in Record of the Painting Garden of Yangzhou (Yangzhou huayuan lu). This is the first study fully devoted to painting production in Yangzhou from the Kangxi period to Wang Yun’s own time, and was completed about ten years before Ling Xia’s poem. In an oft-cited passage, Wang Yun laments the sudden decline in the quality of the local production as the consequence of the emergence of “eccentric” masters, “eight in number,” who “deviated” (pian) from inherited conventions. Paintings by the Eccentrics lacked the refinement and literary cultivation considered to be a prerequisite for classicizing artistic expression; they were quickly executed and too coarse “even for soy-pot covers.” They did have some impact, Wang grants, but their names had by the time of Wang Yun become known “only within a hundred square miles.”4 Wang Yun’s overall assessment is more nuanced than might be assumed. He is adamant that the eccentric painters “did not constitute a cohesive painting style” (hua zhong fei yi ti), and elsewhere in the text he praises Hua Yuan (1682–1756), Luo Pin (1733–1799), and Jin Nong (1687–1763), three artists who are now regarded as quintessential examples of “eccentric” Yangzhou taste.5 As Chou Ju-hsi has noted, Wang’s unfavorable assessment of Yangzhou’s most famous painters was part of a broader agenda that sought to set Yangzhou’s cultural profile within the framework of traditional values, as a way to exorcise the destructions and decline of the day.6 By the time of the third source, the extensive Catalogue of Browsing through the Calligraphy and Painting in the Ouboluo Studio (Ouboluoshi shuhua guomu kao, preface 1897) by Li Yufen (fl. 1865–1897), the rubric “Eight Eccentrics” had gained currency.7 Unlike Wang, Li Yufen does not formulate any judgment

Ling Xia’s “Song of the Eight Eccentrics”

Figure 13.1. Sweet Osmanthus at Lianxing Temple as Painted by Wang Yun. (Little et al., New Songs on Ancient Tunes)

about the artists. Rather, he proposes a list of eight potential candidates that sets the tone for the rather inconclusive guessing game that continues today on who, how many, and how eccentric these Eight Eccentrics of Yangzhou were in both life and art.8 Ling Xia knew Wang Yun, and it may well be that the poem was inspired by the latter’s research and writing. The poem presents a regular sevencharacter line with a repeated rhyme scheme. Its thirty lines are arranged in eight stanzas, and each stanza is dedicated to a single artist. Ling’s use of parallel constructions, alliteration, and repetition infuses the poem with a graceful and lilting pace that reveals the poet’s full command of the conventions of the genre. The artists included in the poem are familiar names in established narratives of eighteenth-century Yangzhou art and culture. Ling Xia is careful in selecting eight artists who had well-documented personal exchanges and whose professional and life trajectories intersected with mid-century Yangzhou art circles. A notable exception is Yang Fa (ca. 1696– 1762) who, despite great recognition in his lifetime as a painter, calligrapher, and seal carver, is largely unknown today.9 From stanza to stanza, Ling Xia shows himself to be well acquainted with the standard biographical sources

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and the vast repertoire of anecdotes that had grown up around each artist during their lifetime and in the following decades. Unlike Wang Yun’s and Li Yufen’s passing mentions, Ling Xia offers a more complex portrayal of Yangzhou’s most famous artists, as they figured in the minds of these latenineteenth-century art lovers. A number of rhetorical strategies are at play in Ling Xia’s presentation of the eight artists. He juxtaposes an artist’s name with his signature genre, as in the case of Zheng Xie and Li Fangying, or evokes the artist’s personality by describing his trademark subject matter, as in the case of the autumnal river scenes characteristic of Bian Shoumin. Objects also play a key role in Ling Xia’s narration: brushes, inkstones, and other implements cease to be  mere props, coming to life thanks to the artist’s creativity. Ling Xia’s emphasis on unconventional techniques and inexhaustible imagination are indebted to the classical descriptions of the mercurial and unruly temperament of the “untrammeled” (yi2) artist, evoked here as the archetype of exceptional artistic and moral accomplishment.10 At the same time, Ling Xia is careful to highlight those aspects of each artist’s practice that would most immediately resonate with the sensibilities of his own audience. Repeated references to each artist’s mastery of painting, calligraphy, and poetry, as well as to the tradition of seal carving, enshrines this cluster of eighteenth-century masters as the forerunners of that “antiquarian flair” ( jinshi huafeng) that had become by Ling Xia’s time the foremost criterion for assessing artistic quality. Without sacrificing individual characterization, the image of mid-century “Yangzhou” painting that thus emerges is a remarkably coherent one that invests the ideal of the eccentric artist with both historical specificity and trans-historical significance. Ling Xia himself remains an elusive personality. Born into a prominent clan of modern-day Huzhou, Zhejiang Province, he did not hold any official position but made a living as a professional painter and poet. In his youth, he associated with leading personalities of the time, such as the calligrapher and art patron Yang Xian (1819–1896) and Lu Xinyuan (1834–1894), the owner of a legendary art collection and author of the painting cata logue Record of Glancing through the Hall of Rice Stalks and Pear (Rangliguan guoyan lu, preface 1892). The three men came to be known as members of the “Seven Masters of Tiaoshang (i.e., Huzhou)” (Tiaoshang qi zi). Later in life, Ling served as private secretary of the high official and political hero Yuan Chang (1846–1900), and during this period he befriended Wang Yun and Zhang Mingke (1829–1908), author of the Trivial Records from Discussing Art in the Studio of the Cold Pine (Hansongge tanyi suolu, preface 1908),

Ling Xia’s “Song of the Eight Eccentrics”

the “Who’s Who” of late-Qing Jiangnan culture. Zhang included a brief entry on Ling Xia in which he praised his delicate plum blossom paintings and elegant poetry style.11 Similar words can be found in Li Yufen’s cata logue mentioned above, as well as in Wu Changshuo’s (1844–1927) Foulu’s Collected Writings (Foulu ji).12 Ling Xia’s anthology of prose and poetry, the Collection of the Hall of Heavenly Hiding (Tianyintang ji), which was published posthumously, includes the present poem.13 Ling Xia belonged to that large body of professionalized cultural specialists that had become the backbone of nineteenth-century artistic and literary life. Like Lin Sumen and others represented in this anthology, as well as Ling Xia’s more famous acquaintances Wu Changshuo and Zhao Zhiqian (1829–1884), these highly qualified cultural professionals moved from periods of employment in the entourage of prominent public figures to freelancing as independent scholars, antiquarians, and artists. This pattern of informal clientelism (termed as mufu) had begun to emerge during the eighteenth century as a consequence of key transformations in the means of social and economic advancement.14 To these nineteenth-century scholars, the mideighteenth-century urban masters, with their tenuous connections to established institutions of power and a vast cultural capital, offered a compelling model for envisioning a new, modernized version of classical scholarly ideals, one which was accommodating to the unpredictable turns and pressures of a market economy and responsive to an increasingly diversified audience. Throughout the late Qing and into the Republican Period, critical writing on Yangzhou painting elaborated on what Ling Xia had here evoked in poetic form. For this generation, the experience of the Eight Eccentrics would remain a fundamental point of reference in their sought-after combination of innovation, allegiance to classical tradition, and the seemingly endless game of social reinvention and self-definition. In conclusion, it should also be noted that the structure and organization of Ling Xia’s poem is indebted to two earlier models. One is the undated “Song of the Ten Worthies in Painting” (Hua zhong shi zhe ge) by Zhu Wenzhen (fl. mid-eighteenth century). A little-known scholar from Shandong, active between Yangzhou and Beijing, Zhu had grouped together artists of various backgrounds and affi liations that included Yangzhou celebrities like Gao Xiang (1688–1753), court officials like Dong Bangda (1699–1769), and Zhu’s fellow townsman Gao Fenghan, whom he portrayed in terms similar to Ling Xia.15 The second model is Wu Weiye’s (1609–1672) “Song of the Nine Friends in Painting” (Hua zhong jiu you ge), which celebrates Dong Qichang (1555–1636) and his Songjiang cohort as the foremost late-Ming artistic circle.16

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And all these compositions looked back to Du Fu’s (712–766) “Song of the Eight Immortals of the Wine Cup” (Yin zhong ba xian ge), the paramount affirmation of the pleasures of art, abandonment, and friendship.17



Song of the Eight Eccentrics18 Banqiao (Zheng Xie) is free spirited, in his poetry there’s vigor;19 Resigning from officialdom, he sold pictures for cash. Painting bamboo, he exhausted the autumnal rabbit-hair brush; He always teased people by calling them “cats.”20 Dongxin’s (Jin Nong’s) work and ideas are truly unique and loft y; Recommended for the Breadth in Learning Examination, he took it as lightly as a goose feather.21 His “lacquer script” has the strength of Li Yu’s “gold fi ligree stroke,”22 His poetic style and intentions are pure and superior. “The Old Man at Sixty who does not go out” is still roaming freely!23 Xiyuan (Gao Fenghan) went crazy for inkstones and boasted his friendship with stones; In his left hand yielding the brush, as if it were a pincer;24 When he moves the brush in unconventional ways, unusual flair excels. Futang’s (Li Shan’s) paintings are bold and grand; Daringly dripping ink, the spirit does not flinch. What he scrawls and smears is all firm and durable; From the inkstone reservoir, rolling and rolling, sudden waves arise. Qingjiang (Li Fangying) once “bent his waist for five pecks of rice;”25 He paid homage to the plum blossom, and became its lifelong friend. Painting plum, unyielding as if it were a soaring dragon; Rustling under his wrist, wind and rain howl. “The Buddhist Guardian with fierce glare” is here to offer laughter!26 Yingpiao (Huang Shen) was among the painting masters of Min (Fujian); He blended and reinvigorated the drapery of Cao and the garments of Wu.27 Dotting the eyes, his figures become as vivid as the autumn monkey. The Recluse among the Reeds’ (Weijian jushi, i.e., Bian Shoumin) spirit goes a long way;

Ling Xia’s “Song of the Eight Eccentrics” His experienced brush holds the frosty sky high; Geese descending over flat sand, the feeling of autumn desolation. Yijun’s (Yang Fa’s) seal script is all embracing; His poetic feeling has the refinement of antiquity and the clarity of plain drawing;28 The tasteless meats and wines are not from an official’s kitchen.

Notes 1. Li Dou, Yangzhou huafang lu, ed. Wang Beiping and Tu Yugong (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1960), 34–59. 2. For a general introduction to the artistic milieu of the period, see Ju-hsi Chou and Claudia Brown, eds., Transcending Turmoil: Painting at the Close of China’s Empire, 1796– 1911 (Phoenix, Ariz.: Phoenix Art Museum, 1992). On the literary culture in Yangzhou after the Taiping Rebellion, see Tobie Meyer-Fong, “Gathering in a Ruined City: Metaphor, Practice, and Recovery in Post-Taiping Yangzhou,” in Lifestyle and Entertainment in Yangzhou, ed. Lucie Olivová and Vibeke Børdahl (Copenhagen: NIAS Press, 2009), 37–61. 3. On the relationship between Yangzhou painting and the emerging Shanghai School of Painting, see Xie Yongnian, “Haipai dui Yangzhou ba guai de fazhan yu Zhongguo hua,” in Haipai huihua yanjiu wenji, ed. Shanghai shuhua chubanshe (Shanghai: Shanghai shuhua, 2001), 854–867; Qingli Wan, “The Transformation in Jiangnan: A Glimpse of Chinese Art History in the Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Century,” in Tradition and Transformation: Studies in Chinese Art in Honor of Chu-tsing Li, ed. Judith G. Smith (Lawrence: Spencer Museum of Art, University of Kansas, 2005), 347–358. 4. Wang Yun, “Yangzhou huayuan lu,” in Xuxiu siku quanshu (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 2002), 1087:627–691. The passage appears at the end of the biography of the landscape painter Yu Chan (ca. 1802–1882), Wang Yun’s contemporary (657). For a recent discussion on Wang Yun’s assessment of the Eight Eccentrics and its intellectual context, see Wang Han, “Wang Yun yu ‘guai yi ba ming,’ ” in Yangzhou wenhua yanjiu luncong: Di yi ji (Yangzhou: Guangling shushe, 2008), 179–191. 5. Wang Yun gained recognition as practitioner of landscape painting in the classicizing modes associated with the early-Qing masters Wang Hui (1632–1717) and Wang Yuanqi (1642–1715). One of his most original works is, however, an album, dated 1876, of twenty-four paintings redolent with references to those very artists he so strongly criticized in his writing. For reproduction and discussion of the album, see the excellent entry by Janet Carpenter in Stephen Little et al., eds., New Songs on Ancient Tunes: 19th–20th c. Chinese Paintings and Calligraphy from the Richard Fabian Collection (Honolulu, Hawai‘i: Honolulu Academy of Arts, 2007), 148–153 (cat. no. 25). 6. Ju-hsi Chou, “Rubric and Art History: The Case of the Eight Eccentrics of Yangzhou,” Phoebus 6, no. 2 (1991): 329–351; and Meyer-Fong, “Gathering in a Ruined City.” 7. Li Yufen’s list of “Eight Eccentrics” appears in the biography of Luo Pin. See Li Yufen, “Ouboluoshi shuhua guomu kao,” in Zhongguo shuhua quanshu, ed. Lu Fusheng (rev. ed., Shanghai: Shanghai shuhua, 2009), 18:482. 8. The most insightful critique of modern scholarship’s fi xation on naming and numbering the Eight Eccentrics is the essay written in 1993 by Xu Jianrong, “ ‘Yangzhou ba guai’ pipan,” republished in Xu Jianrong lun Zhongguo hua, ed. Xu Jianrong and Wu Lunzhong (Shanghai: Shanghai cishu, 2009), 308–333. For a review of recent historiography of the Yangzhou Eccentrics, see Zhou Xin, “Jin ershi nian Yangzhou ba guai yanjiu zongshu,” Yangzhou

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Michele Matteini daxue xuebao 13, no. 6 (2009): 92–98; and Ginger Cheng-chi Hsü, A Bushel of Pearls: Painting for Sale in Eighteenth- Century Yangchow (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 2001). 9. On Yang Fa, see Zhang Manhua, “Yang Fa yu ta de yishu,” Nanjing yishu xueyuan bao 1 (2001): 28–33. 10. On the use of the critical term yipin and on the trope of the yi artist in classical artistic literature, see Susan Nelson, “I-pin in Later Painting Criticism,” in Theories of the Arts in China, ed. Susan Bush and Christian Murck (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1983), 397–424. 11. Zhang Mingke, “Hansongge tanyi suolu,” in Lu Fusheng, Zhongguo shuhua quanshu, 20:19. 12. Li Yufen, “Ouboluoshi shuhua guomu kao,” 499; and Wu Changshuo, Foulu ji (rpt., Taibei: Wenhai, 1985). 13. The collection was first published in 1900 by Zhengyi Shuju in Anqing. A copy of it is in the Shanghai Library. Ling Xia is also the author of the important antiquarian survey Catalogue of Inscriptions on Ancient Bronze Objects and Stone Tablets Collected in the Hall of Favorite Hobbies (Pihaotang shoucang jinshi mulu), also published posthumously in 1930. On Ling Xia’s art criticism, see Bian Xiaoxuan, “Haiwai cang Zhongguo lidai minghua ba,” in Guanyuan wencun, ed. Jiangsu sheng wenshi yanjiu guan (Nanjing: Fenghuang, 2003), 313–325. 14. See Kenneth Folsom, Friends, Guests, and Colleagues: The Mu-Fu System in the Late Ch‘ing Period (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1968). 15. For a discussion of the poem, see Shan Guolin, ed., Yangzhou huapai yanjiu wenji (Tianjin: Tianjin renmin meishu, 1999), 54. 16. For the original text, see Wu Weiye, Wu Meicun shixuan, ed. Ye Junyuan (Beijing: Renmin wenxue, 2000), 289–290. 17. For a translation in English, see Shigeyoshi Obata, trans., The Work of Li Po, the Chinese Poet (New York: Dutton, 1922), 185–186 (no. 125). 18. The most frequently cited source for a modern transcription of the poem is Bian Xiaoxuan, ed., Zheng Banqiao quanji (Jinan: Qilu shushe, 1985), 641–642. That edition, however, contains several typos. I would like to thank Sue Zhuang for checking the original edition of Ling Xia’s collection and pointing out these errors to me. Thanks also to Liu Lihong for explaining to me some passages of the poem. 19. Ling Xia here refers to one of Zheng Xie’s most famous early poems titled “Untrammeled” (Luotuo). For the original text, see Zheng Xie, Zheng Banqiao ji (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1979), 46. 20. A wealth of anecdotes surrounded the names of the Eccentrics in their lifetime. Many were apocryphal and did not get handed down. It is unclear to what Ling Xia is referring in this line, probably an episode about Zheng Xie’s life that was still circulating in the late-nineteenth century. 21. In 1736, Jin Nong received an official invitation to sit for the “Breadth in Learning and Vastness in Letters” (boxue hongci), a special examination session reserved for personally recommended scholars. It is a matter of debate as to whether Jin Nong refused to participate in, or failed to pass, that examination. However, throughout his lifetime, Jin prided himself on the privilege of having been recommended for that examination, signing his paintings as “former nominee to the ‘Breadth in Learning and Vastness in Letters.’ ” 22. The term “lacquer script” (qishu) describes the flat and smooth appearance of Jin Nong’s innovative calligraphic style, a combination of ancient clerical and standard scripts and contemporary foreign scripts, written in squared strokes of sooty ink tones. The qualities

Ling Xia’s “Song of the Eight Eccentrics” of Jin Nong’s calligraphy are here compared to the hard-edged and incisive writing of the Southern Tang ruler and man of letters, Li Yu 3 (937–978). 23. This is one of Jin Nong’s numerous sobriquets. For a discussion of its meaning and use, see Zhang Yuming, “Jin Nong biehao shiming kaoshi,” Yangzhou jiaoyu xueyuan bao 22, no. 4 (2004): 35. 24. In 1737, Gao Fenghan lost the use of his right hand due to an illness. He famously began to paint using his left hand. Ling Xia here is referring to a well-known seal by Gao Fenghan that reads, “Relying on pincers, my hand furthers into the painting realm.” See Zhuang Sue, Gao Fenghan huihua yanjiu (Taibei: Yishujia, 1996), 166–176. 25. “Bending one’s waist for five pecks [of rice]” is an idiomatic expression for the loft y scholar’s compromising attitude with the surrounding world. The original source of the expression is the autobiography of the arch-recluse Tao Yuanming (ca. 365–427). Zheng Xie made use of the expression in an inscription on one of his well-known rock and bamboo compositions dedicated to his friend Li Fangying. 26. As Ling Xia points out in a note, “The Buddhist Guardian with fierce glare” was a characterization of Li Fangying’s style that the well-known poet Jiang Shiquan (1725–1785) inscribed on an album by the latter. The entire poem is anthologized in Gu Linwen, Yangzhou bajia shiliao (Shanghai: Shanghai renmin meishu, 1962), 135. 27. The expression refers to two opposing traditions of drawing garments: one modeled and enveloping, first introduced by Cao Zhongda (mid-sixth century); the other flowing and sinuous that came into fashion with the work of Wu Daozi (ca. 680–740), eventually becoming the canonical manner of figural painting. For an early source of the distinction between the two styles, see Alexander Soper, trans. and annot., Kuo Jo-Hsu’s Experiences in Painting (T‘u-hua chien-wen chih): An Eleventh-Century History of Chinese Painting (Washington, D.C.: American Council of Learned Societies, 1951), 16–17. Here, Ling Xia is probably alluding to the transformation that took place in Huang Shen’s handling of drapery. As several biographers of the artist reported, when Huang Shen relocated to Yangzhou, around 1724, he moved from a “meticulous” to a sketchier, more gestural style, characteristic of his mature production. 28. The term baimiao denotes a technique of ink monochrome outline in modulated, calligraphic strokes. Generally identified with the work of the eleventh-century artist and scholar Li Gonglin (1049–1106), this technique was praised for its effortless and understated beauty.

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A Tale of Five Families between Empire and Republic Li Hanqiu’s Novel The Tides of Guangling (Guangling chao, 1909–1919) Introduced, translated, and annotated by Stefan Kuzay

Among the many poets and writers of Yangzhou, Li Hanqiu (zi Yingzhang, 1874–1923) is perhaps the most famous. He was born in the city and became one of the most faithful portrayers of its people. Li Hanqiu had a wide following of readers, and his work was published in magazines, newspapers, and later as entire novels under his two pen names Master of the Pavilion of Permeating Fragrance (Qinxiangge zhu) and Master of the Library of Rhyme Flowers (Yunhuaguan zhu).1 Early in his youth he already enjoyed reading classical novels, such as The Dream of Red Mansions (Honglou meng) and The Unofficial History of the Scholars (Rulin waishi), and the singing drama The Story of the Western Chamber (Xixiang ji). Born in Ganquan County, Yangzhou Prefecture, he regularly went to tea houses and storytelling places (shuchang) to listen to traditional professional Yangzhou storytelling (Yangzhou pinghua).2 He spent most of his life in his hometown, and the atmosphere of the old city served as his daily inspiration. Li Hanqiu was a descendent of a family of traders that originally came from Luzhou (Hefei), Anhui Province. In 1853, during the uprising of the Heavenly Kingdom of Universal Peace (Taiping Tianguo, 1850–1864), the rebels took Anqing, situated not far south of Luzhou. His grandfather, anticipating the war spreading north, fled eastward and took refuge in Jiangdu County (Yangzhou). There he established a tobacco shop, which later was taken over by Li Hanqiu’s father. Hanqiu was the firstborn son of the family, which at that point was still well off, and entered school at the age of six. Two years later his father died, leaving his wife and three children in very modest conditions. Only with the support of his uncle could the eldest son continue his education. His outstanding literary talent already showed at 282

Li Hanqiu’s Novel The Tides of Guangling

the age of twelve, when he began to write eight-legged essays (baguwen). The precarious financial situation of his family, though, forced him from very early on to stand on his own feet. At the age of sixteen he started teaching and accepted private students of his own.3 Li Hanqiu left his hometown very seldom and only three times for a longer period. The first occasion was in 1902, when his brother planned to make a living in Anqing. Li followed him for one summer. It was his first extended journey, and though he was rather poor he seems not to have searched for work opportunities. Instead he traveled across Anhui Province, enjoyed the landscape, and wrote poetry, before he returned to Yangzhou. His literary career had not yet started, though he had written his first poems at the age of seventeen, as early as 1890. The second opportunity came in 1904. When his relative Li Shiquan was sent to Hubei Province to fi ll a governmental position, he invited Li Hanqiu to come along to teach his children. Li Hanqiu accepted, and this time he stayed, working as a private teacher in Wuchang, but also visiting Wuhan and Hankou. These years can be regarded as a turning point in his life. It was at this time that he began to write vernacular prose narrative, and he would go on writing novels for the rest of his life. In 1909 Li Shiquan returned to Yangzhou, and Li Hanqiu used the opportunity to come back to his favorite city.4 There he first continued to work as a private tutor, but later he taught at public schools, lecturing on Chinese literary history. At the same time he wrote a multitude of novels and short stories. In 1921 he left Yangzhou for a third time. By then he had already given up teaching and had become a professional writer. He also accepted positions as editor of various literary magazines, including The Novel Times (Xiaoshuo shibao), in the media center Shanghai. It turned out, however, that he was not able to accommodate himself to the Westernized atmosphere of Shanghai. In September 1922 he returned to Yangzhou, where only eight months later, on the evening of 13 May, he died of a stroke.5 Li Hanqiu lived only fift y years, but in this short life span he showed an amazing literary productivity. When he made his debut as a novelist in 1905, he was already thirty-one-years old. Yet when in 1909 the serialization of The Tides of Guangling (Guangling chao), under the initial title The Mirror of Transition (Guodu jing), appeared in print, it was already his tenth novel. He continued at this pace, publishing in a mere eighteen years thirty-six novels, twenty short stories, five collections of poems, five volumes of miscellaneous writings, and about twenty notebook collections.

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We have to imagine his life as that of an homme de lettres who had arranged the balance of leisure and work to perfection. Li Hanqiu had to maintain strict discipline to meet the deadlines for delivering chapters of his current novels. It was a habit of his to ride across Yangzhou, and the scenes of urban life he encountered were often transformed and incorporated into the plots of his novels. In the same way, he used all sorts of stories and gossip that he happened to hear in the alleys as authentic material and a source of inspiration. Most of the characters in his novels and short stories had real counterparts. Because of this habit, at the height of his popularity, many avoided Li Hanqiu, for fear that they would find themselves portrayed in the next chapter of his ongoing serial novels, perhaps in a highly unfavorable light.6 Li Hanqiu had a reputation not only as a keen observer of daily life and as a local chronicler, but also excelled at writing urban popular novels, in particular urban romantic novels. In addition to The Tides of Guangling, he wrote dozens of other works of fiction, such as The Mirror of Demons (Meijing), A Young Woman (Nü qingnian), Errors of Love (Qing cuo), and Human Reflections in the Mirror (Jingzhong renying). These titles unmistakably reveal his preoccupation with the perils of romantic love. Few literary figures are so deeply connected with the rise and fall of modern urban popular fiction as Li Hanqiu. Together with the novels The Jade Pear Spirit (Yuli hun, 1912) by Xu Zhenya (1889–1937), Fate in Tears and Laughter (Tixiao yinyuan, 1930) by Zhang Henshui (1895–1967), and Stories of Amazing Knights-Errant in the Rivers-and-Lakes (Jianghu qixia zhuan, 1924–1930) by Pingjiang Buxiaosheng (Xiang Kairan, 1890–1957), The Tides of Guangling counts as one of the most prominent novels of this type of literature. Nevertheless, The Tides of Guangling is by no means a trivial romance. In this work, romantic love is just one of several aspects. Other titles in Li Hanqiu’s oeuvre, like A Strange Family: With a Sequel (Guai jiating zhengxu ji) and The History of Sorrows and Evils in Society (Shehui bei‘e shi), demonstrate that Li’s interests were many faceted and certainly not limited to romance. Yet, the most influential and famous of Li Hanqiu’s novels was undoubtedly The Tides of Guangling, written between 1908 and 1919.7 The first sequence of twenty-three chapters appeared in serial form in weekly and daily papers, as was customary for modern fiction of that period. The title refers to the old name of Yangzhou, which had been in use since the Qin (221–206 B.C.E.) and Han (206 B.C.E.—220 C.E.) dynasties.8 Many poets like Li Bai

Li Hanqiu’s Novel The Tides of Guangling

(701–762) from the Tang dynasty, or Guo Maoqian (eleventh century) from the Song dynasty featured the city in their verses.9 The term chao can be translated both as “tide” or “waves.” From Tang poems and other literary sources we know of a “tidal bore of Guangling” (Guangling tao), similar to that of Hangzhou.10 Unlike the latter, the tidal bore of Yangzhou no longer exists, and its exact location is not known. Over the course of many centuries and dynasties, Chinese cities all had ups and downs. From a historical distance, the regularity with which such changes took place must have appeared to the contemporaries of Li Hanqiu like the coming and going of the tide, and thus it is emblematic of social and political instability. Yangzhou, in particular, being close to Shanghai and partly sharing its fate, experienced drastic changes between the final years of the Qing dynasty and the early years of the Republic. The “tide” certainly served as a powerful metaphor in the 1910s, and The Tides of Guangling was by no means the only novel whose title reflected this. The rapid transition from a traditional lifestyle to a new way of living was becoming commonplace in most Chinese cities at this time, and therefore, not surprisingly, more than ten other modern urban novels used the same tide metaphor in their titles.11 The Tides of Guangling centers on events in Li Hanqiu’s hometown, and the one hundred chapters of this novel established his fame as the untiring chronicler of the city of Yangzhou and its inhabitants. However, in the second half of the nineteenth century a whole range of books and new literary subgenres known as “Yangzhou fiction” (Yangzhou xiaoshuo) and “Shanghai fiction” (Haishang xiaoshuo) had already appeared.12 These novels dealt with local history and legend, the changing traditional role models for men and women, and the increasing social mobility between the higher and lower strata of society, as reflected in the history of extended families and individual life stories.13 It would be wrong to assume, however, that all readers were exclusively of the Jiangnan region and attracted by parochial interest. From the diary of Lu Xun (1881–1936) we know that Li Hanqiu’s work was similarly popular in Beijing.14 The Tides of Guangling was certainly an example of the “Yangzhou fiction” genre. As its title suggests, the focus of this novel is on the city of Yangzhou. It presents a colorful portrait of the bustling city center and its rural surroundings, its peculiar way of life, its traditional local customs, and also its sights.15 Against this rather “folkloristic” background the novel relates the fortunes and misfortunes of five families—surnamed Yun, Wu, Tian, Qin,

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and Liu—during the transitional period from the late Qing to early Republican times. In the course of events the members of these families, though based in Yangzhou, get tossed around to the cities of Nanjing, Wuhan, and Hangzhou—all places with autobiographical meaning for Li. They come from entirely different walks of life, but are interconnected by fate. Reading the novel, the predominance of female family members throughout the epic tale catches the eye, and indeed the social position of women constitutes one of its central topics. Li Hanqiu describes changes and progress in social conditions in Yangzhou through the intellectual and emotional development of the main female characters Wu Shuyi, née Liu (Liu shi), Hongzhu, née Qin (Qin shi), as well as of one of the main male protagonists, Yun Lin.16 He also details the changing living conditions in the fi nal years of the Qing dynasty and the questions that arose with the increasing permeability of social strata. The opening chapter, translated below, introduces some of the main families in their social framework. It represents the most important features of the text in form and content. Not surprisingly, the language of The Tides of Guangling contains expressions of the vernacular, most apparent in direct speech. Every novel immersed in the atmosphere, conditions, and uniqueness of a particular place will to a certain extent make use of the local variation of Mandarin. But elements of Classical Chinese also come into use. The popular novels of the late Qing had their predecessors in mid-Qing novels like The Dream of Red Mansions or The Unofficial History of the Scholars, and both are said to have had significant influence on Li Hanqiu’s work.17 In accordance with the traditional pattern of the classical novel, opening poems precede each of his chapters, and concluding lines lead readers on to the following chapters. Generally each chapter of The Tides of Guangling has an unresolved ending, and it is easy to imagine the reader, tormented by curiosity and anticipation, eagerly awaiting the next issue of the periodical. We have to keep in mind, though, that the daily serial installments in the newspapers were rather short. Each chapter would drag out to at least a week. Therefore the verses at the chapter endings, which in traditional novels are meant to keep up anticipation of the readers, could not have been a regular feature of the serialized text versions. As such, their function as “cliff-hangers” might have been limited, but as Li Hanqiu basically followed the formal conventions of the traditional novel and must from the beginning have envisaged the publication in its entirety, they were nevertheless indispensable.18

Li Hanqiu’s Novel The Tides of Guangling

The first twenty-three chapters of The Tides of Guangling appeared between 1909 and 1911 in successive issues, under the original title Mirror of Transition, in the Public Opinion News (Gonglun xinbao) in Hankou, to be continued by thirty chapters in the Aurora Daily (Zhendan ribao) in Shanghai. Following the outbreak of the Revolution of the xinhai year (1911), the Public Opinion News ceased publication, and Li found himself in search of another publisher. He received various offers, but as the novel was written in vernacular Chinese, and Li would not agree to write subsequent installments in Classical Chinese, publishers were reluctant to accept the manuscript. It was not until 1914 that he could arrange a continuation of the novel with the Shanghai-based newspapers The Great Republican Daily (Da gonghe ribao) and The National Herald (Shenzhou ribao), now under the new title The Tides of Guangling, with another eighty chapters.19 The role of Li Hanqiu in establishing vernacular Chinese (baihua) as a literary language can therefore hardly be overstated. The first edition of one hundred chapters, arranged in ten independent collections of ten chapters each, appeared between September 1914 and 1936 in no fewer than thirty-six editions, while the first complete novel, including the latest chapters, was published in Shanghai shortly after his death, in 1924.20 It is surprising that, even though the city of Yangzhou and its inhabitants are the topic and background of this novel, its serialization did not start off in a local Yangzhou newspaper. Instead it was first published in Hankou, and even after Li had returned to his hometown, he preferred to have the series continued in neighboring Shanghai. We can only speculate about the reasons for this, but it would be safe to assume that he could reach a far larger readership via a Shanghai newspaper. The distribution of Shanghai papers and periodicals covered not only Yangzhou, but also Nanjing, and cities even much further off, like Tianjin. Evidently the majority of Li Hanqiu’s readers were not Yangzhou residents. This again explains the minute detail in which the author explains local customs or popular beliefs and the local features of, for example, Yangzhou folk religion. If he were addressing a purely local readership, he would hardly have described an outing to the temple, as in Chapter 1, with such exact directions and description of major landmarks. It would also not have been necessary to dwell on the historical background of local deities if the descriptions were not explicitly meant for readers unfamiliar with the Yangzhou region. Naturally, local residents also—and perhaps even in particular—enjoyed seeing their hometown and

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Figure 14.1. Front Cover of an Early Edition of The Tides of Guangling. (Li Hanqiu, Guangling chao, 1931 ed.)

its local culture made the topic of a novel, but many of the scenes might have seemed redundant to them. Furthermore, such a readership might have expected a language enriched with local dialect expressions, which again Li Hanqiu used only to a limited extent. This too is an indication that he consciously wrote with a national audience in mind. The publication of The Tides of Guangling in the Shanghai National Herald, one of the largest daily newspapers of early twentieth-century China, illustrates the enormous popularity Li Hanqiu enjoyed at the time. Often Li Hanqiu would write five or six novels at a time for various periodicals, without mixing up characters or plots. A popu lar saying in Shanghai went: “There is no page fi ller without Zheng, and there is no paper without Li.” This saying implied that a newspaper cover without Zheng Yimei (1895– 1992) was unthinkable, and a literary supplement was only complete with an installment of a novel by Li Hanqiu.21 Shortly before his death, in 1923, Li

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Hanqiu himself wrote the first chapter of a sequel, entitled The New Tides of Guangling (Xin Guangling chao, 1929), which after his death was continued and completed by Cheng Zhanlu (1879–1943), a writer from Suzhou.22 With the development of Shanghai as the center of the Chinese fi lm industry, The Tides of Guangling was made into a film directed by Chen Kengran (1905– 1958), issued in 1936.23 The initial title, Mirror of Transition, refers to the transition from late Qing times to the Republic of China. Li wrote his novel between the first year of the Xuantong era (1909) and the eighth year of the Republic (1919). These eleven years coincide with a period of dramatic changes in Chinese society, and writers like Li Hanqiu drew inspiration from the dichotomy of old and new. Li was known for his open mind, but also for his support of Confucian ideals, and a deep melancholic affection for the traditional way of life as practiced in Yangzhou. Therefore, even though he is counted among writers of social novels, he puts less stress on social issues than many of his younger colleagues who published novels about a decade later. Though Li Hanqiu enjoyed public support throughout his literary career, contemporary and subsequent critics have been less enthusiastic about Li’s achievements. Literary critics within the May Fourth Movement (wusi yundong), which advocated realistic and socially as well as politically involved literary writing, were particularly ambivalent about Li. The influential essayist and language reformer Hu Shi (1891–1962) gave the following verdict: “Among the novels of today The Tides of Guangling has to be regarded as literature of high quality, [ . . . ] yet it is not comparable to works in a similar position in the ranks of the New Literature.”24 Similarly, the May Fourth activist, poet, and journalist Qu Qiubai (1899–1935) characterized the novel as “somewhat shoddy, but it still dominates the book market today.”25 These short statements summarize most of what literary critics of the May Fourth Movement had to say about Li Hanqiu. Although his literary talents had to be acknowledged, his lack of political idealism and expression made it impossible to include him among the ranks of the writers of New Literature. To distance May Fourth Literature from novels like those Li Hanqiu wrote, the protagonists of the May Fourth Movement created the term “Mandarinducks-and-butterflies school” (Yuanyang hudie pai), minted in particular to disparage the oeuvres of modern urban popular fiction.26 To the ears of most Westerners, “mandarin ducks and butterflies” may have a romantic connotation, but the term’s meaning was nevertheless polemical and used as a label for allegedly shallow popular fiction, particularly for clichéd love

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stories.27 But though disparaged by the May Fourth intellectuals, these “Mandarin-ducks-and-butterflies school” novels sold very well. The stark contrast between broad public favor and the scorn of progressive literary critics must have been as much a consolation for Li Hanqiu as a thorn in the side of politically motivated writers. Nevertheless, the disparaging label stuck with such persistence to his name that, until the mid-1980s, his work was only mentioned rarely and in passing in literary histories of China. With the growing success of the social novel in the 1930s and the new line taken in Communist cultural politics, interest in Li Hanqiu declined and a prolonged period of neglect began. In 1946, three years before the founding of the People’s Republic of China, The Tides of Guangling was once more published in Shanghai before disappearing from the limelight. It took forty years before the talent of Li Hanqiu was recognized again in 1985, when The Tides of Guangling was republished in Suzhou.28 The Tides of Guangling evidently did not fit in well with the ideology of revolutionaries. Yet nobody could deny its merits and mysterious charm. Lu Xun admitted that not only had he read it, but he also recalled that his grandmother had bought every issue of a certain newspaper so as not to miss a single episode of this novel, which combined romance and the drama of human life, spiced with a strong dose of the local flavor of Yangzhou.29



The Tides of Guangling Chapter One Deserting a Village to Avoid a Famine, a Maid Chooses a Master; Performing Superstitious Rituals, a Young Wife Prays for a Son The Twenty-four Bridge of Yangzhou had fallen into neglect a long time ago, and by and by the city had turned into a small village.30 Here there lived a peasant family named Huang. They were just husband and wife. Being honest, simple, and law abiding, they farmed several acres of poor soil. Country people seldom know how to give style or courtesy names, and as people saw that Huang had neither elder nor younger brothers, they just called him Huang the Eldest (Huang Da), and his wife they called Aunt Huang the Eldest (Huang Dama).31

Li Hanqiu’s Novel The Tides of Guangling

In age they were both already over thirty. Living independently by their own toil and labor, they had no great demands, being both modest and happy. As everyone knows, in this world even families of great riches and power do suffer strains of bad luck. Now this couple of hard-working peasants was no exception: During the daytime they supported each other in their hard work, and when evening came they shared the night’s sleep in the same bed. Such a life is also not always that easy. It just so happened that in this particular year, when another winter had passed and spring came, not a drop of rain was granted them. The barren earth of the fields was cracked and dry, and it was only too obvious that one could not plant wheat. Only by the end of the fourth month a bit of rain finally fell. The entire village rushed out to plant the young rice seedlings. But who could have expected that after such a long drought would come such a long wet period! One after another, forty-five days of heavy rain were to follow. The fields lay flooded in the vast expense of swamp and water, and the harvest of that entire year was beyond hope. According to the habits of the village it was the task of the women to stay at home, apart from the busy season in the fields, while all the others left and went searching for luck in the cities in order to make a living. Now in this year, when they had suffered such changes of weather, gradually everybody had left for the city. Finally Huang the Eldest and his wife also reached the point where they had to discuss this option. First Huang the Eldest planned to go out to town, leaving Aunt Huang the Eldest to stay behind to take care of the family’s house and property. But his wife said: “It is no use—you cannot do that! You are a man, and you depend on the strength of your muscles to earn your daily food. And our family has earned its living for generations by tilling and planting the fields, and we have never ever wanted to be ordered around. Furthermore, you have an upright and unyielding temperament. You will never be able to adjust to such new conditions, serving others from morning till evening! It will be in vain that you spoil your good name, your innocence, and that you lose your self-respect! Rather let me go to the city and fi nd out about the situation there. And if by chance I would find a good household, it would not even need to be a rich one, and if I would be treated with decency and they would let me keep my face, and if they would not behave like slave traders pushing around their maids, I would be ready to live under their roof and make it my home for the time being. You stay at home and wait for the water to retreat, plant some rice seedlings, and when the weather has

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improved, I can still come back and be together with you. Wouldn’t that be a long-term plan?” Huang the Eldest was uncertain what to do and followed his wife’s advice. On the following evening she packed her things, and early next morning she bade Huang the Eldest farewell and left for the city. There she went straight to the house of a go-between.32 On the very first day, that go-between sent her to the house of a large gentry family. There she saw male and female servants in great number. But among the maidservants, there was not one without fragrant oiled hair and powdered face, their lips so heavily colored with rouge that deep inside she was quite amazed. The time after lunch was spent in a playful and joking mood. Some maids went looking for the elder uncle of the main house, the eldest son, chatted for a while, laughed and jokingly scolded each other a bit, until they finally ended up on his bed, tangled up until their hairpins came off and their hair was all in disorder. Really—Aunt Huang the Eldest had no idea what they were thinking! How could they behave in such a way with their master? On the next day she would rather have died than to cross the threshold of that house again. The go-between knew no other way out but to send her to another family. This time the head of the household was the manager of a large bank. There she first met two or three rather rustic male servants, but honest and well behaved nevertheless. When she arrived the landlord was not even up yet, but all of a sudden he called for the new maid to bring some tea and a few breakfast dishes. When Aunt Huang the Eldest pushed the door open to come into the room, the bed curtains had already been hooked up. With one glance, she saw that there were two people sharing a pillow. Instinctively she was startled and, taking a deep breath, she felt that this was really an embarrassing sight. Yet she told herself that she was just old fashioned, and that at times she had also shared a bed with Huang the Eldest, not thinking anything of it. So why then should she now consider the same behavior with others as strange and ugly? Nevertheless she stopped and did not dare to come any further into the room. Who would have thought that her mistress now snapped at her, cursing her for not knowing the proper rules, and for failing to serve in style? Aunt Huang the Eldest understood that her mistress did not care in the least how the previous scene had looked to her. So she just stood there, hands by her side, and muttered obediently: “Mistress. . . .” Afterward she served tea and

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water, and was busy all through the morning. Later the master went out, and her mistress lit the opium pipe. She called for Aunt Huang the Eldest to massage her legs and her back until the maid was all worn out. But Aunt Huang the Eldest was by no means annoyed or offended. She looked at this scene realizing that even noble families spent their lives in completely inappropriate ways. The following day, she was once again not willing to go back there by any means. On the third day she came to yet another household, and finally this was a family that Aunt Huang the Eldest really approved of and looked up to. The head of the household had the family name Yun; his first name was Jin, and he ran a tiny embroidery shop. His wife’s name was Qin. They were both just thirty years of age, and they did not have any children yet. The shop was just a few dozen steps away from the house, and Yun Jin spent much of his time there. Mrs. Qin was both pretty and virtuous. She already had a maid, but because that maid planned to go back to her parents to give birth, she wanted to hire a second one. As soon as Aunt Huang the Eldest entered the house, the former maidservant, who was already long since very familiar with the members of the household, explained everything to her in most careful detail. Aunt Huang the Eldest saw her mistress was a truly friendly and kind person, which again made it easy for her to feel at home. Mrs. Qin managed all the household and family affairs, the daily food and tea breaks, using a young employee from the embroidery shop for deliveries. Every time some annual feast or occasional celebration came along, she would arrange the latest seasonal dishes and then just order Aunt Huang the Eldest to call Yun Jin back home from the shop to have a cup of wine together. All year long they lived in complete harmony, from the spring flowers to the autumn moon, and you could say that their life was just like true heaven on earth. But the human heart is the most vicious of all things. For whenever it meets with something new and previously unknown, it employs all the schemes and devices you could possibly think of to obtain it. The couple had been married now for nearly ten years, but Mrs. Qin had not given birth yet. Once it was said that she was ill, then again she was not, but Yun Jin did not mind so much yet anyway. His wife, however, frequently sought divine help and consulted fortune-tellers. She was very preoccupied and entirely focused on getting pregnant and on whether or not she felt pain anywhere in her womb.

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But in addition to this it was Mrs. Qin’s mother who was most concerned about her beloved daughter. Although her other sons had already brought grandchildren into the family, she still felt it to be a family flaw that no external grandson had yet been born.33 She inquired incessantly all around, until all of a sudden she heard of a place beyond the West Gate (Ximen) called Niudawang.34 There lived a certain Aunt Ye (Ye gugu), who was said to be the granddaughter of the late Honorable Lord Ye (Ye taiye) from the City God Temple (chenghuangmiao).35 Aunt Ye had refused to marry in her time, and now the spirit of the Honorable Lord Ye would frequently return to his previous home and possess her body. He decided about people’s bad or good luck, responded to wishes for wealth and riches, as well as answering prayers about receiving a son. And if by chance his decree predicted that there would be neither wealth nor son, then this Honorable Lord Ye could negotiate with the Old Venerable City God, who could still lend him a bit of extra luck. For that reason, he caused such excitement amongst both rural and urban folk, that Aunt Ye’s small, three-room thatched hut was fi lled day and night with the hum of people. The history of Honorable Lord Ye is probably not well known to outsiders. According to legend, he had in his lifetime held the position of a runner in the county office in Yangzhou. After his death, his soul had not perished, but went on to serve in the netherworld. The old members of his clan had a clay statue of him put up in the City God Temple. This statue not only reflected a very manly appearance, it was also very lifelike. It was said that a great many daughters of important families came to pray to him for sons or even for grandsons. This is a perfect example of “modest in life, but glorious after death.” But this is mere gossip, and there is no need to talk about it any longer. However, when it came to Mrs. Qin’s old mother, she believed it all as soon as she heard it. She was so delighted that she could not fall asleep at night, and planned to go there on behalf of her daughter and to pray for a son. Therefore she simply arranged to go with Mrs. Qin to Aunt Ye’s village.36 It was exactly the middle week of the ninth lunar month, just the time of the Mid-Autumn festival. According to the traditional customs of Yangzhou, the twenty-sixth day of the ninth month was the birthday of Bodhisattva Guanyin (Guanyin Pusa), the Goddess of Mercy.37 Among pious men and women,38 no one would fail to make a pilgrimage to Guanyin Mountain (Guanyinshan) to burn incense.

Li Hanqiu’s Novel The Tides of Guangling

Guanyin Mountain is situated just over ten miles from the town. However, it is also on the way to Aunt Ye’s village. Mrs. Qin informed her husband Yun Jin and decided to set off from the city on the nineteenth and stroll out for a day. On that day the weather turned out to be clear and pleasant. But before they left she made a large yellow cloth bag, and filled it with plenty of incense sticks, candles, and “paper horses” for the offerings.39 On the bag she wrote in large letters the words “Visiting the Mountain to Offer Incense.”40 She told Yun Jin to take care of the house and the shop, and hired a small cart for herself and Aunt Huang the Eldest to take them first to her mother’s village, where her mother would wait for them outside Extended Storage Gate (Guangchumen). All along the way they saw the withered leaves of the poplar trees and white grass, showing that it was indeed already late autumn. At noon, when the sun was high, they arrived at the foot of the mountain, and though there were many visitors, the mountain was nowhere near as crowded as it would have been during the festive season of the sixth month.41 The mother and daughter got off the cart, and in devout piety they walked up the hill. Aunt Huang the Eldest accompanied Mrs. Qin, while the coachman shouldered the pilgrimage bag. They saw nothing but beggars on both sides of the path, amid a noisy chaos of shouting and quarreling.42 The beggars’ children were also there, following the pilgrims wherever they went. With each step they kowtowed and begged for money, yet the pilgrims entering the temple and burning incense just ignored them. Seeing that nobody paid any attention, the young beggars finally resorted to abusing and cursing the pilgrims. They went up to the eaves of the Great Hall. There, [in the outer corridor under the eaves], neatly laid out in line, were some ten straw cushions. They were provided like this because on that festivity there were so many people that they could not all wait for their turn to get into the hall to perform the rituals. Among them were also young rascals who had come especially to chase young women. When a woman was about to kneel down, one of them would just slip to her left side to perform the ritual at the same time, giving the impression that a newlywed couple were praying in front of red wedding candles. When they had finished praying, the youth would just wait for the next young woman, and then leisurely perform his kowtow once more. In the course of one day, he must have accounted for the largest share of all the kowtows that Bodhisattva Guanyin received. As Guanyin is the most merciful of all, she will surely reserve some favors for him.

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Mrs. Qin observed this scene and truly felt too embarrassed to step up and kowtow. For a while she hesitated, but she waited in vain for an opportunity to kowtow without any of the young men beside her. Her small bound feet also started to hurt from standing there. Her old mother did not comprehend at all why she was behaving like this, and urged her to move forward instead. But Mrs. Qin did not dare to speak up in front of all these people. She merely stood there, hovering hesitantly. Aunt Huang the Eldest immediately understood what was going on, and just told her not to worry. With one hand she supported Mrs. Qin’s arm, while propping up the old lady with her other hand. She then told the old lady to kneel down on a cushion to the left, leaving the cushion in the middle free for Mrs. Qin to kneel on, while she herself rushed to kneel on the cushion on the right. They thus finally found a way to pray to Guanyin easily, without anybody taking advantage of them. The old lady said that in the rear of the temple there was still another hall, called the Hall of Guanyin, the Deliverer of Sons (Songzi Guanyintang), where one hundred prayers would truly turn into one hundred fulfi lled wishes. Immediately after speaking she stepped in first. Mrs. Qin, taking Aunt Huang the Eldest by the hand, followed her. Inside there were no young men doing any weird kowtows. Only a few men came in to take a look, casually gazing at the women, and that was all they did. But there really were many women inside, some were worshipping, some were kneeling, one after another in an endless stream. There were also some of those piously praying forty- or fift y-year-olds, who perhaps had never been pregnant, and were afraid that their husband might take a concubine. One way or another, they saw no alternative but to come here and try this method. The most interesting person was a servant girl aged seventeen or eighteen, who was also kowtowing there with a bashful smile. One might have assumed that she was praying for a son, though this would really make no sense at all. Yet if we seriously tried to be in her shoes, she might have been asking the Bodhisattva to give her some predestined number of children, boys or girls, to secure her future via a marriage with her master’s family. If she only prayed for a son later in haste, it might be all too late. After Mrs. Qin had performed the ceremony, she felt awfully tired, and just flung herself in a chair and took a deep breath. But luckily there came a young monk, bringing a golden lacquer tray with two cups of tea, which he placed on a small table while looking at Mrs. Qin with a discreet smile.

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Suddenly her old mother reached out to the shrine of Buddha, and clandestinely snatched a paper flower. She did not mention this to Mrs. Qin, but just stuck the flower into her hair. According to the old lady’s thinking, if it were not for the fact that today they were to go to the home village of Aunt Ye to pray for a son, she would certainly have reached out for the clay statue of a small child in the niche to steal it for Mrs. Qin. But she was all too afraid that Honorable Lord Ye would be oversensitive and say, “Since you are praying for a son from me, why did you go steal a child right in front of Guanyin?” Two such tricks certainly wouldn’t look good. This is the way old people think, based on their “profound experience.” Mrs. Qin sat down sideways and eyed quite a few women, each in turn clutching a bamboo container and divination sticks with their hands, shaking these objects frantically.43 Among them was a very pretty young woman; from her looks she might not have been older than twenty. She too chose one of the divination sticks and then passed it to a middle-aged woman, who then handed it over to the monk who was in charge of interpreting the signs on the sticks. This monk had a fat head with a broad face, and his eyebrows looked like the chalice of the new moon, so neat and regular— probably he took out a brush and combed them every day. Taking her divination stick, he had not even yet taken the card that explains the sign from its shelf on the wall, when he promptly shouted out: “Young lady, come here please!” Luckily the smart young lady shot him a glance and stepped forward, for if it looked as if she hadn’t done so, the monk would have pulled her by her sleeves to his side, and that would certainly not have looked good! The monk said: “This is sign number thirty-five—great luck, great luck!” While with one hand he took a slip of paper with the explanation from the wall, he asked the young woman: “The young lady is probably looking for a son?” The young woman replied with a kind of forced smile and a twist of her head: “Would you mind just telling me what that divination sign says, whether there are signs for a son or not,” as her face blushed slightly. The monk hastily said: “This is no empty talk from a young monk! It is merely that this particular stick contains a highly auspicious sign! I will read it to the young lady, so you may hear it. If the young lady has come to ask for a son, then this is really most wonderful. The first line goes: ‘The story of Jiang Lang, the Young Man from the River, is deeply miraculous.’

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This refers to nothing else but a story from the great Tang dynasty about a young woman, the daughter of General Yin Kaishan, who was married to a Mister Chen. After she gave birth to a little young master, this young woman let him drift down a river.”44 While the monk told all this, a lot of women crowded around them. They formed a large circle, listening to what the monk explained about the divination sign. Now that monk felt just very pleased with himself, and he began to tell the entire story, from the point when Mr. Chen met the robbers and was killed, up to when Chen Xuanzang left his family to become a monk. He was just happily preaching along, when suddenly a young monk appeared to call him to lunch. Hastily he told him: “I caught a slight cold today, my throat hurts quite a bit, I really can’t eat at all.” Then, eagerly looking at the crowd of people, he said: “My honorable young sisters and ladies, if you love to listen to me so much, allow me to let the monk in me speak out freely, as below the surface of this monk you will still find plenty more fun.” He had spoken these words without thinking much, but there were some clever women who looked down at their feet, spat sideways on the ground and turned to go away. The monk did not notice this at all, and started continuing once more. Some of the women said aside with a mischievous smile: “The sore throat of this honorable monk hurts too much for him to eat, yet when he speaks his sore throat doesn’t hurt at all.” This remark brought the young woman back to her senses. She rose apologetically, saying quickly: “Honorable Master, please take a rest!” The monk hastily answered: “Don’t worry, young lady, I am already completely out of pain!” And he expounded all four lines of the divination thoroughly down to the end, before he finally dropped it. By the time the monk had talked up to that point, Mrs. Qin and the others had already left the monastery and were by now close to Niudawang. Because Mrs. Qin was the wife of a shopkeeper and a woman from a good family, she had been brought up in the rules of good and elegant behavior. Today she had set out because she really and sincerely wanted to pray for a male descendant. Seeing the monk behave in such a way must have made her feel truly embarrassed. She hurriedly urged her old mother down the mountain. The old lady had rather enjoyed listening to these stories, and all along the way she still went on talking with Mrs. Qin about that “monk drifting down the river.” She could not figure out who that Young Man from the River really was, but it was surely not Chen Xuanzang from the Tang

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dynasty. While they were still discussing this, they arrived at the gate of Aunt Ye, where under some willow trees a few sedan chairs stood. Through the door there was a small courtyard, some benches and stools with crooked legs spread about at random, plus several sets of tables. The thatched hut was filled with the thick haze of incense, and some larger incense sticks made of sandalwood still smoldering.45 Under the eaves were thronged quite a lot of people, and seeing female guests arriving, they rushed to see how they were received inside the hut. Mrs. Qin followed her mother inside, where a few women of the family were already assembled. They saw that the house was designated for worshipping a deity, which was hidden by a yellow veil, so they could not tell whether it was a statue or some ancestor tablet. A woman of just over forty was lying on a bed. Her hair was bound up with a piece of yellow silk and she wore a Daoist dress made of yellow cotton. With her eyes tightly shut, she muttered to herself [as well as to somebody invisible to the others in the room]: “Oh, what a pitiful, pitiful statue of clay, put right under the edges of the roof, where the raindrops have caved a large hole into the back of it!” “Please, would someone take some yellow mud, and just mend it for me?” “How many strings of cash is your yellow mud?” She paused for a while; and then continued: “But you demand too much! I’ll give you one string of copper cash and that’s it.” Again she seemed to be arguing with someone, and they heard that she went up to two strings of cash. After a little while she showed signs of waking up, stretched, yawned, and sat up, first very carefully, rubbing her eyes, before looking at a man next to her and saying: “You just heard it, did you?” The man replied: “Yes, I’ve heard it. I pray—could the Celestial Lady (xiangu) Aunt Ye still go down with the price a little bit more?” Aunt Ye said: “How could it be lowered further! Look at the great hole in your father’s figurine! It is even bigger than a walnut, how could it not make his back sore? The small amount of two strings of cash is just because this person was an apprentice of my father. Only because of that has he agreed!” She was still speaking when another woman came up, holding a small child who was about three years old. Its face was thin and completely bloodless. But when it was placed into the arms of the Celestial Lady Aunt Ye, its nostrils started to flare in convulsion. The Celestial Lady inspected it for a while, then looked gruntingly at the child, recited a few verses and said: “Wait for me to enter a trance.46 I will

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take a look for you, and find out what the reason behind all this is—you just wait and listen!” Stretching her legs, she seemed to pass out again. After a long time she suddenly cried out and said: “Terrible, terrible, the image of this boy—how could it be put in front of its mother’s statue? While there is no one there, let me just move it [placing it behind her image] to protect him.”47 She stopped for a moment and then said: “That will do it alright.” For a long time no sound could be heard, and during this time the people inside and outside the room were all quiet. No one dared to speak aloud. Suddenly they heard the Celestial Lady cry out loud, yelling: “I would never dare, Lord of Supreme Justice (qingtian yeye), have mercy on me!” Again they saw the Celestial Lady shield her back with her hands, at which time the mother of the Celestial Lady also started to cry, saying that it was her daughter that had to save the world all on her own, that she was now interrogated by the Old Venerable Lord, the City God, and now he was beating and torturing her! “Look! Isn’t he flogging her back?” Everyone in the room was so scared that they just looked at each other, not knowing what to do. It was really hard to listen to the Celestial Lady’s crying. After a short while she awoke, but it was too hard for her to sit up. Still lying on the bed she cried in pain. Then she looked at that woman and said: “Don’t you worry about your son! I took his small statue and placed it behind yours. Now he is safe to grow up to become an adult and to take care of your funeral. It is only me who got punished with the leather whip, but in the end I will have suffered it all for nothing.” This woman with the child was really very sorry for her, pulled a hairpin from her head and gave it to the Celestial Lady who took it, tucked it to her bosom, and only then looked at Mrs. Qin and her mother, asking what had brought them here. The old mother did all the talking for Mrs. Qin and told the Celestial Lady about her wish for a baby. The Celestial Lady weighed up Mrs. Qin’s appearance very carefully, before saying: “So, is she perhaps asking for a girl, or is she asking for a boy? If you want me to carry a baby boy for you in my arms, the price would be ten strings of qian; a baby girl would be only five strings. Either way the child will grow up nicely.” The old grandmother again made matters clear that a male child was their desire, and she gave her five strings of cash. The Celestial Lady agreed,

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and then told Mrs. Qin to kowtow before the Great Venerable Lord Magistrate Ye and say one cycle of prayers and tell him her wishes. Then, from below her bed, she fumbled out a piece of realgar, telling Mrs. Qin that this was flower of sulfur, called “the essence of heroes.” If only she would wear this on her skin and beneath her underclothes, she would with all certainty give birth to a boy. To Aunt Huang the Eldest who witnessed all this from the side, it nearly seemed as if her mistress had already given birth to a son! Wasn’t this touching, indeed? She was about to ask for one as well, but she felt too embarrassed to speak out aloud. The Celestial Lady saw it quite clearly anyway, saying: “And this lady, does she also want a baby? You are from a lower class, so from you I would ask only two strings of cash. It’s just because of my soft heart—I couldn’t make it a habit.” The grandmother said: “That’s true, Aunt Huang the Eldest, you haven’t got any children either, so you must certainly ask for one, too! But as you are poor, I will ask the Celestial Lady on your behalf, and I will just give her one string of cash—go quickly and pray to Old Magistrate Ye!” Sure enough, Aunt Huang the Eldest also prayed, and the Celestial Lady once again fetched a piece of realgar, though compared to Mrs. Qin’s it was about half the size. Both the mistress and the servant woman felt really happy at heart. The sun was already about to set when they took farewell and left the Celestial Lady. Teasingly the old lady said to Aunt Huang the Eldest: “Praying for children is the easy part—now you needn’t come back with us! Where should the son come from otherwise? We are not far from your home, so tonight you don’t have to go back to town.” Aunt Huang the Eldest only chuckled bashfully and looked at her mistress. Mrs. Qin had always been a mild and generous character. She thoughtfully weighed her mother’s words and found that they really made sense. Therefore she duly told Aunt Huang the Eldest to go back to her own home, to take off some three to five days, but not to come back too late after that. Aunt Huang the Eldest felt very grateful and straightaway returned to her own home. Mother and daughter climbed into the cart right away and once again passed through the Extended Storage Gate. When they entered the city, the lights had already been lit. Mrs. Qin at first went directly to her mother’s home. My dear readers, while mother and daughter are still on the road, I shall tell you a bit about the home of Mrs. Qin’s mother. Originally she was born into the family of the County Chief Secretary (xian zongshu), and with this position being inherited in the family over the generations, the family’s

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financial situation was quite favorable. Mrs. Qin’s father had passed away many years ago. His wife, Mrs. Zheng, was the mother of one son and two daughters. The son, named Luozhong, was married to Mrs. He, the daughter of a certain scholar in the city, and they already had two sons: one, Rulong, was eight years of age, and the other, Ruhu, was five years old. Mrs. Qin had one younger sister who was number three according to the order of the line, so the family just called her Third Girl (San guniang). The same year she was to be betrothed to somebody of the Wu family from this city, but since she was not married yet, right now she was at home talking to her brother’s wife, wondering why her mother hadn’t returned home yet. Since she knew that she would arrive with her elder sister, she had prepared quite a few dishes for them. Luozhong had also sent someone over to bring ten pounds of crabs. When Rulong and his brother had heard that their grandmother would return from Guanyin Mountain together with their aunt, and surely would bring them some toys, they leaped about the house in great excitement, occasionally snatching one of the crabs and telling the old female servant to untie its large pincers, which were tied with a rope to one of its smaller claws. But those little claws could also easily break off by themselves, leaving the crab with seven little claws, on which it would scuttle off in a hurry. Ruhu, in a great hubbub, ran after the crab, stumbled, fell down and started to scream. Third Girl laughed so hard that her flower hairpins clattered, but then she took Ruhu onto her lap and coaxed him to cheer him up, and when she finally saw her mother and elder sister come in, she laughed at Ruhu, patted him and said: “Look, Aunty (gumu) has returned, and she has brought you a nice spirit mask to wear.” The grandmother said: “Why is Tiger Cub (Hu‘er) crying?48 I guess your elder sister must have hit you! Wait, I’ll smack her!” Rulong replied: “No, it wasn’t like that! He fell all by himself.” But grandmother didn’t hear this. By now Mrs. He had come out of the main room, greeted the old lady and commented smilingly on the hardships the elder sister surely had taken upon herself. Mrs. Qin answered with a smile, “Now, today I am really exhausted!” As an aside she ordered someone to send off the cab and called for the toys to be brought in for the children from the cart. The young brothers were in total excitement: “You take the wooden sword, I’ll take the flower drum!” They made a hubbub as if they were setting the house on fire and bringing the roof down.

Li Hanqiu’s Novel The Tides of Guangling

The old lady reclined on the oven-bed,49 stretching her hands backward and pounding her waist. Mrs. Qin sat down and put her legs up. Kneading them left and right with her fingers she said with a smile: “Oh, we did not even go such a long way today, yet how come I can hardly lift my legs anymore?” Then she told her sister-in-law about everything that had happened to them on this day, one thing after another. When she came to the point where the Celestial Lady was maltreated, making everyone present shiver with fear, Third Girl laughed out: “What sort of ‘Celestial Lady’ is this who can see ghosts while still being alive? And if I may ask—could you see any wounds on her back?” Mrs. Qin replied, “She was wearing clothes—how could we have removed them to have a look?” Third Girl said, “But then again—if you have never seen her before, how did you just believe she was screaming from real pain?” The old lady listened to this and said anxiously: “Amitabha Buddha— Third, you little brat!50 How do you dare to slander the way of the sangha? 51 A Celestial Lady in the flesh among the living! She faced exhaustion to save others and suffered for nothing but others’ rescue. You haven’t even seen her, yet you don’t hesitate to talk such nonsense. There is nothing left to say except that Magistrate Ye was loyal and upright throughout his lifetime, and therefore he naturally turned into a god upon his death. Someone whom he calls his granddaughter he would never let trick people!” Mrs. He now admitted, “I would rather believe it to be true than not, and I hope that the one thousand miraculous deities will fulfill the ten thousand wishes, and that Longhu’s aunt will return home and give birth to a baby boy. Then eggs of happiness will be offered to eat.”52 Third Girl merely chuckled. After a short while the servants served dinner. After dinner Third Girl said, “Elder Sister could stay for a few days with us at our home—how about that?” But the old lady said, “Tonight we need to send her home, but if she wants to return here she can do so some other day.” Mrs. Qin remembered what her mother had previously said to Aunt Huang the Eldest and could not help blushing all over. It simply emanated from her cheeks, as she replied, “Tonight I won’t go back.” When the old lady heard this, she did not agree at all. She put on a grave expression and said, “Elder daughter, no nonsense now, don’t you think that you should take the Bodhisattva seriously? What have you set out for today then?”

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With that said, she ordered the servants to bring the sedan chair and take their mistress back home. By now Mrs. He had also grasped what was behind all this, and did not urge her sister-in-law to stay on, either. Yet seeing that Mrs. Qin was not happy, but just too shy to speak out, Mrs. He clasped the hands of Third Girl, and to ease the situation she added bashfully, “The day before yesterday I had sent someone to ask you to bring the stitching pattern ‘Fivefold Happiness Circling Longevity.’53 If you haven’t drawn it for me yet, I will send somebody over to you with a sedan chair in a day to pick you up, and you will bring it over, won’t you?” Third Girl agreed, and together with her sister-in-law she saw off Mrs. Qin, who mounted the sedan chair. When Mrs. Qin arrived at her front door, the elderly female servant came out and helped her out of the vehicle. Suddenly Mrs. Qin saw that the door was slightly ajar. Pushing the door open she went in straight away. But in the living room there were no lamps burning. Deep inside she was bewildered, and she shouted out aloud, “Why is the door open and not properly shut?” Before she could even finish saying the first word, Mrs. Qin glimpsed a fluff y black thing leaping out of the dark, jumping right into her face. She screamed and collapsed into the arms of the old servant lady. If you want to find out what happened next, please read on in the subsequent chapter.

Notes 1. For a list of his major publications, see Wei Minghua, “Yangzhou de yuanyang hudie pai,” in Wei Minghua, Guangling juechang (Tianjin: Baihua wenyi, 2003), 214–215. Apart from his novels, Li Hanqiu also published short stories and essays under the title Notes from the Pavilion of Permeating Fragrance (Qinxiangge biji). 2. Zhang Henshui, in his preface to Li Hanqiu’s Guangling chao (Shanghai: Baixin shuju, 1946), saw similarities between the literary style of Li Hanqiu and the narrating style of the local storytelling tradition of Yangzhou. 3. See Wu Dafu, Yangzhou caizi Li Hanqiu wenxue yanjiu (Taiyuan: Shanxi renmin, 2010), 11–12. 4. Wu Dafu, “Li Hanqiu nianpu chubian,” Zhongguo gudai xiaoshuo gang, http://www .zggdxs.com/Article/yjzl/zjzj/201106/2943.html. 5. See Wu Dafu, Yangzhou caizi Li Hanqiu wenxue yanjiu, 13–17. 6. See Wei Minghua, “Yangzhou de yuanyang hudie pai,” 215. 7. Li Hanqiu, Guangling chao (Suzhou: Suzhou guji, 1985). 8. See Liu Mingkun, Li Hanqiu xiaoshuo lungao (Beijing: Renmin, 2010), 13. 9. See Li Bai, “Seeing off Meng Haoran for Guangling at the Yellow Crane Tower” (Huanghelou song Meng Haoran zhi Guangling), in Peng Dingqiu et al., eds., Quan Tang shi (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1960), j. 174, 5:1785. For a translation, see Witter Bynner, trans., The Jade

Li Hanqiu’s Novel The Tides of Guangling Mountain: A Chinese Anthology. Being Three Hundred Poems of the T‘ang Dynasty 618–906 (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1945), 54. 10. Wei Minghua, “Ping Guangling chao,” in Wei Minghua, Yangzhou wenhua tanpian (Yangzhou: Guangling shushe, 2004), 25–26. 11. See The Tides of Huangpu (Xiepu chao, 1916–1921) by Haishang Shuomengren (pseudonym of Zhu Shouju, life dates unknown); or The Tides of the Human Ocean (Renhai chao, 1926) by Wangzhu sheng (pseudonym of Ping Heng, 1892–1978). Chen Shenyan, in his preface to the 1946 edition of Guangling chao, mentions that there were “over ten” such works. 12. The first actual “Yangzhou novel” was Dream of Romance (Fengyue meng, preface 1848). See the translation and commentary by Patrick Hanan in Chapter 12 of the present volume. Among the first representative Shanghai novels was Han Bangqing’s (1856–1894) Lives of Shanghai Flowers (Haishang hua liezhuan, 1892–1894); a later example was Zhu Shouju’s The Tides of Huangpu. See Alexander Des Forges, Mediasphere Shanghai: The Aesthetics of Cultural Production (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2007). 13. Des Forges, Mediasphere Shanghai, 169. 14. As quoted in Wei Minghua, “Ping Guangling chao,” 24. 15. On the use and description of local customs in The Tides of Guangling, see Liu Mingkun, Li Hanqiu xiaoshuo lungao, 180. 16. This literary technique is best expressed by the term “modern social love story” ( jindai shehui yanqing xiaoshuo). On the development of this term, see Liu Mingkun and Fan Xiujun, “Lun shehui yanqing xiaoshuo Guangling chao zhong de xinshi nüxing xingxiang,” Hunan gongcheng xueyuan xuebao (shehui kexue ban) 2 (2007): 32–34. 17. See Zhang Yihong, “Li Hanqiu xiansheng zhuanlüe,” in Yangzhou wenshi ziliao (di 3 ji), ed. Zhongguo renmin zhengzhi xieshang huiyi Jiangsusheng Yangzhoushi weiyuanhui wenshi ziliao yanjiu weiyuanhui (Yangzhou: Zhengxie Jiangsusheng Yangzhoushi weiyuanhui wenshi ziliao yanjiu weiyuanhui, 1983), 70. 18. On the formal links between modern popular fiction and the traditional linked-chapter vernacular novel (zhanghui xiaoshuo), see Roland Altenburger, The Sword or the Needle: The Female Knight-errant (xia) in Traditional Chinese Narrative (Bern: Peter Lang, 2009), 322. 19. He Haiming, “Dao Li Hanqiu,” quoted in Liu Mingkun, Li Hanqiu xiaoshuo lungao, 1. See Tarumoto Akio, ed., Shinpen zōho shinmatsu minsho shōsetsu mokuroku (Jinan: Jinan shushe, 2002), 216 (no. 0735), 209 (nos. 0578, 0579). 20. See Tarumoto Akio, Shinpen zōho shinmatsu minsho shōsetsu mokuroku, 209 (no. 0582). 21. See Wei Minghua, “Yangzhou de yuanyang hudie pai,” 215. 22. See Cheng Zhanlu, Xin Guangling chao (Yangzhou: Jiangsu Guangling guji keyinshe, 1998). 23. See Alan Goble, CITWF Complete Index to World Film, http://www.citwf.com /fi lm138858.htm. 24. See Hu Shi, “Jianshe de wenxue geming lun” (On a constructive proposal of literary revolution), quoted in Wei Minghua, “Ping Guangling chao,” 23–24. 25. See Qu Qiubai, “Guimen yiwai de zhanzheng” (The war outside the gates of hell), quoted in Wei Minghua, “Ping Guangling chao,” 24. 26. For the use of the term “modern urban popu lar fiction” instead of the pejorative “Mandarin-duck-and-butterfly school,” see Altenburger, The Sword or the Needle, 321. 27. See Thomas Bärthlein, “Mirrors of Transition: Conflicting Images of Society in Change from Popular Chinese Social Novels, 1908 to 1930,” Modern China 25, no. 2 (1999): 204.

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Li Hanqiu’s Novel The Tides of Guangling 46. This is the implication of what is literally termed as “to go down” (xiaqu). 47. The added sentence clarifies what the medium claims to do while in trance: the Celestial Lady moves the image of the child into the rear of its mother’s image, in order to ensure the protection of the child by the mother; otherwise the child might die before her. 48. The nickname Tiger Cub is derived from his personal name Ruhu. 49. A kang is a heated bed made from bricks, used in Northern China. 50. Amitabha Buddha (Amituofo) is the Buddha of Infi nite Light, also known as the Buddha of the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss. As here, it is often used as an exclamation. The term of address San yatou is a pejorative modification of the nickname San guniang (Third Girl) used in her family. Evidently the mother expresses her indignation toward the blasphemous talk of Third Girl. 51. In “the way of the sangha” (sengdao), the Sanskrit word sangha refers to the community of ordained monks and nuns. 52. “Eggs of happiness” (xidan) are eggs dyed red and presented to friends on the third day after the birth of a baby. 53. In the phrase “Fivefold Happiness Circling Longevity” (wu fu pan shou), the word fu 䤸 (happiness) actually implies the homophone fu 圉 (bat). The character pan 䚍 (tray, plate) carries the meaning of its homophonous variant pan 垉 (to coil, twine round). The round stitching pattern in question accordingly shows five bats flying in a circle, surrounding the character shou ⢦ (longevity).

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Food and Local Place Zhu Ziqing’s Essay “Speaking of Yangzhou” (Shuo Yangzhou, 1934) Introduced, translated, and annotated by Antonia Finnane

In 1934 the publication of Chatting at Leisure about Yangzhou (Xianhua Yangzhou), a new guidebook for this old and now dilapidated city, precipitated a war of words in the literary world of Republican China.1 The author of the book was Yi Junzuo (1898–1972), a minor literary figure and Guomindang party member who in his official capacity (he worked for the Jiangsu Department of Education) had been forced to reside in Yangzhou for a few months in 1932. He was not impressed by the city, and in a lengthy introduction to the guidebook he described it in derogatory terms.2 Local outrage resulted, and numerous well-known writers of the time were stirred to print. Among them was Zhu Ziqing (1898–1948), whose essay “Speaking of Yangzhou” (Shuo Yangzhou) was published in a popular literary magazine a few months after the guidebook first appeared.3 Zhu Ziqing is regarded as one of the finest essayists of his generation. Born to a family of Shaoxing origin, he spent much of his childhood in Yangzhou, where his father held a minor official position. Schoolchildren in China are familiar with him as the author of “Seeing His Back” (Beiying), an essay written about parting from his father at Pukou railway station in 1917.4 His father was at that time looking for a new post in Nanjing, across the river from Pukou, while Zhu himself was returning to his studies at Peking University. Father and son had not long since observed the last rites for Zhu’s grandmother in Yangzhou. There was no rail connection to Yangzhou at that time. Pukou, one hundred kilometers southwest of Yangzhou, was the nearest station on the northern line, leading to Tianjin. Zhenjiang, across the Yangzi River to the south, was the nearest on the eastern. Located at the hub of an old communications network centered on water transport, Yangzhou was marginalized by the creation of railways in the early twentieth century. In the 1930s, it looked like a 308

Zhu Ziqing’s Essay “Speaking of Yangzhou”

Figure 15.1. Photographic Portrait of the Writer Zhu Ziqing. (Zhu Qiaosen, ed., Zhu Ziqing quanji)

thoroughly old-fashioned place. To Yi Junzuo it represented everything that China needed to discard: superstition, laziness, decadence, lack of hygiene, decrepit housing, public disorder, and a general moral turpitude that inclined women toward prostitution and men toward unpatriotic activities.5 Among the many essays written in response to Yi’s book, Zhu Ziqing’s is distinguished by the author’s refusal to engage with the premises of Yi’s critique. He bypasses the issue of nationalism taken up by Lu Xun (1881–1936), and of the legacy of the past, taken up by both Yu Dafu (1896–1945) and— from a different viewpoint—Cao Juren (1900–1972).6 He does mention the association of Yangzhou with prostitutes, but dismissively. He does not especially defend the reputation of Yangzhou people: His own experience of Yangzhou society, where by his own account he was something of an outsider, was by no means all pleasant, as he states.7 Instead, an essay that starts off being about the idiosyncrasies of local society ends up being an essay about food: nuts and melon seeds, noodles in soup, dried bean-curd threads, soup dumplings and stuffed steamed buns, among other things. At the time of writing, he was living in Beijing (or Beiping as it was then known), having been appointed to the Department of Literature at Tsinghua University in 1925. This may be why he was able to write so vividly about aspects of gastronomic life that in Yangzhou itself were

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unremarkable: the fragrance of good sesame oil being added to five-spice beef; the crashing sound of gingko nuts being tossed in the wok; the succulence of well-cooked noodles steeped in pure broth. Brought to reflect on his distant hometown by the rash of articles about it, he was, very probably, assailed by a nostalgia that had its sharpest expression in memories of food. In writing on this subject, Zhu Ziqing was not breaking new ground in Chinese literature. Food had historically been subjected to a range of literary treatments in works with which educated people of the Republican era were familiar: classic novels of the late Ming and Qing periods, poetry, “bamboo-branch songs” (zhuzhici), “random jottings” (biji), and colophons on paintings of food—fish, eggplant, melon, and bamboo shoots by Yangzhou painters Li Shan (1686–1760) and Luo Pin (1733–1799), for example.8 Eighteenth-century literatus and bon vivant Yuan Mei (1716–1797) had even written a cookbook with which Zhu Ziqing, an admirer of Yuan Mei’s poetry,9 was undoubtedly acquainted.10 Charles Laughlin has remarked of essayists such as Zhu—the “modern promoters of the literature of leisure”— that they found something familiar in the “informal prose” works of late Ming and Qing writers.11 A comparison of “Speaking of Yangzhou” with Yuan Mei’s writing on cooks and cooking would suggest just that.12 Earlier writings about and from Yangzhou contained detailed passages on food, and how and where to eat it, in ways that seem to anticipate Zhu Ziqing’s essay. “Yangzhou is known for its Huizhou noodles,” wrote Lin Sumen in 1808; “one bite, and the mouth will be watering.” The broth he described was made with chicken, fish, and pork, sounding very like the broth described by Zhu Ziqing the following century.13 “The tea houses of my hometown are the finest in the empire,” wrote Li Dou some years earlier, proceeding to explain how they were constructed and fitted out. The best was the Double Rainbow, with its specialty “Double Rainbow roasted sesame buns,” fi lled variously with sugar, meat, dried vegetables, or amaranth (xiancai).14 At such places the spoilt sons of the Yangzhou elite whiled away their mornings, as memorably depicted in the nineteenth-century Yangzhou novel The Dream of Romance (Fengyue meng).15 At the other end of the social spectrum were working men who conducted business at the wharf beyond the South Gate and supped there on bowls of dried bean-curd threads, a local specialty that in the 1930s was still capable of exciting Zhu Ziqing to heights of lyricism.16 Not only is the fact of writing about food consistent across time among these Yangzhou writers; food was also steadily used by them to evoke what is local.17

Zhu Ziqing’s Essay “Speaking of Yangzhou”

Was Zhu Ziqing then simply continuing an established trend in local literature, or did writing about food in the Republican era take new forms? Clearly, the vernacular essay of the 1930s was a literary form unknown a century earlier, but the theme of this particular essay would seem to provide strong grounds for placing it within a tradition of writing about food. This would be consistent with the position Mark Swislocki takes in Culinary Nostalgia.18 Yet the construction of and self-conscious engagement with that tradition was a twentieth-century phenomenon.19 Zhu Ziqing was subtle in the way he engaged with the past, and often overtly resistant to its pull: hence his critical comments in the opening lines of this essay, where he rejects Cao Juren’s romanticized appreciation of Yangzhou. In this he was unlike another modern essayist, Lin Yutang (1895–1976), whose essay on “Eating and Drinking” was devoted in part to poking fun at attitudes to food in the English-speaking world and otherwise to parading before the reader’s eye significant names and texts concerned with China’s culinary history.20 Zhu Ziqing’s essay eschewed nationalist issues and focused on local rather than international boundaries. It was also very much concerned with the present. A reference in the essay to the seventeenth-century writer Zhang Dai (1597–1679) shows him pointedly distancing himself from the past, in a decidedly modern way. If his description of noodles resonates with Lin Sumen’s in an earlier era, his writing shows a distinctly modernist awareness of authorial position, audience, and the possibilities offered by an ambiguous, less than straightforward text. In concluding a famous essay called “Selling Candy” (Mai tang), Zhou Zuoren (1885–1967) expressed his regret that so few literati thought it worth their while to write about food, which he thought an important way of writing about localities.21 Yet a number of writers active around this time were producing essays about food in a local context. Such essays were usually written away from home, typically in Beijing or Shanghai. For the writers, food plainly provided both a reminder of home and a way of remembering it. In 1923, Ye Shengtao (1894–1988), who was born in Suzhou, wrote wistfully of lotus root and, especially, water shield, which “back home we enjoy almost every day [ . . . ]. Of course here in Shanghai we don’t enjoy this indulgence.”22 Whether the food was in itself important or was being used to talk about something else is worth considering.23 Zhu Ziqing’s “Summer Days in Yangzhou” (Yangzhou de xiari, 1929), written five years earlier than “Speaking of Yangzhou,” is structurally similar to the later essay.24 He commences with the observation that when people (presumably in Beiping) heard the name “Yangzhou,” they would usually respond by wagging their heads and

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uttering the words: “A fine place! A fine place!” His comment on this is very like his comment on Cao Juren, in the opening lines of “Speaking of Yangzhou.” In both cases, he was at pains to disabuse readers of illusions based on mere “impressions from poetry and history.” In both essays, too, Zhu either implicitly or explicitly compares his hometown with Beiping, or takes issue with views of Yangzhou in Beiping. In “Speaking of Yangzhou,” his subject is food, and his point of departure is the muddled ideas in Beiping about Huai-Yang cuisine. In “Summer Days,” his subject is water, something that defined the south and was absent from the north. The lakes of the former imperial gardens and the Summer Palace hardly counted in his view: “great flat expanses of water that the eye sees all at once,” not at all comparable to Yangzhou’s Slender West Lake (Shou Xihu). He goes on to talk about boats and boating on the lake with a level of incidental detail comparable to his description of food in “Speaking of Yangzhou.” The appeal of food as a topic is evident in the earlier essay. On the banks of Slender West Lake stood teahouses that served steamed dumplings to the passing boats, the recollection of which led Zhu to reflect: “Yangzhou’s steamed dumplings are really not bad. I have been in seven or eight places since leaving Yangzhou, and I have never had such good dumplings. That really is something worth remembering.” But these lines serve simply as a coda, operating in the same way as the concluding section on famous sites in the later essay. The weight of the author’s attention in “Summer Days” is on the lake, just as in “Speaking of Yangzhou” it is on food. A natural feature of his hometown in the earlier essay gives way to culinary culture in the later, but both fit broadly into the category of everyday-life things, which, for some essayists in the 1920s and 1930s, had become the stuff of writing.25 These things lent themselves to ruminating on the village or hometown, which might in turn have been a way of writing about an ordinary, everyday China from which the big metropolises were far removed. Food was but one of numerous referents available to the writer seeking to pursue these themes. At the same time, it is clear that for Zhu Ziqing, writing about food was not necessarily undertaken in the ser vice of writing about home at all. In “Things to Eat” (Chide), written in 1935, he introduced readers to the food culture of England in an essay remarkably different from Lin Yutang’s comparative essay “Eating and Drinking.” Needless to say, he did not wax as enthusiastic over chips and crumpets in London as over bean-curd threads and steamed dumplings in Yangzhou, but this essay, like “Speaking of

Zhu Ziqing’s Essay “Speaking of Yangzhou”

Yangzhou,” is written in dialectical mode. He begins by noting the poor reputation of English food, a theme on which he elaborates detachedly before turning to what eating in England was actually like, where people did it, their likes and dislikes. He notes the range of restaurants—French, Italian, and Cantonese—together with teahouses, oyster bars, and chain-store cafés such as Lyons and ABC.26 He describes what crumpets are, “pitted with little holes, like honeycomb,” not too thin, not too soft, a bit chewy, with a wonderful smell, and pleasing appearance, which accounted for the fact that they were steadily displacing the humble muffin. He notes the English penchant for afternoon tea with toast and butter, or if guests were invited, with ham and watercress sandwiches. He was diverted by the fondness of Londoners for nuts in the shell, and described how these were cracked open with a special tool, making a sharp sound, bits of shell and nuts flying everywhere— “great fun!”27 “Things to Eat” is a light, informative, and rather affectionate treatment of a food culture that has rarely received encomiums. Considered in conjunction with “Speaking of Yangzhou,” it suggests that, in the middle of the 1930s, when the nation was in crisis and the times out of joint, it was possible to write about food and drink in terms sufficient unto themselves. While “Speaking of Yangzhou” was unarguably an essay about local place, it also, arguably, had another subject. A bit of it, surely, was just about small dishes (xiaochi). The telltale coda in his 1929 essay “Summer Days” lets us know that the poetry of steamed dumplings had long been germinating in Zhu Ziqing’s breast. “Speaking of Yangzhou,” a remarkably cool intervention in a now long-forgotten controversy, ultimately survives as a tribute to Yangzhou’s bean-curd threads, well-cooked noodles, and steamed dumplings— all simply delicious.



Speaking of Yangzhou28 Reading Cao Juren’s essay “Chatting at Leisure about Yangzhou,” published in issue no. 10 of this magazine, I couldn’t help feeling that it was much more engaging than the famous book of that name.29 Yet while the book was too disparaging of Yangzhou, Mr. Cao has been rather too glowing. And it’s not even a matter of being too glowing, since he has never actually been to Yangzhou. It’s that he has relied too much on impressions from

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poetry and history. These are of course aspects of Yangzhou, but they belong to the past. The present-day city doesn’t present us with such a rosy picture. I first came to Yangzhou when I was seven, and lived there till I went away to school at the age of twenty. My family was not registered in this locality, and in those years my father was still often away on business in other provinces, so we didn’t have much to do with the big families of the town. I didn’t share in their hightoned pastimes—visits to famous sites, poetry recitals, drinking games, paintings and calligraphy, haute cuisine. I actually knew nothing about such things. So despite living in Yangzhou for all Figure 15.2. Front Cover of Yi Junzuo’s Chatting that time, I never came to know at Leisure about Yangzhou, 1934. (Yi Junzuo, Xianhua Yangzhou) it really well. That’s something I regret. I just recall that after the restoration episode during the 1911 Revolution, a time father was very ill, we were fleeced by the ruffian running a so-called military government;30 and during my few years in middle school, I was witness to the antics of the so-called shuaizi gangs. Shuaizi is a Yangzhou-dialect word, which can mean someone spineless or craven, and also someone who couldn’t give a damn. It’s the latter sense that applies to the shuaizi gangs, of course. They were mostly the offspring of former government officials. They abused the power of their families, or of the faction they belonged to, and often created disturbances in public places—the theater, for example, where they would refuse to buy tickets, and then jeer and boo at the play. They were forever taking people to court, and were also known for harassing women. Something even more notable about Yangzhou is the way in which servants of the local gentry were able to give orders to the district police chief. They used to swagger around town. All this was in the fift h or sixth year of

Zhu Ziqing’s Essay “Speaking of Yangzhou”

the Republic, not while the Qing monarchy was still in place. I myself was young and full of spirit then, and would be enraged by their behavior. But the words of the weak carry no weight. I just had to bite my tongue. Yangzhou used to be a place of some substance, as Mr. Cao has observed. Now that the salt monopoly is no longer in operation, it is just a small city without what you would call “visible means of support.” Most people there seem oblivious to this fact. Their view of themselves is entirely at odds with reality. They epitomize the meaning of “a big fish in a small pond.”31 Yangzhou people are sometimes called Yang xuzi. Xuzi is used in two senses: making a lot of fuss about nothing, and talking something up. Both senses point to a tendency to bluff and bluster. Another term used for Yangzhou people is Yang pan (Yangzhou dish). For example, if you have bought something at a high price, people will joke that you are a Yang pan; or if a shopkeeper’s prices are too high, you can quiz him, “do you think you’re dealing with a Yang pan?” A pan is something you hold with both hands to show people, and it’s a good word for describing Yangzhou types with pretensions to grandeur. Then there’s what’s called the “merchant set” (shangpai) a term mocking men who emulate the luxurious lifestyles of the salt merchants, the grandest of the grand. But this is only talking about the general situation. There are also gentlemen in Yangzhou, hardworking, earnest men. Some of my most dearly esteemed friends are from Yangzhou. Mention the name Yangzhou, and many people will think of a place that produces women, yet I grew up there without ever seeing an obviously alluring woman on the street. Was it perhaps the case that few women were venturing out onto the streets at that time? But this word “produce” is used in the sense of producing lamb’s wool, or producing apples, and when in former times people talked about “producing women” (chu nüren), they usually meant concubines or prostitutes. In the Dream Reminiscences of Tao‘an (Tao‘an mengyi) there is a passage on “The Thin Horses of Yangzhou” (Yangzhou shouma) that records “producing women” in this sense.32 Personally, I have no acquaintance with the practice, and customs such as taking concubines and visiting brothels are moreover gradually disappearing. Sooner or later, the phrase “producing women” will have lost all meaning. Other people think of Yangzhou as a place where people eat well. I can guarantee this. When people in Beiping talk about Jiangsu food, they usually mean something very sweet and oily. Only now that Huai-Yang food has become available do they realize not all Jiangsu food is sweet, even if they still think of it as oily, unlike Shandong food, which is very light.33 In

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fact, the oily style is Zhenjiang food. When that’s served up you’ll find it unbearably greasy. Yangzhou food prepared in the kitchen of a salt merchant family may not be as light as Shandong food, but it is succulent and full of zest. The flavors are fine and fresh, and the colors look wonderful. Yangzhou is also famous for its noodle houses. The best thing about Yangzhou noodles is the pure flavor of the broth. What they call “white broth” is made from stewing the different meats in it: chicken, duck, fish, pork. What’s good about it is that it’s really thick, like eating bear’s paw. Then there is “clear broth,” which is invariably chicken broth, and is really nothing out of the ordinary. Experts like their noodles “well cooked.” Ordinarily, noodles are just placed in a bowl and the broth poured over them. “Well cooked” means letting the noodles cook for a while in the broth, to enable them to absorb the flavor a little. The most famous thing about Yangzhou is its teahouses. Whatever time you go, morning or night, they’re always packed. They serve an immense variety of things to eat. Once you’re seated and the tea has been steeped, peddlers come round selling a variety of snacks. They hold dun-colored wicker trays set out with little bags of things such as melon seeds, peanuts, and fried salted beans. Then there are the ones who fry up gingko nuts. The nuts are cooked on a portable wok, making a tremendous sound as they are shoveled around. First you say how many you want, then the peddler fries them up. They cook till the shell explodes, exposing the luminous yellow kernel. The peddler shovels them into the wire lid and serves them up hot and fragrant. And there are peddlers who sell five-spice beef. Get one of them to spread some out on a dried lotus leaf, call the waiter to bring a bit of good quality sesame oil, mix it in and eat it slowly. You can also buy white liquor from peddlers. Yangzhou people commonly drink white liquor. Then you can ask the waiter to heat up some dried bean-curd threads for you. The dried bean-curd threads people in Beiping eat these days are what are known as cooked dried threads. They taste very strong, and although they’re good for cooking a dish, they’re not necessarily suitable for snacks. To make hot dried threads, you must take a large piece of dried white bean curd, slice it swift ly into thin slices, then again into fine threads. Place the threads in a small bowl and pour boiling water over them to let them cook. Then, after squeezing the water out, shape them into a cone, tip some sesame oil over the top, sprinkle the top of the cone with some shrimps and dried bamboo shoots, and it’s done. It takes longer to say than to do. One

Zhu Ziqing’s Essay “Speaking of Yangzhou”

minute you’re looking at the bean curd being sliced, next it’s being served up to you, all in the blink of an eye. When you’ve cleaned up the hot dried threads, you have plenty of room for other things. Follow up with steamed dumplings. The soup dumplings served in the Huai-Yang restaurants in Beiping are really good, and rarely to be had in Yangzhou. Actually Huaiyin is the relevant name here: Yangzhou should not claim credit for them.34 Yangzhou steamed dumplings include pork dumplings, crab dumplings, dumplings stuffed with pork and bamboo shoots—these hardly require mention. The most mouthwatering things are steamed buns stuffed with vegetables, open-face vegetable dumplings, 35 and steamed buns stuffed with dried preserved vegetables. The vegetables chosen are of the tenderest, minced finely, and flavored with a little sugar and oil. The dumplings are steamed till they’re snow white and piping hot. They melt in your mouth, leaving a faint pleasurable aftertaste. The dried vegetables are also minced, with salt and oil added, giving them just the right degree of moisture; chewed slowly, they emit a flavor something like olives. Partaking of a little of every kind of snack in this way will not be too much for you. If you have a dinner engagement, you can stroll off at your leisure. But old-fashioned teahouse proprietors have their standards about all this. They will not stand for customers, locals or outsiders, who just pay a casual visit to the teahouse, wolf down their food, and then stagger out holding their bellies. As for sightseeing around Yangzhou, the most important things are waterways and boats. I have written about this subject elsewhere, so can omit it here.36 The city has many historical sites, both within and outside the walls: the Tower of Literary Selections (Wenxuanlou),37 Heavenly Protection Wall (Tianbaocheng),38 Thunder Dam (Leitang),39 Twenty-four Bridge (Ershisiqiao),40 and so on. Yet few people pay any attention to these places. Most go just to Shi Kefa’s Plum Blossom Hill (Meihualing), and no further.41 If you have a little leisure time, you might find it diverting to invite two or three people along to seek out some secluded ancient sites. You should of course take along some peanuts, five-spice beef, and a little white liquor.

Notes The author thanks Charles Laughlin for reading and commenting on this essay. 1. Yi Junzuo, Xianhua Yangzhou (Shanghai: Zhonghua shuju, 1934). 2. Antonia Finnane, “A Place in the Nation: Yangzhou and the Idle Talk Controversy of 1934,” Journal of Asian Studies 53, no. 4 (1994): 1150–1174.

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Antonia Finnane 3. Zhu Ziqing, “Shuo Yangzhou,” Renjian shi 16 (1934): 35–36. 4. For a translation with commentary, and an introduction to Zhu Ziqing’s life, see David E. Pollard, trans. and ed., The Chinese Essay (London: C. Hurst & Co. Publishers, 2000), 216–221. The essay’s title, as Pollard observes, is difficult to render in English and comes in many forms, the most common of which is probably “Back View.” 5. Yi’s diatribe was informed by accusations of collaboration on the part of Yangzhou people in Shanghai with the Japa nese invading force during the 1932 occupation. See Emily Honig, “The Politics of Prejudice: Subei People in Republican-Era Shanghai,” Modern China 15, no. 3 (1989): 243–274. 6. Lu Xun, “Wanju,” in Lu Xun, Lu Xun quanji (Beijing: Renmin wenxue, 1981), 5:496– 497; Yu Dafu, “Yangzhou jiumeng ji Yutang,” Renjian shi 28 (1935): 3–6; Cao Juren, “Xianhua Yangzhou,” Renjian shi 10 (1934): 25–26. 7. The ambiguities of his identification with Yangzhou are fully canvassed in a later essay, “I Am from Yangzhou” (Wo shi Yangzhouren, 1946), in Zhu Ziqing quanji, ed. Zhu Qiaosen (Nanjing: Jiangsu jiaoyu, 1996), 4:455–459. 8. See Lin Yutang, “On Diet,” in Food and Chinese Culture: Essays on Popular Cuisine, ed. Zishan Chen (Shanghai: Long River Press, 2005), 12–14. This is a re-translation of Lin Yutang’s essay “Eating and Drinking,” fi rst published in English in Lin Yutang, My Country and My People (New York: Reynal and Hitchcock, 1935), 335–344, and only later in Chinese as “Yin shi,” in Lin Yutang, Wu guo yu wu tu (Taibei: Lianjing, 1977). Both versions have been reprinted many times. Jonathan Spence, “Ch‘ing,” in Food in Chinese Culture: Anthropological and Historical Perspectives, ed. K. C. Chang (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1977), 259–294. On the painters and paintings, see Lin Xiuwei, ed., Yangzhou huapai (Taibei: Yishu tushu gongsi, 1985), 50, 168; Ginger Cheng-chi Hsü, A Bushel of Pearls: Painting for Sale in Eighteenth- Century Yangchow (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 2001), 7–8. 9. J. D. Schmidt, Harmony Garden: The Life, Literary Criticism, and Poetry of Yuan Mei (1716–1798) (London: RoutledgeCurzon, 2003), 129. 10. Spence, “Ch‘ing,” 272–274. 11. Charles Laughlin, The Literature of Leisure and Chinese Modernity (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2008), 25. 12. See sample translations in Arthur Waley, Yuan Mei: Eighteenth-Century Chinese Poet (New York: Grove Press, 1958), 52–53; H. A. Giles, A History of Chinese Literature (Rockville, Md.: Wildside Press, 2010 [1923]), 409–410. 13. Lin Sumen, Hanjiang sanbai yin (rpt. of the 1808 edition, Yangzhou: Jiangsu Guangling guji keyinshe, 1988), 9.11b. 14. Li Dou, Yangzhou huafanglu, ed. Wang Beiping and Tu Yugong (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, [1960] 2004 printing), 26 (1/41). Further on Li Dou’s documentation of food, see Joanna Waley-Cohen, “The Quest for Perfect Balance: Taste and Gastronomy in Imperial China,” in The History of Taste, ed. Peter Freedman (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007), 127–128. 15. Anonymous, Courtesans and Opium: Romantic Illusions of the Fool of Yangzhou, trans. Patrick Hanan (New York: Columbia University Press, 2009), passim. On this novel, see the translation and discussion by Patrick Hanan in Chapter 12 of the present volume. 16. Li Dou, Yangzhou huafang lu, 166 (7/14). 17. See, in addition to the works already mentioned, Margaret B. Wan, “Local Fiction of the Yangzhou Region: Qingfengzha,” in Lifestyle and Entertainment in Yangzhou, ed. Lucie B. Olivová and Vibeke Børdahl (Copenhagen: NIAS Press, 2009), 193.

Zhu Ziqing’s Essay “Speaking of Yangzhou” 18. Mark Swislocki, Culinary Nostalgia: Regional Food Culture and the Urban Experience in Shanghai (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 2009), 2, 4. 19. See the discussion in Laughlin, Literature of Leisure, 25. 20. Lin Yutang, “On Diet.” 21. See Susan Daruvala, Zhou Zuoren and an Alternative Response to Modernity (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Asia Center, 2000), 78. 22. Ye Shengtao, “Ou yu chuncai,” in Ye Shengtao ji, ed. Ye Zhishan et al. (Nanjing: Jiangsu jiaoyu, 1988), 5:68. For a translation of the essay, see Ye Shentao [sic], “Lotus Root and Water Shield,” in Food and Chinese Culture: Essays on Popular Cuisine, ed. Zishan Chen (Shanghai: Long River Press, 2005), 220–223. 23. Charles Laughlin raises precisely this question with reference to Zhou Zuoren’s “Wild Herbs in My Hometown” (Guxiang de yecai). See Laughlin, Literature of Leisure, 49–51. 24. Zhu Ziqing, “Yangzhou de xiari,” in Zhu Ziqing quanji, ed. Zhu Qiaosen (Nanjing: Jiangsu jiaoyu, 1996), 1:147–149. 25. Daruvala, Zhou Zuoren, 146. 26. On the origins of these cafes, see Michael Ball and David Sutherland, An Economic History of London, 1800–1914 (London: Routledge, 2001), 157. 27. Zhu Ziqing, “Chide,” in Zhu Ziqing quanji, 1:415. 28. Having published this essay in Worldly Affairs (Renjian shi) in 1934 (see above, note 4), Zhu Ziqing then wished to include it in a book of collected essays, Ni wo (You and me, 1937). The publisher refused, due to concerns that negative comments about Yangzhou in the essay might cause a repeat of the original controversy. Jiang Jian and Wu Weigong, comps., Zhu Ziqing nianpu (Anqing: Anhui jiaoyu, 1996), 138. 29. That is, Yi Junzuo’s Chatting at Leisure about Yangzhou. See above, note 1. 30. The ruffian was Sun Tiansheng, a native of Yangzhou, who took advantage of the 1911 Revolution to “restore the Han” in Yangzhou in November 1911. He was ousted by Xu Baoshan (1866–1913). See Zhongping Chen, Modern China’s Network Revolution: Chambers of Commerce and Sociopolitical Change in the Early Twentieth Century (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 2011), 196–197. 31. The four-character phrase yelang zida, taken from the Records of the Historian (Shi ji), literally means “a man who in the nighttime [when he cannot see anyone else for the purposes of comparison] thinks he is a big fellow.” 32. On Dream Reminiscences of Tao‘an and “The Thin Horses of Yangzhou,” see the contributions of Philip Kafalas and Antonia Finnane, in Chapters 3 and 19, respectively, in this volume. 33. A 1935 guidebook for Beiping lists eight Huai-Yang restaurants, at least some of which had been quite recently established. There were twice as many Shandong restaurants. Ma Zhixiang, Lao Beijing lüxing zhinan (rpt. of Beiping lüxing zhinan, 1935; Beijing: Beijing yanshan, 1997), 255–257. 34. Huaiyin lies around three hundred kilometers north of Yangzhou, near the junction of the Huai River with the Grand Canal. 35. I have adopted this descriptive translation of shaomai2 from Martin Stidham, The Fragrant Vegetable: Simple Vegetarian Delicacies from the Chinese (Los Angeles: J. P. Tarcher, 1986), 80. There are many different sorts of small wrapped things in Chinese cuisine that have various names in Chinese but few available English terms. 36. The reference here is to his essay “Summer Days in Yangzhou.” See above, note 24. 37. The Tower of Literary Selections referred to here was a reconstructed edifice on the grounds of the Jingzhong Temple (Jingzhongsi) in the Old City of Yangzhou, but its name

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Antonia Finnane also recalls the tower of the same name built in the early eighteenth century by Yangzhou’s famous scholar-official Ruan Yuan (1764–1849). See Tobie Meyer-Fong, Building Culture in Early Qing Yangzhou (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 2003), chap. 3, esp. 114–126. 38. Heavenly Protection Wall (Tianbaocheng) is actually the name of a Nanjing site. Wei Minghua speculates that Zhu Ziqing may have written it down in error, when he meant rather Baocheng, that is, the old city wall in Shugang, northwest of the walled city. See Wu Zhouwen, “Zhu Ziqing yu Yangzhou mingcheng wenhua,” Yangzhou daxue xuebao (renwen shehui kexue ban) 12, no. 6 (2008): 46. 39. Thunder Dam (Leitang) is the site of the tomb of Sui Yangdi (r. 604–618), who as heir apparent was responsible for the flowering of Jiangdu (Yangzhou) in the late sixth century. 40. On Twenty-four Bridge, see the description by Philip Kafalas in Chapter 3, note 8. 41. Plum Blossom Hill, situated outside the north wall of the city, was the memorial site for the Ming defender of the city, Shi Kefa (1601–1645), whose clothes were buried there.

16

Transformations of Local Theater The Yangzhou Opera Taking Command at Age One Hundred (Bai sui gua shuai, 1952–1958) Introduced and annotated by Liu Zhen and translated by Jiang Ji

Yangzhou Opera (Yangju) is one of the famous local arts of Yangzhou. In the twentieth century this art had two golden ages of revival. The first was from the 1930s to the 1940s, when Yangju was performed in dozens of theaters in Shanghai and had a wide audience, mainly among the lower classes. Yangzhou operas comprised not only traditional titles that were derived from flower-drum opera (huaguxi), incense-fire plays (xianghuoxi), and Yangzhou confused-strumming drama (Yangzhou luantan), but also an abundance of adapted plays with long and complex stories such as Meng Lijun, Zheng Xiaojiao, The Monk Ji Gong (Ji gong), Generals of the Yang Family (Yang jia jiang), and Exchanging a Leopard Cat for a Prince (Limao huan taizi). The second period, from the 1950s to the 1960s, was the heyday of Yangzhou opera. In 1966 there were thirteen professional troupes in Jiangsu Province,1 and large numbers of outstanding plays had been created. Taking Command at Age One Hundred (Bai sui gua shuai), which was adapted in the 1950s from a traditional play, was the most successful and influential piece at the time. It became a milestone in the development of Yangzhou opera, and also made this local drama famous all over the country. Taking Command at Age One Hundred drew its material from Twelve Widows’ Expedition toward the West (Shi‘er guafu zheng xi), a traditional Yangzhou opera play that had not been seen on the stage for decades. There remained only a simple plot outline, a “scenario script” (mubiao),2 so the adapters Wu Baitao, Yin Zhou (Shi Zengxiang), Jiang Feng, and Zhong Fei chose to base their work on the recollections of Zhou Ronggen, an old Yangzhou opera artist, and also asked Rong Fenglou, an old storyteller in Nanjing, for detailed advice. Three of the four adapters had close connections to Yangzhou and the region around, and the main editor was from Yangzhou.3 321

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The main author of the script for this play, Wu Baitao, was from Yizheng, a town close to Yangzhou. However, because of the movement for reform of traditional Chinese opera during the 1950s, the local flavor of many operas was weakened. This process also influenced the language of the newly created Yangju plays, of which Taking Command at Age One Hundred was representative. Moreover, it was also during this period that traditional scenario scripts were changed into “libretto scripts” ( juben). The language used for such librettos was Modern Standard Chinese (putonghua), including some simple Classical diction (wenyan), in order to reflect the setting of the play in former times. However, when the actors performed the play on stage, their pronunciation had a relatively pronounced Yangzhou dialect accent. The action of Taking Command takes place during the Renzong Period of the Northern Song dynasty (1022–1063). The Western Xia (Xixia) invade the frontier and kill the Song Emperor’s Marshal Yang Zongbao, who is also the last adult male of the House of Yang. Because of the fierce war situation, Generals Jiao Tinggui and Meng Dingguo make their way to the capital, in order to bring the news of the Marshal’s death and ask for reinforcements. Hearing the sad news of her grandson’s death, Old Madam She (She taijun), the head of the House of Yang, decides to plead with the Emperor to send an army for the benefit of the people. However, the self-indulgent and sybaritic Emperor refuses to give an interview to Old Madam She. The Emperor’s uncle, Prince Baxian (Baxian wang), and brother, Prince Anle (Anle wang), criticize the Emperor for neglecting the heroic Yang Family. At that time, the House of Yang is noted as the cradle of outstanding generals, and all members of the family have received good military training. Although all the adult males have died, the women left behind are exceptional field commanders of phenomenal military talent, too. The imperial government in this most difficult situation depends on those female generals to defend the country and bring people stability. Realizing his mistake, the Emperor courteously asks Old Madam She—the head of the family—to take command of the army. Faced with this request, Old Madam She decides to forget the injustice that the House of Yang has suffered. She undertakes the expedition at the head of all the widows of her family, together with her great-grandson Wenguang. The play ends with Old Madam She’s triumphant return. Nowadays this play is considered one of the most successful masterpieces of Yangzhou opera. The play both epitomizes the historical tradition of

The Yangzhou Opera Taking Command at Age One Hundred

Yangju and is a representative example of the development and innovation of the genre during the twentieth century. For instance, some of the vocal music of the play, such as the melodies called “Dressing Table” (Shuzhuangtai) and “Heavy Accent” (Kuakuadiao), two arias sung by Mu Guiying,4 are traditional tunes from Yangzhou ballad singing (Yangzhou qingqu), which was always an important source for Yangzhou opera. Some other music, for example, the tunes named “Mainland Rhythm” (Daluban) and “Heaped-up Words Mainland Rhythm” (Duizi daluban), sung by Old Madam She, Seventh Lady, and Princess Chai, have been assimilated into Yangzhou opera since the 1920s from other types of drama or folk songs in nearby regions. Thereafter they have become typical of Yangju. There were also tunes created by the artists of the newly founded People’s Republic in order to enrich the music of Yangzhou Opera. The arias, orchestral music, and libretto of the play have all become classics of Yangzhou opera today. While they were inheritors of the local culture, those involved in Yangzhou opera in the 1950s also endeavored to make innovations and rearrangements in accordance with the spirit and ideology of the time. This tendency was felt not only in Yangzhou or in Yangzhou local drama but throughout China. It contributed to the success of the play. This tendency is also discernible in the text adaptation of Taking Command at Age One Hundred. In the adapted text four essential changes have been made. First, the scene of worshipping the ancestors of the Yang Family has been changed into a banquet in the Heavenly Waves Residence (Tianbofu) for Yang Zongbao’s fiftieth birthday. Second, after being told about Zongbao’s death, Old Madam She drinks a toast to the spirit of Zongbao, rather than, as in the original play, having a monologue that describes her family’s suffering. Third, the commander has been changed to Old Madam She, whereas the heroine was originally Mu Guiying. And finally, the adapters have deleted some superstitious descriptions in the battle scene. In accordance with the spirit of the 1950s and the movement for reforming traditional Chinese opera, Taking Command at Age One Hundred was adapted according to the principle of downplaying sadness and pessimism and highlighting patriotism. As Wu Baitao, the main adapter, said, it was necessary to “transform the play’s style from sadness to stirring solemnity.”5 Undoubtedly the original play Twelve Widows’ Expedition toward the West is a sentimental story, but it is also full of heroism and patriotism. In fact, both the transfer of the role of the leading heroine from Mu Guiying to centenarian

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Madam She, and the title Taking Command at Age One Hundred strengthen the heroism, optimism, and romanticism of the story. As the head of the House of Yang and a battle-seasoned older woman, Old Madam She has always been an important and vivid character in the legend of the Yang Family.6 But in past versions of the play more attention was apparently paid to portraying her kindliness and tolerance. Instead, the adapters of Taking Command at Age One Hundred display an old female general who knows where her loyalty lies and is inspired by the highest feelings. In Act Two, “Banquet Hall,” her heroic characteristics are expressed in the course of a violent dramaturgical conflict. Old Madam She’s reaction to Zongbao’s death is beyond everyone’s expectation: Old Madam She: Ah me! (puts down her cup and looks at Jiao and Meng, with tears running down her face. She however suppresses her grief and utters in a very low voice) Rise! Rise! I . . . I knew it. Princess, you are not feeling well tonight. What you need now is a good rest.

Zongbao was the last adult male of the family. His death is undoubtedly an extremely heavy blow to the old heroine. But what is extraordinary is Old Madam She’s calmness. Her concern for Princess Chai (Zongbao’s wife) and Wenguang (his son) demonstrates it; that calmness only hints at the thoughts surging in her mind, but thereby has a much more powerful impact than if she were shown becoming hysterical. She asks for a big wine cup and drinks a toast to the spirit of Zongbao: Old Madam She: Zongbao! My dear grandson! (raises her cup toward the sky) Today is your fiftieth birthday, but you have given your life for your country. . . . You have proved yourself to be a worthy descendant of the House of Yang. You have not disgraced your grandfather and your father, and it is an honor to be your grandmother, your mother, and your wife. Please . . . please enjoy this cup of wine! (pours the wine on the floor)

Nothing can be more important than a grandson’s life to this battleseasoned centenarian, and nothing can be more compelling to the audience than her calmness. Old Madam She is not the only example of the adapters sublimating characters into an ideal personality or spirit. This intention is also embodied in minor roles, such as that of the old soldier Yang Hui, even though he has

The Yangzhou Opera Taking Command at Age One Hundred

only one line. The process of sublimating and typifying reflects the attempt to make traditional Chinese opera more theatrical and exquisite, which was also a universal tendency in theater circles in China in the 1950s.7 However, the adapters of Taking Command at Age One Hundred do not in any way show contempt for the old folk tradition. On the contrary, besides the old heroine, whose staunch character reflects the spirit of traditional folk culture and is highly praised, especially among the people, the characters in this play are all viewed from the angle of the general populace, no matter whether they are living in the imperial palace or in the great Heavenly Waves Residence. Even a person as exalted as the Emperor is allowed to feel completely at a loss after being informed of the terrible war situation. And what is more, even a eunuch can arrogate to himself the right to criticize His Majesty, as do the Emperor’s brothers. Were it not in folk literature, this kind of relationship between the Emperor and his subjects would be inconceivable. The character Fan Zhonghua (Prince Anle), who was purposely added to the play by the adapters, is typical of this kind of folk hero. In Chinese folklore, he was a vegetable grower who rescued the Emperor’s mother from danger and received the honorable title of His Majesty’s Brother. Such an elevated identity gave him the right to express both his respects to the House of Yang and his discontent with the Emperor, on behalf of the common people. In Act Five, the adapters focused attention on the martial arts contest between Mu Guiying and Yang Wenguang, in order to depict the fierce conflict in Mu Guiying’s mind: should she take Wenguang to the battlefront or not? Martial arts contests between mothers and sons occur frequently in Chinese folklore, and the victory of little Wenguang proves that the rising generation in the heroic family will be even worthier than its predecessor. This episode captures the spirit of both the characters and the play. Obviously the ideological trend of the 1950s has left its imprint upon the Yangju play Taking Command at Age One Hundred. It is, however, still useful to consider the value, success, and influence of this play in subsequent years. The play was a new work developed through critical assimilation of an old one. Its ingenious new plot—Old Madam She’s taking command at the age of one hundred—became well known to every household in the years following its first production. Moreover, the downplaying of pessimism and the highlighting of romanticism and patriotism directly influenced later creative works about the House of Yang. For instance, the most

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important and splendid parts of a celebrated Beijing Opera play titled The Female Generals of the Yang Family (Yangmen nüjiang) benefited a lot from this Yangzhou Opera version. The adaptation by Wu Baitao and others successfully portrayed a group of vivid female characters and simultaneously enhanced the literary taste and ideological level of an original local drama without destroying its folk style and local flavor. Finally, it should be kept in mind that although Act Two, “Banquet Hall,” and Act Five, “Martial Arts Contest,” are undoubtedly the best that the play has to offer, the fundamental reason for its success lies in the way the play works as an organic whole.



Taking Command at Age One Hundred Dramatis Personae8 Old Madam She (She taijun): head of the House of Yang [Marshal of the Emperor (Yang Zongbao): the only grandson of Old Madam She] Mu Guiying: Old Madam She’s granddaughter-in-law, Yang Zongbao’s wife Yang Wenguang: son of Yang Zongbao and Mu Guiying Jiao Tinggui: Yang Zongbao’s sworn brother and comrade-in-arms Meng Dingguo: Yang Zongbao’s sworn brother and comrade-in-arms [Song Renzong: Emperor of the Song] [Prince Baxian (Baxian wang): the Emperor’s uncle] [Fan Zhonghua (Prince Anle): the Emperor’s sworn brother] Eighth Lady (Yang Bajie): eighth child of Old Madam She Ninth Lady (Yang Jiumei): ninth child of Old Madam She First Lady (Hua Jienü): first daughter-in-law of Old Madam She Second Lady (Deng Jiuhong): second daughter-in-law of Old Madam She Third Lady (Geng Yujin): third daughter-in-law of Old Madam She Fourth Lady (Cai Xiuying): fourth daughter-in-law of Old Madam She Fift h Lady (Ma Saiying): fift h daughter-in-law of Old Madam She Princess Chai (Chai junzhu): Sixth Lady, sixth daughter-in-law of Old Madam She, Yang Zongbao’s mother Seventh Lady (Hao Fengying): seventh daughter-in-law of Old Madam She

Figure 16.1. A Per formance of the Yangzhou Opera Taking Command at Age One Hundred, 2012. (Xinhua she 㕙⋷䣧, http://www.wenming.cn/wxys/photo/201207/t20120727_778577 .shtml)

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[(another) Eighth Lady (Meng Jinbang): eighth daughter-in-law of Old Madam She, her husband is Old Madam She’s foster son] [Yang Hui: an old soldier in the House of Yang] [Yue Song: Vice-marshal of the Song Emperor] [Wang Wen: Marshal of the Western Xia region] [Xue Deli: Vice-marshal of the Western Xia region] [Eunuch] Maids [Soldiers]

Act Two Banquet Hall9 The great hall of Heavenly Waves Residence is festooned with lanterns and garlands. A maid enters on the stage to fix up the hall for a birthday banquet. Maid: Let me present the Young Madam! Mu Guiying: (enters singing) In the light of red candles, the Heavenly Waves Residence is bright and lively today. My husband Zongbao is now fift y, but I am still called Young Madam. How strange that my hands, used to riding a horse and wielding a bow, are now busy laying the table. Old Madam She said that it would be thoroughly enjoyable for the family to celebrate the birthday privately. Maids, today you must serve carefully! Let me present my mother-in-law! Princess Chai: (enters singing) The House of Yang has eight branches, but Zongbao is the only adult male living.10 Today is his fiftieth birthday. With lanterns and garlands the whole family prepares a birthday feast; happiness is written all over our faces. The war situation in the Northwest is so fierce and the Third Pass is far away; even we women seldom have a chance to relax and enjoy each other’s company. I hope Zongbao will be victorious and return safe and sound. Then he can drink a toast to the centenarian Madam She. Guiying! Is everything ready for the banquet? Mu Guiying: Yes, everything is ready. Dear mother-in-law, please take a look! Voice: (off stage) Sixth Sister, Sixth Sister! Mu Guiying: Look! Here come the aunts! First Lady, Second Lady, Third Lady, Fourth Lady, Fifth Lady and Eighth Lady enter.

The Yangzhou Opera Taking Command at Age One Hundred All: Sixth Sister! Eighth Lady: Sixth Sister! Princess Chai: My respects to all my sisters-in-law! Mu Guiying: My humble greetings to all my aunts! All: Please get up! First Lady: Sixth Sister, today is Zongbao’s birthday, you and Guiying must be tired. Princess Chai: You give us too much credit. Were it not for the help of all my sisters-in-law, the feast wouldn’t be ready so soon. Third Lady, Fift h Lady: Don’t mention it. It’s our duty, of course! Fourth Lady: I absolutely agree! (singing) As warm as spring, our big family has an atmosphere of complete harmony. All the eight branches have one heart and unite for a common purpose. Eighth Lady: Guiying! (singing) You rose before dawn today and have been bustling around since then. Did you dress and make up so carefully in order to receive your husband? Third Lady: (singing) Maybe the Emperor will issue a decree . . . Fift h Lady: (singing) A decree permitting the husband to reunite with his wife after a long separation. Second Lady: (singing) The Emperor never acts in such a kindly way. He has many times rejected Zongbao’s request to retire and return to his hometown. First Lady: (singing) Today is such a happy day, celebrating Zongbao’s birthday. Why bring up the Emperor and upset people? Sixth Sister! Although my nephew Zongbao is guarding the Third Pass far away, it is your good fortune to have Guiying at your side. She is such an obedient child, even better than your own daughter. Third Lady, Fourth Lady, and Fift h Lady: (singing) And you also have Wenguang, the handsome little grandson, who practices martial arts with Seventh Sister every day. Third Lady, Eighth Lady, Sixth Lady: (singing) You have a good son and grandson. Fourth Lady, Second Lady, Fift h Lady: (singing) And a good daughter-in-law. Second Lady: (singing) You have such good children. If I could be as fortunate as you, I would laugh even in my dreams.

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Liu Zhen and Jiang Ji All: Sixth Sister! (singing) We hope you can find a granddaughter-in-law and have a greatgrandson soon. Princess Chai: (singing) Thank you for your good wishes! Eighth Lady: Oh! We were so busy chatting, we forgot to pay our respects to Old Madam She—our mother-in-law. Second Lady: Oh, yes! There are only Eighth Sister11 and Ninth Sister at her side. Let’s hurry! All: Let’s go! Third Lady, Fourth Lady: But where is Seventh Sister? Fift h Lady: She and Wenguang are sparring in the backyard. Let’s go now. All: All right. (to Princess Chai and Mu Guiying) Please come here, hurry! Princess Chai: Just a moment. The other women retire. Mu Guiying: My aunts are so kind. The maid enters. The Maid: Your Ladyship, there are some people outside the door seeking an audience. Princess Chai: Guiying, yesterday the Old Madam told you especially not  to reveal anything about the birthday banquet to outsiders. But why . . . Mu Guiying: Please don’t be angry, mother-in-law! I did tell the maid to be careful. (turns to the maid) How dare you . . . The Maid: Your Ladyship. The men outside the door are no strangers. They are General Jiao and General Meng. Princess Chai: What impudence! Since my good nephews have come, you should have brought them directly here. Mu Guiying: Please, invite the two generals to come in! The Maid: Yes, Your Ladyship. (turns to the entrance) Her Excellency requests the presence of the two generals. Princess Chai: Go to the inner chamber right now and tell Old Madam She that we won’t be long. The Maid: Yes, Your Ladyship.

The Yangzhou Opera Taking Command at Age One Hundred The two generals, Jiao Tinggui and Meng Dingguo enter. Princess Chai: Where are my good nephews? Mu Guiying: Where are my brothers? Jiao Tinggui, Meng Dingguo: Our humble greetings to Madam and dear sisterin-law! Seeing the two generals both dressed in white and looking extremely sad, Princess Chai and Mu Guiying stop with a frozen expression. Princess Chai: Why are you both in white and looking so sad? You should be at the Third Pass now, shouldn’t you? Jiao Tinggui, Meng Dingguo: Uh . . . Mu Guiying: Is it so that Zongbao . . . Jiao Tinggui, Meng Dingguo: Uh . . . Princess Chai: Get up and tell the truth! Jiao Tinggui, Meng Dingguo: (having no way to retreat) Alas! Madam, sisterin-law! Meng Dingguo: I condemn those bandits from the Western Xia who have invaded our frontier region time and again. Jiao Tinggui: I was besieged by them, and in order to save me from danger, Brother Zongbao, he . . . he . . . Princess Chai, Mu Guiying: He . . . How is he now? Jiao Tinggui is too sad to utter a word. Meng Dingguo: The enemy’s arrow pierced his heart and the wound was fatal. Hearing the grievous news, Princess Chai and Mu Guiying both cry out “alas” at the same time and faint. Jiao Tinggui and Meng Dingguo hurry to help them up. Princess Chai, Mu Guiying: (singing) Hearing the grievous news, we feel as if Mount Tai were collapsing. Princess Chai: (singing) The last adult male descendant of the whole Yang Family has now passed away. Mu Guiying: (singing) It hurts me bitterly that my husband has died before victory was in sight.

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Liu Zhen and Jiang Ji Princess Chai: (singing) I am indignant that again and again the fatuous Emperor rejected Zongbao’s request to retire. Mu Guiying: (singing) I shall ask the Old Madam to send an army to take revenge! Princess Chai: (singing) You, you, you shouldn’t be that rash! The Old Madam is advanced in years and such a bolt from the blue will be too much for her. What if anything should happen to her? Who can take on her responsibility for our country? We must conceal this secret lest the Heavenly Waves Residence should fall into turmoil. Jiao Tinggui, Meng Dingguo: My sister-in-law, what Madam said is quite correct. We’d better not report it to the Old Madam for the moment. Mu Guiying falls silent. Princess Chai: My dear nephews! Did Zongbao say something on his deathbed? Meng Dingguo: Dear Madam and sister-in-law! Marshal Zongbao repeatedly told us that there are not enough troops at the Third Pass. If the enemy got the news of his death, they surely wouldn’t let this opportunity pass and were bound to launch an attack. These were his last words! Jiao Tinggui: Therefore Brother Meng gave orders to close the Third Pass and refuse to fight. All the soldiers were told not to wear mourning.12 Princess Chai: Good! Mu Guiying: Now that you two generals have come back to our capital Bianliang (Kaifeng), who is guarding the Third Pass? Meng Dingguo: Brother Yue Song has temporarily taken charge of the marshal’s seal of command. We are coming back to the capital for two reasons. The first is to bring the news of the marshal’s death; the second is to ask the Emperor to send an army as soon as possible, to force the enemy to raise the siege of the Third Pass. Mu Guiying: Great! You had better hurry to the Emperor’s audience hall. Jiao Tinggui, Meng Dingguo: Yes! The maid enters. Maid: Your Ladyship. Old Madam She asks General Jiao and General Meng to join the feast. All: Uh . . . Princess Chai: All right! (waves her hand, giving the maid a hint to retire) Don’t let anything slip when replying to the Old Madam.

The Yangzhou Opera Taking Command at Age One Hundred Maid: Yes, your Ladyship. (retires) Meng Dingguo: Madam, how can we join the feast? Princess Chai: You must join us. Otherwise the Old Madam will become suspicious. Jiao Tinggui, Meng Dingguo: Uh . . . Princess Chai: Go and change your clothes quickly. If the Old Madam asks why you are here, just answer that you have come back for Zongbao’s birthday. Jiao Tinggui, Meng Dingguo: Yes! (both retire) Princess Chai, Mu Guiying: Zongbao! Princess Chai: My son! Mu Guiying: My husband! Princess Chai, Mu Guiying: What torment is this bitter fate! (Laughter off stage) Princess Chai: (singing) The sound of laughter is like a knife piercing my heart. Mu Guiying: Dear mother-in-law! (singing) I cannot bear to join the banquet. Princess Chai: (singing) I cannot bear to face the Old Madam. Voice: (off stage) Dear mother-in-law, please watch your step and be careful. Princess Chai, Mu Guiying: It is the Old Madam . . . she is coming. (hurriedly wipe away their tears) Mu Guiying: Well! (singing) I have no alternative but to wipe away my tears and greet my grandma with a smile. Supported by the madams, Eighth Lady and Ninth Lady, Old Madam She appears on the stage. Old Madam She: (singing) Today we give a banquet in celebration of Zongbao’s fiftieth birthday. As a centenarian, I’m filled with joy to see four generations assembled under one roof on such a grand occasion for our family. The only pity is that Zongbao has not returned from the battlefield. Princess Chai, Mu Guiying: Humble greetings to our dear mother-in-law and grandmother. Old Madam She: (sits down) No need for such formality. My daughters-inlaw, please sit down. All: Yes.

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Liu Zhen and Jiang Ji Old Madam She: Where is my Seventh daughter-in-law and little greatgrandson Wenguang? Second Lady: Presumably Seventh Sister is still teaching Wenguang martial arts in the garden. Old Madam She: Ask them to come here at once! Second Lady: Yes! (to the maid) Go to the backyard and ask Seventh Lady and little Wenguang to come to the antechamber quickly. The Maid: Yes! (retires) Seventh Lady and Yang Wenguang enter. Seventh Lady: (singing) I am together with my grandchild every day from morning to night. Yang Wenguang: (singing) We were so absorbed in practicing martial arts that we forgot my father’s birthday. Seventh Lady: (singing) The Old Madam will be angry because of our late arrival. Yang Wenguang: (singing) Just leave it all to me and do not worry at all. They walk into the hall. Seventh Lady, Yang Wenguang: My humble greetings to mother-in-law/ great-grandmother. Old Madam She: Rise! Wenguang, today is your father’s birthday. Why didn’t you help your mother prepare the banquet? Look at you! Your face is bathed in sweat. Where did you go? Yang Wenguang: Dear great-grandmother, I was sparring with my Seventh Grandmother in the backyard just now, and I gave her a real kick! Seventh Lady: Nonsense! How could you give me a kick? Yang Wenguang: What? Don’t you have the courage to admit defeat? Let’s fight again if you dare! Seventh Lady: Of course I dare! They seem really serious and begin a fighting bout, making Old Madam She and all the ladies laugh. Princess Chai: Hey! Wenguang, how dare you take such liberties before your great-grandmother! Mu Guiying: Go apologize to your Seventh Grandma! Be quick!

The Yangzhou Opera Taking Command at Age One Hundred Old Madam She: All right, all right. I won’t blame either of them because they are birds of a feather. The family members break out in laughter, Wenguang and Seventh Lady, too. Princess Chai and Mu Guiying remain silent and sad. General Jiao and General Meng enter. Jiao Tinggui: We have taken off our mourning dress. Meng Dingguo: We enter the banquet hall with tears in our eyes. Dear brother, later on during the feast, don’t forget . . . Jiao Tinggui: Don’t forget what? Meng Dingguo: Don’t . . . don’t drink too much. Jiao Tinggui: I know. They walk into the hall. Jiao Tinggui, Meng Dingguo: Your grandsons’ humble greetings! Old Madam She: Let’s dispense with the courtesy. Here are your aunts. Jiao Tinggui, Meng Dingguo: Our respects to our dear aunts! Seventh Lady: No need to be so formal. Sit down and have a drink! Jiao Tinggui and Meng Dingguo sit down beside Old Madam She. Old Madam She: Why did you come back rather than keeping guard at the Third Pass? Jiao Tinggui, Meng Dingguo: Uh . . . Princess Chai: They came back for Zongbao’s birthday. Jiao Tinggui, Meng Dingguo: Yes! Yes! Brother Zongbao was not able to return because of the fierce war situation, so he asked us to come back in his place. Yang Wenguang: Have my two uncles brought birthday gifts for my father? Jiao Tinggui, Meng Dingguo: Uh . . . Princess Chai: I have placed the gifts in the antechamber. (Hurries to change the topic) Wenguang, drink a toast to your great-grandmother. Yang Wenguang: Yes! (pours a cup full) Let me wish dear great-grandmother another hundred years and perpetual youth! All laugh.

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Liu Zhen and Jiang Ji Old Madam She: Splendid! Your Uncle Jiao, Uncle Meng, and your father are brothers in adversity and now they are defending the frontier together. You ought to drink a toast to them first! Yang Wenguang: Yes! (drinks a toast to them) Jiao Tinggui: (raises the cup without drinking) Brother Meng . . . Princess Chai: Dear nephews, you must be tired after the long journey. Please, have a cup of wine! Jiao Tinggui: Thanks, but only one cup! (drinks off in one gulp) Seventh Lady: What do you mean—only one cup? Let me drink a toast to you. (singing) I know your capacity for liquor. There is no need to pretend before your Seventh Aunt. We have a good cellar. Why not use big cups instead of small ones and drink to your hearts’ content? Jiao Tinggui, Meng Dingguo: Uh . . . we really cannot drink! They turn to Princess Chai for help. Princess Chai gives them a hint not to drink any more. Seventh Lady: Oh! (singing) Sixth Sister-in-law, today you must be generous and allow our two nephews to enjoy themselves thoroughly. On such a joyous occasion, they ought to drink more, on behalf of Zongbao. Jiao Tinggui, Meng Dingguo: Uh . . . Seventh Lady: You two! Today is your Brother Zongbao’s fiftieth birthday, and the Old Madam has instructed the whole family to drink to its heart’s content. Sixth Sister-in-law, am I right? All: Of course you are right! Princess Chai: (reserved) Hm . . . Seventh Lady: Come on, have a drink! Your cups are too small. Tell the maid to go fetch the big ones! Princess Chai is afraid that Generals Jiao and Meng will say something wrong when drunk, so she stops Seventh Lady, who is about to call the maid. Princess Chai: Seventh Sister, our two generals have traveled a long distance in wind and dust in order to arrive here today because of my husband’s birthday. Let me drink a toast to them! Jiao Tinggui, Meng Dingguo: Uh . . .

The Yangzhou Opera Taking Command at Age One Hundred First Lady, Second Lady, Third Lady: Great! Let Sixth Sister be first. Seventh Lady: Yes, they must drink a cup. Princess Chai: My good nephews, today is your Brother Zongbao’s fiftieth birthday. The Old Madam and all your aunts have seldom been that happy, please don’t . . . All: That’s right, please don’t decline. Come on! Drink it! Meng Dingguo: Well . . . Princess Chai: (utters in a low voice and with tears in her eyes) Drink . . . Jiao Tinggui: (stamps and makes up his mind painfully) Ok! All: Good! Have another drink! Princess Chai can find no way to stop the ladies. Mu Guiying: (wants to help Princess Chai out of the predicament) Wenguang, drink a toast to all your grandmothers. Seventh Lady: My! How could we forget Guiying? Wenguang, you should toast your mother first. All: That’s right. Toast your mother first! Yang Wenguang: Yes! Dear mother, my toast to you! Mu Guiying: (drinks up reluctantly) Now drink to your grandmothers. Yang Wenguang is about to pour wine for his grandmothers in turn. Seventh Lady: Wenguang, don’t hurry. Why didn’t you drink a toast to your father? Yang Wenguang: But he is not here . . . Seventh Lady: Then you can ask your mother to drink for him! All: Good idea! Yang Wenguang: Dear mother, please drink this cup of wine for father. All: Splendid. Mu Guiying: (takes the cup with tears in her eyes, singing) Looking at the bitter wine in the cup, my eyes run with tears. All: (singing) Why is Guiying staring at her cup for such a long time? Mu Guiying: (singing) Suppressing my grief, I have no alternative but to drink the cup of wine. (drinks off and nearly faints) All: (singing) Are you not feeling well today? Mu Guiying: Well, no, I’m fine.

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Liu Zhen and Jiang Ji Princess Chai: (tries to hide something while speaking) Guiying, you must be very tired today, then you had two cups of wine without eating anything. You must be slightly tipsy. Wenguang, help your mother go to her room to rest. Seventh Lady: Wenguang, I’ll help you get her to her room. Yang Wenguang and Seventh Lady assist Guiying to retire. Old Madam She: (singing) Guiying is physically strong and her capacity for wine is exceptional. How could she get tipsy after only one cup? It is also unusual that our Princess speaks so timorously. Maybe something is wrong in the Third Pass? I must get to the bottom of this. Princess, was Guiying really tipsy? Princess Chai: Well . . . I’m afraid so. Old Madam She: Could she be unhappy about something? Princess Chai: Well . . . couldn’t be, couldn’t be. Old Madam She: Then what about you? Princess Chai: Me? Old Madam She: Yes! You looked alarmed and hesitated when you spoke just now. Princess Chai: Uh . . . Ah! Dear mother-in-law, that is because my two nephews were worn out by their long journey and I worried that they would drink too much. Old Madam She: That’s exactly what I want to ask you about. Tinggui and Dingguo liked to drink before. Why did they have all sorts of excuses not to drink today? And you, too . . . Princess Chai: Uh . . . Old Madam She: What a strange expression you have today! Can it be that . . . Jiao Tinggui: Ah, grandmother, it’s nothing . . . Meng Dingguo: Hush! . . . Old Madam She: Eh? What do you mean “it’s nothing”? Jiao Tinggui: Uh . . . Old Madam She: Tell me! Princess Chai: Tinggui, what nonsense you talk! You must have drunk too much. Dingguo, take him away to rest! Meng Dingguo: Yes.

The Yangzhou Opera Taking Command at Age One Hundred Old Madam She: Wait a minute! Princess Chai, Jiao Tinggui, Meng Dingguo: Uh . . . Old Madam She: General Jiao and General Meng, tell me the real reason you came back. Princess Chai: Dear mother-in-law, they truly did come back for Zongbao’s birthday! Old Madam She: I’m not asking you. Tinggui! Jiao Tinggui: Yes. Old Madam She: Come to me and answer my question! Jiao Tinggui: Uh . . . Old Madam She: Come here quickly! Jiao Tinggui: Yes. Old Madam She: Answer my question! Why didn’t you stay to guard Third Pass, but come here today? Jiao Tinggui: We came back for Zongbao’s birthday! Old Madam She: Answer me again! Is everything well with Zongbao? Jiao Tinggui: Uh . . . Meng Dingguo: (answers in a hurry) Grandmother, please rest assured that our Marshal is fine. Old Madam She: (to Meng) Shut up! Tinggui, I want you to tell me! Is everything well with . . . with Zongbao at the Third Pass? Jiao Tinggui: Yes, please don’t worry. Our Marshal is fine! Old Madam She: Did Marshal Zongbao order you two to return to the capital? Jiao Tinggui: Yes, it is on his orders. Old Madam She: Then you must have brought a letter home . . . Jiao Tinggui: There is no letter. Old Madam She: Since there is no letter, he must have told you something before you left? Jiao Tinggui: Uh . . . Old Madam She: Tell me! Jiao Tinggui: He . . . Old Madam She: How is he? Jiao Tinggui: He . . . he . . . he . . . Old Madam She: Speak out! Jiao Tinggui: He . . . he . . . before he died . . .

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Liu Zhen and Jiang Ji All: What? (startled and stand up ) Jiao Tinggui, Meng Dingguo: (kneel down hastily) Grandmother, please forgive us! Princess Chai: Ah! My mother-in-law! (kneels down too) Old Madam She: Ah me! (puts down her cup and looks at Jiao and Meng, with tears running down her face. She however suppresses her grief and utters in a very low voice) Rise! Rise! I . . . I knew it. Princess, you are not feeling well tonight. What you need now is a good rest. Princess Chai: (chokes down her tears) Thank you, mother-in-law. ( just about to retire) Old Madam She: Wait a minute! Wenguang is still a child. Don’t tell him this! Princess Chai: Yes, mother-in-law! (she turns round, cannot help weeping and covers her face as she retires) Old Madam She: My daughters-in-law, the feast will go on. Let’s have a drink together! All drink together. Old Madam She: My Eighth daughter, bring me a big cup! All: Old Madam, take care of yourself! (nobody dares to pour the wine for her) Please go to your room and rest. Old Madam She: My Eighth daughter, give me a big cup and fill it to the brim. Eighth Lady pours the wine into Old Madam She’s cup. Old Madam She raises the cup, walks to the proscenium opening. All the others leave their seats and crowd about her. Old Madam She: Zongbao! My dear grandson! (raises her cup toward the sky) Today is your fiftieth birthday, but you have given your life for your country. . . . You have proved yourself a worthy descendant of the House of Yang. You have not disgraced your grandfather and your father, and it is also our honor to be your grandmother, your mother, and your wife. Please . . . please enjoy this cup of wine! (pours the wine on the floor) Fourth Lady, Fift h Lady, Eighth Lady, Ninth Lady: Old Madam, we must . . . Yang Wenguang and Seventh Lady run to the crowd on the stage. Yang Wenguang: Great-grandmother, I must avenge my father’s death! Seventh Lady: Mother-in-law, we must avenge Zongbao!

The Yangzhou Opera Taking Command at Age One Hundred Old Madam She: Such an important matter should be determined by His Majesty. General Jiao and General Meng! Jiao Tinggui, Meng Dingguo: Yes! Old Madam She: Have you reported the situation at the Third Pass to His Majesty? Jiao Tinggui, Meng Dingguo: Not yet. Old Madam She: Too bad! The Third Pass needs reinforcements and not a moment must be lost. My two grandsons, and Eighth and Ninth daughters, you must accompany me to the Emperor’s audience hall at once to ask His Majesty to send an army. Yang Wenguang: Great-grandmother! Old Madam She: (strokes Wenguang’s hair softly) Be a good boy! Go to your room and rest! Generals Jiao and Meng lead the way. Eighth Lady and Ninth Lady help Old Madam She to exit through the left door. Seventh Lady and Wenguang exit. Then all the others exit. The curtain falls.

Notes 1. Zhongguo xiqu zhi Jiangsu juan bianji weiyuanhui, ed., Zhongguo xiqu zhi: Jiangsu juan (Beijing: Zhongguo zhongxin, 1992), 131. 2. Scenario script (mubiao) was a rough outline of a play, used for many drama genres well into the twentieth century. The scenario indicated the number of scenes, the actors to appear in each scene, and a sketch of the plot. The arias and the dialogue were both meant to be improvised by the actors. For such dramas there were no librettos ( juben). See Shanghai yishu yanjiusuo and Zhongguo xijujia xiehui Shanghai fenhui, eds., Zhongguo xiqu quyi cidian (Shanghai: Shanghai cishu, 1981), 86. 3. Wu Baitao, the main adapter of Taking Command at Age One Hundred, was a native of Yangzhou, though his ancestral home was in Yizheng County. Yin Zhou and Zhong Fei were both famous playwrights and directors in the circle of Yangju, although their hometown was not Yangzhou; Zhong Fei was from nearby Rugao County in Jiangsu Province, while Yin Zhou came from Liaoning Province. Jiang Feng’s origins are not known. 4. Mu Guying is one of the most famous characters in the legend of the Yang family generals. A skilled female general, she proposes to Yang Zongbao after meeting him on the battlefield and eventually marries him. After she is widowed, she continues to lead troops into battle to defend China. 5. Wu Baitao, “Zhengli Bai sui gua shuai de jidian tiyan,” in Wu Baitao, Wuyinshi julun xuan (Nanjing: Jiangsu wenyi, 1992), 45–46. 6. For earlier plays on the Yang family generals, see Wilt Idema and Stephen West, trans., The Generals of the Yang Family: Four Early Plays (Singapore: World Scientific, 2013). Regarding the family’s story in popu lar novels, see Y. W. Ma, “The Chinese Historical Novel:

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Liu Zhen and Jiang Ji An Outline of Themes and Contexts,” Journal of Asian Studies 34 (1975): 277–293; and C. T. Hsia, “The Military Romance: A Genre of Chinese Fiction,” in Studies in Chinese Literary Genres, ed. Cyril Birch (Berkeley: University of California, 1974), 339–390. The widows of the Yang family, as women warriors, were popu lar in a wide variety of per formance genres across China. See, for example, Fan Pen Li Chen, Chinese Shadow Theatre: History, Popular Religion, and Women Warriors (Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2007), 105–150. 7. Liu Zhen, “Zhongguo xiqu lilun de ‘xijuhua’ yu benti huigui,” Qinghua daxue xuebao (zhexue shehui kexue ban) 26 (2011): 118–127. 8. The dramatis personae lists all the characters in this play. However, the characters in square brackets do not appear on stage in Act Two translated here, although some are mentioned. 9. The following edition served as the textual basis: Jiangsusheng wenhuaju, ed., Zhongguo difang xiqu jicheng (Jiangsusheng juan) (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju, 1959), 544–560. 10. The “eight branches” refers to Old Madam She’s eight sons. Besides her own seven sons, she has a foster son who counts as her eighth son. They have all died for the country and left eight widows. Yang Zongbao, the sixth son’s child, is the only grandson of Old Madam She. 11. There are two Eighth Ladies in the House of Yang. The one who appears first is Old Madam She’s foster son’s wife, and the one in this act is Old Madam She’s own daughter. She and Ninth Lady are the eighth and ninth children of Old Madam She after their seven blood brothers. 12. Because of Marshal Yang Zongbao’s sudden death, the commanders have to use this trick to gain time.

17

A Critical View of the Yangzhou Dream Feng Zikai’s Essay “The Yangzhou Dream” (Yangzhou meng, 1958) Introduced, translated, and annotated by Sue Zhuang

Feng Zikai (1898–1975), a native of Chongde County, in Zhejiang Province, is a well-known Chinese painter, writer, translator, and educator of the twentieth century. He is also regarded as the founder of Chinese cartoon art. When studying in Zhejiang First Normal School, he was taught by Li Shutong (1880–1942) and Xia Mianzun (1886–1946). The former introduced him to music and art, while the latter instructed him in writing and Chinese literature. Highly influenced by these two teachers, Feng was interested in writing, painting, and music throughout his life. In 1921, he traveled to Japan to further his studies. After returning to China, he taught at Chunhui High School, Zhejiang, where he made friends with the famous writer Zhu Ziqing (1898–1948) and the aesthetic expert Zhu Guangqian (1897–1986). In 1924, he moved to Shanghai and taught at the Shanghai Normal School of Special Fields. Later, he became the editor of the Kaiming Publishing House (Kaiming shudian). During the Sino-Japanese War (1937–1945), he taught at different times at Guilin Normal School, Zhejiang University, and the National College of Art. After the People’s Republic was established, he became the vice president of the Shanghai Artists’ Association (1954), a member of the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference (1958), and the director of the Shanghai Chinese Painting Academy (1960). During the Cultural Revolution (1966–1976), he was cruelly persecuted, suffering both mental and physical torture. He died of lung cancer in 1975. Feng Zikai was a prolific writer and artist throughout his life, who published widely. His most noted cartoons are Complete Cartoons of Zikai (Zikai manhua quanji, six volumes), and Paintings in Defense of Life (Hu sheng huaji). His essays were assembled in the four volumes of the Selected Works 343

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of Feng Zikai (Feng Zikai wenxuan). His cartoons and essays are still beloved by Chinese today. His oeuvre also includes translations of famous works of foreign literatures. Feng Zikai wrote the essay “The Yangzhou Dream” (Yangzhou meng) in the spring of 1958, after his first visit to Yangzhou in June 1957, accompanied by his son Xinmei and his daughter Yiyin.1 The beauty and prosperity of Yangzhou has been a subject of praise in literati works ever since the Tang dynasty. Poets like Li Bai (701–762), Du Fu (712–770), Du Mu (803–852), Zhang Hu (ca. 782–852), Ouyang Xiu (1007–1072), and Su Shi (1037–1101) all wrote magnificent poems about the city. Through the marvelous descriptions of such great poets, the symbols of the Twenty-four Bridge (Ershisiqiao), the bright moon (mingyue), the misty and flowery third month (yanhua sanyue), the famous brothels (qinglou), the spring breeze (chunfeng), and streets that stretch for ten li (shili changjie), have become part of the collective Chinese memory of the beauty and glory of Yangzhou. The romantic visions of the literati, imitated and admired by later generations, established this city as a symbol of an important part of Chinese culture. The term “Yangzhou dream,” or “dream of Yangzhou” (Yangzhou meng), originated from a poem by Du Mu. In 833 Du Mu was recommended by the Huainan governor Niu Sengru (779–848) to be his secretary, and thus was stationed in Yangzhou. The late Tang is remembered as a period when emperors were fatuous, eunuchs were powerful, factions fought one another, and repeated foreign invasions took place. Living in such times, but powerless, Du Mu, a gifted young man, was driven by frustration and hopelessness to wine shops and brothels. He indulged in pleasures but also transmuted his grief and indignation into poetry. He lived in Yangzhou for only two years. Some years later he wrote the poem “Easing My Heart” (Qianhuai) to recall his dissolute life there.2 Afterward “the dream of Yangzhou” became a popular motif in drama (xiqu), narrative (xiaoshuo), and note-form literature or random anecdotes (biji). Yu Ye (fl. 867), a contemporary of Du Mu, wrote “Record of the Dream of Yangzhou” (Yangzhou meng ji), to represent Du Mu’s dissipated life in Yangzhou in the form of a narrative.3 In 835, Du Mu was appointed by the Emperor to be a censor and was stationed in Luoyang, where he met the Xuanzhou courtesan, Zhang Haohao, and wrote the famous “Zhang Haohao Poem” (Zhang Haohao shi). The Yuan dramatist Qiao Ji (zi Mengfu, 1280– 1345) also wrote a northern-style play (zaju), entitled Du Mu’s Dream of Po-

Feng Zikai’s Essay “The Yangzhou Dream”

etry and Wine in Yangzhou (Du Mu zhi shi jiu Yangzhou meng).4 The first half of its plot is the same as Yu Ye’s Record on the Dream of Yangzhou, but its latter half is adopted from Du Mu’s “Preface to the ‘Zhang Haohao Poem’ ” (Zhang Haohao shi xu), making Du and Zhang a couple. Ji Yongren (zi Liushan, 1637–1676), a Qing musician, wrote a southern-style drama (chuanqi) entitled The Dream of Yangzhou (Yangzhou meng),5 in which he invented vicissitudinous life stories for Du Mu as well as for the courtesans Purple Cloud (Ziyun) and Green Leaf (Lüye). The Qing playwright Huang Zhaosen’s (1668–1748) Dreaming of Yangzhou (Meng Yangzhou),6 and Chen Dong’s (late eighteenth century) The Dream of Weiyang (Weiyang meng),7 depict Du’s marriages to Purple Cloud and to Red Rain (Hongyu), and Du’s love affair with Purple Cloud, respectively.8 As a result of this long series of literary works surrounding Du Mu and his romances, the expression “Yangzhou dream” became synonymous with an affluent and ostentatious lifestyle and with romantic love affairs. However, some writings entitled “Yangzhou dream” published in the late Qing, such as Jiaodong Zhou Sheng’s memoir Dream of Yangzhou (Yangzhou meng), recording miscellaneous matters pertaining to Yangzhou in the Qing dynasty,9 related to Du Mu only by association. Du Mu’s dream of Yangzhou in “Easing My Heart,” judging from his life story and ambition, is a typical literati dream of seeking ideals. Through the ages, most of the literary works about Yangzhou have eulogized its beauty and prosperity, celebrating the fine scenery and the prosperity of Yangzhou during the Tang dynasty.10 A few of the literary works, nevertheless, describe decay and decline in Yangzhou. In the time of the Southern Song dynasty, Jiang Kui’s (1155–1221) song lyric “The Slow Tune of Yangzhou” (Yangzhou man),11 and the patriotic hero Wen Tianxiang’s (1236–1283) poem “Looking toward Yangzhou” (Wang Yangzhou)12 both describe the desolation that war has brought and express their patriotism. Feng Zikai’s essay “The Yangzhou Dream,” while written in vernacular Chinese (baihuawen), nevertheless quotes from a number of well-known Classical poems. At first Feng narrates in detail how he expected to see the beauty of Yangzhou as described in the writings by ancient poets and as imagined in his mind, but was very disappointed to find a scene of ruin when he arrived there. Then, he states his surprise at seeing in Yangzhou a small, ordinary, modern city where people go about their business happily in the crowded streets. Finally, he speaks of his dream, in which Yangzhou

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appears in the image of a woman who tells him how she has been devastated by the predations of the scholar-official class through the past thousand years and was able to regain her health and happiness only after 1949, through the liberation of the people. Feng’s essay is neither about Du Mu’s dissipated life story, nor about the wealth of Yangzhou. It describes the decay of the famous scenery of old Yangzhou by using adjectives like “desolate” and by leading readers to observe that the Twenty-four Bridge, whose beauty had been so highly and constantly praised by the ancient poets, was now simply a small bridge spanning a little, ditchlike, dried-up stream in the middle of fields. Subsequently, the essay defines present-day Yangzhou as “a small, modern city [ . . . ] full with the merry atmosphere of festivals.” To emphasize the modernity of the city, the word “new” is repeated several times; for example, “a newly opened garden hotel,” “a new house,” “all furniture and bedding were also new,” and “the brand-new quilt on the new bed.” These details give readers a vivid impression of Yangzhou in the 1950s. In the last third of the essay, the setting moves from the present to the future, from reality to vision. Here, Feng’s Yangzhou dream is presented, in which Yangzhou, personified as a middle-aged, dignified woman, strongly denounces the sinister aspects, hypocrisy, and inequity of the old feudalistic world and extols the prosperity and happiness of the new world. This section obviously, though indirectly, expresses Feng’s support and aspiration for the new socialist China. In the aftermath of the establishment of the People’s Republic in 1949, intellectuals engaged in public self-criticism as a way of declaring their support for the new regime. Starting in 1951, the Rectification Campaign spread rapidly in China, forcing intellectuals to criticize themselves and to study Communist thought. Accordingly, Feng Zikai published self-critical articles. For instance, in an article published in July 1952,13 he admitted that his literary and artistic activities in the past were all wrong and even toxic. He confessed that his thought in the past, corrupted by capitalism and preoccupied only with the pursuit of profits, had been unhealthy and morbid. He also declared his deep belief that Marxism, Leninism, and Mao Zedong’s thought would, like air and sunshine, be the best nutrition for him in the future. From 1956 onward, Feng published several essays in which he extolled the new society, such as “An Attempt to Write at New Year” (Xinchun shibi), “A Spring Excursion at West Lake” (Xihu chunyou), “A Trivial Matter” (Yi jian xiao shi), and “When Drinking Water, Think of Its Source” (Yin shui si yuan).14 “The Yangzhou Dream” was evidently written in the same political context.

Feng Zikai’s Essay “The Yangzhou Dream”

Analyzing Feng’s mental state in that period, one modern scholar asserts that, while there can be no doubt about Feng’s support of the new society, he nevertheless was dissatisfied with its defects. Based on a close reading of Feng’s 1956 cartoons and his speech about the policy of the Hundred Flowers Campaign at the Second Meeting of Cultural Representatives in Shanghai in 1962, it can be concluded that Feng Zikai felt helpless in the new society but still struggled and resisted passively.15 However, Feng’s daughter, Feng Yiyin (b. 1929), interpreted her father’s essay “The Yangzhou Dream” differently: through the speech of the woman in the dream, he meant to ridicule himself for his fascination with the cultural heritage of Yangzhou, and to chastise himself for ignoring the wretched state of the people exploited by the scholar-officials in the past.16 In 1966, when the Cultural Revolution spread like wildfire, Feng Zikai was denounced, beaten cruelly, paraded along the streets, put in the cowshed, sent to reform through labor, and almost tortured to death. Did all this help to wake up Feng Zikai from his Yangzhou dream? On 28 June 1979, at the ceremony held for the proper interment of Feng’s remains, he was officially rehabilitated.



The Yangzhou Dream My son Xinmei, a senior at Gezhi High School, had got a lung infection. Following the doctor’s advice, he asked for leave from school and took a rest at home. He felt lonesome and decided to take the opportunity to study poetry; I became his teacher, explaining to him Three Hundred Poems of the Tang Dynasty (Tang shi sanbai shou), and The Lyrics of Baixiang (Baixiang cipu), once or twice a week.17 One day in the late spring, I taught him to read Jiang Baishi’s song lyric “The Slow Tune of Yangzhou” (Yangzhou man):18 In the famous city on the south side of the Huai River (Huaihe), On a scenic spot by the West Bamboo Pavilion,19 I unstrap the saddle of my horse to rest awhile on my first trip there. Traveling for miles in the spring breeze I see only green shepherd’s purse and wheat. Since the incursions of Jin troops into the Yangzi Region, Even deserted ponds and loft y trees Loathe the mention of war.

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Sue Zhuang Towards evening, Wails of plaintive bugles that raise a chill in the air All come from the empty city. Du Mu, who once made his amorous sojourn here,20 Would be dismayed if he should revisit Yangzhou. Though his verse on the round cardamom is well composed, His poem on the dream of the blue houses fine, He would be hard put to it to express his deep feelings. The Twenty-four Bridge is still here. In the center of the lake, the water ripples, And the cold moon makes no sound. The red herbaceous peonies by the bridge— For whom do they bloom every year?21

My son was interested in the rhythm of poetry, focusing his attention on  the rules of tonal pattern. But sentimental and nostalgic for the old China as I was, my mind roamed around the beautiful ancient spot Weiyang (Yangzhou), reminiscing about the splendid scenes of the misty, flowery third month and the spring breeze blowing through ten li. When reading the line “The Twenty-four Bridge is still here,” I suddenly thought of taking a trip to Yangzhou, a place that I had heard about for a long time but had never yet visited. Immediately, I closed The Lyrics of Baixiang and asked Xinmei to go to Eight Immortals Bridge (Baxianqiao) and buy train tickets to Zhenjiang for the following day. He brought back three tickets at nightfall. His elder sister Yiyin would go with us. All of us prepared our luggage that night. The next afternoon, the three of us arrived at Zhenjiang. After checking in at a hotel, we took a trip to Jiaoshan Temple (Jiaoshansi) and looked around the city. The next morning, we boarded a steamboat to cross the Yangzi River, transferring to a bus on the other side. Within two hours we had arrived in Yangzhou. In response to our inquiry, the station workers recommended a newly opened garden hotel. When we arrived at the hotel by car, we were confronted with a newly built house; inside, all the furniture and bedding were also new. After taking a bath, I poured a cup of tea, sat down, and took a rest. Pulling myself together, I thought: I am in Yangzhou now; however, nothing I have seen on the road or felt in the hotel is related to ancient times at all; instead, the whole place appears like a small modern city, quiet and clean; men and women, old and young, are bustling around, working cheerfully like other places; among them, none looks like Li Bai,

Feng Zikai’s Essay “The Yangzhou Dream”

Zhang Hu, Du Mu, Zheng Banqiao, or Jin Dongxin.22 For lunch, the hotel receptionist introduced us to the Abundant Spring (Fuchun) Restaurant.23 Abundant Spring was a restaurant in Yangzhou famous for its refreshments and food. Although located well down an alley, it was unexpectedly spacious when one entered. Its pastries and other foods were all delicious, though most of them were meat dishes that I could only enjoy with my eyes; the vegetarian dishes, having their own special flavors, were however very good too.24 I felt that Yangzhou was only a small Shanghai or small Hangzhou; that is, a place without any distinctive trait. This made me feel a little bit disappointed. I decided to visit the celebrated Twenty-four Bridge that afternoon,25 assuming that this would satisfy my nostalgia. We went to the main street to take a pedicab. I said, “To the Twenty-four Bridge.” All the young pedicab men shook their heads, not knowing where it was. An elderly man said that he knew, but he warned us: “That place is far away and desolate. Why do you want to go there?” I was too embarrassed to say that it was because I wanted to contemplate relics of the past. So I lied and replied, “To visit a friend.” The man said, laughing, “Not many people live there.” Feeling extremely awkward, I replied evasively, “To tell you the truth, we just want to see that bridge.” All the pedicab men laughed. At that time, another elderly man came out from a shop nearby and said smilingly to one pedicab man: “Come on! Take them there. It is outside the West Gate. They came for that small bridge.” Then, he turned to me and said: “The bridge was very famous before, but it is desolate now, nothing much around it.” I guessed that this elderly man must have read the poems of the Tang dynasty and knew the verse line “By night on the Twenty-four Bridge, under the full moon.” His smile was not that amiable, as if insinuating, “These fools!” It was more than half an hour later when the pedicab stopped by a small bridge spanning a little ditch-like river in the middle of fields. The pedicab man said, “Here we are! This is the Twenty-four Bridge.” We got out of the pedicab with great disappointment; besides “Ah!” none of us said another word. Yiyin took out the camera, preparing to take photos. The pedicab man saw that and said in the local dialect: “Come to take photos?” “For reconstructing the bridge?” “For dredging the river?” I did not try to defend myself; instead, I pretended to be an engineer, to save trouble. The pedicab man went to the shade of a tree to rest and smoke. I felt a little bit uneasy, wondering if the small bridge was really the Twenty-four Bridge. In order to make sure, I ran to ask a farmer working on a field nearby: “Comrade, what

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Figure 17.1. “The Twenty-four Bridge Is Still Here” as drawn by Feng Zikai, 1957. (Feng Chenbao and Feng Yiyin, eds., Feng Zikai manhua quanji)

bridge is this?” He replied, “The Twenty-four Bridge.” I was not fully assured. Again I ran to the front door of a little house by the bridge. A whitehaired old woman sitting inside was sewing. I asked her, “Granny, may I ask the name of this bridge?” The old woman answered straightforwardly, “The Twenty-four Bridge.” I felt relieved at last. We then took some pictures of the Twenty-four Bridge. The river under it was dried up; the narrowest part of it was only seven or eight chi in width. Xinmei strode over it, mumbling the words “In the center of the lake, the water ripples, and the cold moon makes no sound.” We couldn’t help laughing. On our way back to the city at sunset, I was immersed in thought. The first thing that came into my mind was Li Bai’s famous line “On your way to visit Yangzhou in the misty month of flowers,”26 and I felt that this was just the right time to be in Yangzhou. Then I thought of Du Mu’s poems. Over misted blue hills and distant water; In Jiangnan at autumn’s end the grass has not yet wilted. By night on the Twenty-four Bridge, under the full moon; Where are you teaching a jade girl to blow tunes on your flute?27 By rivers and lakes at odds with life I journeyed, wine my freight. Slim waists of Chu broke my heart, light bodies danced into my palm. Ten years late I wake at last out of my Yangzhou dream With nothing but the name of a drifter in the blue houses.28

Feng Zikai’s Essay “The Yangzhou Dream” She is slim and supple and not yet fourteen, The young spring tip of a cardamom spray. On the Yangzhou Road for three miles in the breeze Every pearl screen is open. But there’s no one like her.29

Also, I recalled Xu Ning’s verse: If the bright moon nights of the world were to be divided into three parts, Two thirds would, undoubtedly, belong to Yangzhou.30

And, I remembered Wang Jian’s line: Myriad of lamps in the night market illuminate the sky; Loft y pavilions full of girls are crowded with guests.31

After that, I thought of Zhang Hu’s poem: Shops are linked one with another on the streets that stretch for ten li, Whereas fairies can be seen upon the Moonlight Bridge (Yuemingqiao). People are lucky to die in Yangzhou, For the scenery of Chanzhi temple (Chanzhisi) would be beautiful for the graveyard.32

While chanting these verses, I dreamed of the prosperous Yangzhou of the Tang dynasty. I also thought of The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou (Yangzhou huafang lu), by a Qing writer, which exhaustively described the splendor of Yangzhou in the Qianlong era.33 I recalled again the so-called “Eight Eccentrics of Yangzhou” (Yangzhou ba guai) of the Qing dynasty, imagining the romantic affairs of such dissolute literati painters in Yangzhou as Zheng Banqiao, Jin Dongxin, Luo Pin, Li Fangying, Wang Shishen, Gao Xiang, Huang Shen, and Li Shan.34 Finally, when I thought about “Ten Days at Yangzhou” (Yangzhou shi ri ji), which depicts the Qing armies’ slaughter in Yangzhou, I shivered and stopped thinking further.35 When we returned to the hotel, I learned from the cashier that there were some vegetarian restaurants in Yangzhou. We went to one for dinner. It was called Forest of Little Awakening (Xiaojuelin) and located across from a theater. We took a box in a small tower. After the meal, Yiyin and Xinmei went to see a movie in the theater across the street. I drank alone in the

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tower, leaning leisurely on a window and looking far into the distance. “Streets that stretch for ten li”? “Myriad of lamps in the night market”? Yes, certainly. But there was nothing antique about them at all. I only saw many men and women dressed in “people’s style,” happily bustling here and there. Compared with the streets in Shanghai, this city seemed particularly full with the happy atmosphere of festivals. What was the reason? I thought for a long time and suddenly realized. Because there was no car at night in downtown Yangzhou, the streets were very safe and all the pedestrians strolled down the middle of the streets. This scene resembled the festivals in Shanghai when the electric streetcars were not in ser vice; therefore, it looked to me to be suff used with an air of extraordinary enjoyable festivity. I felt very happy on the one hand, but was slightly disappointed on the other. For I came to pay homage to the famous city on the south side of the Huai River, bringing with me a deep nostalgia for ancient China, but what I saw was only an ordinary modernized city. I roamed alone on the street for a while after dinner; when I returned to the hotel, it was past nine o’clock. With a body fatigued by the long journey and a mind worn out by busy thoughts and various feelings, I was so exhausted both physically and mentally that I fell asleep the moment I lay on the bed. Suddenly, I heard someone knocking at the door. Rubbing my eyes, I got out of bed, and throwing on a garment, I went to open the door. Standing outside was a middle-aged woman, strong, healthy, and dignified, her face radiant with a smile. She spoke in Yangzhou dialect: “I am sorry to disturb your dream.” I said, “Please come in and have a seat. May I ask your name?” She entered the room calmly, sat down by the table, and started to talk with confidence and composure. “My family name is Yang, my personal name is Zhou, my studio name is Guangling, my style name is Hanjiang, and another studio name is Jiangdu. I am a native of this place.36 I knew that you, granddad, came all the way on purpose to visit me, so I came to return your courtesy. Today I went to the train station to welcome you, then accompanied you to the Twenty-four Bridge, and followed you to the restaurant, without giving you a chance to suspect it. I know all your deeds and thoughts. I felt that you have misunderstood me; therefore, I came especially to offer you an explanation. You have come a long way here only to find all your efforts in vain, so I suppose you must be interested in listening to what I have to say about myself.” I said: “I have heard your well-known name for a

Feng Zikai’s Essay “The Yangzhou Dream”

long time. I am very pleased to learn from you!” She then unhurriedly began to introduce herself as follows: “You have yearned for my image in the Tang and Qing eras, have been fascinated by the ‘flourishing’ sights of ‘misty, flowery third month’ and ‘ten li, where the spring breeze blows,’ have admired those ‘romantic affairs’ of the ‘Eight Eccentrics of Yangzhou,’ thinking of these matters as my past glory and happiness. You were completely mistaken. Let me tell you the truth: before 1949, through a period of more than one thousand years, I was constantly abused and endlessly tortured, experienced all kinds of miseries, and always suffered from chronic diseases. Injured all over my body, I became deformed and paralyzed. All the things that the ancients had admired of me were no more than false happiness, disgraceful glory, painful laughter, and morbid prosperity. That you should have believed them to be real! So you chanted the ancient poems with great joy, earnestly imagined the grand state of the ancient times, made slight of traveling a thousand miles simply to contemplate the historical sites, and could not bear to recall the bygone ages and lament their vanishing. You were badly fooled, indeed. Let me tell you the truth. During the past thousand years, I suffered all kinds of hardship. They oppressed me and poisoned me. They used cruel methods to concentrate the blood of my whole body on my face, and then they painted my face with lipsticks and powders and decorated it with ornaments, to make my face look gorgeous and majestic. However, the other parts of my body and my inner organs had contracted all sorts of diseases; I was crippled and paralyzed, my bones fractured and my flesh swollen and rotten. You should know how much blood and sweat had to be taken from my body before those scholar-officials could listen to the pretty girls playing the bamboo flute on the Twenty-four Bridge in the bright moon night, see fairies upon the Moonlight Bridge, or indulge in dissolute romantic affairs.” “I endured endless miseries, and it was only in 1949 that my fortune turned. People relieved me of my shackles, healed my wounds, cured my diseases, bathed me, and nourished me, so that my whole body grew normal and regained health. I have never ever lived such a cheerful life. This is my real glory and happiness. From the small tower of the restaurant you saw me filled with the joyful atmosphere of festivals. In truth, I have lived such a festival-like life every day now for seven or eight years. That is why my body has become so strong, my mind so delighted, and my life so happy. You have not met me before and did not see my unhappy past, so you are a lucky person.

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I invite you to stay longer, we can chat more, and you will understand more about my glory and happiness. Then you will return to Shanghai fully contented and never regret all the troubles you have gone through on this long trip. It is late, you should rest. I am sorry to have disturbed your dream.” Saying so, she rose and took her leave. After listening to her speech, I was suddenly enlightened. When I was about to console her and thank her, she was already out of the door. She turned her head to say, “See you tomorrow” and disappeared behind the door. I was just getting up to see her off, when, unexpectedly, I stumbled on the doorsill and fell down. I woke up suddenly and realized that I was actually underneath the brand-new quilt on the new bed in the hotel. Ah! It was just a dream of Yangzhou. This dream was more meaningful than Qiao Mengfu’s The Dream of Yangzhou of the Yuan dynasty and Ji Liushan’s The Dream of Yangzhou of the Qing dynasty;37 hence, I could not but write it down.

Notes I would like to express my gratitude to Meiying Chen (Department of English, National Changhua University of Education, Taiwan) for assistance with the English language. 1. See Feng Yiyin, Feng Zikai zhuan (Taibei: Lanting shuju, 1987), 213. Feng Zikai’s “The Yangzhou Dream” was first published in the New Observer (Xin guancha) in 1958. Notice that the inscription on the cartoon “The Twenty-four Bridge Still Remains” is dated 1957. 2. See the quotation of this poem in the translation below. 3. Included in Chen Henghe, comp., Yangzhou congke (rpt. of the 1936 edition, Yangzhou: Jiangsu Guangling guji keyinshe, 1987), vol. 3. 4. Included in Zang Maoxun, comp., Yuanqu xuan jiaozhu, ed. Wang Xueqi (Shijiazhuang: Hebei jiaoyu, 1994), 4:2045–2077. 5. Included in Guben xiqu congkan biankan weiyuanhui, ed., Guben xiqu congkan: Wu ji (rpt., Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1986), vol. 25. 6. Published in a series of four plays entitled Si caizi qishu (Bogutang, 1716). 7. Published in a series of three plays entitled Beijing caotang waiji san zhong (Outer collection of the thatched hut at the Northern Brook: three titles), included in Zheng Zhenduo, comp., Qingren zaju chu er ji (rpt., Xianggang: Longmen shudian, 1969), 275–286. 8. Yan Yan, “Du Mu ticai gudai lishiju zhi benshi suyuan ji xingxiang jiexi,” Leshan shifan daxue xueyuan xuebao 10 (2009): 23–28. 9. Jiaodong Zhou Sheng was Zhou Boyi (1823–1895) from Zhenjiang. See the introduction to this text by Antonia Finnane in Chapter 11 of the present volume. 10. For example, Li Bai’s “Seeing off Meng Haoran for Guangling at the Yellow Crane Tower” (Huanghelou song Meng Haoran zhi Guangling); Wang Jian’s (767–831) “Night Scenes on Yangzhou’s Marketplace” (Ye kan Yangzhou shi); Zhang Hu’s “Sightseeing in Huainan” (Zong you Huainan); Xu Ning’s (early ninth c.) “Remembering Yangzhou” (Yi Yangzhou); and Du Mu’s “To Judge Han Chuo at Yangzhou” (Ji Yangzhou Han Chuo panguan). 11. See below, in the translation of Feng’s text. 12. Wen Tianxiang, Wenshan xiansheng quanji (Beijing: Zhongguo shudian, 1985), 360.

Feng Zikai’s Essay “The Yangzhou Dream” 13. Feng Zikai, “Jiancha wo de sixiang,” Dagongbao 16 July 1952: 2. 14. Feng Chenbao et al., eds., Feng Zikai wenji: Wenxue juan (Hangzhou: Zhejiang wenyi and Zhejiang jiaoyu, 1992), 2:642–644, 515–522, 473–475, 599–602. 15. Liu Ying, “Zanshi tuoli chenshi: Feng Zikai wannian de xinlu licheng,” Bolan qunshu 5 (2005): 77–81. 16. Feng Yiyin, Feng Zikai zhuan, 159. 17. The Three Hundred Poems of the Tang Dynasty, compiled by Sun Zhu (1711–1778), has been the most widely used essential anthology of Tang poetry since the Qing dynasty. The Lyrics of Baixiang, edited by Shu Menglan (1759–1835), is a selection of one hundred song lyrics (ci) in one hundred different tunes from the Tang to the Qing dynasty. It serves as a primer for the study of Chinese song lyrics. 18. Jiang Kui (hao Baishi, 1155–1221) was a famous poet, composer, critic, and calligrapher of the Song dynasty. “Yangzhou man” (The Slow Tune of Yangzhou) is the title for a long prosodic form of ci invented by Jiang Kui. Note that this text has a preface that is not included in Feng’s quotation. 19. West Bamboo Pavilion (Zhuxiting) is a famous scenic spot of Yangzhou. 20. On the famous late-Tang-dynasty poet Du Mu, see the introduction above. He was skilled in poetry, fu, and ancient prose (guwen). He passed the jinshi examination in 828, at the age of twenty-five, and held many official positions in various places throughout his lifetime. 21. Translation adapted from Kuo-pin Huang, trans., “Three Tz‘u Songs with Prefaces by Chiang K‘uei,” in Song without Music: Chinese Tz‘u Poetry, ed. Stephen C. Soong (Hong Kong: Chinese University Press, 1980), 248–249. See Xia Chengtao, ed., Jiang Baishi ci biannian jianjiao (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1981), 1–3. 22. Li Bai (701–762), who had been an officer of the Hanlin Academy, was a major poet of the Tang dynasty. He is regarded as the most outstanding writer of Chinese romantic poems, and is called “The Immortal of Poets” (shixian). Zhang Hu (c. 782–852) was also a poet of the Tang dynasty. Zheng Xie (hao Banqiao, 1693–1765) and Jin Nong (hao Dongxin et al., 1687– 1763) were painters and calligraphers in the Qianlong era of the Qing dynasty. They are regarded as two of the “Eight Eccentrics of Yangzhou” (Yangzhou ba guai); see the discussion by Michele Matteini in Chapter 13 of the present volume. See also Lucie Olivová and Vibeke Børdahl, eds., Lifestyle and Entertainment in Yangzhou (Copenhagen: NIAS Press, 2009), Part 4, esp. 402–440. 23. The Abundant Spring Restaurant is located in the center of the old town of Yangzhou. Founded in 1885, it is famous for Huai-Yang cuisine (Huaiyangcai). 24. Feng Zikai, a pious Buddhist, was a vegetarian. 25. On Twenty-four Bridge, see the discussion by Philip Kafalas in Chapter 3, note 8, of the present volume. 26. See Li Bai, “Seeing off Meng Haoran for Guangling at the Yellow Crane Tower” (Huanghelou song Meng Haoran zhi Guangling), included in Peng Dingqiu et al., eds., Quan Tang shi (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1960), j. 174, 5:1785. The translation is borrowed from Witter Bynner, trans., The Jade Mountain: A Chinese Anthology. Being Three Hundred Poems of the T‘ang Dynasty 618–906 (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1945), 54. 27. This is the poem entitled “To Judge Han Chuo at Yangzhou” (Ji Yangzhou Han Chuo panguan). Peng Dingqiu, Quan Tang shi, j. 523, 16:5982; translation adapted from A. C. Graham, trans., Poems of the Late T‘ang (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1965), 126. 28. This is the poem entitled “Easing My Heart” (Qianhuai). Peng Dingqiu, Quan Tang shi, j. 524, 16:5998; translation adapted from Graham, Poems of the Late T‘ang, 123.

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Sue Zhuang 29. This is one of two poems entitled “Parting” (Zengbie). Peng Dingqiu, Quan Tang shi, j. 523, 16:5988; translation adapted from Bynner, The Jade Mountain, 177. 30. These two lines are quoted from the poem “Remembering Yangzhou” (Yi Yangzhou) by Xu Ning (ninth c.), a Tang poet. Peng Dingqui, Quan Tang shi, j. 474, 14:5377. 31. These are the first two lines of the poem “Night Scenes on a Yangzhou Marketplace” (Ye kan Yangzhou shi) by Wang Jian (767–831), a Tang poet. Peng Dingqiu, Quan Tang shi, j. 301, 9:3430. 32. This is Zhang Hu’s poem entitled “Sightseeing at Huainan.” Peng Dingqiu, Quan Tang shi, j. 511, 15:5846. There is another interpretation for the last line, since shanguang might also have referred to Shanguang Temple (Shanguangsi), which, located in Yangzhou’s Wantou, was built in the Sui dynasty. Therefore, the last line can also be read as follows: “The land between Chanzhi Temple and Shanguang Temple would be great for graves.” 33. On The Plea sure Boats of Yangzhou, see the discussion and translation by Lucie Olivová in Chapter 6 of the present volume. 34. The expression “The Eight Eccentrics of Yangzhou” points to a group of artists active in Yangzhou in the late seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. On this question, see the discussion by Michele Matteini in Chapter 13 of the present volume. 35. The report “Ten Days at Yangzhou” was written by Wang Xiuchu, a survivor of the May 1645 massacre of Yangzhou by the Qing army. See note 7 in the Introduction, this volume. 36. Guangling, Hanjiang, and Jiangdu are all alternative names for Yangzhou. 37. Qiao Mengfu refers to Qiao Ji, and Ji Liushan to Ji Yongren, both of whom wrote dramas entitled The Dream of Yangzhou about Du Mu’s romantic love story in Yangzhou. See my discussion in the introduction above.

18

Layers of the Local in Yangzhou Storytelling Wang Shaotang Performs “Wu Song Fights the Tiger” (Wu Song da hu, 1961) Introduced, translated, and annotated by Vibeke Børdahl

Yangzhou storytelling (Yangzhou pinghua) has a history of more than four hundred years in the Lower Yangzi area. The tradition of telling from the Water Margin (Shuihu) oral story cycles1 has roots going back to the Ming period when Liu Jingting (1592–1674) was famous for his performance of the episode “Wu Song Fights the Tiger” (Wu Song da hu), as well as other stories.2 All through the history of Yangzhou storytelling there have been master tellers who specialized in the oral repertoires of the Water Margin. In the late Qing, the so-called “schools” (men or pai) of Water Margin and Three Kingdoms (Sanguo) were decidedly the most prosperous, with large contingents of master tellers and their disciples.3 In the twentieth century, the Wang School of Water Margin (Wang pai Shuihu), founded by Wang Shaotang (1889–1968), was nationally acclaimed as the most prestigious representative of Chinese storytelling. In this connection the oral works of Wang Shaotang were recorded, edited, and published in the format of “new storytellers’ books” (xin huaben).4 The translation here is not from any of these book editions, but from an orally preserved text, namely a radio broadcast of Wang Shaotang’s first “session” of “Ten Chapters on Wu [Song]” (Wu shi hui, Nanjing Radio, 1961).5 The performance begins with a recitation of the couplet that is the title to Chapter 23 of the classic Ming novel Water Margin (Shuihu zhuan). Titles are in general not part of oral performances of Yangzhou storytelling. Taking the title from the novel is an exception in more than one sense: first, storytellers usually never refer to a title for their performance during performance, even if titles sometimes exist and are used in referring to certain tales outside of the performance situation; second, quotations from the 357

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novel Water Margin are almost nonexistent in the repertoire of the Wang School of Water Margin. The couplet quoted from the novel at this place functions as a special “literary” ornament, adding prestige to the beginning of the Wu Song2 saga. The background to this story as known from the Ming novel is as follows: For the past year Wu Song, after being involved in a case of manslaughter, has taken refuge in the home of a rich and generous landlord, Chai Jin. News from home reveals that the victim survived after all, and Wu Song is eager to return home to see his elder brother, who is his only relative. This is the point where all the storytellers of the Wang School begin their tale: After some days on the road Wu Song arrives one evening in Jingyang Town (Jingyangzhen) and enters a local tavern, where the young waiter (xiao‘er) serves him the strong wine called “Three Bowls and You Cannot Cross the Ridge” (San wan bu guo gang). Wang Shaotang’s performance for the radio also starts head on—in medias res—with no presentation of the background. The story of Wu Song’s previous life is never told in this tradition, but general knowledge about the hero is presupposed among the audience of Yangzhou storytelling.6 “Wu Song Fights the Tiger” is always the first story to be told by the storytellers of the Wang School when they begin their Water Margin cycles.7 However, since the radio allows only short sessions of about half an hour, the first performance stops after the first section (duanzi), at the point where Wu Song has left the tavern to climb the tiger mountain while the waiter and the innkeeper are quarrelling about the silver that Wu Song just gave as a tip. How Wu Song kills the tiger on Jingyang Ridge belongs to the following radio broadcasts. However, public performances of Yangzhou storytelling in the storyteller’s house usually last for two hours with a short break, altogether four sections, and under these conditions “the first day of performance” (di yi tian shu) contains not only the episode in the tavern, but also the fight with the tiger. The short format for the radio is essentially against the tradition of this art, where there used to be ample time for embroidering on a good, long story. The storytellers used to be engaged to tell every day for about two to three months, and the better part of the audience would come daily to listen to the storyteller and enjoy tea and the company of friends and acquaintances. The repertoires of Yangzhou storytelling are only in exceptional cases the result of authorship in the traditional sense.8 Most repertoires have arisen through centuries of oral transmission from generation to generation. This is the case with the enormous repertoire of Water Margin, which can be

Wang Shaotang Performs “Wu Song Fights the Tiger ”

traced through eight generations of master tellers back to the beginning of the nineteenth century. Ultimately the tale of “Wu Song Fights the Tiger,” the first in the cycle of tales constituting the “Ten Chapters on Wu [Song]” cycle of the Water Margin complex, can be attested in Yangzhou storytelling as early as the mid-seventeenth century in the performances of Liu Jingting. But the performances of this famous storyteller should not be considered a starting point for the tradition. Liu was obviously learning his art from his fellow storytellers. A direct link between the oral repertoire of Water Margin in Yangzhou storytelling and the Ming novel Water Margin seems an awkward idea, both with a view to length and to the linguistic building blocks from which the oral and the written versions are composed. Only in a few exceptional cases do we find common formulations.9 The fact that many of the plotlines are largely the same does not per se implicate any mutual derivation, since the stories of Water Margin have been disseminated in Chinese society in so many oral and written genres and formats since the fourteenth century. It seems more profitable to acknowledge the special kind of authorship that this oral tradition nourishes. A “first creator” or “author” of a repertoire is an oddity and a rare situation, but the usual scenario is that of a lengthy list of storytellers’ names and the affi liations of generations of performers, all of whom put their stamp on the tradition. Every performance is a continuation of the tradition and at the same time a unique text, never to be repeated again in exactly the same form. The individual storyteller could, with some right, be considered the “author” of each of his per formances, but such authorship would be fundamentally different from that of written culture. From the point of view of the local in the creation of the Water Margin repertoire and the first tale about Wu Song and the tiger, it is a fact that all the storytellers of the Wang School have had their origin in Yangzhou or in the area where Yangzhou storytelling traditionally belonged and had audiences. The Wang School is only one branch of a larger lineage of storytellers telling the Water Margin, the Deng School (Deng men). The Wang School is also related to the other large lineage of Water Margin storytellers, the Song School (Song men). All the storytellers of these two lineages—in so far as their origin is recorded—are from the circuit of Yangzhou storytelling.10 The same is the case with the “father of storytelling,” Liu Jingting, who came from Taizhou, in Yangzhou Prefecture, a town that belonged to the area of Yangzhou storytelling throughout its history.

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Figure 18.1. Map of the Yangzhou Storytellers’ Circuit. (Børdahl and Ross, Chinese Storytellers)

Wang Shaotang Performs “Wu Song Fights the Tiger ”

The family of Wang Shaotang had lived in Yangzhou since the time of his grandfather, who came from one of the smaller towns in the neighborhood. Wang Shaotang spent a lifetime traveling between storyteller’s houses in the whole circuit of Yangzhou storytelling, including Nanjing and Shanghai, but his home was in Yangzhou. As the storyteller (creative performer) of the oral episode recorded here, he classifies among the truly local personages of our volume. The language of the selected oral text is local Yangzhou dialect (Yangzhou fangyan), with local pronunciation, grammar, and lexicon. However, the Yangzhou dialect belongs to the North Chinese dialects (Beifang fangyan) that are all subsumed under the nomenclature of Mandarin (guanhua). As a Mandarin dialect of the southern type (situated in the southernmost region of the Mandarin dialect area), it is not too difficult to write oral Yangzhou speech (Yangzhouhua) with Chinese characters. Syllables are written in much the same way as with Modern Standard Chinese (putonghua), and differences are not unbridgeable. But we must draw attention to the fact that the storytellers use a number of registers, known as “speaking mouth” (shuokou), within the dialect, to give color and variety to narrative style and dialogue. Among these registers some are closer to Northern Mandarin (Beifang guanhua), some to local Mandarin (difang guanhua), and some to low-style local dialect (Yangzhou jiaxianghua, or tuyu). Therefore the “local” features of the language comprise several layers of more or less “local” and more or less “nonlocal” strata. Wang Shaotang begins his performance in the slow and dignified style of “square mouth” ( fangkou), using the register of local Mandarin, which is comparatively closer to the pronunciation of North Chinese.11 After a description of the tavern that Wu Song is approaching, the narrator enters into simulated dialogue with the audience: “You must be joking! Other things can be ‘new,’ but how can people be ‘new’? Why not?” At this point Wang Shaotang continues in “round mouth” (yuankou), a style that is far closer to ordinary Yangzhou dialect, even if Wang’s pronunciation—in narrative portions—mostly tends toward a conservative and “high-brow” variant of this style. When imitating the dialogue of the various characters of the story, the differences in pronunciation, grammar, and lexicon become much more obvious. In round-mouth passages, whether dialogue or narrative, expressions typical of Yangzhou dialect are frequent.12 When Wu Song thinks or talks to himself, the storyteller uses round mouth, that is, speaks with Yangzhou dialect pronunciation when impersonating the

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inner thoughts of the hero. But whenever Wu Song speaks to somebody else, the storyteller inevitably uses square mouth with an accent of Northern Mandarin, and his sound is strong and imposing. Therefore, as a private person, a fellow human being, Wu Song is part of the local society of the Yangzhou area (or the area North of the Yangzi River), but as a public character of heroic status, he belongs to a foreign locality, that is, North China. The language of the waiter is explicitly dwelt upon by the storytellernarrator: At first the young fellow greets his guest with some polite phrases in “so-so Beijing accent” (erba Jingqiang), but soon the youngster has to switch to his own mother tongue, the “dialect from North of the River” (Jiangbeihua). He is “our fellow townsman” (tongxiang). This passage bears witness to the feeling of “common locality” and “homeland” among the people “North of the Yangzi River.” In this respect Yangzhou is the center, but not the geographical limit, of the idea of a common locality. The descriptions of scenery and characters likewise intertwine local with nonlocal features. The tale of Wu Song and the tiger from the Water Margin saga is on the one hand situated in Shandong Province in North China. On the other hand we can perceive a number of details that point to local habits from the Lower Yangzi area, including the town of Yangzhou. The description of the tavern in Jingyang Town, with thatched roof, three wings (or bays), a courtyard in the middle, and inner doors (yaomen /iaa-men/ 儙攩)13 between the front and the rear, might have been modeled on old-fashioned Yangzhou restaurants, such as the Seductive Spring Restaurant (Yechun fandian) situated along the canal leading to Slender West Lake (Shou Xihu). But how far these architectural features are specific to the Lower Yangzi area is open to discussion. Local features of scenery of course become much more pronounced in storytellers’ repertoires that are from the outset situated in this very area, such as Pi Fift h the Rascal (Pi Wu Lazi) and portions of the Three Kingdoms saga. In the present tale local features occur in architecture, clothes, and food. The description of the waiter seems to reflect the image of a Yangzhou waiter in the 1930s and up to the present time. Even if his clothes and appearance are not sufficiently specific to differentiate him from waiters elsewhere, he has at least one local attribute, namely the soft cap (bazhuade maozi /ba-zua-de maa-zr/ ㈳㈼䘭ⷦ⫹), which is a local expression for a kind of headgear from the Yangzhou area. Among the dishes offered to Wu Song in the tavern, at least two have local names, namely “chicken” ( jizi / zi-zr/ 暇⫹), and “steamed rolls” (manshou /muon-sw/ 森椿).

Wang Shaotang Performs “Wu Song Fights the Tiger ”

Figure 18.2. Storyteller Wang Shaotang during Per formance, late 1950s. (Anonymous frontispiece photo in Wang Shaotang, Song Jiang)

Wu Song’s first address to the young waiter whom he has never met before is to call him “Little Second” (Xiao Er). This expression is currently often heard as a general term for “waiter,”14 and Wu Song also seems to use the word simply in that sense. However, later in the tale, the narrator explains that this waiter is number two among his brothers and is therefore called Wang the Second (Wang Er). Here the general meaning of “waiter” changes into a personal name. Moreover this name has certain oblique connections to local drama, where a role type of this name appears as a trickster figure.15 Just as the storyteller-narrator informs us that the waiter is from “North of the River” (Jiangbei), so his name, Little Second (Xiao Er), or his profession as a waiter (xiao‘er) adds to the local flavor of the performance. Wu Song is definitely an outsider from another part of the country, but the people surrounding him in the tavern are defined as “insiders” from the Lower Yangzi area. What constitutes the basic atmosphere of local “belonging” in this oral tradition, as well as in this particular performance, is the fact that the “ordinary persons” of the story, the so-called “small persons” (xiao renwu), think and talk in daily Yangzhou dialect, and have their origin in the area North of the River. These ordinary people are obviously representative of human beings like you and me, like the audience of storytelling.

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Wu Song Fights the Tiger Performed by Wang Shaotang on Nanjing Radio, 1961 [Beginning of audiotape]

Chai Jin Accommodates Guests in Henghai County; Wu Song Fights a Tiger on Jingyang Ridge16 Second Brother from Guankou, Wu Song (Guankou Erlang Wu Song),17 was in Henghai County at the estate of Lord Chai when he received news from his elder brother. He bade farewell to Chai Jin, and went off to Yanggu District in Shandong to find his brother. He was not just one day on the road—he had marched for more than twenty days—and today he had reached the boundary of Yanggu District in Shandong, more than twenty li from the city. It was in the middle of the tenth month, and now the sun was slanting steeply toward the west. Our hero felt hungry and wanted to take a rest. The moment he looked up, he saw in the distance a pitch-black town. Our hero shouldered his bundle and, holding a staff in his right hand, marched forward in big strides, making his way to the gate of the town. When he raised his head again and looked up, he saw the wall piled up with flat bricks all the way to the roof and the round city gate. Above it there was a whitewashed stone with three red characters: “Jingyang Town.” As he entered the gate, he saw a broad alley, neatly lined with shops on both sides, most of them thatched cottages. There were also quite a few people around. Walking along he noticed a tavern to his right, a brand-new thatched cottage with three wings. Under the eaves a brand-new green bamboo pole was stuck in, and hanging on the green bamboo pole there was a brand-new blue wine banner. On the blue wine banner a piece of brand-new pink paper was glued. On the pink paper was written in big brand-new characters: “Three Bowls and You Cannot Cross the Ridge.” The moment he glanced inside the tavern, he saw brand-new tables and stools, a brandnew kitchen range, a brand-new chopping board, a brand-new counter, and also two brand-new people—you must be joking! Other things can be “new,” but how can people be “new”? Why not? Behind the counter sat a young innkeeper, just in his twenties. In front of the counter stood a young waiter, eighteen or nineteen. Probably young

Wang Shaotang Performs “Wu Song Fights the Tiger ”

people could be called “new” people. And then it follows that old people might be called “worn” people. The proverb is right: Wave upon wave the Yangzi River flows; New people overtake the elder generation.18

So people can also be counted as “new.” From the other side of the counter he saw the butler (tangguan) standing in the main room—it’s really just what we call a waiter (paotangde) in ordinary speech. He was handsome, with a clear brow and bright eyes, white teeth and red lips, a delicate mouth with thin lips: he certainly looked like he had a glib tongue. On his head he wore a soft cap, around his waist he had tied an apron as clean as can be, and below his feet showed in cotton socks and cotton shoes. With both hands on his hips he glanced out from the door of the tavern. Why did he stand there and look? He was on the look out for business. Suddenly he caught sight of a customer, bundle on shoulder and staff in hand, who was approaching and made a halt. Sure enough, this must be someone who wants to drink some wine. A businessman who sees business coming his way will always give it a warm welcome! So the young fellow, all smiles, hurriedly took a few steps forward, greeting the customer with both hands clasped and a mouthful of phrases in so-so Beijing accent:19 “Sir! Does Your Honor want to take a rest in our humble tavern? Millet gruel, sorghum, chicken, pancakes, steamed rolls, the food is fine and the prices are reasonable. Please, come in and have a seat, Sir!” Wu Song saw immediately that this waiter (xiao‘er) was very handsome: “Waiter!” “Yes, Sir!” “Do you have good wine in this tavern?”20 Why would Wu Song pose as such a connoisseur! Even before he had entered the door of the tavern, he began to ask if they had good wine. Well, he was this kind of loft y and unyielding character, not just like anybody. People of former times had four words they couldn’t do without: wine, sex, wealth, and vigor. These four words are actually not for the good. So people nowadays don’t care too much about those four words. But at that time, they didn’t have any good education, so they couldn’t do without those four words. But Wu Song only cared for two things: He was fond of drinking good wine and he was fond of using his strength on behalf of innocent people, he was so full of vigor. These were at the same time his weak points, impeding

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him his whole life. He saw that the town was small and the tavern was small, too, so he was afraid that they did not have good wine. He didn’t care for wine that was diluted with water. In that case he would rather not take his rest at that place. Therefore, even before Second Brother Wu had entered the door, he first asked whether they had good wine. “Oh! Sure, Sir! In our humble tavern, we wouldn’t boast about other things, but the quality of the wine is amazingly good. People from afar have given our humble tavern eight verse lines in praise.” “What eight lines?” “It is like jade nectar and rosy clouds; Its sweet bouquet and wonderful taste are worth boasting about. When a wine jug is opened, the flavor makes people tipsy three houses away. Guests passing by will pull up their carts and rein in their horses. Dongbin once paid with his famous sword; Taibo, he pawned his black gauze hat; The immortal loved the wine so much he never went home. . . .”

“Where did he go then?” “. . . Drunken he tumbled into the Western River embracing the moon!”21

When Second Master Wu heard this, [he said]: “Good!” Why did he say “Good!” in this way? There was a reason to it. The wine was not merely good, it was extraordinarily good! When they opened a gallon of wine, the neighbors three houses away would become tipsy, just by smelling it you would get tipsy. You must admit that the wine of that tavern was good, agree?22 Lü Chunyang loved this house wine so much that he drank up all the money he carried in his belt and even pawned his famous sword to pay for the wine. Li Taibo also loved the wine so much that he drank up every penny he had, whereupon he tore off his black gauze hat and pawned it to pay for more wine.23 How could it be true that Li Taibo pledged his black gauze hat or that Lü Chunyang pawned his famous sword? No such thing ever happened. This was only flattery from the guests. But since the customers had thought out these phrases in order to flatter the wine of the tavern, one can imagine that their wine was indeed good. Highly pleased, Second Master Wu followed the waiter to the door and stepped into the hallway of the tavern. They passed through an inner door and came to the

Wang Shaotang Performs “Wu Song Fights the Tiger ”

next wing with a small courtyard and a thatched hall just opposite. The thatched hall was clean and nice, with seven or eight tables. But there was not a single customer. What was the reason? It was already long past the lunchtime rush. The sun was slanting steeply toward the west. As Second Master Wu walked inside he took down his bundle and staff, placed his bundle on the corner of a table to the right and leaned his staff against it. He brushed the dust off his clothes and sat down at the main seat of the table right in the middle. The waiter wrung out a hot napkin and served him a cup of tea: “Master, what do you want to eat with the wine?”24 “Good wine and good food, and be sure there is enough, too!” “Ow!—Yes!” Eh? How come the waiter had changed his accent? A moment ago at the doorway he was talking in so-so Beijing accent. Why did he afterward begin to talk in the dialect from the district north of the Yangzi River? What was the reason? There was some sense in it. This young man, the waiter, was from the district north of the Yangzi River, he was our fellow townsman. How come he was able to speak Beijing dialect? Because he would stand at the doorway of the tavern looking out for business. The travelers from south and north were not acquainted with the dialect from north of the Yangzi River. Therefore he had made a special effort to study a few sentences of Mandarin in order to be able to deal with the customers. But he had only learnt a few phrases, uncivilized whelp as he was, and he wasn’t able to keep going much longer. At this moment he wasn’t able to turn out any more phrases in Beijing accent. He had better be honest and stick to his own dialect. Therefore his pronunciation was different. The waiter went to the front and took a big piece of beef, more than two pounds, and cut it into thin slices, a big plate of red-chopped fragrant meat, just the right size. Apart from that, he peeled a dozen eggs, he peeled the shell off the boiled eggs. He sprinkled [the meat] with gravy. [The eggs] were snow-white and tender. He put a handful of white salt on a small plate; the salt was for the eggs. Then he filled two other plates, one with steamed rolls and another with pancakes. When he had fi lled a mug with wine, he arranged cup and chopsticks on the tray and carried everything over to the thatched hall in the rear wing. He placed the tray on the table where Second Master Wu had left his bundle, and then he arranged the snacks, wine and food, beef, cup, and chopsticks in front of his guest. The waiter removed the tray, took up a position to the left of our hero, and smiling looked at Wu the

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Second. Second Master Wu pushed his teacup away and reached for the wine mug: “Get me a big cup instead of this one!” “As you wish!” His wine cup was exchanged with another much bigger one. This wine cup was almost as big as a rice bowl. “Sh-sh-sh . . .” he poured himself a cup: “Uh! That wine is not good. Its color is not right and it doesn’t have any flavor. Such wine probably doesn’t have the least spirit. Let me try and have a sip! Let me see how it tastes in the mouth!” Second Master Wu took two sips of the wine: “My goodness! This wine is really bad! It is watery wine and it has no body to it. Strange, it is not in line with what the waiter told me a moment ago at the doorway. I had better ask him!” “Waiter!” “Yes, Master!” “Is this the good house wine?” “Oh, no! This is only a mediocre wine of our tavern!” “Ah, why do you not bring the good wine?” “If you want the good wine, it’s surely not bad. If it’s the good wine that Your Honor wants, it’s ‘Three Bowls and You Cannot Cross the Ridge.’ ” “Fine!” Oh, my, how glad Second Master Wu was! Sure enough, before he entered, he had noticed a piece of pink paper glued to the wine banner of the tavern with the inscription “Three Bowls and You Cannot Cross the Ridge.” “I do not understand, I have no idea what it means, why not ask him?” “Waiter, what does it mean: ‘Three Bowls and You Cannot Cross the Ridge’?” “Well, Master, our small town, this town of ours, is called Jingyang Town, and west of the town, seven li along the highway, there is a mountain ridge, called Jingyang Ridge. The highway runs east-west and the mountain ridge runs north-south, so all the travelers going west must cross the ridge at this point. But you should not drink the wine of our humble tavern, or else drink only the medium good wine, because if you really do drink the best wine, then after only three bowls—when you have drunk three bowls—you cannot cross that Jingyang Ridge ahead. That’s why people have given the wine of our humble tavern this name—Three Bowls and You Cannot Cross the Ridge.” “Fine! Bring me a mug to taste!” “Oh, don’t be in a hurry! Ordinary people cannot drink this wine, or else they get drunk!”

Wang Shaotang Performs “Wu Song Fights the Tiger ”

“No harm in that!” “Well, Master, if you insist on having this wine, that’s up to you, but I should like to ask a question: After you have dined and wined, do you plan to stay overnight in our humble tavern? We can find a room for you, and in that case I shall serve you promptly. But if you want to travel onward after your meal, that won’t work!” “I’ll travel on!” “You cannot travel on!” “Why not?” “In case you want to travel on, and in case you are going west, as I can see you are, I’m afraid you cannot cross our Jingyang Ridge, and what will you do then?” “What nonsense are you talking? Are you poking fun at an outsider for having no drinking capacity? I can drink thirty bowls and still go straight across the ridge! Bring the wine!” “Oh!” The waiter was frightened. The voice of his guest resounded like a bronze bell and the whole place trembled at his shouting—it was deafening. Glancing at his guest’s face, he saw him rolling his eyes and blinking—wa-dawa-da, his fists as heavy as a five-bushel willow basket each! A businessman is not very brave. As soon as he is scared, he has no guts to refuse, and acting by order the wine came on the table. The mug of bad wine was removed and changed into a mug of wine from the front and you can be sure it was Three Bowls and You Cannot Cross the Ridge. “Please, Master!” “Fine!” Wu Song gripped the handle of the wine mug and filled himself another bowl. Ah, interesting, no need to drink this wine—just a glance would tell how good it was—the green and clear color, the fragrance attacking the nostrils, and wine “crystals” clinging to the edge of the bowl.25 What is a wine “crystal”? A wine crystal is the same as a wine “flower” [i.e., bubble]. What kind of wine was it, this wine? Three Bowls and You Cannot Cross the Ridge. This name, Three Bowls and You Cannot Cross the Ridge—how to explain it? No need to come up with explanations. Such names are simply fabricated by the wine merchants. After serving you a good wine, they may overhear the names you people invent. There are lots of such names, not just one name, all kinds of odd and strange names that they have overheard from wine bibbers who like to outdo each other by voice power. For example, The Fragrance

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Penetrates the Bottle, Clear Like Seizing the Moon, A Gust of Wind and You Collapse, You Will Collapse Before Paying the Bill, and then there is also the name Three Bowls and You Cannot Cross the Ridge. Searching for the root and source of such names leads to nothing but the fact that it is an exquisite wine, an original brew. Anyhow, it is just a good wine, and that’s all. What good is there in drinking good wine? I think there isn’t necessarily any good in it. But according to those who like to drink, drinking this wine has two advantages. Which advantages? When you drink it there are two flavors! First, the flavor you feel when taking a sip of the wine in your mouth and it smells so delicious. After a while, you may have a good burp: “A-a-ah!” Again you feel the delicious smell. Apart from this there are no other advantages. Second Master Wu had great capacity. After three large cups the wine mug was finished. It would be unfair to say that there was too little wine in the mug, the reason was that the bowl was particularly large. Well, if he had stopped drinking, that would have been the end of it. But after these three cups he looked both greedy and thirsty and stared at the waiter like a greedy caterpillar hanging on a straw. The waiter was standing silently beside him, biting his tongue: “The drinking capacity of that fellow is frightening. Our large cups are as big as rice bowls, but he empties them in one mouthful. Although he has a capacity like the sea, I’m afraid he is good and drunk by now!” “Waiter!” “Master!” “Fill up!” “Uh, you must be joking! Just think the way Your Honor is eating, I’ve never seen the like, and those two bowls Your Honor downed, that’s quite something! You shouldn’t drink more! More of this wine and Your Honor will surely get drunk, and then you cannot cross the Jingyang Ridge ahead!” “What nonsense are you talking? Are you poking fun at an outsider for having no drinking capacity? I can drink thirty bowls and still go straight across the ridge! Bring the wine!” “Sure, sure!” The waiter did not dare to refuse him, noticing how his eyes were beginning to roll again. He left to get him another mug, which he fi lled up: “Hua-a-a . . .” “Bring the wine!” “Here you are!” “Fill up!”

Wang Shaotang Performs “Wu Song Fights the Tiger ”

“As you wish!” Like the rich and wealthy who know no limits, so Wu Song who was drinking deep. How much had he drunk? Five mugs. Each mug could hold three bowls, three times five is fifteen. Henceforward he began to shout and cry ever more rudely and roughly to the alarm of the other one, the young innkeeper at the counter in the front. The young innkeeper was astonished. He couldn’t figure out what was going on in the rear, and he couldn’t relax the way they were shouting and quarrelling. The young innkeeper lifted up his gown, stepped down from the counter and went over to the inner door, where he glanced inside: “Hem!” All he saw was that single customer sitting and drinking with the waiter attending to him. The young innkeeper called in a low voice. What did he call? He called: “Wang the Second (Wang Er)!” The waiter’s surname was Wang and he was second among his brothers, so the young innkeeper called him Wang the Second. As soon as Wang the Second heard his boss calling, he hurried over to the inner door at once: “Yes, boss, you were looking for me?” “Why does the customer over there quarrel with you?” “For no reason, he wants to drink!” “If he wants to drink, please, serve him! We innkeepers are not afraid of big-bellied guys!” “Do you realize what kind of wine he is drinking?” “Eh?” “It’s Three Bowls and You Cannot Cross the Ridge!” “My goodness! You can’t let him drink much of that wine!” “Exactly my words!” “How much has he drunk?” “Five mugs!” “Oh, my! You stupid fool! Other people cannot take even one mug of that wine, and you have served him more than five mugs!” “But he ordered me to!” “Does our guest want to drink more?” “No idea!” “Let me give you a hint: If he doesn’t order any more, well and good! But in case he orders more . . .” “Yes?” “Then you have to fi x it a bit on the sly!” “Sure!”

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What does it mean: “to fi x it a bit”? It is a secret expression used by people in that trade, something they cannot say openly. If a customer shouts for more wine, you may dilute it with a little water, you cannot give him more of the real stuff. But since you cannot admit openly that the wine is diluted, you just “fi x it a bit” on the sly. It is only the insiders who understand it; outsiders have no idea. When the young innkeeper had left, the waiter did as he was told. What about Second Master Wu? Second Master Wu still wanted to drink. He was in high spirits. Had he not drunk his fill long ago? He certainly had drunk his fill. Why did he then want to drink more? Because a moment ago he had uttered a certain sentence: “Are you poking fun at an outsider for having no drinking capacity? I can drink thirty bowls and still go straight across the ridge!” As said, so done. Had he said how much he could drink, then he had to drink that much. Since he had said he could drink thirty bowls, he couldn’t stop short of a single bowl. One mug equaled three bowls. He had drunk five mugs. Three times five is only fifteen bowls. He was only halfway through and that’s why Second Master Wu wanted to drink more. “Waiter!” “Yes, Master!” “Bring more wine!” “Please!” “Fill up!” “There you are!” Thereupon another five mugs went down the hatch. The last five mugs were, however, far less potent than the first five. The first five mugs were from the original brew, but the next five were diluted with water, three parts wine to seven parts water. At that moment Second Master Wu couldn’t tell the difference any more. Why? The more he drank, the less he was able to cope. He sure had an enormous drinking capacity, but now he had downed almost ten mugs and his face had turned the color of crimson silk, he looked blank, and his tongue was glued to his gums so that he could hardly speak: “Waiter!” “Yes, Master!” “Bring more wine!” “Does Your Honor want still more? It’s no joking matter! Hasn’t Your Honor had enough?”

Wang Shaotang Performs “Wu Song Fights the Tiger ”

“What nonsense are you talking? Are you poking fun at an outsider for having no drinking capacity? I can drink thirty bowls and still go straight across the ridge!” “You have already had thirty bowls!” “Have I?” “Yes, please, have a look, Your Honor, and count the mugs! On the table there are altogether . . . five . . . ten . . . about eight or ten wine mugs. One mug holds three bowls, ten mugs of wine for sure equals thirty bowls!” “Ha, ha!” “Why do you laugh?” “I laugh at [you poking fun at] an outsider for having no drinking capacity. Now I have drunk thirty bowls, and what has it done to me, pray?” “Sure, Your Honor has a considerable capacity, were it not that your eyes look blank and your tongue is glued to your gums, stiff as a plank!” “What nonsense are you talking?” Second Master Wu had stopped drinking and now he was busy eating the steamed rolls, pancakes, and beef. Otherwise he only cared about drinking, not about eating. But at this moment he was eating, not drinking. He even ate up all of the eggs, to the very last: “Burp!” He was full. Since he was full, he stopped eating. The waiter wrung out a napkin for our hero to wipe his hands and face. “My bill!” “Sure! Will Your Honor please come over to the counter?” “OK!” Second Master Wu rose to his feet, gripped his bundle and staff, and stumbled and staggered forward . . . “Oh, no need to hurry, be careful not to fall, let me give you an arm!” “No-no-no need for your arm!” Second Master Wu had arrived in front, and the waiter was right behind him ready to give account: “Hello! Listen over there at the counter! Our guest wants to pay his bill! Four qian and five fen of silver all in all!” This meal didn’t cost more than four qian and five! In those days prices were much lower. Second Master Wu stopped in front of the counter, placed his bundle on top of the counter and leaned his staff on the long end against the counter. The young innkeeper looked at Wu Song and nodded, well aware that he

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was drunk: that was obvious from the expression on his face and the blank look in his eyes. Second Master Wu opened his bundle and took out his black silken silver-wrapper from the bundle. He had more than thirty liang of silver in his wrapper. Originally, when he set out on this trip from the Chai estate, Chai Jin, the Lord of Liang (xiao Liang wang), had just presented him with fi ft y liang to cover his travel expenses. On his way he had used up about ten liang, so he still had a nice sum left. The larger pieces weighed more than two liang and the smaller four or five qian. Second Master Wu deft ly fished out a piece—a piece which, as I, the storyteller, may inform you, weighed more than one liang—and placed it on the counter: “Please, weigh it!” “Oh, sure!” The young innkeeper hurried inside to fetch his steelyard. When he returned, he climbed the bench again and turned his face toward Wu Song. His full attention was fixed on the face of Second Master Wu. After scrutinizing him for a moment, the young innkeeper put the silver piece on the pan of the steelyard. With two fingers of his right hand he picked up the string of the steelyard and with his left hand he picked up the stick of the steelyard. The sliding weight hanging from the stick was moved to the point of balance, horizontal position. Then he removed his left hand, while his right hand still held the string of the steelyard. He looked at the silver piece, lifted his head and looked at the face of Second Master Wu and then he announced the amount: “Master, this silver piece of Your Honor’s, I have just weighed it, it is one lia-a-a-a-a-ang minus one fen!” Why did he talk like that? As if he tried to press the counterweight out of balance! What was the reason? Well, this young innkeeper was harboring evil intentions. He had noticed that his guest was fond of drinking and now was good and drunk. He also saw what a large silver piece this was, and he wanted to swallow the whole piece. He meant to let a big piece seem like a smaller piece. How heavy was this silver piece after all? He had just weighed it and found out it was actually one liang, five qian, and four fen. How much did he say it weighed a moment ago? He said one liang minus one fen! Do you see how much he wanted to grab for himself? One liang minus one fen, that’s nine qian, nine fen. Do you see what he was up to? If it were nine qian nine, why not say nine qian nine? Why did he have to draw out the “one

Wang Shaotang Performs “Wu Song Fights the Tiger ”

lia-a-a-a-a-ang” and then add “minus one fen”? For what reason did he have to break the sound halfway? Well, he had his means and ways. Even though he saw that his guest was drunk, could he be sure whether his guest kept good account of his silver? If he did keep good account, as he usually would, and if you said that this silver was nine qian nine, it would be like dressing with your arms stretched out stiffly—you can’t turn a corner! If the guest did keep good account of his money, he would be likely to swear at you and make a mess: “In this tavern you are all scoundrels! How dare you lie about my silver!” In that case he would have no reply in defense. Therefore he used this alternative way of saying it, making it “one liang minus one fen” which allowed him two ways out. He would draw out the sound of “one liang,” and while he was still saying this and drawing it out, his would fi x both of his eyes on the face of Wu Song. “If he actually does keep good account of his silver, and he hears me say one liang, he will begin to quarrel and shout: ‘How can this silver piece be only one liang?’ But then I’ll just add: ‘. . . and five qian!’ And so I will steer clear.” At the moment when the word “one liang” came out of his mouth, he saw that his guest didn’t react and clear enough didn’t keep account of his silver. Since his guest didn’t care, he promptly took his eyes away, adding: “. . . minus one fen!” Let’s slow down a bit! Did Wu Song actually keep account of his silver? The money was a gift from a friend, how could he be so narrow-minded as to weigh piece after piece? And even if he had weighed his silver, he wouldn’t be able to remember. Otherwise, he would have had to stick slips of red paper to each piece and bother somebody to keep them. Second Master Wu simply used his money as need be. No need to blame him for not keeping good account, but even though he used to keep account, he didn’t do so right now. Why so? He had drunk too much wine. And Second Master Wu was in no mood to waste words: “Is this piece of silver too much or too little? “This silver piece is a little too much!” “If there is too much, then give the surplus to the waiter!” The waiter was standing at the inner door and looking. He saw the young innkeeper weigh the silver. He heard the young innkeeper announce the amount. The waiter was smart, he too, so he hurried out in front to take a good look at that piece of silver. Why did he do that? He guessed what his

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boss was up to, that he was cheating the other man out of his money. But the waiter was not as craft y. When the waiter heard the guest say that the surplus was for him, he was quick in his reply: “Thanks a lot, Master, excuse me for not seeing you off, Master, please, come again early tomorrow!” Second Master Wu put the silver into his bundle, tied his bundle, and flung it over his shoulder. He took his staff and walked out of the door. As he lifted his head and looked up, oh, my! To the east the moon was already up! The moon was already up! Well, today it was in the middle of the tenth month, and when he had arrived at the town the sun was slanting steeply toward the west. He had been drinking for quite some time, too, and in the tenth month the days are at their shortest. ‘In the tenth month there is hardly time to comb one’s hair and eat a meal.’ But now the moon was up. Second Master Wu shouldered his bundle and headed straight to the west. The young innkeeper and the waiter didn’t waste another thought on Wu Song. All their interest was concentrated on the silver. The interest of the waiter was also concentrated on the silver, since he was well aware that his boss had cheated the other man on his money. The young innkeeper had evil intentions about the money he had cheated, he wanted to pocket it for himself, not to give it to the waiter. There they were, equally suspicious, when the young innkeeper deft ly grabbed the silver piece and put it into his drawer. The waiter was on the spot: “Hey, boss!” “Eh?” “Don’t put it into your drawer! A moment ago the guest said that he wanted to give me the surplus!” “Did he want to give it to you?” “Sure he did, he gave it to me! Please, give it to me!” “I shall, but this piece is too much! You don’t mean to grab everything including the money for the meal, do you? This piece is nine qian nine, our guest’s meal amounted to four qian five. Now I first take this piece of silver and then I’ll return a piece of five qian and four fen to you, all right?” “What! You can’t fool me with your piece! Give me that piece of silver! Give it to me! Later this evening when we do the accounts, I’ll of course return your money!” “Let’s solve the question right now, all right?” “We make up this evening, please, give it to me first!” “Why do you want that piece of silver?”

Wang Shaotang Performs “Wu Song Fights the Tiger ”

“Why do you want that piece of silver, pray?” “I have my reason why I want this piece of silver. It’s because some days ago your sister-in-law asked me to have a hairpin made for her. But the silversmith of our town doesn’t have good-looking silver, and to take the trip to the city seems a bit far. So my plan was to have a hairpin made for your sister-in-law . . .” “Take it easy! My sister-in-law is a widow. Why do you make a hairpin for her?” “Please, don’t suggest that kind of suspicion! It’s not the sister-in-law of the family on your side, it’s a female relative on my side!” “A female relative on your side! How could that be my sister-in-law?” “We call each other brothers, I’m older than you, so my wife is of course your sister-in-law!” “Aha! Not bad, not bad, not bad at all!” Just as the two of them were debating, the old innkeeper stepped into the tavern . . . [End of audiotape]

Notes 1. The Water Margin saga, well known from Chinese drama, the classic Ming novel, and from innumerable Chinese genres of performed narrative (shuochang), relates the adventures and exploits of a bandit group from Shandong Province during the Song dynasty, around 1120. The group had its stronghold in the Liangshan Mountains and the surrounding moors and marshlands that have given name to the saga. The leader of the bandits, Song Jiang, belongs to Chinese official history, and banditry was widespread at the time, but none of his 108 men seems to have any background in historical fact. They are part of the Chinese folklore pantheon of gods and heroes, well known to everybody. The episode told by Wang Shaotang, in 1961, is about one of the most famous heroes of the marshes—Wu Song. For a monograph study about the tale of “Wu Song Fights the Tiger,” see Vibeke Børdahl, Wu Song Fights the Tiger: The Interaction of Oral and Written Traditions in the Chinese Novel, Drama and Storytelling (Copenhagen: NIAS Press, 2013). 2. A per formance by Liu Jingting of this story was witnessed in 1638 by Zhang Dai (1597– ca. 1684), who wrote a famous reminiscence in Dream Memories of Tao‘an (Tao‘an mengyi), translated in Vibeke Børdahl, The Oral Tradition of Yangzhou Storytelling (Richmond, Va.: Curzon Press, 1996), 13. See also the translation by Philip Kafalas of Zhang Dai’s essay about Liu Jingting’s per formance in Chapter 3 of the present volume; Rüdiger Breuer’s discussion of “Biography of Liu Jingting” in Chapter 2 of the present volume; and Rüdiger Breuer, “Role Model or Cultural Construct? The Ming/Qing Period Storyteller Liu Jingting and his Representation in Modern Contexts,” in Folk Traditions in Modern Society, ed. Pekka Hakamies, Sun Jian, and Vibeke Børdahl (Shanghai: Fudan University Press, 2013). 3. Transmission of the oral repertoires was based on learning from the lips of the master. For an overview, see Børdahl, The Oral Tradition of Yangzhou Storytelling, 12–22. See also

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Vibeke Børdahl Wei Ren and Wei Minghua, Yangzhou quyi shihua (Beijing: Zhongguo quyi, 1985), 11–12; Yangzhou quyi zhi bianweihui, ed., Yangzhou quyi zhi (Nanjing: Jiangsu wenyi, 1993), 4–5. 4. In the 1950s and 1960s two of Wang Shaotang’s four storytelling cycles from the Water Margin saga were recorded from performance, but only the fi rst one about Wu Song was published during his lifetime. Only in the 1980s the second cycle, about Song Jiang, was published. See Wang Shaotang, Wu Song, ed. Yangzhou pinghua yanjiu xiaozu (Huaiyin: Jiangsu renmin, 1984 [1959]); and Song Jiang (Yangzhou: Jiangsu renmin, 1985). In the 1980s and 1990s the full repertoire of the Wang School, that is, all four cycles of the Water Margin saga, was recorded from the per formances of the granddaughter of Wang Shaotang, Wang Litang (b. 1941), and published. See Wang Litang, Wu Song (Beijing: Zhongguo quyi, 1989); Song Jiang (Nanjing: Jiangsu wenyi, 1995); Shi Xiu (Nanjing: Jiangsu wenyi, 1995); and Lu Junyi (Nanjing: Jiangsu wenyi, 1995). Posthumously, another cycle of Water Margin tales was published (including CD), based on the per formances of Wang Xiaotang (1918–2000), the adopted son of Wang Shaotang (and father of Wang Litang): Wang Xiaotang, Hou Shuihu (Beijing: Zhongguo wenlian, 2002). 5. In 1961 Wang Shaotang performed “Ten Chapters on Wu [Song]” for Nanjing Radio. It was broadcast in daily installments of about thirty minutes. The episode translated here is the first radio broadcast of this series. Wang Shaotang’s per formances for the radio were inaccessible since the 1960s, and it was generally assumed that they were in very bad condition or lost. I am deeply grateful to Nanjing Radio for presenting me in 1998 with this audiotape of thirty minutes, copied from the original broadcast tapes. The quality of the copy is astonishingly good, only the fi rst few words are slightly distorted. The translation is based directly on the radio broadcast, not on published written material. The transcription of the audiotape meticulously follows the principles stated in Børdahl, The Oral Tradition of Yangzhou Storytelling, 44–45. English and Chinese versions have previously been published in Vibeke Børdahl and Jette Ross, Chinese Storytellers: Life and Art in the Yangzhou Tradition (Boston: Cheng & Tsui, 2002), 171–197; and Yi Debo [Vibeke Børdahl], Yangzhou pinghua tantao (Beijing: Renmin wenxue, 2006), 281–293. The present English version is revised. The oral version is accessible as an audio fi le on the Research Database on Chinese Storytelling, published on the website of Chinese Storytelling (http://www.shuoshu.org). Recently one of my friends among the young Yangzhou storytellers, Ma Xiaolong (b. 1980), presented me with another rare recording of Wang Shaotang that was given to me on CD, in May 2011. This performance, also rendering the first tale from “Ten Chapters on Wu [Song],” namely “Wu Song Fights the Tiger,” is probably from the late 1950s, but the exact circumstances are not known. The recording is doubtless in the voice of Wang Shaotang. The beginning is very much like the radio broadcast of 1961, but not identical. The CD contains about eighty minutes of recording, which however ends abruptly in the middle of the fight with the tiger, and therefore is obviously incomplete. A detailed study of this recording is in progress. 6. In the performing genre of Shandong clapper tale (Shandong kuaishu), which like Yangzhou pinghua has a history of about four hundred years, the story of Wu Song’s fight against a gang of cudgel fighters and his fl ight from his home is told in much detail as the first section of the Wu Song zhuan, as told by Gao Yuanjun (Beijing: Zhongguo quyi, 1987). Further, there is a drama version of “Wu Song Fights the Tiger” in Huai drama (Huaixi), where the plot begins with Wu Song in a fit of drunkenness killing a salt-seller, who has a bad reputation among the locals. See Research Database on Chinese Storytelling (www .shuoshu.org, Wu Song Project). 7. The Wu Song saga as told in the novel Water Margin only begins in Chapter 23 (or in Chapter 22 in some editions).

Wang Shaotang Performs “Wu Song Fights the Tiger ” 8. The repertoire of Pi Fift h the Rogue (Pi Wu Lazi), formerly called Clear Wind Sluice (Qingfengzha), represents one of the rare cases where the origin of the story can be traced to a specific author, and the content of the story has local background—although not from the very city of Yangzhou, but from the area where Yangzhou storytelling was current. See Figure 18.1. See also the extract from the novel Clear Wind Sluice, translated by Margaret Wan, in Chapter 9 of the present volume; and the extract from a Yangzhou drama (Yangju) based on the same story, translated by Lindy Li Mark, in Chapter 20 of the present volume. 9. See Børdahl, The Oral Tradition of Yangzhou Storytelling, 178–180. See also Vibeke Børdahl, “Chinese Storytelling—Transmission, Per formance, Preservation: The Case of Yangzhou pinghua,” in Folk Traditions in Modern Society, ed. Pekka Hakamies, Sun Jian, and Vibeke Børdahl (Shanghai: Fudan University Press, 2013). The fi rst couplet of the oral text is, however, as already discussed, a direct loan from the Ming novel. 10. All the storytellers of Yangzhou pinghua, whose names have been recorded through four hundred years, have their origin in the area of the Yangzhou storytelling circuit. See Figure 18.1. However, by far the better part of the artists come from Yangzhou or Taizhou. See Wei Ren and Wei Minghua, Yangzhou quyi zhi, 258–300. 11. See Vibeke Børdahl, “The Voice of Wang Shaotang in Yangzhou Storytelling,” Chinoperl Papers 25 (2004): 1–33; and Vibeke Børdahl, “Dialectal and Normative Registers in Yangzhou Storytelling,” Chinese Language and Discourse 1, no. 1 (2010): 94–123, Appendix 1. 12. For a description of the phonology of Yangzhou dialect and the various styles (shuokou) of Yangzhou storytelling, see Børdahl, The Oral Tradition of Yangzhou Storytelling, 69–98; on Yangzhou dialect grammar, see 99–136. 13. Yangzhou dialect pronunciation is added in phonemic transcription between oblique bars / /; see Børdahl, The Oral Tradition of Yangzhou Storytelling, 72–76. 14. Recently, in the People’s Republic, there is a restaurant chain called Dianxiao‘er (The Little Waiter). The expression is, however, not found as a dictionary term. 15. This appellation of the waiter is not found in the Ming novel, and it is also rare in other versions of the tiger tale, but it is found in some few versions of storysinging and storytelling, such as Fuzhou pinghua and Sichuan pinghua, and it is further found in a version of local drama, Huaixi; see the Research Database on Chinese Storytelling, www.shuoshu.org. The name Wang Xiao‘er is further connected to local Yangzhou drama; see Lindy Li Mark’s introduction to Chapter 20 of the present volume. 16. The first day of telling the Wu Song saga is introduced by this couplet, taken word for word from the title of Chapter 23 of Shuihu zhuan. Such a direct loan from the Ming novel is exceedingly rare in the repertoire of the Wang School. 17. Storytellers of the Wang School always begin this tale by calling Wu Song by the nickname of “Second Brother from Guankou,” referring to the hero-god Erlang from Guankou in Sichuan. However, later in the story this nickname is never resumed. It is not clear why Wu Song has acquired this name in the Yangzhou tradition, but it might be the result of confusing it with his nickname Second Brother (also Erlang). 18. The proverb is spoken in square-mouth style, just like poems and other set pieces. The class language of local Mandarin (difang guanhua) is thus used to give emphasis and dignity to such passages. Interestingly, the proverb is not related to North China or Shandong where the story of Water Margin takes place, but it points to the Yangzi River and the local area where Yangzhou storytelling and its audiences belong. 19. In the next few sentences the waiter speaks in square-mouth northern speech (fangkou Beifanghua), also called Capital speech or Beijing speech (Jinghua); see Børdahl, “Dialectal and Normative Registers in Yangzhou Storytelling,” 106–107, 114–115.

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Vibeke Børdahl 20. Wu Song speaks emphatically in square-mouth northern speech, thereby being distinguished not only as an outsider, but also as a hero talking in authoritative style. However, he uses a dialectal question form, ke ⎘ VP, corresponding to Modern Standard Chinese VP bu ᶶ VP, in the disjunctive question: “Do you have good wine in this tavern?” (Ni dian zhong ke you hao jiu?) Wu Song almost never uses dialectal grammar, and therefore this example is significant. It could be a sign that certain grammatical forms from the Jiang-Huai area were part of former standard language (guanhua). See the discussion in Børdahl, “Dialectal and Normative Registers in Yangzhou Storytelling,” 105–106. 21. The waiter recites the poem in square-mouth northern speech. 22. Here Wang Shaotang several times uses the colloquial form of the pronoun tajia ṿ⭟ (his person; his house), Yangzhou dialect: literary form /ta-zia/, colloquial form /ta-ga/. The use of colloquial forms adds to the low-style, heavy dialectal flavor of the passage; see Børdahl, “Dialectal and Normative Registers in Yangzhou Storytelling,” 118–119 (Appendix 1). 23. Li Bai (zi Taibo, 701–762) and Du Fu (712–770) are usually mentioned together as the best poets, not only of their time, but of all times. Li Bai wrote many poems in praise of wine and formed coteries with other poets who were fond of drinking, such as the Eight Immortals of the Wine Cup ( jiu zhong ba xian). It is a general assumption that he ended his life on a boat trip where he wanted to embrace the reflection of the moon and drowned. Lü Dongbin (hao Chunyang, eighth century) wandered around in the Jiang-Huai area and beyond and was famous for his swordplay. He is counted as one of the Eight Immortals. 24. From this point the waiter continues his conversation with Wu Song in round mouth, that is, ordinary Yangzhou dialect pronunciation. The storyteller-narrator provides a comment on his linguistic behavior in the following narrative passage. 25. The description of the wine, and in par tic u lar the expression “wine crystal,” jiuling /ziw-lin/ 惻ⅵ, seems to be local, not found in Modern Standard Chinese or dictionaries of historical language.

19

A Chapter in Chinese Women’s History Wei Minghua’s Essay “The Thin Horses of Yangzhou” (Yangzhou shouma, 1983) Introduced, translated, and additionally annotated by Antonia Finnane1

Wei Minghua, a prominent figure in Yangzhou arts and culture organizations and for many years a teacher at the Yangzhou College of Culture and the Arts, has devoted his scholarly life largely to the study of the culture of his hometown. His many essays about Yangzhou, which over time have been collected and published in a series of volumes, combine scholarly exegesis with general interest. As the citations of them in this volume attest, they form an invaluable resource for anyone working on the cultural history of Yangzhou. This corpus of work was not an obvious product of the author’s early life. A native of Yangzhou, he was educated in a system that largely discouraged an interest in pre-revolutionary Chinese culture. His father was a student of Chinese opera, which provided the foundation for his own interest, but he commenced his working life as a functionary in the Nanjing Ports authority in 1969. His life to that time was framed by significant events in the People’s Republic of China: the year of his birth was the year that the People’s Republic was founded, and the first year of his employment coincided with the formal end of the Cultural Revolution. His early adult years were passed during a period when China was doing its best to “break with the past.” Within a short time of Mao Zedong’s death in 1976 these efforts were shown to have been unsuccessful. In the 1980s, Wei Minghua published a number of essays on some cultural-historical aspects of Yangzhou, a place that in many ways epitomized what in Communist historiography was regarded as the decadent feudal past. In 1994, Joint Publishers (Sanlian shudian) published his first volume of collected essays,2 including a slightly 381

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revised version of the essay translated here. The title of the essay, “Explaining ‘The Thin Horses of Yangzhou’ ” (Shi ‘Yangzhou shouma’), is not selfexplanatory. “Thin horses” (shouma1) was a term used to denote girls reared specifically for the purpose of supplying Yangzhou’s market in concubines. The term had come to be indissolubly connected with Yangzhou. In this article, Wei Minghua considers the origins of the gendered stereotyping of Yangzhou, his native place. Over a thousand years ago, Yangzhou was a great and prosperous place, a center of merchant wealth and high culture, much celebrated in literature. At this time, during the golden years of the Tang dynasty, the central literary motif for Yangzhou was established by the poet Du Mu who, in the midst of a life crisis, repented the years he had spent indulging in the pleasures of the flesh: Ten years late I wake at last out of my Yangzhou dream, With nothing but the name of a drifter in the blue houses.3

In later centuries, as evident from contributions to the present book, other “dreams of Yangzhou” were written, drawing directly on Du Mu’s imagery.4 Indeed, between the sixteenth and nineteenth centuries, merchant wealth in Yangzhou led to a second historical flowering of the city, complete with the courtesan houses made famous by Du Mu’s poem. In the middle of the eighteenth century, the poet and artist Zheng Banqiao (1693–1765) “dreamt of Yangzhou, and then dreamt that Yangzhou was dreaming of [him].” Zheng’s verses make frequent reference to prostitutes he encountered during his years in Yangzhou.5 The appearance of certain Yangzhou types in geographical works and novels helped to reinforce the images developed within poetry. On the male side these characters were salt merchants, the wealthiest group of merchants in China between the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries. On the female side they were “thin horses,” singsong girls, or common whores. The merchants are usually characterized as either vulgar or decadent—simultaneously miserly and extravagant, canny and uncouth. The prostitutes are not represented with quite the same contumely as the merchants. It would seem fair to compare them with the gardens and teahouses for which Yangzhou was also famous. They summoned up an image of the city as a place of beauty and pleasure, the poignancy of their situation allowing the poetic imagination to range freely from eros to pathos.6

Wei Minghua’s Essay “The Thin Horses of Yangzhou”

This highly gendered image of Yangzhou developed in a literary context in which southern writings and southern literati were dominant, and can be understood partly as a representation of the exotic. Yangzhou, both close to the south yet far from it, was felt to be different from the cities of Jiangnan. In The Dream of Red Mansions (Honglou meng), the heroine Lin Daiyu returns to Nanjing from Yangzhou, a distance of around a hundred kilometers, and is besieged with questions by Jia Baoyu, who asks of her: “ ‘What places of historical interest were there in Yangzhou? What were its inhabitants like? What were its local customs?’ ”7 It was also a place of economic opportunity. Men crossed the river to find a job there when they could not make ends meet back home. An old saying, dating from a time when the word Yangzhou actually applied to a vast area of Southeast China, was often quoted in reference to this aspect of the city of later times: If girding yourself with cash is your aim, Fly up to Yangzhou on the back of a crane.8

While the word “Yangzhou” itself came to be equated with the image of beautiful women with extremely small feet, the imagined availability of the prostitute perhaps summed up the idea of access to power and wealth in Yangzhou. There was more to this image of the city than simply the power of metaphor. In the late imperial period the city’s population included many sojourners who either sought out occasional sexual partners or actually set up second homes there. Such practices were common throughout China at the time. Given the presence in Yangzhou of so many wealthy merchants, the number of extant texts making reference to “thin horses,” “fair ladies” (meiren), and prostitutes ( ji1) should come as no surprise. When the merchants and the money departed, so did the number of prostitutes, eventually, decline. In this, as in other respects, Yangzhou was replaced by Shanghai in the late nineteenth century. The essay translated here is substantially concerned with a hidden history of Yangzhou, one that centers on the procurement and sale of young girls for use by men of means. The author guides the reader step by step through the major and minor literary references to this specialized market, demonstrating its extent and its duration over time. The texts have their own historical interest, but perhaps the most interesting aspect of this article

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Figure 19.1. Author Wei Minghua, Right, in Conversation, 1992. (Photo by Antonia Finnane)

is its revelation of the problem of silence reigning over a particular aspect of local history. In writing on this subject, the author places himself in a long tradition of men who have written on the topic. In the 1930s, the publication of Yi Junzuo’s Chatting at Leisure about Yangzhou resulted in a wellpublicized court case that centered precisely on the question of Yangzhou as a place that “produces women.”9 In the 1950s, the cartoonist and social commentator Feng Zikai reflected on his own “Yangzhou dream,” a dream in which a middle-aged woman confronted his nostalgia for the romantic past by reminding him of the price that she had paid for it in blood, sweat, and tears.10 These writers had their different motives for referring to the issue of prostitutes in connection with Yangzhou. Yi Junzuo was frankly contemptuous of Yangzhou as a place and as a society. In depicting it as a place that “produces women,” he was concerned to highlight a negative example: for him China’s future lay elsewhere. Feng Zikai, on the other hand, was already living in that future and had to come to terms with the disappearance of a culture whose passing in some respects he regretted. He was prepared to embrace the modest, workaday Yangzhou of the 1950s as something more honest and dignified than the glamorous Yangzhou of earlier centuries.

Wei Minghua’s Essay “The Thin Horses of Yangzhou”

Wei Minghua’s careful excavation of the “thin horse” texts is driven in part by a scholar’s curiosity. Other writings by him show the same attention to detail. He has no interest as such in exposing the skeletons in Yangzhou’s closet. On the contrary, he is writing about his native place, concerning which he elsewhere states: “Make no mistake: I love Yangzhou.”11 But it is a place that, like the Republican essayist Zhu Ziqing (1898–1948) before him, he loves, warts and all. Like Zhu, he expresses irritation with the nativeplace chauvinism that in its most recent phase has been marked by a rash of articles and essays written in celebration of Yangzhou’s glorious past.12 Wei’s scholarly exposition of the “thin horses” is true to a general trend away from the celebration of courtesan culture. Between the eighth and nineteenth centuries there was a certain consistency in the way in which prostitutes and bordellos were used in the depiction of Yangzhou, each generation of writers building on the words of their predecessors in a progressive elaboration of the Yangzhou dream. The twentieth-century literature on Yangzhou shows the image of the Yangzhou prostitute being deployed in a new way, within the boundaries set by nationalism and modernization. In Chatting at Leisure about Yangzhou, Yi Junzuo, a product of the new culture and new politics of post-Qing China, repudiated the Yangzhou heritage as incompatible with the needs of the modern nation. The book was written in the context of the Japanese occupation of Shanghai in 1932, and the figure of the Yangzhou prostitute arguably provided Yi with the gender balance he needed for his simultaneous depiction of the Yangzhou male as a traitor to the nation. Wei Minghua, who writes in greater detail and with greater accuracy about the traffic in Yangzhou women, does so within the same broad paradigm but with different interests at heart. In the concluding paragraph of the essay, he observes that after all there are two Yangzhous: one cultured, the other vulgar; one sturdy, the other decadent; one civilized, the other barbaric. In this he agrees with Yi Junzuo, who described Yangzhou as both refi ned and vulgar. But, concludes Wei, “is this true only of Yangzhou?” Here we see the difference of perspective generated by the passage of half a century and the separate historical experiences of men of different generations. If Yi Junzuo was straining to discard the past, Wei Minghua was part of a reform-era project to salvage it. Yet for Yi this past was still close-by: he could feel it pulsing in the streets of Yangzhou when he was stationed there in 1932. For Wei, and his whole generation, there had been a break with the past, one that allowed relatively easy negotiation with its ambiguities in

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the post-Mao years. Sensitivities associated with the history of prostitution and concubinage in China were more likely to concern the residents of Zhongnanhai than those of Yangzhou.13



The Thin Horses of Yangzhou Yangzhou is one of twenty-four places in China to have been designated a “city of historical and cultural significance.”14 One of the consequences of this has been that everyone and everything connected with Yangzhou now seems appropriate subject matter for an essay: Jian Zhen, gardens, the Eight Eccentrics, dim sums, jade flowers—in brief, if there is a subject worthy of an essay, someone seems to have written about it.15 This flurry of writing is enough to bring to mind the literary debate that arose out of the “Chatting at Leisure about Yangzhou” case in the 1930s. But it is somehow difficult to envisage an end to essays on Yangzhou. The city’s place in literature was firmly established by Du Mu’s famous line: “Ten years late I wake at last out of my Yangzhou dream,” the inspiration for centuries of poems, stories, novels, and family lore.16 Given the number of articles published in recent years, it is somewhat surprising that none touches on the subject of the “thin horses of Yangzhou.”17 Perhaps the subject has been avoided because people think it reflects poorly on the place. Although myself from this locality, I think such an attitude unwarranted. Anyone with slightest knowledge of classical poetry referring to Yangzhou will be familiar with the mentions of the literary, musical, and culinary achievements of the city but at the same time can hardly have avoided noticing the frequent references to eroticism. There can be no doubting the fact that such expressions as the “Yangzhou dream,” “the wind and moon at the Twenty-four Bridge,” and “Emperor Yang of the Sui dynasty gazing at the hortensia” are all intimately connected with the “mansions of Qin and the lodges of Chu,” that is to say, with the brothels of Yangzhou. My interest in this was sparked by reading Cao Juren’s Myself and My World, in which Cao makes reference to an article written by Zhu Ziqing. In his article, Zhu states in part that at the mention of Yangzhou, people immediately think of a place that “produces women.” Now, Zhu Ziqing himself grew up in Yangzhou: his house can still be seen there. Yet he appears to have had no reservations about mentioning this aspect of Yangzhou’s his-

Wei Minghua’s Essay “The Thin Horses of Yangzhou”

tory. Unless people of the present are to be deemed responsible for the past, one might indeed wonder why the darker side of history should be passed over in silence. As Cao Juren further notes, Zhu Ziqing goes on to say: I grew up there without ever seeing an obviously alluring woman on the street. Was it perhaps the case that few women were venturing out onto the streets at that time? But this word “produce” is used in the sense of producing lamb’s wool, or producing apples, and when in former times people talked about “producing women,” they usually meant concubines or prostitutes. In the Dream Reminiscences of Tao‘an (Tao‘an mengyi) there is a passage on “The Thin Horses of Yangzhou” (Yangzhou shouma) that records “producing women” in this sense. Personally, I have no acquaintance with the practice.18

Why members of the human species should be described as “thin horses” is less immediately obvious than why they might, however unfortunately, be regarded in the same light as wool or apples. In Liang Shaoren’s (b. 1792) Random Notes from the Hut of Two Autumn Showers (Liang ban qiu yu an suibi) we find listed various expressions incorporating the word “horse”: The word “horse” has more than one usage, but only two general meanings: one relating to number and the other to appearance. In the ceremonial game of toss pot (touhu), asking who won is “establishing the horse” (lima). In present custom, we play guess fingers with what is called a “fist horse” (quanma),19 the implement for weighing silver is called a “law horse” ( fama), gambling chips are called “counter horses” (shouma2), and keeping score from one to nine with a brush is called “striking the horse” (da mazi). All these usages employ “horse” in the sense of counting. When a carpenter assembles three pieces of wood with the top one at an angle, the crosswise piece on top can readily be cut with an axe: this is called “making the horse” (zuoma). The stool used in transplanting seedlings is called a “seedling horse” (yangma). In The Rites of Zhou it is stated: “The superintendant of the residence sets up railings and reinforces them.” This is glossed as a “walking horse” (xingma). Further, the Buddhist images painted on paper and burnt after a religious festival are called “armored horses” ( jiama). And the place where land and water meet by the city is called a “horse head” (matou, i.e., a wharf). Further, on the three-stringed mandolin, the part bearing the strings (i.e., the bridge) is called a “string horse” (xianma). A chamber pot is called a “horsey” (mazi). All of these reflect the appearance of a horse. “Iron horse” (tiema) for the metal leaves under the eaves of the roof and “horse door” (mamen) for the side door in a boat cabin are the only terms of certain etymology.20

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Liang’s failure to include “thin horse” in this seemingly exhaustive list of usages of the word “horse” must be due to the rarity or peculiarity of the term. Nor can the term be found in recently published editions of dictionaries such as the Source of Words (Ciyuan) or the Sea of Words (Cihai). It is listed in the Taiwanese Greater Dictionary of the Chinese Language, which gives two meanings: first, “an emaciated horse”; and second, “a term for prostitute.” This dictionary, however, provides no gloss on the term, so the reader remains unenlightened as to its origins. What is repugnant in the past deserves to have been eradicated, but as a historian might note, this does not mean it should be obliterated from the record. One could say this of the “thin horses.” What exactly are these “thin horses”? Not only does a learned man like Zhu Ziqing say he has “not the slightest knowledge” of them; in earlier times people seem to have sought the origins of the term without a great measure of success. For example, the Qing-dynasty scholar Zhao Yi (1727–1814) wrote a passage entitled “Raising Thin Horses” (Yang shouma) that reads: “Yangzhou people bring up prostitutes whom they sell as concubines. This is colloquially termed ‘raising thin horses,’ the meaning of which is unclear.”21 But that “thin horses” refers to young girls taken in and trained to serve as prostitutes or slave girls seems not to be in doubt. Zhang Dalai wrote: Many people in Yangzhou buy young girls from poor families, teach them to read and write, sing and dance, and when they are older they are sold off as slave girls for prices of up to a thousand liang. They are called “thin horses.”22

This is a clear explication of the term. In former times it was basically sanctioned practice for wealthy men to take in concubines and buy slave girls. In large prosperous cities, there were not only introduction agencies where people made a business of buying and selling slave girls, but also training centers specially for rearing “qualified” girls as slaves and concubines for the great households: these were the “thin-horse breeders” (yang shouma zhe). Yangzhou was probably the most famous place for this. Why otherwise would Kong Shangren (1648–1718) have written in Peach Blossom Fan (Taohua shan, 1699): Now in the ancient palace of Wu, The women’s quarters open anew, And in Yangzhou the slender horses

Wei Minghua’s Essay “The Thin Horses of Yangzhou” Are one by one put through their paces. Drums of Huai-Yang, Kunshan strings, Suzhou girls and Wuxi songs.23

The early commentaries on “the thin horses of Yangzhou” are from around the late Ming period. Wang Shixing (1546–1598) wrote: In Guangling (Yangzhou), there are families who bring up slave girls, a practice commonly termed “raising thin horses.” In general this refers to taking on other people’s children, bringing them up and educating them, just as if they were their own children. Many of the most beautiful women in the country must be from Guangling. Their foster mothers train them in female propriety and the forms of politeness. The superior ones can perform on the zither, play chess, and sing. The very best are accomplished in calligraphy and painting, the less able in embroidery and other female arts. In their readiness to serve the man’s wife and show deference to their peers, they are most seemly, neither flouting convention nor giving way to stupid quarrels. They captivate men’s hearts and minds. So men who want concubines all go to Guangling.24

It need hardly be said that the “thin horses” are selected from “other people’s children.” The phrase “just as if they were their own children” is rather more difficult to credit. It seems unlikely that people would have been willing to hand over their own daughters to be brought up as whores, except in the most extreme circumstances. And in undertaking to train these pitiable girls in the forms of politeness, performance on stringed instruments, calligraphy, painting, and embroidery, the “thin horses breeders” were hardly performing a charitable act. In Hunting in the Wilderness of the Wanli Era (Wanli ye huo bian), Wang Shixing’s contemporary Shen Defu (1578–1642) includes a passage entitled “Guangling Harlots” (Guangling ji), in which the circumstances of the “thin horses of Yangzhou” are recorded in rather greater detail: Nowadays men wanting to buy concubines can usually be found in Guangling. There are some who sneeringly refer to these women as “thin horses,” but I certainly do not. “A woman’s looks are her destiny”: such is Li Wenrao’s dictum. Among prostitutes and concubines, where are those from wealthy families? In fact there are not many remarkably beautiful women in Yangzhou, but there are people there who make a business of buying and selling women. Even officials and rich families keep numbers of girls for profit, and some raise dozens. They are taught deportment from an early age—entering

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Antonia Finnane and retiring, sitting and standing—so that in walking and greeting precedence is observed. Furthermore, they are taught to be satisfied with their lowly position, and to serve the mistress of the house. For this reason, the ladies of wealthy households might be jealous of girls from other places, but nice to those from Yangzhou. The men thus enjoy peace at home. I was in Yangzhou for a long time and day and night saw the bridal chairs coming and going ceaselessly to the sound of drums and music. Furthermore, there were sometimes wealthy visitors there in search of their mother’s relatives. Grief and joy were frequently to be seen at the one time. I also observed among those buying concubines many who did so on the basis of the girls’ skills. This was really absurd. Those performing on the zither could execute no more than “Yan Hui”25 or “Plum Blossom.” Those able to paint could produce only a few branches of bamboo. Those able to play chess could make only the opening moves. Those who could sing could render no more than a couple of bars of “Belt of Jade” or “All the Worthy Guests.” If after the interview the women were asked to sing anything further, they were immediately embarrassed. There were also those who could write, which was even more ridiculous. If the visitors were officials the women would write for them characters such as “President of the Board of Civil Appointments and Grand Secretary” (libu shangshu daxueshi). If visitors were provincial graduates, the women would write “first place in the first rank” (di yi jia di yi ming). If the visitors were scholars, the women would write “top provincial graduate” ( jieyuan) or “top metropolitan graduate” (huiyuan). The observer would be amazed and thinking the calligrapher wonderful, would ask for her hand without suspecting the truth. On arriving home she would be asked to take up her brush, but would prove to know none but these characters. In these cases, the women were generally not of great beauty and would be instructed in other arts so as to be sold off more quickly. The gullible could not fail to be taken in. Only the very astute were able to see through the practice.26

From this passage it is clear that those in the business of “raising thin horses” were not only ordinary households but included “the great households of officials,” some of which “brought up several girls,” others “scores of girls.” The motive of giving them a little training in the skills of playing the zither, calligraphy, and painting was nothing than to ensure a “speedy sale,” so as to “recoup the original investment with profit.” “Raising thin horses” flourished in the Ming dynasty and continued unabated through to the later Qing dynasty. Thus Xu Ke (1869–1928) in Gleanings from the Qing (Qingbai leichao) states:

Wei Minghua’s Essay “The Thin Horses of Yangzhou” Yangzhou was dependent on the salt monopoly. By the beginning of the Tongzhi reign (1861–1874) the wealthy merchants and powerful traders were no longer what they had been, but the demand for singsong girls and pretty women continued as of old. “Hunting for powder and fishing for paint” (i.e., searching out concubines) had become a firmly established custom. Older women from the locality brought up lovely young girls, binding their feet, painting their faces, and coiling their hair. They controlled their eating in accordance with whether the girls were fat or thin and trained them in singing, dancing, and to perform on stringed instruments so as to enhance their value. The daughters of poor families were put to this use. The practice was known as “raising thin horses.”27

The “thin horse breeders” could, then, be considered educators of a kind. In training the thin horses in female propriety and the forms of politeness, they provided them with a spiritual education that prepared them psychologically to be the willing slaves of their future masters; in “teaching them singing, dancing, and the stringed instruments,” they provided them with an artistic education that equipped them with the skills to be competent entertainers for their future masters; and in “controlling their eating in accordance with whether they were fat or thin,” they gave them their physical education, which made them physically ideal playthings for their future masters. Such was this great educational enterprise. Even more perturbing was the process of the thin horses’ graduation and obtaining a position. There were scores of so-called matchmakers or old wives who relied exclusively on the thin horses for a living. The methods and steps they went through in examining and selecting the appropriate “thin horse” were detailed and thorough in the extreme—as rigorous as might be employed today in the selection of a ballet dancer. In the passage, “The Thin Horses of Yangzhou” from Dream Reminiscences of Tao‘an mentioned by Zhu Ziqing, the process of selling off the “thin horse” is described in detail.28 In Casual Expressions of Idle Feeling (Xianqing ouji) Li Yu1 (1610–1680) sought to show off his talent for selecting beautiful women: Once in Yangzhou I was choosing a concubine for a certain gentleman. There was considerable variety among the beautifully dressed girls who came before me. They all started off with heads bowed standing until ordered to look up. One made no show of shame and lifted her head directly. Another was really very shy: I pressed her repeatedly before she would lift

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It is clear that “charm” is what Li held most important. In the Compendium of Unofficial Histories of the Qing (Qingchao yeshi daguan) there is a comparable account: Jiang Xiqi was the grandson of Lord Wensu. [ . . . ] He had a weakness for sex and had long since particularly enjoyed intimacies with tall women. So he had in readiness a long tape measure and those who matched its length were acceptable for his use. They were known at the time as “measured beauties.”30

Jiang, it is clear, was most interested in height. Both these accounts pale in comparison with Tao‘an’s, for in the buying and selling of the “thin horses,” face, hands, bosom, belly, eyes, voice, and feet were all examined one after the other until the hairpin was fastened, at which point the basic transaction had been accomplished. For the completion of the business, one has to look to the results of the haggling between buyer and seller, which was conducted on the basis of “so many pieces of colored silk, so many jewels, so many wedding gifts, so many bolts of cloth.” The comparison with a livestock market with people buying and selling mules and horses, is compelling. Although the term “thin horses” originated in Yangzhou, from the time of the Qing dynasty there was no want of imitations in the so-called “flourishing” areas of Jiangnan. For example, in the Qianlong period, one Shi Yunyu of Wu County wrote a poem entitled “The Thin Horse Market” (Shouma hang): What a hardship when the horse you breed is thin; What a hardship when the girl you raise is plain! For a thousand strings of cash, the steed is sold: For a lovely girl the rich pay more in gold. Suzhou girls but three or five—they look so sweet With eyebrows trimmed and little crippled feet. A look will cost one thousand qian at least, Ten thousand and she’ll serve you at a feast. The parents talk of money, not the match:

Wei Minghua’s Essay “The Thin Horses of Yangzhou” A lousy Handan merchant gets her for his catch. A bird of prey, the go-between—she matches high with low: A bird of paradise, the girl; the merchant but a crow.31

Shen Qingrui ( jinshi 1787) of Changzhou also wrote a poem called “The Thin Horse Market” (Shouma hang). The preface states: “Depraved matchmakers in Suzhou take in and raise the daughters of poor families, holding them as rare commodities. This is called ‘raising thin horses.’ I have written a poem lamenting this.” The poem reads as follows: 1 You ought not raise a skinny horse: It should be nice and plump. And for the girl, you like to have A beauty, not a frump. Even though a horse be thin, It can still be mounted, But in a girl a plain face Cannot be surmounted. 2 First comes the craft y go-between saying: “I’ve the skill to make the plain pretty. If you will, your daughter can be raised by me. I’ll teach her dress and make-up, to read and write and play upon the strings. A year or two and she’ll look grand. If she doesn’t marry you can ask me to sup, but when she’s married off you must pay up.” 3 An official comes to buy a concubine: the noise of horse and carriage fi lls the streets. He enters, takes a seat, and she comes out: curtsies deeply, and again, and then stands up. He asks her age: fifteen will not do, and even thirteen is too old. The matchmaker sings her praises, though falsely, and the village whore becomes a fairy queen. Ugly Lack-o’-salt, the lovely Xizi—he cannot tell apart.32 4 Though pa and ma are first to get the money, The go-between is very quick to come: “Before she’s wed,” she says, “ask me to sup, But when she’s married off you must pay up.

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Antonia Finnane With interest it will clearly be hundreds or thousands; you must certainly pay, and without delay.” 5 Off with the money the matchmaker goes, The parents weep and curse, The money they got from selling their girl, All gone to the matchmaker’s purse!33

How repulsive the matchmaker, how hateful the official, how pathetic the parents, and how pitiable the girl—all could be said to leap off the page. This poem suggests just how flourishing the trade in “thin horses” was in Jiangnan. On coming to the late Qing, we find a couplet written by Zhang Nanzhuang (fl. 1868) of Shanghai: To earn yourself a bowl of rice, Get yourself mounted on a thin horse.34

Further, in flourishing, commercialized Jiangnan, there were from early on people skilled in malpractice in the “thin horse” business. In the Kangxi era (1661–1722), Gong Wei (b. 1704) of Kunshan included in his Chaolin’s Random Notes (Chaolin bitan) a passage on “Thin Horses and White Ants” (Shouma jia he bai mayi): Among the people of my district are those who take in women, adorn them with cosmetics and jewels, and sell them off as concubines. They are called “thin-horse breeders.” The residents of these households are called “white ants” because they neither sew nor spin. The two operate in concert, so someone intent on buying a concubine hastens along to them to make his choice. If a girl takes his fancy, her price shoots up. Otherwise he has to pay a small gratuity; this is called “showing the money.” Accordingly, there is the occasional idle drifter who just undertakes to “show the money” but is then moved by lust to make a choice. And the “thin-horse breeder,” hastily urging the “ants” forward, does so with manifold deceptions. In revealing the girl’s looks, she changes the ugly for the beautiful; she conceals age, making the woman out to be a girl. It even happens that with much sounding of drums and music, the girl is seen off to the boat, the gleeful retinue talking deceitfully of a blushing bride, but the union never takes place. With the excuse that luggage has been left behind, the matchmaker ascends the bank and makes good her escape. The victim of the fraud rushes to claim his prize, lifts the veil for a

Wei Minghua’s Essay “The Thin Horses of Yangzhou” look, and it is nought but a clay mannequin in full dress! When he turns to look, the retinue has dispersed. He goes back to take up the matter, but the neighbors all say that the house was just temporarily rented the previous night, and they know not where the people have gone. He wants to take it to law, but has no name to put forward. All he can do is vent his wrath. This sort of fraud is common practice.35

Again, in Records of Night Rain and Autumn Lights (Yeyu qiudeng lu) Xuan Ding (1832–1880) of Tianchang wrote as follows: A gentleman of high position gathered together his wealth and went to Suzhou to buy a concubine. The matchmakers summoned dozens of girls but none took his fancy. Then an old woman who had been following him around came up and said: “Master sets his sights high, choosing none of these women. Miss Precious Spirit, of my aunt’s family, cannot fail to please him, but she prizes herself and her price will be high.” On hearing this, the gentleman said: “If she is truly beautiful, how can price be an obstacle? I only fear that the reality will not match her reputation. Bring the young lady along and let me have a look.” The old woman smiled and said: “I know the master just likes looking at thin horses, inviting them along for his inspection and then not partaking of the repast. How could I be willing to send off this lovely young girl to be looked at by someone?” The gentleman apologized and said he would like to go together with her to pay a call. The old women said: “I will try having a word. I don’t know whether or not she will agree.” The gentleman was getting tired of waiting when the old woman came along elatedly and said: “Depend on me, there is no cause for despondency. She is willing to meet with the master.” Accordingly, he went to see her. The girl greeted him with a curtsy and then withdrew. She was graceful of bearing and lovely of face. The gentleman completely lost his heart to her. Then on hearing the jangle of her zither, the sweet chirp of her chatter, the melody of her song, he became more and more besotted. With some urgency, he asked the price. The old woman hastily covered his mouth, pulled him outside and said: “Master is mistaken. The matter of this girl should not be treated heedlessly. You must ask to take her as a secondary wife, only then, since her father is  greedy and ambitious, might you persuade him. When she arrives at your place, she will just have to put up with the distinctions between wife and concubines.” Then she added: “The betrothal will cost only one thousand liang. The girl needs clothes and jewelry, and on top of that a decorated sedan chair to receive her. If one of these is lacking, your proposal will not succeed.”

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Antonia Finnane The gentleman, still quite beside himself, followed all these instructions. So the marriage contract was drawn up, the bride price paid, lots cast, and the bride sent for. The gentleman hired a grand barque to serve as the bridal chamber, desiring to repeat the story of Fan Luo and Xizi traveling the five lakes. He also purchased a slave girl to wait upon them. On the day, the decorated sedan chair arrived, the bride entered the cabin supported by the old woman and the slave girl, then the old woman took advantage of the commotion and slipped away. The gentleman removed the veil over the bride’s face: her expression was glowing, but she neither moved nor spoke. Desiring to take her to the nuptial couch, the gentleman dismissed the slave girl and took her into his arms. The bride lost her footing, but made no sound. He took a light and shone it upon her—and before him was nothing but the wooden image from some temple! He hastily sent a messenger to the girl’s house, but the door was locked. He called on all the neighbors but they said: “The family just happened to take this house for the purpose of marrying off their daughter. They have already sent the girl off, and now we do not know where they are.” He made inquiries of all the matchmakers, but none knew the old woman. Calculating that he had spent more than a thousand liang, he was left with no recourse but to return home in disappointment, his coarse little slave girl in tow.36

This sort of fraud is also known in the North, where it was referred to as “diddling” (chuo bao‘er). The Ming writer Lu Rong (1436–1494) of Miscellaneous Notes from the Garden of Pulses (Shuyuan zaji), states: In the Capital there was a woman who was married off to a man from out of town. His first sight of her was of a beautiful woman coming out to greet him with a curtsy, but come the marriage he found an ugly girl had been placed in her stead. This is known as “a diddle.”37

Although there were “thin horses” in Jiangnan, the “thin horses of Yangzhou” had their distinctive characteristics, which, like the city of Yangzhou itself, were “both refined and vulgar”—to quote an expression used by Yi Junzuo. “Yangzhou,” wrote Mr. Yi, “is more than any other a place with resonances for people. Virtually everyone who likes traveling to scenic spots, or has literary ability, hankers after Yangzhou. Not only this, Yangzhou is also a salt-producing area, and thus wealthy salt merchants congregate there. Further, Yangzhou is a place that produces women, and this attracts dilettantes and sensualists.”38 The loftiness of the scholar mixed with the profanity of the merchant, the beauty of the scenery alongside the squalidness of human society—this is

Wei Minghua’s Essay “The Thin Horses of Yangzhou”

an accurate enough representation of the Yangzhou of that time. From this Yi Junzuo concluded that Yangzhou was “both refined and vulgar,” writing: “We do not have to examine the geography of this place, simultaneously refined and vulgar as it is: a glance at its history and a survey of its present circumstances will be sufficient to adjudge its real worth.” Although many Yangzhou people feel no great affection for Yi Junzuo, I consider this description of Yangzhou as “both refined and vulgar” singularly perceptive. And is it not? Raising thin horses is trading in human beings: this is vulgar. But then such elegant designations are applied to the bodies of the “thin horses.” Thus, during the Qing, Fei Xuan in his Fragrant Verses of the Yangzhou Dream (Yangzhou meng xiang ci) intoned: Marvelous Yangzhou! I recall the chief households: The girls with hair like beetle wings, In the “apricot leaf ” style— Or four locks combed up into an orchid flower Married off and gone to distant parts, They broke their hearts with grieving.39

The author commented: “Poor families who identified their daughters by a certain coiffure were called ‘head households,’ or were said to be ‘breeding thin horses.’ Apricot Leaf, plum flower, Daoist Cap—these all denoted different hairstyles. Orchid Flower Heads had their hair divided in four parts at the temples and combed to resemble an orchid, hence the name.” What with the apricot leaves, plum flowers, and orchids, all vulgarity had been refined out of sight. While trading is taken as “vulgar,” “raising thin horses” could be viewed as stylish and celebrated in verse. It is even the subject of some quite wellknown poems. In the Qing, Jin Zhi (1663–1740) wrote not without some pride about his uncle: My uncle, the Assistant Instructor, was early known for his talent. He wrote thirty stanzas of the Bamboo-branch Songs of Guangling (Guangling zhuzhici), one of which was on everyone’s lips: At thirteen she’s painting and studying chess, At fourteen, it’s music and verse. Who cares about talk of “raising thin horses”? The girl’s an adornment to the family house!40

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The bamboo-branch verses of Yangzhou are well known: many people wrote them. So they became widespread. Jin’s Bamboo-branch Songs of Guangling were not of course to be found among the classics. It was just this verse with its mention of “raising thin horses” that “was on everyone’s lips,” refined to the point of vulgarity. The business of refined yet vulgar, vulgar yet refined, does not stop here. Take the famed Slender West Lake (Shou Xihu) of Yangzhou, of which Zhu Ziqing, in his essay “Summer Days in Yangzhou” (Yangzhou de xiari), wrote: Half the pleasure of a Yangzhou summer is to be found on the water—what people refer to as the “Slender West Lake.” The name is derived from West Lake, but it is really far too “slender”—refined to the point of vulgarity. Frankly, I don’t like it.41

If the slenderness of West Lake can so discompose someone, what then of the thinness of “horses”? What are the origins of the term “thin horse”? Cui Lu in “Diary of a Chang‘an Spring” (Chunri Chang‘an ji shi): The traveler laughs at himself, and doesn’t return. How sad to ride a thin horse, humming on one’s own.42

Tang Yanqian ( jinshi 861) in “Changling” (Changling2): Mounted on a thin horse, this scholar of great reknown Takes a last look at the city of Wei beneath the setting sun.43

Su Shi (1037–1101) in “Parting from Zi You on Horseback at West Gate, Zhengzhou, on the nineteenth day of the eleventh month, xinchou year (1061)” (Xinchou shiyi yue shijiu ri ji yu Zi You bie yu Zhengzhou Ximen wai ma shang fu shi yi pian ji zhi): In this bitter cold I recall that your coverings are thin. Alone, riding a thin horse, treading the remnant moon.44

Chao Chongzhi in “Morning Journey” (Xiao xing): Ambition departs with age: now I desire To mount a thin horse, and travel a long road.45

Wei Minghua’s Essay “The Thin Horses of Yangzhou”

Qiao Ji (ca. 1280–1345) in “Leaning on the Rail: On Jinling Road” (Ping lan ren: Jinling dao zhong): Thin horses carry poems to distant parts; In the village, the weary crows sound sad.46

Ma Zhiyuan (1250–1321) in “Sands of Tianjing: an Autumn Reflection” (Tianjing sha: qiu si): Rotting fences, aged trees, the dusky crows; A small bridge, households where the water flows; A thin horse on the ancient road: the west wind blows.47

The term “thin horses” used in these examples generally refers to actual thin horses. Not so Bai Juyi’s (772–846) “Regrets” (You gan): Do not feed thin colts Do not teach young whores It’s clear what will happen: If in doubt, sirs, look around The fattened horse gallops away, The grown whore can sing and dance. After three years, before five harvests, I hear a new master has been found. Let me ask the masters, new and old, Which one is happy, and which bitter? Take a pen, sirs, and on a large sash Please set these words down.48

This poem not only explicitly refers to “raising thin horses” but also mentions “thin horses” alongside “young whores.” There would seem to be little doubt that the term has its origins here. But there is no real necessity for this sort of exhaustive etymological research, because regarding the female sex as horseflesh is an ancient and widespread phenomenon. Women are referred to among some unenlightened peoples as mere “beasts of burden.” In “The Ballad of Han Peng” (Han Peng fu), from the Dunhuang manuscripts, the virtuous wife is described as weeping for Han Peng and reciting the line, “One horse cannot wear two saddles, one woman cannot serve two husbands.”49 In Love Songs and Secret

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Lore of Tshangyang Gyatsho (Cangyang Jiacuo qingge ji mizhuan) there is a poem, which goes: Although a wooden boat has no heart, A horse’s head can turn to look at one. But my unfeeling sweetheart Will not deign to turn her face towards me.50

In the Ming play The Phoenix and the Hairpin (Luan bi ji) by Ye Xianzu (1566–1641), Huang Sheng leads into the topic of “loving the lass and swapping the horse” by chanting: By the feed trough his beast, by the pillow his wife, He mounts them in turn, as day follows night. If his woman he chooses to swap for a nag, At night he might mix up his horse with his hag.51

Xu Ke glosses the expression “leaping the feed trough” (tiaocao) thus: “Leaping the feed trough was originally used in reference to prostitutes who wantonly take their instruments from one boat to the next; the allusion is to horses going from one trough to the next to take food or water.”52 It is said that in ancient Greece, the philosopher Socrates married a formidable woman. When asked why, he replied: “The finest horseman likes to ride a spirited steed. For the same reason, I have taken a fiery wife.” This is probably the earliest instance in Western literature of women being compared to horses. Among the Chinese people to the present day, there is a saying: “The wife I won and the horse I bought: I mount them and I beat them both.” Strangest of all, in Yangzhou patois the expression for “taking a wife” is still “taking a horse.”53 For a long period in the evolution of human society, women have undoubtedly been seen as horses for men to ride.54 The use of the word “mount” in reference to “mounting a woman” carries deep resonances. The addition of the word “thin” to horse gives expression to a desire for the fragile beauty fashionable in the Ming and Qing dynasties, but this word also has descriptive realism: with body and heart alike shriveled and so many tears of misery shed, how could they but be thin? Why was this perverted practice especially prevalent in Yangzhou? According to Xu Qianfang (1886–1950), the reason lay in the low sex ratio. In A Brief Account of Yangzhou Customs (Yangzhou fengtu jilüe, 1931) he quotes

Wei Minghua’s Essay “The Thin Horses of Yangzhou”

Zhang Dalai’s description of the “thin horses” cited above, noting it served only to give weight to hidebound attitudes. He goes on: The ancients wrote of Yangzhou that “for every two men there were five women,” so the practice of selling girls flourished. In the Ming dynasty, many men purchased concubines in Yangzhou: these were known as “thin horses.” Nowadays the little daughters of humble families become concubines when they grow up, a custom that is difficult to prohibit. But this does not entail the purchase of girls. There are still some people who actually buy young girls, but they are limited to professional procuresses. The latter are commonly said to be from Yangzhou, and there seems to be some truth in this.55

To posit the sex ratio as a reason for the sale of women is certainly an explanation of sorts, but this can hardly be the most significant reason. From the Sui-Tang period through to the Ming and Qing dynasties, Yangzhou was consistently important as a center of government, economy, and culture. There can be no argument that these factors made it a great and flourishing place, but they were also responsible for deep misery. Much has been said of Yangzhou’s prosperity, but this is only one aspect of the city’s history. Who knows how many “daughters of poor families” were being humiliated and abused while men of letters sentimentally intoned lines, such as “Under the heavens on a moonlit night, / Yangzhou gets two-thirds the light,”56 or “The Guangling beauties’ fragrance rises even to the skies, / And Heaven’s flowers, irritated, envy them their charm?”57—who knows how many unhappy stories along the lines of “raising thin horses” were then being lived out? But “moonlight nights” and “Guangling beauties” are certainly not all of Yangzhou. For a glimpse of the real Yangzhou we can turn to the local gazetteers, edited by officials. Even there, however, there is no possibility of concealment. The following passage is from the Gazetteer of Yangzhou Prefecture (Yangzhoufu zhi). In this locality there are rascals who seek to make a profit from buying up young girls from poor families with few moral principles. Their aim is to dress them up, train them in the various arts of singing, dancing, writing, painting, and sell them at a profit to matchmakers for marrying them off to wealthy merchants and traveling officials. They may first be had for no more than ten or so strings of cash, but on marriage the price goes up to many hundreds. Poor families, observing the profits, do not hesitate to thrust their own daughters into the business. For this reason, merchants and traveling

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Do we not have here an obvious reference to “thin horses of Yangzhou”? It is a matter for little wonder that Yangzhou is a city renowned for its history and culture, but this “historical” and “cultural” period cannot be considered only from the perspective of its wealth, for it was a prosperity underpinned by human suffering and degradation. There are in fact two Yangzhous, and not only in the sense invoked by Yi Junzuo when he distinguished the “refined” from the “vulgar.”59 One is robust, the other decadent; one creative, the other parasitic; one civilized, the other barbaric. Fan Changjiang (1909–1970) wrote a poem entitled “Visiting Yangzhou” that begins: “There are two Yangzhous, one corrupt, one great.”60 But is this true only of Yangzhou?

Notes 1. This is a revised and adapted version of an article originally published as Wei Minghua, “The Thin Horses of Yangzhou,” trans. Antonia Finnane, East Asian History 9 (1995): 47–66. 2. Wei Minghua, Yangzhou wenhua tanpian (Beijing: Sanlian shudian, 1994), 150–167. The version presented here in translation was given to me in manuscript form by the author in 1992. 3. This oft-cited poem is translated in full in A. C. Graham, Poems of the Late T‘ang (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1965), 123. 4. The trope has been traced in Wei Minghua, “Xi ‘Yangzhou meng’: Da shiren Du Mu he ta de qian nian fengliu meng,” in Wei Minghua, Yangzhou wenhua tanpian, 109–127. 5. See Anthony Cheung and Paul Gurofsky, eds. and trans., Cheng Pan-ch‘iao: Selected Poems, Calligraphy, Paintings and Seal Engravings (Hong Kong: Joint Publishing, 1987), 46– 48, 66, 73–75. 6. On the gendered understandings of Yangzhou society, see Antonia Finnane, Speaking of Yangzhou: A Chinese City, 1550–1850 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Asia Center, 2004), 213–235 (Chapter 9: “City of Women”). 7. Cao Xueqin, The Story of the Stone. Volume 1: The Golden Days, trans. David Hawkes (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1973), 19.396. 8. See Zhou Lengjia, ed., Yin Yun xiaoshuo (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1984), 5.131–132 (no. 132). 9. Yi Junzuo, Xianhua Yangzhou (Shanghai: Zhonghua shuju, 1934). For a discussion of the case, see Antonia Finnane, “A Place in the Nation: Yangzhou and the Idle Talk Controversy of 1934,” Journal of Asian Studies 53, no. 4 (1994): 1150–1174. See also the discussion by Antonia Finnane in Chapter 15 of the present volume. 10. Feng Zikai’s essay “The Yangzhou Dream” (Yangzhou meng), is discussed and translated by Sue Zhuang in Chapter 17 of the present volume.

Wei Minghua’s Essay “The Thin Horses of Yangzhou” 11. Wei Minghua, “Liang ge Yangzhou,” Dushu 9 (1983): 95. 12. See Zhu Ziqing, “Wo shi Yangzhouren,” in Zhu Ziqing quanji, ed. Zhu Qiaosen (Nanjing: Jiangsu jiaoyu, 1996), 4:455–459. 13. Zhisui Li, Private Life of Chairman Mao: The Memoirs of Mao’s Personal Physician (New York: Random House, 2010), 356ff. and passim. 14. The number of such cities was subsequently greatly expanded. The fi rst was designated only in 1982, the year before the original article was published. 15. Jian Zhen (688–763), a Buddhist monk who traveled to Japan during the Tang dynasty, is the object of considerable veneration and sustained historical interest in contemporary Yangzhou. On the gardens of Yangzhou, see Zhu Jiang, Yangzhou yuanlin pinshang lu (Shanghai: Shanghai wenhua, 1984). On the “Eight Eccentrics,” a group of artists active in Yangzhou in the eighteenth century, see Ginger Cheng-chi Hsü, A Bushel of Pearls: Painting for Sale in Eighteenth- Century Yangchow (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 2001). See also the discussion and translation by Michele Matteini in Chapter 13 of the present volume. The cuisine of Yangzhou has yet to be written about at any length, but Zhu Ziqing salutes it in his essay “Speaking about Yangzhou;” see the translation by Antonia Finnane in Chapter 15 of the present volume. “Jade flower” refers to qionghua, a rare flower that has iconographic significance in Yangzhou. 16. For a translation of Du Mu’s poem in full, see Graham, Poems of the Late T‘ang, 123. 17. For other references in English to the “thin horses of Yangzhou,” see Lin Yutang, trans., “Professional Match-makers,” in Lin Yutang, The Importance of Understanding: Translations from the Chinese (Cleveland and New York: World Publishing Company, 1960), 229– 231; Zhang Dai, “The Jades of Yangzhou,” trans. D. E. Pollard and Soh Yong Kian, Renditions 33–34 (1990): 160–162; Dorothy Ko, Teachers of the Inner Chambers: Women and Culture in Seventeenth Century China (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1994), 261–266; Philip A. Kafalas, In Limpid Dream: Nostalgia and Zhang Dai’s Reminiscences of the Ming (Norwalk, Conn.: Eastbridge, 2007), 95–98; as well as the translation and discussion of this piece by Philip Kafalas in Chapter 3 of the present volume. 18. Cao Juren, Wo yu wo de shijie (Beijing: Renmin daxue, 1983), 386–387. The passage cited is from “Shuo Yangzhou,” first published in Renjian shi 16 (1934): 35–36. See also the complete translation of this essay by Antonia Finnane in Chapter 15 of this volume. 19. This game is referred to in the Ming novel The Plum in the Golden Vase (Jin ping mei). See David T. Roy, trans., The Plum in the Golden Vase or, Ch‘in p‘ing mei, Vol. 1: The Gathering (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1993), 12.228, 16.320. 20. Liang Shaoren, Liangban Qiuyu‘an suibi (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1982), 4.183. 21. Zhao Yi, Gaiyu congkao, ed. Luan Baoqun and Lü Zongli (Shijiazhuang: Hebei renmin, 2003), 38.812–813. 22. Zhang Dalai, Hou jia ji, in Baibu congshu jicheng (Taibei: Yiwen, 1968), quoted in Xu Qianfang, Yangzhou fengtu jilüe (Taibei: Xinxin, 1992), 79. 23. Kong Shangren, Taohua shan, ed. Wang Jisi et al. (Beijing: Renmin wenxue, 1959), 163–165. See the rather free translation in K‘ung Shang-jen, The Peach Blossom Fan, trans. Shih-hsiang Chen and Harold Acton (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1976), 190. This translation provides no allusion either to Yangzhou or to “thin horses,” despite the annotation provided in the edition by Wang Jisi et al. on which the translation is based. 24. Wang Shixing, Guang zhi yi, ed. Lü Jinglin (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1982), 29. 25. The name of a disciple of Confucius. 26. Shen Defu, Wanli yehuo bian (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1959), 597–598. I have based my rendering of this passage on a draft translation by Bai Limin, Department of Chinese, Victoria University of Wellington.

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Antonia Finnane 27. Xu Ke, Qingbai leichao (Taibei: Shangwu yinshuguan, 1960), j. 80, 10:38. 28. Zhang Dai, Tao‘an mengyi; Xihu mengxun, ed. Xia Xianchun and Cheng Weirong (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 2001), 91–92. See further the translation by Philip Kafalas in Chapter 3 of this volume. 29. Li Yu, Xianqing ouji (Hangzhou: Zhejiang guji, 1985), 3.108. For a full text translation of Li Yu’s essay, see Wolfram Eberhard, “What Is Beautiful in a Chinese Woman?” in Moral and Social Values of the Chinese: Selected Essays, ed. Wolfram Eberhard (Taipei: Chengwen, 1971), 273–288. A partial translation, including this passage, is “On Charm in Women,” in Lin Yutang, The Importance of Understanding, 232–235. 30. Xiaoheng Xiangshi Zhuren, ed., Qingchao yeshi daguan (Shanghai: Shanghai shudian, 1981), 143. The measure referred to in this passage is a moxian, a measure of five Chinese feet or approximately five feet ten inches imperial. 31. Zhang Yingchang, ed., Qingshi duo (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1983), j. 25, 2:950. 32. Wuyan, which I have translated here as “Lack-o’-salt,” is actually the name of a county. The story goes that during the Warring States period, a woman of this county in Shandong Province was out plucking mulberry leaves when King Xuan of Qi passed by. She spoke to the king of the four dangers to a state. Although she was forty years of age and of homely visage, he took her as his queen and introduced sweeping reforms in the management of his court and kingdom. The reforms included the removal of female musicians. See Li Zhiqiang and Wang Shucun, eds., Zhongguo Yangliuqing muban nianhua ji (Tianjin: Tianjin Yangliuqing huashe, 1992), plate 9, and note, n.p. The eighteenth-century painter Min Zhen, associated with the Yangzhou School, may have been making direct reference to this tale when he portrayed a matronly figure on his ink-on-paper work, “Gathering Mulberry Leaves.” This undated hanging scroll is in the Beijing Palace Museum collection. See Mayching Kao (Gao Meiqing), ed., Gugong bowuyuan cang Qingdai Yangzhou huajia zuopin (Paintings by Yangzhou artists of the Qing dynasty from the Palace Museum) (Hong Kong: Art Gallery, Chinese University of Hong Kong, 1984), 265, 271. Xizi, an alternative rendering of Xishi, is China’s Helen. Her story is that during the Spring-and-Autumn period, the kingdom of Yue was at war with the kingdom of Wu. The King of Yue knew that the King of Wu was of amorous inclination, so he had his minister Fan Luo send a beautiful girl, Xizi, to the Wu court. Subsequently the government of Wu was neglected and the state so weakened that Yue achieved victory. An elaboration of this has Xizi returning to Fan Luo after the defeat of Wu and living happily with him by the West Lake. 33. Zhang Yingchang, Qingshi duo, j. 25, 2:947. 34. Zhang Nanzhuang, Hedian (Beijing: Renmin wenxue, 1981), 102. 35. Gong Wei, Chaolin bitan, ed. Qian Binghuan (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1981), 96. 36. Xuan Ding, Yeyu qiudeng lu, ed. Zhang Zhihao (Changsha: Yuelu shushe, 1985), 215–216. 37. Lu Rong, Shuyuan zaji, ed. Yizhi (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1985), 7.88–89. 38. Yi Junzuo, Xianhua Yangzhou, 1. 39. Fei Xuan, Yangzhou meng xiangci, unpublished manuscript in the possession of the author. 40. Jin Zhi, Buxia dai bian (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1982), 5.92. 41. Zhu Ziqing, “Yangzhou de xiari,” in Zhu Ziqing, Ni wo (Beijing: Sanlian shudian, 1991), 39. 42. Peng Dingqiu et al., eds., Quan Tang shi (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1960), j. 567, 17:6566, where the title is given as “Chunri ji shi.” The author’s source for this and the following three verses was Zhongwen da cidian bianzuan weiyuanhui, ed., Zhongwen da cidian, 40 vols. (Taibei: Zhongguo wenhua yanjiusuo, 1968), 22:329. The translator is indebted to Victor Cheng for help with the translation of this and several other passages.

Wei Minghua’s Essay “The Thin Horses of Yangzhou” 43. Peng Dingqiu, Quan Tang shi, j. 671, 20:7673. 44. Su Shi, Su Shi shiji, ed. Wang Wengao et al. (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1982), 1:95–96; translation from Michael A. Fuller, The Road to East Slope: The Development of Su Shi’s Poetic Voice (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1990), 92. 45. This verse could not be identified in any edition. 46. Sui Shusen, ed., Quan Yuan sanqu (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1964), 1:242. 47. Ibid., 1:594. 48. Gu Xuejie, ed., Bai Juyi ji (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1979), j. 21, 2:469. See Howard S. Levy, trans., Translations from Po Chü-i’s Collected Works, Volume 3: Regulated and Patterned Poems of Middle Age (822–832) (San Francisco: Chinese Materials Center, 1976), 160–161. 49. Wang Zhongmin et al., eds., Dunhuang bianwen ji (Beijing: Renmin wenxue, 1984), 1:140. 50. Cangyang Jiacuo, Cangyang Jiacuo qingge ji michuan, trans. Zhuang Jing (Beijing: Minzu, 1981), no. 10. 51. Quoted in Mao Jin, ed., Liushi zhong qu (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1958), 6:54–55. 52. Xu Ke, Qingbai leichao, j. 80, 10:5. 53. This is evidently a pun, as in Chinese the word “horse” (ma) is repeated (qu mama), which, read in a different tone, would become “taking a mother.” 54. Yet another illustration of this simile is to be found in The Plum in the Golden Vase, where, in Roy’s translation, Dame Wang sums up the circumstances of Pan Jinlian’s marriage with the proverb, “the finest steed may be forced to carry an unworthy rider; the loveliest wife must often share her bed with a clumsy clod.” Roy, The Plum in the Golden Vase, 55. 55. Xu Qianfang, Yangzhou fengtu jilüe, 2.79. 56. Xu Ning, “Yi Yangzhou,” in Zhang Shicheng and Xia Yunbi, eds., Yangzhou shici (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1985), 17. 57. This line is from a poem by Zhao Yi, entitled “Colophon on the Scroll Painting ‘Gazing at the Hortensia’ ” (Ti qionghua guan tu changjuan), as quoted in Wei Minghua, “Tan ‘Guangling chun’: Cong wenhua jiaodu kan qionghua yu shaoyao,” in Wei Minghua, Yangzhou wenhua tanpian, 4. 58. Akedang Axiu et al., eds., (Chongxiu) Yangzhoufu zhi (1810), rpt. in Zhongguo fangzhi congshu, vol. 145 (Taibei: Chengwen, 1974), 60.12a. 59. Yi Junzuo, Xianhua Yangzhou, 1. 60. Fan Changjiang, “You Yangzhou” (Traveling to Yangzhou), in Wenjiao ziliao jianbao 5 (1979): 52. Fan Changjiang, a journalist of national renown in the 1930s and 1940s, served as editor and director in media organizations in the 1950s before entering the field of science administration.

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Yangzhou Village Theater The Play Pi Fifth Celebrates New Year (Pi Wu guo nian, 1999) in Wei Ren’s Redaction Introduced, translated, and annotated by Lindy Li Mark

The lunar New Year celebration and other calendar festivals, sponsored by merchant and craft guilds, took place in villages and towns across China until the end of World War II, but were banned in the early years of the People’s Republic. New Year celebrations are held today again, but promoted by the government through the media, with broadcasts throughout the country and overseas. These modern media programs still feature comedy skits, short plays, opera excerpts, and such, but without the outdoor setting and the earthy humor of earlier times. In his Study of Yangzhou Theater (Yangzhou xi kao, 1999), the compiler and editor Wei Ren (1922–2012) includes an essay titled “Yangzhou Theater and I” (Wo yu Yangzhou xiqu) in which he offers an account of markettown and village festivals and the role drama and performed literature played in such festivals in the old days. In this essay, Wei presents his remembrances of such festivals in his hometown of Yangzhuangzhen (Jiangdu County, Jiangsu Province) in the 1930s, translated in the following excerpt: After the summer harvest and planting, when the newly harvested wheat had gone into the granaries, peasants began mounting the Green Sprout Festival (qingmiaohui). Some villages built temporary stages for opera performances. Father always took me to see them. We often walked eight or ten li under the hot sun, on steaming paths among the fields to see the incense-and-fire plays (xianghuoxi).1 To let me see better, father would set me up on a haystack, or hoist me onto a tree branch. I was always alert and never felt tired.

These dramatic performances were set in a religious ritual context, as vividly described in the following excerpt in which Wei Ren recalls the Daoist and Buddhist scriptural recitations and performances that were part of the

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ritual “for the benefit of lonely flaming mouths” (ligu yankou), during the Hungry Ghost Festival,2 on the fifteenth of the seventh month according to the lunar calendar: The site where the ritual of “feeding flaming mouths” took place had an entirely different atmosphere. There, the night was lit up like daylight, Buddhist monks and Daoist priests chanted scriptures for the salvation of dead souls. But these rituals were routine; everyone was more interested in the informal plays that the priests sang later. Sometimes, the two streets east and west of the river would alternately engage Buddhist monks or Daoist priests. From opposite banks, they would taunt each other with their best numbers, never accepting defeat, and sometimes the contest would last from nightfall to dawn. Daoist priests on the east bank would sing “Little Nun Escapes Down the Mountain” (Xiao nigu xia shan); Buddhist monks on the west bank would sing “Daoist Priest Wang Captures the Demon” (Wang daoshi na yao). Just as the Daoists finished singing “Lady White Snake Fights the Monk Fahai at Golden Mountain Temple” (Bai niangniang Jinshan dou Fahai), the monks would start singing “Daoist Immortal Lü Chunyang Thrice Harasses White Peony” (Lü Chunyang san xi Bai Mudan). Many young people rushed from one side of the river to the other, cheering them on.3

This account is not only lively, but also very instructive, as it conveys to us a sense of the cultural as well as the social milieu and setting in which a play like Pi Fifth Celebrates New Year (Pi Wu guo nian) might have been performed back then. In his introduction to Pi Fifth Celebrates New Year, Wei Ren indicates that it is a traditional Yangzhou flower-drum play (Yangzhou huaguxi). The Yangzhou flower drum drama has also been known as Yangju (Yangzhou opera) in modern times. Both Yangju and huaguxi are found in the Yangzhou and Zhenjiang regions in Jiangsu Province, as well as in parts of Anhui Province, and the cities of Nanjing and Shanghai. These are regions and places where Yangzhou and related dialects are spoken, for the plays are performed in Yangzhou dialect exclusively.4 The play Pi Fifth Celebrates New Year was originally known as Little Wang Second Celebrates New Year (Wang Xiao‘er guo nian) and was a play in the traditional repertoire of Yangzhou flower-drum plays.5 A Yangzhou proverb goes: “Little Wang Second celebrates New Year; every year is worse than the last.” Little Wang Second (Wang Xiao‘er) and Hot Pepper Pi Fift h

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Figure 20.1. Scene from a Per formance of Pi Fifth Celebrates New Year. (Cover of a VCD produced by Anhui yinxiang chubanshe)

(Pi Wu Lazi) belong to the same trickster character type. Due to the popularity of the Yangzhou oral tale Clear Wind Sluice (Qingfengzha),6 its main character Hot Pepper Pi Fift h became widely known. Eventually Wang Second was recast as Hot Pepper Pi Fift h. The character type Hot Pepper Pi Fift h has a long history in Yangzhou folk literature. The Pleasure Boats of Yangzhou (Yangzhou huafang lu, 1795), records the biography of Pu Lin (informal name Tianyu, nickname Peizi [Puncher])7 who was orphaned in youth and begged for a living, but later became a professional gambler. By frequent listening to storytelling he became familiar with this performing art and began to compose his own story cycle, which he entitled Clear Wind Sluice, and its protagonist he named Pi Fift h. With this story cycle he eventually became a virtuoso storyteller.8 Pu Lin derived his main character Pi

The Play Pi Fift h Celebrates New Year

Fifth from his own personal experience, and therefore it carries a strong autobiographical element. Pi Fifth is not a “Robin Hood” character, robbing the rich and giving to the poor. He is an ordinary small-town crook, making a living by gambling and swindling, but at bottom, kind-hearted.9 Through the personality of Pi Fift h, the tellers of this tale apparently had a weapon to mock the powerful, and to reveal the ugliness and venality of contemporary society. The language is humorous, clever, and spiced up with plenty of jokes. As a result, these tales retained their popularity and have been performed in storytelling houses for more than two hundred years.10 Yangzhou flower-drum plays specialize in humor and slapstick comedy; the jester role is especially prominent. There are a handful of plays featuring Pi Fift h as the central character.11 The play translated here is based on the handwritten script of a flower-drum play titled either Wang Xiao‘er Celebrates New Year, or Pi Fifth Celebrates New Year. Wei Ren mentions that he also consulted the book version of the Yangzhou storyteller Yu Youchun’s oral repertoire, published as Hot Pepper Pi Fifth (Pi Wu Lazi, 1985). Here the corresponding episode is titled “Openly Gambling, Undercover Charity” (Ming du an song). The print version of Pi Wu Celebrates New Year in Wei Ren’s Study of Yangzhou Theater reproduces the Yangzhou dialect,12 indicative of the earthy colloquial language in which the Yangzhou flower-drum play is performed on the stage. This idiom contrasts with the language used in other forms of Yangzhou theater, such as the much-celebrated Yangzhou opera (Yangju) Taking Command at Age One Hundred (Bai sui gua shuai), treated elsewhere in this volume.13



Pi Fifth Celebrates New Year 14 Dramatis Personae Hot Pepper Pi Fift h Mother of Walnut Tao (Tao Hezi) Tao’s wife Northern Babbler Yao Second (Yao Er Kuazi) Old shopkeeper, proprietor of a sundry shop

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Lindy Li Mark Amidst drumming and cymbals clashing, Pi Fifth enters. Pi Fift h: Hei, Hei, Hei, Hei, It’s the New Year, the New Year it is! (sings) The old year goes out with a burst of firecrackers. Every family welcomes the New Year. Welcome the New Year, the New Year is here. Some are smiling, some are in tears. New Year celebrations, what a bother!15 With money in your belt, you celebrate every day. With no money in your belt, every day you hate. Old moneybags dun for debts on New Year. Debtors hide from loan sharks during New Year. New Year is difficult; difficult is the New Year, Every New Year is difficult. No money this time, no money to pay, No money to pay each and every day. (speaks) For me, Pi Fift h, it’s all right. (sings) Every New Year and every festival day, I beg for alms all around. Sweets and candle sticks for God of the Hearth,16 New Year’s pictures and good luck couplets, Chicken, fish, meat, and eggs, all in array. As soon as I call out: “Happy New Year honored elders, Give Pi Fift h a hand to celebrate the New Year. You don’t need to give much, two hundred coppers will do. If you play dumb I’ll curse your family line,17 And bring misfortune on you in the coming year!”18 (speaks) Ha, ha! I’m just joking, actually what can I, Hot Pepper Pi Fift h, do to any one? I’m neither a scholar nor a soldier. My back can’t hold up a shoulder pole and my hands can’t hold a basket. I wear a sky-light hat, dress in an eighttrigram gown,19 am shod in heel-less shoes, with a coat that flies like a kite. I am poor like a clapper that has lost its string,20 poor to the high heavens, bare to the walls of my house. It is said that extreme poverty brings on sudden cleverness; in truth extreme poverty brings on evil; extreme poverty is like a torch that sets a fire alight. Rich people are scared of my “poverty.” They shudder when they see me. “Yiwei,21 it’s Hot Pepper

The Play Pi Fift h Celebrates New Year Pi Fift h, there’s no use playing around22 with him. Get out two hundred qian and get rid of him.” Honestly, I don’t want to stay in this racket forever. To tell you the truth, just now after a few cups of New Year’s wine, I hurried to greet the return of the Hearth God and saw him coming in the door with a red face. I said to him: “Sir Hearth, you’ve had a hard day?” “Oh, not too bad.” I said, “Was it crowded at the South Heavenly Gate?” “Oh, it was really jammed. Every family’s patron hearth god was going up to the sky, there were mountains of people.” “You bet! May I ask, Sir, when you got to the heavenly throne room, did you tell Him about my affairs? “Oh, of course, I told Him all about you.” “Ayiwei! 23 Thank you, thank you. In that case, my luck is going to turn.” “Absolutely!” “Sir Hearth, you are not lying to me are you?” “The liar is a turtle!”24 “You are even swearing! How can a turtle climb up on my hearth?” With Sir Hearth on my side,25 I was overjoyed. As soon as the firecrackers went off, my palms were itching to go. When the drums and gongs sounded, without waiting for the sun to come up, I grabbed three hundred qian and headed to the gambling den. From now on it’s “goodbye” to one, two, three; “hello” four, five, six. Yiwei! the streets were deserted and you couldn’t hit a soul if you tossed a brick. That’s right; I heard that during the night of the thirtieth26 all the gods descend to earth. It’s best if you meet up with the God of Wealth, or the God of Blessing; you never want to meet up with the God of Pestilence or the God of Poverty. The hairs on my body started to stand on end, so I made up a little tune to give me courage. (sings) New Year, New Year, New Year again. Coming and going on the street every day. Whenever I meet a wealthy man, Stretch out my hand for two hundred grand. Beg your pardon, beg your pardon. Holy god heads, I, Pi Fift h, am on the way. Northern Babbler Yao Second enters with a paper lantern. When he recognizes Pi Fifth’s voice, he blows out his lantern and turns the other way down a lane. But Pi Fifth sees him.

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Lindy Li Mark Pi Fift h: Stop! Yao Second: (turns around quickly) Master Fifth, Happy New Year! Happy New Year! Pi Fift h: That’s not nice,27 chap! It’s New Year’s Day. You treat me like the God of Plague, blow out your lantern, turn, and run. Ruined my luck 28 for the year! How shall I settle with you? Yao Second: Master Fift h, to tell the truth, I went around collecting debts but didn’t get a penny. Pi Fift h: Don’t cry poor. Tonight is New Year’s Eve, so I won’t waste words on you. Two hundred qian in your care for the time being. Tomorrow I’ll come to collect the principal together with the interest. Yiwei! What’s the bulge in your package there? Yao Second: Ha, ha! Doesn’t concern you, doesn’t concern you, Master Fift h. See you on New Year’s Day, see you on New Year’s Day. Pi Fift h: Stop right there, you, Northern Babbler! Yao Second: What now? Pi Fift h: Someone gave me a couplet. I can’t read, you read it for29 me. Yao Second: It’s too dark to see. Grand Master Fift h, don’t make fun of me. Pi Fift h: Light the lantern. I’ll hold the lantern, you read. Come on, read! Yao Second: (trying to read) “Poor . . . poor . . .” Yiwei, Master Fift h! I really can’t make it out. Pi Fift h: All right then, if you can’t read it give me the two hundred qian and I’ll find someone else to read it. Yao Second: (forced) All right, I’ll read. “Poor, poor, poor. I am poor. Rich, rich, rich, you are rich.” Pi Fift h: Once more! Yao Second: (relenting) “Poor, poor, poor. I am poor.” Pi Fift h: All right, all right. Next year at New Year don’t you come around to bother your Master Pi Fift h. Ha ha ha . . . Yao Second: Pei! Tough luck! (exits) Pi Fifth: (humming a tune) “A year comes, a year goes, and it’s New Year’s again, And it’s New Year’s once again.” (Stops and listens) . . . Where is this weeping coming from? So heartbroken! Tao’s Wife: (enters, weeping) Woe . . . Oh woe. Pi Fift h: Whose family can this be, weeping so bitterly on New Year’s Eve? Let me listen. Tao’s Wife:

The Play Pi Fift h Celebrates New Year (sings) Firecrackers blasting day after day, My heart is aching as if fried in oil. Other families celebrate New Year’s Eve, In my house, a pot of water reflects my face. I tighten my belt and bear pangs of hunger, But my blind mother-in-law can’t take the hunger and cold weather. My worthless husband Tao Hezi (walnut) is to blame, His gambling addiction left us a pile of debt. He hides here and there to keep from his debtors, Leaving his wife and mother to endure the shame. I borrowed a bushel of rice from my mother, My brother gave me a chicken for the New Year dinner. Who should come to collect but Northern Babbler Yao Second. He took the rice and carried away the chicken, As tears flowed down my cheeks. What is there to live for . . . in such a life? Might as well die and end this hopeless life. (Wails) Oh, Walnut Tao . . . my husband. Pi Fift h: Oh, Walnut Tao, isn’t that my gambling buddy? Tao’s Wife: Where are you now? Your desperate wife is leaving with your unborn child. Husband, oh husband, stop your gambling now for the sake of your dead wife. Start a small business and take care of your poor blind mother. Pi Fift h: Oh no, she’s about to hang herself! Tao’s mother: (enters) My child! My poor dear daughter-in-law! Tao’s Wife: Ma! Mother! Tao’s mother: (sings) You are blameless, blameless a thousand times. You are the victim of that worthless son of mine. Since you married into my family, Our daily fare has depended on you. You labored for a few qian, But he stole them for the gambling table. Everyone else comes home for New Year celebration, But he hides out every time. You borrowed rice and tinder from your own family,

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Lindy Li Mark Only to be taken away by that Northern Babbler for his debt. My child! There is another generation in your womb. You must endure and stay alive. I, your mother-in-law, am old, weak, and useless. Better I die soon, to bring my son around. Tao’s Wife: Mother, ill-fated mother. How can I let you die? Better that I should go! Tao’s mother: My child, my child, I beg you for the sake of the baby in your belly. You must not take that way out. Tao’s wife: Mother, no one alive wants to die. But on this New Year’s Eve every family is reunited, every family is happy. But our family has not a grain of rice, not a penny, just a pot of plain water, how are we to survive? Tao’s mother: You are right, you are not to be blamed; we really can’t survive. All right darling, we, mother and daughter-in-law, have lived together, let’s die together. Dearest, put out two ropes, let’s hang together. Pi Fift h: Aya, Holy Mother! On New Year’s Eve mother and daughter-in-law are vying to hang themselves. Is there anything more tragic in this world? I, Hot Pepper Pi Fift h, have lost a fortune but never shed a tear. My old mother died and I never shed a tear. Last New Year’s I slept in the Earth God’s shrine,30 drinking in the northwest wind, and never shed a tear. But tonight, my tears won’t stop streaming to the ground. It’s too tragic. Let me give my three hundred qian to them! Oh, oh, it won’t do. I know these two only too well. They are poor as poor can be, but they won’t accept help from others. They’d rather hang themselves than accept other people’s help. They would rather die than accept money from Hot Pepper Pi Fift h. Ah . . . I’ve got it. Tao’s wife: Mother, let me hang first. Tao’s mother: No, dear, I’ll go first. . . . Pi Fift h: (bangs on the door) I say, you fellows, you are placing pretty big bets there, a string of cash for me, a string31 for you. I, Pi Fift h, am not afraid of betting big, come on, give me a chance too. Open the door! Open the door! If you don’t open up, I will break the door down. Tao’s mother: Goodness, can bad fortune get any worse than this. We are about to hang ourselves in desperation, but have been caught by this Hot Pepper Pi Fift h. Tao’s wife: Never mind that Hot Pepper. We are going to die anyway, we are not afraid of anyone. Pi Fift h: Open up! Open up!

The Play Pi Fift h Celebrates New Year Tao’s mother: It won’t do to not be afraid. Pi Fift h is capable of anything. If he breaks in, we can’t even hang ourselves. Tao’s wife: Oh well, I’ll open the door. Master Pi Fift h, our Walnut Tao is not home. Pi Fift h: I know he’s not home. Come, come, I’ll bet a few hands with you two. Tao’s wife: Master Fift h, I don’t know how to gamble. Pi Fift h: Don’t you two try to lie to me. I saw you through the crack in the door. (sings): I looked inside, inside I peeked. I saw everything so don’t try to hide from me. A string for you, a string for her. The two of you betting feverishly. Mother and daughter-in-law gambling is a joke. One does not drink alone, two do not gamble, So let me join you in some fun today. I’ll take down three strings of cash from my shoulder. I, Pi Fift h, gamble but I never cheat.32 One string of cash for every hand, Whoever wins takes the cash and runs. Tao’s wife: Master Pi Fift h, you are mistaken. (sings) Please don’t make fools of us, We are not the gambling kind. Everybody else is busy celebrating, We just have a pot of plain water. We have enough to worry about, We have no mind to gamble. Tao’s mother: Oh Fift h! (sings) This old woman is blind in both eyes, can’t see anything. I can’t tell which is “six” and which is “one.” There is not a penny in the house, With what are we to gamble? Old Fift h, you have got things completely backwards. Pi Fift h: (sings) Never mind backwards or not. This is the first time Pi Fift h is gambling with you. For good luck’s sake in the New Year,

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Lindy Li Mark If you “yellow”33 me, Hot Pepper Pi Fift h, out . . . You won’t be able to take it. Come, come! I carry dice in my belt and place bets door to door. Elder sisterin-law Tao, come on, you toss first. Tao’s wife: I don’t know how to toss. Pi Fift h: Don’t be afraid, just grab and then let go! Yiwei, Elder sister-in-law, you are so lucky, you gamble with such determination. There, this string of cash is yours! Tao’s mother: Where is it? I can’t see. Pi Fifth: There! Grab, then let go! Wow, double happiness descends to your household. Another four-five-six, and six-six-six. This string of cash is yours to keep. Now it’s my turn.34 Ho, bad luck, one-two-three, I lost. This string is yours. Take it. All right, I’m leaving. See you in the New Year. Tao’s wife: Master Pi Fift h, you are playing tricks on us. Take your three strings of coppers, we can’t take your money. Pi Fift h: You don’t have any respect for me, do you? Although I’ll beg a rich man for two hundred qian, I never cheat at the gambling table. I already lost three strings to you, how can I take back my word? Don’t say anymore, put it away. Go and buy some food and celebrate the New Year. Tao’s mother: (the truth dawns on her and she holds on to Pi Fifth) Pi Fift h, you, you . . . your gambling is a ruse, saving our lives is the truth. My child, come and kowtow to Master Pi Fift h. Tao’s wife: Thank you for saving our lives. Pi Fift h: If you want to talk, please get up. I can’t understand what you were thinking, hanging yourselves on New Year’s Eve. Tao’s wife: Oh Master Fift h! (sings) Rich men treat you like the plague. But you treat poor folks like next of kin. Remember two years ago when times were hard, Stuffing money under the door with your kind heart. On the East road lived the peanut vendor Wang Xiaolin, The couple fought over the hardship of the New Year, But you, Master Fift h, played the rat35 in the pawnshop, Swindled the pawnbroker of five liang of silver to save Wang Xiaolin. On the West Street there is a tofu shop, Its keeper famous for ill treatment of his little wife. Beating her from morning and cursing her into the night,

The Play Pi Fift h Celebrates New Year The poor little woman was about to jump into the well. Pretending to be her uncle you stood up for her, The tofu seller dared not mistreat her ever after. Master Fift h, you did a thousand good deeds. May Bodhisattvas bless you with the Star of Wealth. Pi Fift h: Ayiwei! To tell the truth, I, Pi Fift h, did not do many good deeds, but of evil deeds I’ve done not a few. Don’t bother to praise me. But let’s talk about the business at hand, why did you two decide to kill yourselves on New Year’s Eve? Tao’s mother: Master Fift h! As the saying goes: “Hanging on to life is better than a painless death.” Who wants to die? We were at the end of our tether! These last few days, every debt collector showed up, and took away everything we had. Her brother pitied us and gave her a little rooster so that we could manage a bit of celebration. The chicken was dressed and about to go into the pot, when Northern Babbler Yao Second showed up. Without giving us a chance to explain, he made off with the bushel of rice and the chicken. Hai . . . (sighs). Pi Fift h: So, it was him after all! Northern Babbler Yao Second, you heartless beast! No wonder I saw you sneaking around with a strange looking package. You didn’t take just a bushel of rice and chicken, you were taking three human lives. (To the Tao women) Don’t feel bad. I’ll see Northern Babbler Yao Second about the three strings of cash. I have a New Year couplet here; let me put it up for you. There! Now this looks more like a New Year celebration. Here, I’ll read it to you: “May iron brooms sweep away poverty in the world; let ten thousand hooks catch Gods of Wealth.” Congratulations, may you have prosperity in the New Year. Tao women: Thank you, Master Fift h! Pi Fift h: I’m going now. Don’t go hanging yourselves! Tao’s mother: Now that we can live, who would want to die! Pi Fift h: Yes, you are right: “Better to live and suffer, than die and be buried in dirt.” The women exit. Pi Fift h: Hai . . . Hai . . . Lost three strings of cash, saved three persons’ lives. This bet has paid off. They all say that Pi Fift h only does evil, never does any good deeds. Hai . . . “good deeds are credited to ladies, bad deeds are blamed on the maid.” Those rich men bleed the poor folks, then spend a few pennies to repair a bridge, rebuild a road, erect a

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Lindy Li Mark monument and inscribe their names on it. Their mouths spout benevolence and morality, their bellies are full of rape and thievery. You, you all are far more evil than me. (Suddenly remembers) Yiwei . . . This is awful! I gave away three strings of cash, but here I am, heading to Wang Second’s gambling den without a penny of capital. What shall I do . . . ? (Slaps his thigh) I’ve got it. (sings) Arriving at the City God’s temple, The City God smiles at me. He says: “When the eleventh watch ends, the twelft h watch begins. Men and women all come to burn incense. Some pray for wealth, some pray for sons. Everyone prays for a lucky sign. Pi Fift h, why don’t you feign sleep right here and now, When a rich man comes, you loosen his money belt.” Yiwei, I say, City God! You mean I should play “manure boat crossing the river”—hold my breath and pretend to be dead? Fine, good idea. Old shopkeeper: (enters singing) Hai . . . (sighs) Everything is going just fine, I’m just short on one thing. Food, clothing, housing, I have aplenty, Just lack a grandson to continue my line. I begged the diviner and prayed for a fortune stick. Everyone told me that the City God is the most efficacious On New Year’s Eve I was determined, Stayed up all night until daylight dawned. Today I offered incense at the first light of day.36 I beg the City God to have compassion. If I get a grandson in the coming year, City God, great incense and big candles, Pig’s head and three livestock I shall sacrifice to you. Good . . . not a single worshiper has arrived, let me take three steps forward and offer incense. Yi . . . what is that by the gate of the temple? Why, it’s a person . . . sound asleep. Wake up, wake up. May you have good fortune! Oh no, he is probably here to offer the first incense of the New Year. Let him sleep, meanwhile I’ll beat him to it. (exits) Pi Fifth: That was the shopkeeper of the sundries store. Both he and his son are honest people, always polite when they see me. How can I take their money?

The Play Pi Fift h Celebrates New Year Old shopkeeper: (enters) Let me see who it is. Oh, it’s Hot Pepper Pi Fift h. Master Fift h, Master Fift h! Why are you sleeping here?37 Yiwei, he’s rather stiff. There seems to be no breath coming from his nostrils. Let’s go. This is a matter of life and death, I can’t stay. Master Fift h, sleep on, I can’t keep you company. Yao Second: (enters, cheerfully singing a tune) In the first month, the first month it is. I’m going to see the lantern parade with a little miss. Seeing the lanterns is not my aim, little miss. To look at you is my intention, my intention.

Old shopkeeper: Boss Yao, you’ve come to offer the first incense too. Congratulations. Yao Second: Oh, so you’ve beat me to it. Old shopkeeper: Getting there at the right time is better than getting there early. Congratulations! You are going to have a big windfall. Yao Second: Windfall? Old shopkeeper: Look, there is a big silver ingot waiting for you by the temple gate. Yao Second: What big silver ingot? Old shopkeeper: Hot Pepper Pi Fift h is dead in front of the temple gate. Yao Second: Nonsense, I just saw him tonight. He almost won my two hundred qian. Old shopkeeper: If you don’t believe me, go and feel him. Yao Second: Let me take a look. (Bends down and stretches out his hand. Pi Fifth holds his breath pretending to be dead). Yiwei, there’s no breath, he’s really dead! Ha ha ha ha, Hot Pepper Pi Fift h, where is your arrogance now? Where is your Great Peace fist punch now? Ha, ha, let’s see you strut about now? Ha, ha . . . (sings) Seeing Pi Fift h stiff and dead, Makes me Yao Second smile with glee. Master Fift h, when someone invites you, you won’t go, When death’s dispatcher comes for you, to the West, To the West, to the West you must go. Master Yao Second now fears no more bully, Two hundred qian in my basket still. Hot Pepper Pi Fift h, can you pick it up? People like you should die by the score,

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Lindy Li Mark And rid the world of such a scourge. Master Pi Fift h get up now, Don’t lie there to play the— Ah. . . . ha ha ha. . . . Pi Fift h: (leaps up suddenly and grabs Yao Second) Yao Second, you . . . Old shopkeeper: Ayiwei! Hot Pepper Pi Fift h turned into a walking corpse! (hurries off ) Yao Second: Hey, you old fool, where are you running to? I didn’t expect you to team up with Hot Pepper Pi Fift h to play me for a fool. Pi Fift h: Shut your mouth, or have a taste of my Great Peace Punch. Yao Second: Master Pi Fift h, don’t raise your hand, let’s talk. Pi Fift h: Yao Second, you Babbler . . . (sings) What grievance and what hatred do you have against me? When I was young you got me hooked. Cajoling and cheating, you brought me to the gambling den. Cheated me out of my fur pelt business. Penniless at the end of the road I begged you for two hundred qian, You acted as if I were asking for the flesh of your heart. Tonight I lay drunk at the temple gate, You cursed me with bloody words. You said my death was a good thing, and laughed out loud. You cursed that my death ten times wouldn’t be enough. You know that to curse on New Year’s Day brings misfortune all year, Yao Second, you Northern Babbler, how do you reckon this? Yao Second: Master Fift h, don’t misunderstand. There are two hundred qian in my basket. Take it. Pi Fift h: Don’t want it. Let me tell you, I’m already dead! Yao Second: You’re already dead? How did you come back to life? Pi: Listen to me! (recites) I, Hot Pepper Pi Fift h, went to the underworld and saw the King of Hell. The king asked me, “What the hell do you think you are doing here?” I said, “Making a living in the world of the living is much too hard. I want to try for a job in the Underworld.” The King looked in the book of life and death, he said, “Your life is not yet done, you’d better go back.” I said that I didn’t want to go home, I just wanted to wander round in Hell. The King then said, “In that case return to the world of the living,

The Play Pi Fift h Celebrates New Year And lie down on the lintel of the City God Temple gate, Anyone that says that you’re better off dead, that dying twice makes a nice pair, You hang on to him and don’t let go. Three strings of cash to buy you a coffi n, and you lie down inside, Go and be a gambling boss, thirty years of your life is credited to him.”

Yao Second, you Northern Babbler, do you understand? For three strings of cash, you bought thirty years of life. Isn’t that a bargain? Cash on the spot. Pay up! Yao Second: Daddy Fift h, I don’t have that kind of money! Pi: Don’t have money? Let’s go to your fur shop to pay up. But let me tell you first, it will be double the payment at your shop. Yao Second: Grandfather Pi Fift h, my great ancestor, I wouldn’t dare trouble you. Here, keep this paper bill for three strings of cash. The one surnamed Yao has really learned a lesson about you Hot Pepper Pi Fift h— hot to the end. Pi Fift h: Boss Second, you honor me too much. Compared to you, I am a mere tiny pepper. The likes of you take commission on gambling, charge high interest, use a large bushel when buying grain, but a small bushel for selling; a pot of honey in your mouth, a bunch of pepper in your heart, such a great gentleman is the real true hot pepper. I, Pi Fifth, played dead and swindled you out of three strings of cash, but you heartlessly grabbed a bushel of rice and a chicken, and almost took three human lives. You are such a great hot pepper, why complain about me, the tiny pepper? Be off Northern Babbler Yao Second, double the price if you argue one more word! Yao Second: No, no, no, not another word. I’m gone. (exits) Pi: Off ! Ha, ha! (sings) Call me peppery, peppery I’m not, Poor folks call me the living Buddha. Say I’m not peppery, but I’m really hot, Moneybags call me demon and evil god. But I’ve never been a living god, Nor am I a demon or evil god. I am just me . . . a loathsome, troublesome, Hateful and pitiful Pi Fift h peppery hot.

Sounds of drums, cymbals, and firecrackers. Ha . . . lion dancers and lanterns are coming down the street. I’ll go and watch the dragon lanterns first, then to the gambling den. Ha, ha, ha! End of play.

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Notes 1. “Incense-and-fire” plays were a type of ritual drama performed by shamans during village religious festivals. These plays were derived from lengthy “divine books” (shenshu). Wu Baitao, “Yangju,” in Zhongguo da baike quanshu: Xiqu quyi (Beijing and Shanghai: Zhongguo da baike quanshu, 1983), 527–528. 2. It is believed that on this day the gates of purgatory are opened and dead souls are released to enjoy the offerings of descendants. Dead souls without descendants to care for them will roam the earth causing mischief. Therefore communities rally themselves to hold ceremonies to placate these hungry ghosts. Of course, live people can enjoy good food too. 3. Wei Ren, Yangzhou xi kao (Yangzhou: Jiangsu guji, 1999), 5–8. 4. Yangzhou huaguxi was originally a type of duet song and dance, da duizi, performed by a comic (chou), and a “wrapped head” (baotou). Later it expanded into larger groups of “three wraps and four faces,” singing and dancing, interspersed with jokes. The genre was already present during the Kangxi era (1662–1722) of the Qing dynasty. Because the plays were accompanied by stringed instruments and the melodies were rather refi ned, they were commonly called “small open mouth” (xiao kaikou). The “incense-and-fi re plays” (xianghuoxi) were accompanied by percussion instruments, and the singing was loud, therefore, they were commonly called “big open mouth” (da kaikou). By the 1930s, the “small mouth” and “big mouth” had been combined into Yangju; see Wu Baitao, “Yangju,” in Zhongguo da baike quanshu: Xiqu quyi, 527–528. Wei Ren’s Study of Yangzhou Theater is one of the main sources of information on this regional genre. 5. What is known about the play Pi Fifth Celebrates New Year (Pi Wu guo nian) is entirely due to the background given in the remarks on the “Source research” (Kaoshu) by the editorauthor Wei Ren himself. The following account is a paraphrase of this essay; see Wei Ren, Yangzhou xi kao, 399–400. 6. On Clear Wind Sluice in storytelling and the novel related to it, see the discussion and translation by Margaret B. Wan in Chapter 9 of the present volume. 7. Peizi refers to Pi Wu’s deformed hand, but he was apparently able to strike a hard blow with it, therefore I translate the nickname as “Puncher.” 8. Li Dou, Yangzhou huafang lu, ed. Wang Beiping and Tu Yugong (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1960), 205 (9/52). It is included in Lucie Olivová’s translation of selections of this work in Chapter 6 of the present volume. 9. For more on the complexity of the character Pi Fift h, including a comparison of his depiction in the novel Qingfengzha with the oral-based 1985 Pi Wu Lazi, see Dong Guoyan, “Lun shijing xiaoshuo de shenhua fazhan: Cong Qingfengzha dao Pi Wu Lazi,” Ming Qing xiaoshuo yanjiu 81 (2006): 91–102. 10. On the transmission of this tale in Yangzhou storytelling, see Cathryn Fairlee, “Nine Generations of Pi Wu Lazi (Pi the Fift h, the Hot Pepper) in Yangzhou Pinghua,” Chinoperl Papers 29 (2010): 105–132. 11. Existing flower-drum plays include Pi Fifth Saves the Little Woman (Pi Wu jiu xiao xifu), Pi Fifth Gets Married (Pi Wu quqin), and Hot Pepper Pi Fifth Becomes a Rat (Pi Wu Lazi dang laoshu); see Wei Ren, Yangzhou xi kao, 400. 12. Some dialect expressions from the play are pointed out in the notes to the translated text below. For each expression in Yangzhou Dialect (YD), a corresponding term in Modern Standard Chinese (MSC) is given, if there is one. Yangzhou dialect pronunciation is added in phonemic transcription between oblique bars / /; see Vibeke Børdahl, The Oral Tradition of Yangzhou Storytelling (Richmond, Va.: Curzon, 1996), 72–76. The indicated pronunciations

The Play Pi Fift h Celebrates New Year were collected by Vibeke Børdahl from local informants in Yangzhou, April 2013. Most of these pronunciations are not found in dictionaries. 13. See the discussion by Liu Zhen and translation by Jiang Ji in Chapter 16 of the present volume. 14. Wei Ren, Yangzhou xi kao, 401–414. 15. YD 䉘⩵ /faen-sien/, corresponds to MSC mafan 湤䄒, “bothersome.” 16. Sweet sticky rice cakes are left for the God of the Hearth to glue his mouth shut when he reports to the Jade Emperor of the doings of members of the family. 17. YD 㲎攩䳾㇠, probably a misspelling for YD /mie’ men zye’ hu/ 㹮攩䳾㇠, corresponds to MSC jue zi jue sun 䳾⫹䳾⬔, “no son and no grandson.” 18. Beggars are believed to have the power of infl icting curses during festival celebrations. 19. A “sky-light hat” is one with a hole through which one can see the sky. An “eighttrigram gown” is a Daoist priest’s robe made with trigram-patterned patches. Here it refers to tattered and patched clothes. 20. Clappers consist of two or three slabs of wood strung together through a hole drilled in each slab. By separating the slabs with a finger and fl ipping the slabs, the raconteur creates rhythmic clicks. Without the string, the clapper falls apart. 21. YD /i-ue/ ⑏┫ and /a-i-ue/ ⓳⑏┫, MSC aya ⓳⏩ (exclamation). 22. YD /me’ de’ uaen-tw/ 㱊⽀䍒柖, MSC meiyou yisi 㱊㚲ジ⿆, “no point to it.” 23. YD /a-i-ue/ ⓳⑏┫, MSC aya ⓳⏩ (exclamation). 24. The expression wangba 䌴℔, YD /uan-bae’/, “turtle,” is extremely deprecatory and insulting. 25. YD /ba-le’ di/ ㈳ḯ⸾, “to stand behind.” 26. Chinese lunar months have thirty days. Here the reference is to the last day of the year, New Year’s Eve. 27. YD /be’ za’ sin/ ᶶἅ冱, MSC bu yinggai ᶶㅲ娛, “should not.” 28. YD /be’ suen-sy/ ᶶ枯快, MSC bu shunli ᶶ栣⇒, “unlucky, not smoothly.” 29. YD /ba/ ㈳, MSC gei 䴏, “for.” 30. The Earth God’s shrine is often a small roadside stone shed with barely a roof. 31. The word diao ⎳, YD /diaa/, “to hang by the neck,” rhymes with diao ⺽, YD /diaa/, “to string copper coins on a string.” 32. YD /laa/ ⬕, “no good, up to no good.” 33. “Yellow”: to defeat, win out. 34. YD /taen o le’/ 㓍ㆺḯ, MSC gai wo le 娛ㆺḯ, “it is my turn.” 35. A rat that steals what the pawnshop takes in. 36. It is believed that the first person to offer incense will have his or her wish granted. 37. YD /ze’-kuae/ 忂⟳, MSC zheli 忂墊, “here, this place.”

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GLOSSARY

Ailing 刧昞 Aitang yuefu 刧⠁㦫⹅ Aizhu ツ䎉 Amai 旨屠 Amituofo 旨⻵早ἄ An Lushan ⬲䤨Ⱊ An Qi ⬲㬐 (Lücun 䵉㛺) Anding shuyuan ⬲⭃㚡昋 Anle wang ⬲㦫䌴 Anqing ⬲ㄟ Anqing zhengyi shuju ⬲ㄟ㬌婥㚡⯩ Anyang Pingyang ⬲昦⸜昦 Ba gongde shui ℔≈⽠㯝 ba guai ℔⿓ bafen ℔↯ baguwen ℔偊㔰 Bai Juyi 䘦⯮㖼 Bai niangniang Jinshan dou Fahai 䘦⧁⧁慺Ⱊ櫎㱾㴠

Bai sui gua shuai 䘧㬛㍄ⷎ baiguan 䧀⭁ baihua 䘦娚 baihuawen 䘦娚㔰 baijia 䘧⭟ baimiao 䘦㍸ Baishaquan 䘦㱂㱲 Baita qingyun 䘦⟽㘝暛 Baitu ji 䘦⃽姁

Baixiang cipu 䘦楂娇嬅 Baiyuchi 䘦䌲㰉 Baizitang 䘧⫹➫ Ban Gu 䎖⚣ Banfuge ⋳㴗敌 Bao ⊮ Bao gong ⊮ℕ Bao shi 欺㮸 Bao Shigong 欺⢔〖 Bao Zhao 欺䄐 Bao Zhidao 欺⾀忼 (Chengyi 婉ᶩ) Bao Zongyan 欺⭀♝ Baocheng ⟊❷ Baoruiqi ⮟哳㢛 Baoshan chaguan ㉚Ⱊ募棑 baotou ⊮柖 baoying ⟚ㅲ Baoyou zhi ⮜䣹⾀ baozi ⊮⫹ Baxian wang ℔岋䌴 Baxianqiao ℔Ẃ㧴 Beifang fangyan ⋀㕢㕢妩 Beifang guanhua ⋀㕢⭁娚 Beifanghua ⋀㕢娚 Beigushan ⋀⚣Ⱊ Beijing ⋀ṕ Beijing caotang waiji san zhong ⋀㴰勲➫⢿景ᶲ䧗

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Glossary beile 屆≻ Beimang ⋀恂 Beimeng suoyan ⋀⣋䐌妩 Beimenjie ⋀攩堀 Beimenqiao ⋀攩㧴 Beiping ⋀⸜ Beiying 偵⼚ beizi 屆⫹ bense 㛕创 Bian Shoumin 怳⢦㮺 (Weijian jushi 吏攼⯮⢔) Bianliang 㰝㠪 bianmao Ὠⷦ bianshi 彘⢔ Bianyimen Ὠ䙳攩 Bieyinglou shi ⇎⼚㦼娒 biji 䫯姁 Bingguan ji ᷂⭁景 bingpan ⅙䚍 bingyin ᷂⭮ bishachu 䡐䳀⺃ Bisheng fu 䔋䓈⨏ biyaxi 㭽䈂㳀 / 䔋ṇ㳀 bolichuan 䍤䐬凢 bolikuai 䍤䐬⾔ boxue hongci ⌃⬡⬸娇 / ⌃⬡泤娇 budaoweng ᶶΆ佪 buzhengshi ⶬ㓨Ἠ Cai Xiuying 哊䥩劚 Cangyang Jiacuo qingge ji mizhuan ᾲ⣗▲㍓の㫵⍳䦁⁜

Cangzhou 㹭ⶇ canzan jiwu ⍬岳㨈⊂ Cao 㚢 Cao Cao 㚢㑶 Cao Juren 㚢倃Ṫ Cao Zhi 㚢㢶 Cao Zhongda 㚢ẛ忽 Caohe 勲㱜 Caohe lu shang 勲㱜抭ᶳ Caojiazhuang 㚢⭟匳

caoshu 勲㚡 Cenxi ⰺ㹓 Chai 㞝 Chai Jin 㞝忛 Chai junzhu 㞝悊ᷤ chaizi ㉯⬀ Chaji Wang Er 㛱浭䌴ḵ Changchunqiao 攠㗎㧴 Changfuxiang ⷡ⹅ⶠ Changhua 㖵⊿ Changjiang 攠㰈 Changling1 攠漊 Changling2 攠昞 changren ⷡṣ Changshan 攠Ⱊ Changtang 攠⠁ Changti chunliu 攠㍹㗎㞜 Changzhou ⷡⶇ Chanzhisi 䥓㘣⮣ chao 㼗 Chao Chongzhi 㗪㰿ᷴ chao shan jin xiang 㛆Ⱊ忛楂 Chaoguan 憽斅 Chaolin bitan ⶋ㝀䫯婰 Chaxiangshi congchao 募楂⭍⎋ 憽

Chen 昜 Chen Chang 昜㔇 Chen Dong 昜㢈 Chen gongzi 昜ℕ⫹ Chen Guocai 昜⚴㛹 Chen Haozi 昜㵸⫹ Chen huashi 昜䔔ⷔ (see also Chen Zheng) Chen Jiru 昜严₻ (Meigong 䚲ℕ) Chen Kengran 昜掀䃟 Chen Menggong 昜⣋ℕ (Zun ⮳) Chen mou 昜㝹 Chen Shenyan 昜ヷ妩 Chen shi 昜㮸 Chen Si 昜⿆

Glossary Chen Xiangshan 昜⎺Ⱊ (Jingxian 㘘岋) Chen Xiaoyong 昜⬆㲜 Chen Xuanzang 昜䌭⤁ Chen Yi‘an (see Chen Zheng) Chen Zheng 昜㬌 (Yi‘an 䙳⹞) Cheng 䦴 Cheng Dizan 䦴䌼䒃 Cheng Mengxing 䦴⣋㗈 Cheng shi 䦴㮸 (see also Chen shi) Cheng wang ㆹ䌴 Cheng xi lu ❷夨抭 Cheng Zhan 䦴㟝 Cheng Zhanlu 䦴䝤⺕ Chengdi ㆹⷆ Chenghuangmiao ❷昶⺈ Chenjiagu 昜⭟寠 Chenjun 昜悊 Chenyuan shilüe ⭡❌嬁䔎 Chenzhou 彙ⶇ chequ 䠑䢛 Chi Jian 悀揻 Chi lienü 㰉䁱⤜ Chi su 䘊姝 Chide ⎬䘭 Chiwulou ⯣ḽ㦼 Chongde Ⲱ⽠ Chongningsi 慶⮐⮣ Chongyang 慶昦 Chongzhen Ⲱ䤷 chou ᶺ Chu 㤃 Chu ci 㤃彖 chu nüren ↣⤜ṣ Chuanjiabao ⁜⭟⮟ chuanqi ⁜⣰ Chuanzhen xinling ⁜䛈⽬柁 Chuban shuoming ↣䇱婓㖷 chuishen ✫䳜 chunfeng 㗎桑 Chunqiu 㗎䥴

Chunri Chang‘an ji shi

㗎㖎攠⬲⌜

Ḵ

Chunri ji shi 㗎㖎⌜Ḵ Chuntai 㗎冣 Chuntai zhushou 㗎冣䤆⢦ Chunxiang 㗎楂 chuo bao‘er ㇜⊮⃻ Chuogeng lu 廈侾招 ci 娇 Cihai 彖㴠 Cininggong ヱ⮐⭗ Ciquju 娇㚛⯩ cishi ⇣⎛ Ciyuan 彖㸹 cong xin bu cong fa ⽇⽬ᶶ⽇㱾 Congshulou ⎋㚡㦼 Cui Lu ⲽ㩼 Cui Yingying ⲽ浘浘 Cuiqin 侉䏝 Cuiyun 侉暛 da duizi ㇼ⮶⫹ Da gonghe ribao ⣐ℚ␵㖎⟚ Da huagu ㇼ剚溼 da kaikou ⣐攴⎌ Da lianxiang ㇼ忌䚡 da mazi ㇼ楕⫹ Da Ming lü ⣐㖷⼴ Da Qing lüli ⣐㶮⼴ἴ da qinglü ⣐曻䵉 Da Song ⣐㜧 da zhangfu ⣐ᶱ⣔ Dai Chunlin ㇝㗎㝀 Dai Zhen ㇝暰 Daliyan ⣐䎯ⱒ Daluban ⣐昡㜨 damuzuo ⣐㛑ἅ dan yan shu yu 㶊䄂䔸暑 dangzi 㨽⫹ Danyang ᷢ昦 dao 忼 Daodejing 忼⽠䴼

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428

Glossary Daogutang ji 忼⎍➫景 dasanzhang ⣐ᶲ⻞ dashu ⣐㚡 Daxing ⣐冱 daxueshi ⣐⬡⢔ Dayi ⣐₩ Dayi chanshi ⣐佒䥓ⷔ Dazhuan ⣐⁜ Deng gong 惐ℕ Deng Jiuhong 惐Ḇ䲮 Deng men 惐攩 Deyin ⽠果 di yi jia di yi ming 䫕ᶩ⭟䫕ᶩ⎶ di yi tian shu 䫕ᶩ⣒㚡 Dian xiang 溇楂 Dianshizhai 溇䞜滴 Dianxiao‘er ⹀⮸ḵ Diao yi 婨⦑ Diaogulou 晾厙㦼 Diaoqiao 憌㧴 die cheng 嵵ㆹ difang guanhua ⛙㕢⭁娚 Ding Gao ᶪ冘 (Hezhou 浝㳛) Ding Siguan ᶪ⚄⭁ Ding Yicheng ᶪẎ婉 (Yimen 佒攩) Ding Yuan ᶪ䶒 dingchou ᶪᶺ Dingjiawan ᶪ⭟䀌 dingsi ᶪ⶜ Dingyuan ⭃怉 Diyuan 㢌⚻ Dizang ⛙啸 dizhang ㉞㌵ dizi 䫄⫹ Dong Bangda 同恏忽 Dong Gao 同婎 Dong Qichang 同℟㖵 (Xuanzai 䌭⭙) Dong Shaoxian 同䳢⃱ Dong Weiye 同ῲ㤖 (Chifu 『⣔, Aijiang ツ㰈)

Dong Xiangguang 同楂⃲ Dong Xiaowan 同⮸⭄ Dong Zhuo 同⋼ Donga 㜚旨 Dongguan 㜚斅 Dongjing 㜚ṕ Dongjing meng hua lu 㜚ṕ⣋厘抭 Dongli 㜚䰕 Donglin 㜚㝀 Dongshuiguan 㜚㯝斅 Dongting 㳇⹖ Dongyuan 㜚⚻ Dongzhi ⅕农 Douchong 櫎垛 dougong 㕀㊚ Du Fu 㜅䓔 Du Hongyu 㜅⻁➈ Du Liniang 㜅湀⧁ Du Mu 㜅䈐 Du Mu zhi shi jiu Yangzhou meng 㜅䈐ᷴ娒惻㎃ⶇ⣋

Duan Yucai 㭞䌲塪 Duanwu 䪘⋱ Duanxi 䪘㹓 Duanyang 䪘昦 duanzi 㭞⫹ Duchunqiao 㷊㗎㧴 duilian ⮶倘 Duizi daluban ➯⬀⣐昡㜨 Dunhuang 㔏䃵 Dutianhui 悦⣒㚬 duxue zhongyun 䜌⬡⃪ᷖ erba Jingqiang ḵ℔ṕ僽 Erguan ḵ⭁ Erhuang ḵ湬 Erlang ḵ恷 Ermeixuan ḵ㠮幻 Ershisiqiao ḵ⋪⚄㧴 Ershisiqiao fengyue ḵ⋪⚄㧴桑㚱 Fahai 㱾㴠 Fahaiqiao 㱾㴠㧴

Glossary fama 㱾楕 / 䟆䡥 Fan Ba 㦳℔ Fan Changjiang 劬攠㰈 Fan Jingwen 劬㘘㔰 Fan Luo 劬埊 Fan Maozhu 劬ㅴ㞚 fan qiu shang pi ⍶墁⁠䙗 Fan Songnian 劬㜧⸝ /劬ⴒ⸝ Fan Zhonghua 劬ẛ厘 Fang Shishu 㕢⢔⹟ Fang Zhangxian 㕢⻞Ẃ fangbo 㕢Ộ fangfeng 旛桑 fangguo ⛳悖 fangkou 㕢⎌ fangkou Beifanghua 㕢⎌⋀㕢娚 Fanglai chaguan 㕢Ἧ募棑 fangsheng 㓧䓈 Fangyu shenglan 㕢廨⊆奦 fanhua ䷪厘 fei tianxia zhi zhijing, qi shu neng yu yu ci 朇⣒ᶴᷴ农䱧, ℟⬙傦冰㕥㬍 fei tianxia zhijing zhe, qi shu yu yu si yi 朇⣒ᶴ农䱧侮, ℟⬙冰㕥㕘䞌 Fei Tuo quanzhuan 梄嵷ℑ⁜ Fei Xuan 層幻 feicui 侊侉 feixian 梄Ẃ Feng 楗 Feng Menglong 楗⣋漶 (Youlong 䋟漶) Feng Shigao 楗⢔檁 Feng Xinmei 对㕙㝃 Feng Yiyin 对ᶩ⏈ Feng Youlong (see Feng Menglong) Feng Zikai 对⫹ム Feng Zikai wenxuan 对⫹ム㔰怡 Fenglejie 对㦫堀 Fengleyuan 对㦫⚻ Fenglin 沜㝀 Fengshiyuan 楗㮸⚻

fengshui 桑㯝 fengxian 沜Ẃ fengyue 桑㚱 Fengyue meng 桑㚱⣋ Foulu ji 仟⺕景 fu 岏 Fu sheng liu ji 㴗䓈№姁 Fu Yue ‫‮‬婓 Fuchun ⭵㗎 Fujian 䤸⺣ Fushe ⽒䣧 futu 㴗⚿ Fuzhou 䤸ⶇ Fuzhou pinghua 䤸ⶇ⸜娚 Ganquan 䓁㱲 Gao Er 檁ḵ Gao Fenghan 檁沜侙 (Xiyuan 夨⚻) Gao Jie 檁› Gao Ming 檁㖷 Gao San 檁ᶲ Gao Xiang 檁佽 Gaoqiao 檁㧴 Gaoque 檁敾 Gaoyou 檁悞 Gaozong 檁⭀ ge 各 Geng Yujin 俨䌲慺 gengchen ⹃彙 Gezhi 㟥冝 gong 妎 Gong Jianxiang 漽揻娜 Gong Wei 漽䃻 Gong Zizhen 漽冓䍶 Gongbu gongcheng zuofa ⶎ悑ⶎ䦴  㱾

gongbu shangshu ⶎ悑⯃㚡 Gongdelin ≈⽠㝀 Gongdeshan ≈⽠Ⱊ Gongdian ℕ⹀ Gonglun xinbao ℕ婿㕙⟚ gongsheng 屋䓈

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Glossary gongxiang 屋楂 Gu ayi 栐旨⣠ Gu Caige 栐⼒⎭ Gu Jie 栐⧾ Gu Kaizhi 栐ムᷴ (Changkang 攠⹠) Gu Lu 栐䤨 Gu Mei 栐伷 Gu Zhenguan 栐屇奩 Guai jiating zhengxu ji ⿓⭟⹖㬌丵 景

Guan Zhong 䭊ẛ Guangchumen ⺌⃛攩 Guangling ⺌昞 Guangling chao ⺌昞㼗 Guangling dui ⺌昞⮶ Guangling ji ⺌昞⦕ Guangling shi shi ji changbian

⺌昞

⎛㮸姁攠䶑

Guangling tao ⺌昞㾍 Guangling tongdian ⺌昞心℡ Guangling zhuzhici ⺌昞䪢㝆娇 guanglu ⃲䤨 Guangyun ⺌枤 Guangzhou ⺌ⶇ Guanhe ⭁㱜 guanhua ⭁娚 guanji ⭁⤼ Guankou 㿵⎌ Guankou Erlang Wu Song 㿵⎌ḵ恷 㬏㜧

Guanlong 斅晝 Guanyin 奩果 Guanyin Pusa 奩果厒啒 Guanyin xianglu 奩果楂嶘 Guanyinjie 奩果堀 Guanyinshan 奩果Ⱊ Guanyintang 奩果➫ Guazhou 䒅㳛 Gudu chanlin ⎍㷊䥓㝀 Guduqiao ⎍㷊㧴

Guhua pinlu ⎍䔔⑪抭 Gui 呾 Guilin 㟫㝀 Guimen yiwai de zhanzheng 櫥攩 Ẏ⢿䘭㇙䇖

guiwei 䘡㛓 Gujin tongkao ⎍ṳ心㓠 Gujin tushu jicheng ⎍ṳ⚿㚡景ㆹ Gujin xiaoshuo ⎍ṳ⮸婓 gulu zhong 厙喯ᷖ gumu ⥺㭶 guniang ⥺⧁ Guo feng ⚴桑 Guo Maoqian 悖劫ῒ Guodu jing 忷⹏掊 Guojieting 忷堀Ṗ Guomindang ⚴㮺溑 guoqi ⚴☑ Guotang 悖➫ Guoxue congkan ⚴⬡⎋↳ Guozijian boshi ⚴⫹䚌⌃⢔ gupeng 溼㢃 Gusu ⥺喰 Gutang 栐➫ guwang ⬍䌴 guwen ⎍㔰 Guxiang de yecai 㓮悲䘭慷厅 guzhang 溼㌵ hai ⑜ Hai Heshang 㴠␵⯃ haipiaozhan 㴠坞㱧 Haishang hua liezhuan 㴠ᶳ剚⇀⁜ Haishang xiaoshuo 㴠ᶳ⮸婓 Haizhou 㴠ⶇ Han 㻋 Han Bangqing 杼恏ㄟ Han Peng fu 杼㚴岏 Han Xizai yeyan tu 杼䅂庲⣅⭝⚿ Han Yu 杼ケ Han Zuibai 杼愲䘦 Hancheng 恀❷

Glossary Handan 恘惛 Handan meng 恘惛⣋ Hanfeizi 杼朇⫹ Hang Jinpu (see Hang Shijun) Hang Shijun 㜖ᶿ榨 (Jinpu ➰㴏) Hangong qiu 㻋⭗䥴 Han‘gou 恀㹆 Hangzhou 㜖ⶇ Hanjiang 恀㰈 Hanjiang sanbai yin 恀㰈ᶲ䘧⏈ Hankou 㻋⎌ Hanlin 侙㝀 Hanshang Mengren 恀ᶳ呂ṣ Hansongge tanyi suolu ⭻㜧敌婰喆 䐌抭

Hanxuge 㵞嘄敌 Hanyi ⭻堌 Hanyuan 杼⚻ hao 嘈 Hao Fengying 悆沜劚 Hao Tianxiu 悆⣒䥩 haohan ⤦㻋 He Ỿ He laoren Ỿ侪ṣ He Ruchong Ỿ⤫⮞ He Wenduan Ỿ㔰䪘 He Wuji Ỿ䃊⽵ Hefei ⎱偎 hehezhang ␵⎱⸄ Heizi 湺⫹ Henghai 㨔㴠 Hengshan 堊Ⱊ Hepu xunfeng 匠呛啙桑 Heshang shaorou xiang ␵⯃䅻倲楂 heshouwu Ỿ椿䁸 Hexian ␵䷌ Hongfu ji 䲮㉫姁 Honghai bai Guanyin 䲮⬒㊅奩果 Hongli 䲮㡑 Hongli ji 䲮㡑姁 Honglou 䲮㦼

Honglou meng 䲮㦼⣋ honglusi cheng 泤冃⮣᷇ Hongniang 䲮⧁ Hongqiao 嘢㧴 Hongxiao nü 䲮䴬⤜ Hongyaojie 䲮喎⟏ Hongyaoqiao 䲮喎㧴 Hongyu 䲮暑 Hongzhu 之䎉 hou ὘ Hou Jing ὘㘘 hu ㇟ Hu sheng huaji 嬠䓈䔔景 Hu Shi 傊怒 Hu Xianzheng 傊䌤⽞ Hua Jienü 剚›⤜ Hua jing 剚掊 Hua shanshui xu 䔔Ⱊ㯝⸸ Hua shi shi 剚⎛㮸 Hua Yuan 厘╏ hua zhong fei yi ti 䔔ᷖ朇ᶩ橽 Hua zhong jiu you ge 䔔ᷖḆ⍴㫵 Hua zhong shi zhe ge 䔔ᷖ⋪⒛㫵 huabu 剚悑 Huabu nongtan 剚悑彛嬃 Huachao 剚㛆 huaguxi 剚溼㇘ Huai 㶗 Huai-Yang 㶗㎃ Huaihe 㶗㱜 Huainan 㶗⌀ Huainan ba gong xianghe jing 㶗⌀ ℔ℕ䚡浝䴼

Huaixi 㶗㇛ Huaiyangcai 㶗㎃厅 Huaiyin 㶗昙 hualiu 剚㞜 Huan 㟼 Huan Chu 㟼㤃 Huan hou 㟼὘ Huan Xuan 㟼䌭

431

432

Glossary Huang 湬 Huang Da 湬⣐ Huang Dama 湬⣐⩦ Huang Dengxian 湬䘤岋 Huang Jiarui 湭⭟䐇 Huang Jingren 湬㘘Ṫ (Zhongze ẛ⇰) Huang Junxing 湬⏄榫 huang mudan zhuangyuan 湬䈊ᷢ 䉩⃬

Huang Shen 湬ヷ (Yingpiao 䘖䒋) Huang Sheng 湬䓈 Huang Wenyang 湬㔰㙁 (Shiruo 㗫劎, Qiuping 䥴⸜) Huang Wujia 湬䃊῰ (Jin 慺) Huang Yu 湬塾 (Beicha ⋀❇) Huang Zhaosen 湬⃯㢗 Huang Zongxi 湬⭀佛 huangce 湬ℳ Huanghelou song Meng Haoran zhi Guangling 湬浝㦼循⬈㴒䃟 ᷴ⺌昞

Huangjinba 湭⶧⢒ / 湭慺⢒ Huangjueqiao 湬䍸㧴 Huangshan 湬Ⱊ Huangshi 湬䞜 Huangyu san diezi 殲欃ᶲ嵵⫹ huawang 剚䌴 Huayuanxiang 剚⚻ⶠ Huazijie 剚⫹堀 Hubei 㷿⋀ Hu‘er 嗷⃻ Huguang 㷿⺌ huguata 嗷䒅䌣 hui ⚇ Hui Dong ら㢈 huidian 㚬℡ Huifangxuan 唂剜幻 Huiniang ㄐ⧁ huiyuan 㚬⃬ Huizheng ら㔝

Huizhou ⽦ⶇ Hulu pu 吔喯嬅 Hunan 㷿⌀ hunchasi 吠募倯 Huo lienü 暶䁱⤜ Hupiqiang 嗷䙗䇯 Huqiu 嗷᷁ Huqiushan 嗷᷁Ⱊ Huzhou 㷿ⶇ ji1 ⤼ ji2 ⽵ ji3 殦 Ji Cheng 妱ㆹ (Wufou 䃊⏏) Ji gong 㾈ℕ Ji Liushan (see Ji Yongren) ji sheng xiu de dao ⸧䓈ᾗ⽀忼 Ji Yangzhou Han Chuo panguan ⭭㎃ⶇ杼䵦⇍⭁

Ji Yongren ⳰㯡Ṫ (Liushan 䔂Ⱊ) Ji Yu ⬌䌲 Ji Yun 䲩㖩 jia 㝟 Jia Baoyu 山⮟䌲 Jia Ming 山扁 Jiabao quanji ⭟⮟ℑ景 Jiading ▲⭃ Jiagou Ἔ㎯ Jiajing ▲替 jiama 䓛楕 jian 攼 Jian Zhen 揻䛈 Jiang Baishi (see Jiang Kui) Jiang Chengzong ⦅㈨⭀ (Kaixian 攴⃱) Jiang Chun 㰈㗎 (Yingchang 䧷攠, Heting 浝Ṗ) Jiang Deliang 㰈⽠慸 Jiang Fan 㰈喒 Jiang Feng 㰈桑 Jiang Heng 哌堊 Jiang Ji 㰈㢁

Glossary Jiang Kui ⦅⢽ (Baishi 䘦䞜) Jiang Lang 㰈恷 Jiang Shidong 㰈ᶿ㢈 Jiang Shiquan 哌⢔戼 Jiang Wenbo 哌㔰㲋 Jiang Xiqi 哌岅㢑 Jiang Zengrong 哌㚧㥗 Jiang Zhaoxiong ⦅⃯䄳 Jiang Zhenhong 㰈㋘泤 (Jieyun 柊暛) Jiang Ziming ⮰冓㖷 Jiangbei 㰈⋀ Jiangbeihua 㰈⋀娚 Jiangchuan 㰈凢 Jiangdu 㰈悦 Jiangdu Wang shi congshu 㰈悦㰓㮸 ⎋㚡

Jiangduxian zhi 㰈悦䷌⾀ jianggu 嫄⎍ Jianghu qixia zhuan 㰈㷿⣰Ὁ⁜ Jiang-Huai 㰈㶗 Jiangjia jiandao 哌⭟䭖忼 Jiangjiaqiao 哌⭟㧴 Jiangnan 㰈⌀ Jiangning 㰈⮐ Jiangshan 哌Ⱊ Jiangsu 㰈喰 Jiangxi 㰈夨 Jiangyuan 㰈⚻ Jiangzhou 䴜ⶇ Jiankang ⺣⹠ Jianshe de wenxue geming lun ⺣姖 䘭㔰⬡朒␦婿

Jianwen ⺣㔰 Jianye ⺣㤖 Jiao Tinggui 䃏⺠屝 Jiao Xun 䃏⽓ (Litang 慵➫) Jiaochang 㔂⟝ Jiaodong Zhou Sheng 䃏㜚␑䓈 (see also Zhou Boyi) Jiaoshansi 䃏Ⱊ⮣

jiaoti boyuan 㢻橽唭昋 jiaozi 梬⫹ Jiaqing ▲ㄟ jiashen 䓛䓜 Jiashuyuan ▲㧢⚻ jiaxu 䓛ㆵ jiazi 䓛⫹ jie ῱ Jie 㟩 Jie Zhitui Ṵᷴ㍑ jiehua 䓵䔔 jiemian Ṵ湞 Jienan shuwu 堀⌀㚡⯴ jieyuan 妌⃬ Jifangxuan 景剜幻 jihai ⶚Ṏ Jihai liuyue chong guo Yangzhou ji ⶚Ṏ№㚱慶忷㎃ⶇ姁

jimao ⶚⌘ Jin 㗲 Jin Dehui 慺⽠䃰 Jin Dongxin (see Jin Nong) Jin jue lou ṳ奣㦼 Jin Nong 慺彛 (Dongxin ⅕⽬) Jin ping mei 慺䒟㠮 Jin Shisong 慺⢔㜧 Jin Wen gong 㗴㔰ℕ Jin Zhaoyan 慺⃯䅾 (Zongting 㡾Ṗ) Jin Zhi 慺䚝 Jinchuan 慺ⶆ jindai shehui yanqing xiaoshuo 彺Ẍ 䣧㚬妩の⮸婓

Jing yi kao 䴼佒侬 jingangshi 慺报䞜 Jingdezhen 㘘⽠捗 Jinghua ṕ娚 Jingjiang hou qi zi ṕ㰈⼵ᶬ⫹ Jingju ṕ∰ Jingnan 替暌 Jingshi tongyan 樃ᶿ心妩

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Glossary jingshixue 䴼ᶿ⬡ Jingtingshan 㔕ṖⰚ Jinguan 慺⭁ jingxue 䴼⬡ Jingyanggang Wu Song da hu ⱊ㬏㜧ㇼ嗷

Jingyangzhen 㘘昦捗 Jingzhao ṕ⃯ Jingzhong renying 掊ᷖṣ⼚ Jingzhongsi 㕵⾉⮣ Jingzhou 勳ⶇ Jinling 慺昞 jinnang 拏♳ Jinquan huayu 拏㱲剚ⵥ Jinshan 慺Ⱊ Jinshao qu 忛⒑㚛 jinshi 忛⢔ jinshi huafeng 慺䞜䔔桑 jinshixue 慺䞜⬡ Jinyulou 忛䌲㦼 jisi ⶚⶜ Jiu qing 㓺曻 jiu zhong ba xian 惻ᷖ℔Ẃ Jiuhuashan Ḇ厘Ⱊ Jiujiang Ḇ㰈 Jiuling yunshen 涛ⵣ暛㶚 Jiuquchi Ḇ㚛㰉 jiushishi 决⎛㮸 Ju Fuchen ⯮庽册 Ju shuo ∰婓 juan ⌠ juben ∰㛕 Julu 懮渨 junji 并㨈 junwang 悊䌴 juren 冲ṣ Kaifeng 攴⮪ Kaiming shudian 攴㖷㚡⹀ Kaimingqiao 攴㖷㧴 kaishu 㤠㚡 kang 䀾

Kang Duishan (see Kang Hai) Kang Duishan dushuchu ⹠⮶Ⱊ嬩 㚡嗾 㘘昦

Kang Hai ⹠㴠 (Dehan ⽠㵞, Duishan ⮶Ⱊ) Kangguan ⹠⭁ Kangshan ⹠Ⱊ Kangshan caotang ⹠Ⱊ勲➫ Kangxi ⹠䅂 Kanshanlou 䚴Ⱊ㦼 kaoju 侬㒃 Kaoshu 侬徙 kaozhengxue 侬嫲⬡ Kong Shangren ⫽⯃Ấ Kong Yupu ⫽㭼䑇 Kou Zhun ⭰ⅿ Kuaiji 㚬䧦 Kuaile lianjin ⾔㦫倘䐧 Kuakuadiao ἲἲ婨 Kunlun 㖯Ἷ Kunqiang 㖯僽 Kunqu Ⲻ㚛 Kunshan ⲺⰚ Kuocuiting 㻠侉Ṗ Lai heshang ㆟␵⯃ Lai Yi Ἧⵠ Langshan 䊥Ⱊ Lanting ji xu 嗖Ṗ景⸸ laodan 侪㖏 Leitang 暠⠁ li1 䎯 li2 歲 Li 㛷 Li Bai 㛷䘦 (Taibo ⣓䘦) Li Chongjin 㛷慶忛 Li Conghou 㛷⽇⍃ Li Dou 㛷㕀 (Beiyou ⋀㚲, Aitang 刧⠁) Li Fangying 㛷㕢兣 (Qingjiang 㘝㰈) Li Gefei 㛷㟥朇

Glossary Li Gonglin 㛷ℕ湈 Li Hanqiu 㛷㵞䥴 (Yingzhang ㅲ㻜) Li ji 䥗姁 Li Ji 㛷⊌ Li Ju 㛷即 Li Kecheng 㛷⃴ㆹ Li Ling bei 㛷昞䠺 Li Richeng 㛷㖎ㆹ Li Sanniang 㛷ᶲ⧁ Li Shan 㛷毼 (Futang ⽒➫) Li Shiji 㛷ᶿ⊌ Li Shiquan 㛷䞜㱲 Li Shouqian ⊞⬱嫂 Li Shutong 㛷⍽⎵ Li Taibo (see Li Bai) Li Tianzuo 㛷⣒䤃 Li Tingzhi 㛷⹖剆 Li Wenrao 㛷㔰棻 Li Xiaobai 㛷⮸䘦 Li Xinghua 㛷冱⊿ Li Yu1 㛷㺪 Li Yu2 㛷䌲 Li Yu3 㛷䄅 Li Yufen 㛷䌲㢤 Li Zhengrong 㛷㬌㥗 Li Zhiyin 㛷岓䧷 Li Zhounan 㛷␑⌀ Li Zicheng 㛷冓ㆹ Liang Guozhi 㠪⚴㱤 Liang Shaoren 㠪䳢⢕ Liang Shiwu 㠪ⷔ㬏 Liang Zhangju 㠪䪉懮 Liangban qiuyu‘an suibi ℒ凕䥴暑 䚏晑䫯

Liang-Huai ℒ㶗 Lianglang shan ℒ䊥Ⱊ Liangshan 㠪Ⱊ Lianhuageng 咗剚❫ Lianhuaqiao 咗剚㧴 Lianxingsi 咗⿐⮣

Liao 急 libu shangshu ⎸悑⯃㚡 libu shangshu daxueshi 䥗悑⯃㚡⣐ ⬡⢔ Lie‘e 䁱⧎

ligu yankou ⇒⬍䃙⎌ Lijiang 湀㰈 lima 䩴楕 Limao huan taizi 䊡尼㎄⣓⫹ Lin Daiyu 㝀溄䌲 Lin Pu 㝀㹎 Lin Qingquan 㝀㶮㱲 Lin shi 㝀㮸 Lin Sumen 㝀喰攩 (Suyun 倮暛, Budeng 㬎䘤, Lanchi 嗖䘊) Lin Yutang 㝀婇➫ Ling Tingkan ⅵ⺠⟓ Ling Xia ⅵ曇 (Zixing ⫹冱, Binghe 䕮浝) Ling‘an 曱⬲ Lingfei jing 曱梄䴼 Lingyuan 㲉⚻ Linti 㝀⟍ Lintong 冑㼥 lishu 晡㚡 Liu Bang ∲恏 liu fa №㱾 Liu Jingting 㞜㔕Ṗ (Yongchang 㯡㖵, Kuining 吞⮐, Fengchun 忋㗎, Yuchun 忰㗎) Liu Jingting shuo shu 㞜㔕Ṗ婓㚡 Liu Jingting zhuan 㞜㔕Ṗ⁜ Liu Maoji ∲劫⎲ Liu Mazi 㞜湤⫹ Liu shi 㞜㮸 Liu Taihong ∲⎙㊚ Liu Yi ∲㭮 Liu Yong ∲⠲ Liu Yu ⇁塾 Liu Zhen ∲䤷 Liu Zongyuan 㞜⭀⃬

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436

Glossary liuli 䎲䐬 Liulichang 䎲䐬⺉ Liuyao №ᷱ liuyue li renao №㚱慵䅚櫐 Liyang 㬠昦 Longjiangguan 漶㰈斅 Longnü 漶⤜ lou 㺸 lü ⼴ Lu Ban jing 欘䎖䴼 Lü Chunyang (see Lü Dongbin) Lü Chunyang san xi Bai Mudan ⎾乘昦ᶲ㇛䘦䈊ᷢ

Lü Dongbin ⏫㳇屼 (Chunyang 䲽昦) Lu Jianzeng 䚐头㚧 (Yayu 普暑) Lu Lin 昡㝀 Lu Lindu 昡湈⹏ Lu Rong 昡⭢ Lu Shu 昡㚡 Lu Tanwei 昡㍋⽗ Lu Wenchao 䚐㔰⻑ Lu Xian wang 欘ㅛ䌴 (i.e., Zhu Shouhong) Lu Xiang 欘悲 Lu Xinyuan 昡⽬㸹 Lu Xun 欘彮 Lu Yayu 䚐普暑 luan 淇 Luan bi ji 淇捇姁 luantan ḫ⻱ Lujinci 曛䫴䤉 Lunyu 婿婇 Luo 㳄 Luo Pin 伮倁 Luo shen fu 㳄䤇岏 Luo Wanzao 伮叕喤 Luojia 另Ủ Luosi jieding 坣䴛䳹枫 Luotuo 另㉼ Luoyang 㳄昦

Luoyang mingyuan ji 㳄昦⎶⚻姁 Luoyang qielan ji 㳄昦Ủ啶姁 Luozhong 㳄揁 Lütianju 䵉⣒⯮ Lüyangwan 䵉㣳䀌 Lüyao 䵉儙 (see also Liuyao) Lüye 䵉史 Luzhou 喯㳛 ma 楕 Ma 楕 Ma Minglu 楕沝榭 Ma Qiuyu 楕䥴䌲 Ma Rongzu 楕㥗䣿 (Liben ≄㛕) Ma Saiying 楕岦劚 Ma Xiaolong 楕㙲漶 Ma Yu 楕塾 (Yuanyi ⃬䙳, Huashan 娚Ⱊ) Ma Yueguan 楕㚙䏘 (Qiuyu 䥴䌲, Xiegu ⵙ寠) Ma Yuelu 楕㚙䐹 (Peixi ἒ℗, Banzha ⋳㞎) Ma Zhenbo 楕㋘Ộ Ma Zhiyuan 楕冝怉 Magu 湤⥺ Mai tang 岌䱿 Maihuacun 岌剚恑 Maimaijie 屠岌堀 mamen 楕攩 manao 䐓䐂 manjianghong 㺨㰈䲮 mantou 森柖 Mao Xiang ℻壭 Mao Yanshou 㮄⺟⢦ maodie 侭侴 Mashangchuo 楕ᶳ㇜ mashi 湤䞜 matou 楕柖 / 䡥柖 mazi 楕⫹ Meihualing 㠮剚ⵣ Meijing 櫮掊 Meiliao 㠮⮗

Glossary meipo ⨻⧯ meiren 伷ṣ Meirong 㷭㥗 Meiyouge ⩃⸦敌 Meiyouge wenyu ⩃⸦敌㔰⧄ men 攩 Meng Dingguo ⬈⭃⚴ Meng Jinbang ⬈慺㥅 Meng liang lu ⣋㠪抭 Meng Lijun ⬈湀⏄ Meng xiang ci ⣋楂娇 Meng Yangzhou ⣋㎃ⶇ Meng Yuanlao ⬈⃬侪 Meng zhong qing ⣋ᷖの Meng zhong ren ⣋ᷖṣ Meng zhong shi ⣋ᷖḴ Meng zhong yu ⣋ᷖ婇 Mi Fu 䰜剧 Mijulang 夼⎎⹳ mila 囅冁 Milou 徠㦼 Min Zhen 攽屇 Mindi 攽ⷆ ming ⎶ Ming du an song 㖷岖㙀循 Ming huidian 㖷㚬℡ mingji ⎶⤼ mingjing 㖷䴼 mingyue 㖷㚱 Mishan 䰜Ⱊ mo ⡑ Mo Di ⡑侈 Mo Houguang 協⼵⃲ Morokoshi meishō zue Ⓓ⛈⎶⊆⚿ 㚬

moxian ⡑䵔 Mozi ⡑⫹ mu 䔆 Mu Guiying 䧯㟫劚 mubiao ⷾ堑 mudan 䈊ᷢ

Mudanting 䈊ᷢṖ mufu ⷾ⹅ Mujing 㛑䴼 muliao ⷾ₃ Nakagawa Chusei ᷖⶆ榨⎙ Nanchang ⌀㖵 nandan 䓠㖏 Nanhe xiajie ⌀㱜ᶴ堀 Nanjing ⌀ṕ Nanjing bingbu shangshu ⌀ṕ℞悑 ⯃㚡

Nanjingpeng ⌀ṕ䮠 Nanmen ⌀攩 nanmu 㤉㛑 Nantong ⌀心 Nanpu zhubie ⌀㴏♺⇎ nanxun ⌀ⶊ Nanzhai ji ⌀滴景 Nao zhuang 櫐匳 Neiting Yuanmingyuan neigong zhuzuo xianxing zeli ℐ⺠⚼㖷⚻ ℐⶎ媡ἅ䎧埵⇰ἴ

Neiwufu ℐ⊂⹅ Ni dian zhong ke you hao jiu? Ἁ⹀ ᷖ⎘㚲⤦惻烏

Ni wo Ἁㆺ Ni Yuanlu ΐ⃬䐹 (Hongbao 泤⮟) nian ⸝ Nian fo gong ⾞ἄ≈ Niansiqiao ⺨⚄㧴 Ningbo ⮐㲋 Ningnan ⮐⌀ Ningnan bo ⮐⌀Ộ Niu Sengru 䈄ₐ⬣ Niudawang 䈄⣐㰓 niushetou 䈄况柖 Nü qingnian ⤜曻⸝ Nü‘erhua ⤜⃻剚 Okada Gyukuzan ⱊ䓙䌲Ⱊ Oubei ji 䒵⋀景

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Glossary Ouboluoshi shuhua guomu kao 䒵戋伮⭍㚡䔔忷䚗侬 Ouyang Xiu 㫹昦ᾗ pai 㳧

Pan An (see Pan Yue) Pan Jinlian 㼁慺咗 Pan Mei 㼁伷 Pan Yue 㼁ⱜ (Anren ⬲Ṫ, An ⬲) Pang Xi 漹╅ paotangde 嵺➫䘭 Peiwen shiyun shiyao ἒ㔰娒枤慴太 Peiwen yunfu ἒ㔰枤⹅ Peng Yuanrui ⼖⃬䐇 Penglai 咕厳 Pi Wu 䙗ḽ (Fengshan ⣲Ⱊ) Pi Wu guo nian 䙗ḽ忷⸝ Pi Wu jiu xiao xifu 䙗ḽ㓺⮸⩜⨏ Pi Wu Laizi 䙗ḽ ⫹ Pi Wu Lazi / Pi Wu Lazi 䙗ḽ彌⫹ Pi Wu Lazi dang laoshu 䙗ḽ彌⫹䔟 侪滉

Pi Wu quqin 䙗ḽ⧟奓 pian Ὸ piao yang 桭㲴 piao yang guo hai 桭㲴忷㴠 Pihaotang shoucang jinshi mulu 䗿⤦➫㓟啸慺䞜䚗抭

Ping Heng ⸜堊 (Wangzhu sheng 䵛嚄䓈) Ping lan ren: Jinling dao zhong ㄺ敵ṣ: 慺昞忼ᷖ pingci 姾娇 pinghua 姾娚 pinghua xiaoshuo 姾娚⮸婓 Pingshan ⸜Ⱊ Pingshan lansheng zhi ⸜Ⱊ㓕⊆⾀ Pingshantang ⸜Ⱊ➫ Pingshantang tuzhi ⸜Ⱊ➫⚿⾀ Pingshantang xiaozhi ⸜Ⱊ➫⮸⾀ pingshu 姾㚡 Pinliuxuan ⑪昡幻

Pipa 䏞䏟 Pipa ji 䏞䏟姁 Pipo yu ∱䟝䌲 Pishe 䒼䣧 Pu Lin 㴏䏜 (Tianyu ⣒䌲, Peizi ㉠⫹) Pu Yangxing 㾗昦冱 Pudi tianguan 撣⸾⣒⭁ Pukou 㴏⎌ putonghua 㘗心娚 Qi Huan gong 滳㟼ℕ Qi Shaonan 滳⎕⌀ (Cifeng 㫊桑) qi zheng ᶬ㓨 Qian Chenqun 拋昜位 Qian Qianyi 拋嫂䙳 (Muzhai 䈐滴) Qian Sanguan 拋ᶲ⭁ qiansouyan ⋬⎈⭝ Qian Yin‘an 拋⏈⬲ Qiang Da ⻠⣐ Qiang shi ⻠㮸 Qianhuai 怌ㆠ Qianlong ḧ是 Qianrenzuo ⋬ṣ⛹ Qiantang 拋⠁ Qiao dong lu 㧴㜚抭 Qiao Ji ╕⎲ (Mengfu ⣋䫏) Qiao Mengfu (see Qiao Ji) Qiaoguan ⶐ⭁ Qiaoyun ⶐ暛 Qietingche ᶽ 平 Qifeng caotang ᶬⲙ勲➫ Qi-Lu 滳欘 Qimen 䣪攩 qin 䏝 Qin shi 䦏㮸 Qin Songling 䦏㜧漊 qing 1 の qing2 枬 Qing cuo の拘 Qingbai leichao 㶮䧀标憽

Glossary Qingchao yeshi daguan

㶮㛆慷⎛

⣐奩

Qingfengting 㶮桑Ṗ Qingfengzha/Qingfengzha

㶮桑

敁

qingfu 曻噑 qingjing 曻䱧 qinglou 曻㦼 qingmiaohui 曻劀㚬 Qingming 㶮㖷 Qingming shanghe tu 㶮㖷ᶳ㱜⚿ qingpi 曻䙗 Qingtian 曻⣒ qingtian yeye 曻⣒䇣䇣 Qingxiangge 㶮枨敌 Qingyingquan 㶮丼㱲 Qingyuan shuwu 㶮怉㚡⯴ Qingzhou 曻ⶇ Qinhuai 䦏㶗 Qinjing 䥦䴼 qinwang 奓䌴 Qinxiangge biji 㰪楂敌䫯姁 Qinxiangge zhu 㰪楂敌ᷤ qionghua 䑳剚 Qionghuaguan 䑳剚奩 Qiqiao ḇⶐ qiren ⣰ṣ qishu 㺯㚡 Qisuan ji ⣰愡姁 Qiu Ying Ṱ劚 (Shizhou ⋪㳛) qiubang 䎬㡻 Qiushengguan 䥴倛棑 Qiuyu‘an 䥴暑⹞ Qixianju ᶬ岋⯮ qiyan jueju ᶬ妩䳾⎎ qu 㚛 qu mama ⧟楕楕 Qu Qiubai 䝨䥴䘦 Qu Yuan ⯱⍈ quanma ㊜楕 Quekoumen 代⎌攩

Qufu 㚛旅 Quhai 㚛㴠 Qunjing gongshi tu 位䴼⭗⭍⚿ Rangliguan guoyan lu 䨙㡑棑忷䛥抭 Rangpu 嬼⚬ Rangquan 嬼㱲 ren ẇ Ren Shili Ấᶿ䥗 (Hanxiu 㻋ᾗ) Ren Zifang Ấ⫹㕢 renchen ⢕彙 Renhai chao ṣ㴠㼗 renshen ⢕䓜 renzi ⢕⫹ Renzong Ṫ⭀ riyong leishu 㖎䓑标㚡 rong 㥗 Rong Fenglou 㥗沜㦼 Rongchuang 㥗䩀 Rongzhi ⭢㬋 ruan 旗 Ruan Dacheng 旗⣐抗 Ruan Yuan 旗⃬ Ruanjia‘an 旗⭟⹞ ruanying gongfu 庈䠕ⶎ⣔ Ruhu 㰆嗷 Rui qinwang 䜨奓䌴 Rulin waishi ₻㝀⢿⎛ Rulong 㰆漶 Ruoshui matou 劎㯝楕柖 Ruyeyuan ⤫慷⚻ Sai pipa 岦䏞䏟 saihui 岦㚬 san dai ᶲẌ San guniang ᶲ⥺⧁ San wan bu guo gang ᶲ䡀ᶶ忷Ⳁ San xian shen Bao Longtu duan yuan ᶲ䎧幔⊮漶⚿㕠⅍

San yatou ᶲᷔ柖 Sanguo ᶲ⚴ Sanguo yanyi ᶲ⚴㺽佒 Sanjiang ᶲ㰈

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Glossary Sanlian shudian ᶲ倘㚡⹀ Sanmaoshan ᶲ劮Ⱊ Sanwulanhui ᶲ⏜嗖㚬 Sanxi ᶲ╅ Sanzi ᶲ⫹ Sanzi jing ᶲ⬀䴼 Saogou shanfang shichao ㌬❋Ⱊ㇨ 娒憽

Saogoushan ㌬❋Ⱊ sengdao ₐ忼 Sha shi 㱂㮸 Shafei 㱂梄 Shagou 㭣䊀 Shagou ji 㭣䊀姁 Shahe yilao shiji 㱂㱜忡侪娒景 shamao xiaosheng 䳀ⷦ⮸䓈 shan nan xin nü ┭䓠ᾊ⤜ Shancai ┭ㇶ Shandong kuaishu Ⱊ㜚⾔㚡 Shan‘e tu ┭り⚿ shang zhuguo ᶳ㞚⚴ Shangfangsi ᶳ㕢⮣ Shanghai ᶳ㴠 shangpai ⓯㳧 shangshu ⯃㚡 Shangsi ᶳ⶜ shanguang Ⱊ⃲ Shanguangsi Ⱊ⃲⮣ shanhu 䍳䐃 Shanlü ┭䵉 shanshi ┭⢔ shanshu ┭㚡 Shanting yetiao ⰚṖ慷䛣 Shanyin Ⱊ昙 Shanzhou 㽟ⶇ Shao Ping ⎕⸜ Shao Shiqi 恞⺸㵰 Shao Yong 恞晶 Shaobo 恞Ộ shaomai1 䦶湎 shaomai2 䅻湎

Shaoxing 䳢冱 shaoyao 制喎 Shaoyaoxiang 制喎ⶠ she jiao ran bu neng xia

况㑈䃟ᶶ

傦ᶴ

she jiao ran er bu xia 况㑈䃟侵ᶶᶴ She taijun ἁ⣓⏄ Shehui bei‘e shi 䣧㚬せり⎛ Shen 䓜 Shen Chu 㰱⇆ Shen Defu 㰱⽠䫏 Shen Gongxian 㰱ℕㅛ Shen Longxiang 㰱漶佽 Shen Qingrui 㰱㶮䐇 Shenbao 䓜⟚ Shenbaoguan 䓜⟚棑 Shengguantu 昇⭁⚿ Shenguan 䓜⭁ Shenlü 䓜⼴ shenshu 䤇㚡 Shenzhou ribao 䤇ⶇ㖎⟚ Shenzhuang 㶚匳 Shenzhuang qiuyong 㶚匳䥴娉 Shexian 㬂䷌ Shi Chengjin 䞜ㆹ慺 (Tianji ⣒➣, Xingzhai ィ滴) Shi Chunling ⎛㣨漊 (Shouzhuang ⢦匳) Shi gebu ⎛敌悑 (see also Shi Kefa) shi hu ⋪⢣ Shi ji ⎛姁 Shi Kefa ⎛⎘㱾 shi nian yi jue Yangzhou meng ⋪⸝ ᶩ奣㎃ⶇ⣋

shi nü ⢔⤜ shi Shennong qian 嬁䤇彛拋 Shi Songqiao ⎛㜧╕ Shi Tao 䞜㾍 Shi “Yangzhou shouma” 慴“ ㎃ⶇ 䗏楕” Shi Yunyu 䞜枇䌲

Glossary Shi Zengxiang 䞜⡇䤎 (Yin Zhou 戩㳛) Shici ji 娒娇景 Shi‘er guafu zheng xi ⋪ḵ⮊⨏⼪夨 Shi‘er lou ⋪ḵ㦼 Shijie shuju ᶿ䓵㚡⯩ Shijing 娒䴼 shike gongxiang 䞜⇤ℕ⁸ shilan 䞜啶 shili changjie ⋪慵攠堀 Shinzoku kibun 㶮ᾀ䲩倇 Shisan jing ⋪ᶲ䴼 Shishuo xinyu ᶿ婓㕙婇 shixian 娒Ẃ shixue ⮏⬡ Shiyuan 㗘⚻ Shiyun 娒枤 shizhuan ⎛⁜ Shizhuang 䞜匳 Shizong ᶿ⭀ shou 䗏 Shou wang ⢦䌴 Shou Xihu 䗏夨㷿 Shou‘ansi ⢦⬲⮣ Shouchun ⢦㗎 shouma1 䗏楕 shouma2 ⢦楕 Shouma hang 䗏楕埵 Shouma jia he bai mayi 䗏楕⭟␵䘦 均垤

Shoushan ⢦Ⱊ Shouxian ⢦䷌ Shouxing shangshou ⢦㗈ᶳ⢦ Shouzhi 䗏剆 shu 㚡 Shu Menglan 冻⣋嗖 Shu xue 徙⬡ shuaizi 䓒⫹ Shuang si fan 暂⿆↊ shuangfeiyan 暂梄䅾 Shuanghonglou 暂嘢㦼

Shuanglin 暂㝀 Shuangqingban 暂㶮䎖 Shuangzhongci 暂⾉䤉 Shuangzhu ji 暂䎉姁 shuchang 㚡⟝ Shugang 嚩ⱊ shuguan 㚡棑 Shuihu 㯝㺡 Shuihu zhuan 㯝㺡⁜ Shuhua ji 㵺厘景 shuijing 㯝㘟 Shuinan huashu 㯝⌀剚⠮ Shuinan huashu yin‘gao 㯝⌀剚⠮ ⏈䧨

Shuiyun shenggai 㯝暛⊆㤫 Shun 凅 Shunzhi 枯㱤 shuo 婓 shuo baiguan jiayan 婓䧀⭁⭟妩 shuo gu lun jin 婓⎍婿ṳ Shuo Yangzhou 婓㎃ⶇ shuochang 婓ⓚ shuokou 婓⎌ shuoshu 婓㚡 Shuowen jiezi 婓㔰妌⬀ shupa 㚡ⶾ Shuyuan zaji 厦⚻暅姁 Shuzhuangtai 㡜䱐㩘 Si gui ⿆㬡 Si shu ⚄㚡 Sichuan pinghua ⚄ⶆ姾娚 sida chuanqi ⚄⣐⁜⣰ Siditai ⚄㔞冣 Sigan 㕘⸛ siguajia 䴛䒅㝟 Siguan ⚄⭁ Siku quanshu ⚄⹔ℑ㚡 Siliemu ⚄䁱⠼ Sima Qian ⎡楕怠 situ ⎡⼻ Situmiao ⎡⼻⺈

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Glossary Siyanjing ⚄䛥Ḿ Siyixuan ⚄⭅幻 Song Jiang ⬴㰈 Song Jieshan ⬴ṴⰚ Song men ⬴攩 Song Renzong ⬴Ṫ⭀ Song Yi ⬴佒 Songfeng shuiyueqiao 㜧桑㯝㚱㧴 songhua 㜧剚 Songjiang 㜧㰈 Songzi Guanyintang 循⫹奩果➫ su ᾀ Su Jun 喰Ⲥ Su Qin 喰䦏 Su Shi 喰座 (Dongpo 㜚✊) suanfang 䭀㇨ Su-Guang 喰⺌ sui ⴀ Sui Yangdi 昴䄕ⷆ Suidi 昴⟍ Suixing ji chuanqi ⴀ㗈姁⁜⣰ Suiyuan 晑⚻ Suiyue dushulou 晑㚱嬩㚡㦼 Suiyue dushulou shiwen 晑㚱嬩㚡㦼 㗫㔰

Sun Dacheng ⬔⣐ㆹ Sun Dali ⬔⣐䎯 Sun Guangxian ⬔⃲ㅛ Sun Tiansheng ⬔⣒䓈 Sun Xiaoji ⬔⮸严 Sun Yangzeng ⬔ẙ㚧 Sun Zhu ⬔㳂 suoluo 匷伮 Suting 䳉Ṗ Suzhou 喰ⶇ Taicang ⣓ᾲ Taihu ⣓㷿 Taiping Tianguo ⣓⸜⣒⚴ taipingchuan ⣓⸜凢 Taipingqiao ⣓⸜㧴 taishi ⣓⎛

taishi ling ⣓⎛ẍ Taizhou 㲙ⶇ Taizong ⣓⭀ tan 婰 tan gu lun jin 婰⎍婿ṳ Tan Yue 嬃搙 Tan Zhengbi 嬃㬌䑐 tanban 㨩㜨 tang ➫ Tang 㸘 Tang Erguan 㸘ḵ⭁ Tang Laihe 㸘Ἧ屩 Tang Liuru Ⓓ№⤫ Tang shi sanbai shou Ⓓ娒ᶲ䘧椿 Tang Xianzu 㸘栘䣿 Tang Yanqian Ⓓ⼎嫂 Tang Yin Ⓓ⭮ (Bohu Ộ嗷.Liuru jushi №⤫⯮⢔) Tang Yu Ⓓ嘇 tangguan ➫⭁ Tanghua Ⓓ剚 Tangqi ⠁㞿 tangyang 䆂㧌 tangyuan 㸘⚼ Tangyue 㢉㧧 tanlun 婰婿 Tanxiang ⡰ⶠ Tao Hezi 㟬㟡⫹ Tao Qian 星㼄 (Yuanming 㶞㖷) Tao Yuanming (see Tao Qian) Tao Zongyi 星⭀₩ (Jiucheng Ḇㆹ) Tao‘an mengyi 星⹞⣋ㅟ Taohua shan 㟬剚ㇰ Taohua‘an 㟬剚⹞ Taohuayuan ji 㟬剚㸹姁 Taotang 星➫ Tenghua shuwu 喍剚㚡⯴ Ti qionghua guan tu changjuan 柵䑳剚奩⚿攠⌠

Tian laozhe 䓙侪侮

Glossary Tianbaocheng ⣒ᾆ❷ Tianbofu ⣒㲋⹅ Tianchang ⣒攠 Tianfuju ⣒䤸⯮ Tianguang yunyinglou ⣒⃲暛⼚㦼 Tianjin ⣒㳎 Tianjing sha: qiu si ⣒ⅱ㱂: 䥴⿆ Tianningmen ⣒⮐攩 / ⣒ↆ攩 Tianningsi ⣒⮐⮣ Tianqi ⣒⓼ tianting ⣒⹖ Tianxindun ⣒⽬⡒ Tianyintang ji ⣒晚➫景 Tiao caishen 嶜届䤇 Tiao kuixing 嶜櫪㗈 tiaocao 嶜㦦 Tiaoshang qi zi 剾ᶳᶬ⫹ tici 柵娇 tie lingjiao/Tie lingjiao 揞厚奻 tiema 揞楕 tingshi ⺜Ḵ Tixiao yinyuan ┥䪺⚉䶌 Tongcheng 㟹❷ Tongchengpai 㟹❷㳧 Tongfeng 戮ⲙ Tongshan 戮Ⱊ tongshi 䪎娏 Tongshi fafan 心⎛䘥↊ Tongtian le 心⣒㦫 tongxiang ⎵悲 Tongzhou 心ⶇ tou, lou, shou 徸ˤ㺸ˤ䗏 tou, shou, xiu 徸ˤ䗏ˤ䥩 Toufeng touyue liangming xuan 徸桑徸㚱ℒ㖷幻

touhu ㈾⢣ Tu Dong 㴫⅕ Tudi ⛈⛙ tuyu ⛈婇 tuzuo ⛈ἅ waiji 㬓⤼

waisun ⢿⬔ Wan Shihua 叕㗫厘 wanbao quanshu 叕⮟ℑ㚡 Wancheng 䘿❷ Wang Chang 䌴㗟 Wang Chengpei 㰓㈨暱 Wang Chun 䌴愰 (Xianmin ⃱㮺) Wang daoshi na yao 䌴忼⢔㊨⤿ Wang Er 䌴ḵ Wang Gai 䌴㦒 Wang Hongxing 䌴泤冱 Wang Hui 䌴侕 Wang Jian 䌴⺣ Wang Jiangnan 㛄㰈⌀ Wang Litang 䌴湀➫ Wang Mian 䌴ℾ Wang pai Shuihu 䌴㳧㯝㺡 Wang Qi 䌴侯 Wang Qishu 㰓⓼㵺 Wang Ren 㰓ṣ (Yumen ḷ攩) wang ru shuimo 㛄⤫㯝䢑 Wang Ruli 㰓㰆䐗 Wang Ruzao 㰓⤫喤 Wang Shaotang 䌴⮺➫ Wang Shen 䌴Ἢ Wang Sheng 䌴䓈 Wang Shifu 䌴⮏䓔 Wang Shiheng 㰓⢔堊 Wang Shishen 㰓⢔ヷ Wang Shixing 䌴⢔⿐ Wang Shixiong 䌴ᶿ晭 Wang Shizhen 䌴⢔䤷 Wang Shuren 䌴㧢Ṫ Wang sou 䌴⎈ Wang Weikang 䌴ῲ⹠ Wang Wen 䌴㔰 Wang Wushan 䌴⯴Ⱊ Wang Xiao‘er 䌴⮸ḵ Wang Xiao‘er guo nian 䌴⮸ḵ忷⸝ Wang Xiaotang 䌴䮉➫ Wang Xisun 㰓╅⬔

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Glossary Wang Xiuchu 䌴䥩㤃 Wang Xizhi 䌴佛ᷴ Wang Yangzhou 㛄㎃ⶇ Wang Yanlin 䌴䅾㝀 (Mengxing ⣋㛸) Wang Yinggeng 㰓ㅲ⹃ Wang Yinzhi 䌴⺾ᷴ Wang Yuanqi 䌴⍈䣪 Wang Yuanxi 䌴⃬㧑 Wang Yuesheng 䌴㚱䓈 Wang Yun 㰓扯 Wang Zhaojun 䌴㗖⏄ Wang Zhong 㰓ᷖ (Rongfu ⭢䓔) Wanjiayuan 叕⭟⚻ Wanli yehuo bian 叕㙯慷䌛䶑 Wantou 䀌柖 Wanye shengxiang 僾僴䓈楂 wazuo 䒏ἅ Wei Bi 櫸䑐 Wei Changsheng 櫸攠䓈 Wei Minghua 杴㖷掞 Wei Ren 杴ṣ Wei San‘er 櫸ᶲ⃻ Weiduo 杴楚 weipei ⥽ἒ Weituo 杴早 Weiyang 䵖㎃ Weiyang meng 䵖㎃⣋ Weiyang zhi 䵖㎃⾀ Weiyangxi 䵖㎃㇚ Wen 㔰 Wen guo lou 倇忷㦼 Wen Tianxiang 㔰⣒䤎 Wen xuan 㔰怡 wen yi zai dao 㔰Ẏ庲忼 Wenguang 㔰⺌ Wenjiao‘an 倇奻⹞ Wenlan tianxiang 㔰嗖⣒楂 Wenming shuju 㔰㖷㚡⯩ Wensu 㔰倮 wenxi 㔰㇛

Wenxingyuan 㔰㛸⚻ Wenxuanlou 㔰怡㦼 wenyan 㔰妩 wenziyu 㔰⬀䋭 wo you 冎忳 Wo yu Yangzhou xiqu ㆺ冰㎃ⶇ ㇛㚛

wu え Wu ⏜ Wu Baitao ⏜䘦⊴ Wu Changshuo ⏜㖵䡒 Wu Changyuan ⏜攠⃬ (Taichu ⣓ ⇆) Wu Chunyan ⏜㗎⼎ Wu Daozi ⏜忼⫹ wu fu pan shou ḽ䤸䚍⢦ wu Hui bu cheng zhen 䃊⽦ᶶㆹ捗 Wu Jingzi ⏜㔕㠼 Wu Juyue ⏜䏃婓 Wu shi 㬏㮸 Wu shi hui 㬏⋪⚇ Wu Shuyi Ặ㵺₩ Wu Siying ⏜㲀劚 Wu Song1 ⏜厁 Wu Song2 㬏㜧 Wu Song da hu 㬏㜧ㇼ嗷 Wu Tianxu ⏜⣒䵻 Wu Tingwang ⏜⺠㛄 Wu Weiye ⏜ῲ㤖 (Meicun 㠮㛺) Wu Yi ⏜忡 wu you ⏧⍴ Wu you ⏜⍴ Wu Yuchi ⏜䌲⠩ Wu Zetian 㬏⇰⣒ Wu Zhen ⏜䍶 Wu Zhuo ⏜䃘 (Junsan έᶲ) Wu Zimu ⏜冓䈐 Wuchang 㬏㖵 Wucheng fu 唓❷岏 Wudi 㬏ⷆ Wuding 㬏ᶪ

Glossary Wuditai ḽ㔞冣 Wuhan 㬏㻋 Wuhu 唓㷿 Wujia zhuanqiao ⏜⭟䢃㧴 Wulieci ḽ䁱䤉 Wuliemu ḽ䁱⠼ Wulin 㬏㝀 Wulin jiushi 㬏㝀决Ḵ Wumen ⏜攩 Wupai ⏜㳧 Wuqiao ⏜㧴 Wushan ⶔⰚ wushen ㆳ䓜 wusi yundong ḽ⚄忴≾ Wusitumiao ḽ⎡⼻⺈ wuxi 㬏㇛ Wuyan 䃊渦 Wuyingdian 㬏劚㭨 Wu-Yue ⏜崳 Wuyunguan ḽ暛棑 xi ℗ Xia Maimaijie ᶴ屠岌堀 Xia Mianzun ⢸ᶸ⮳ Xia shan ᶴⰚ Xiaguan ᶴ斅 xian 栘 xian zongshu ䷌䷦㚡 xiancai 卐厅 xianci ⻏娇 Xiang 枮 Xiang Kairan ⎺ム䃟 (Pingjiang Buxiaosheng ⸜㰈ᶶ倿䓈) Xiang Liang 枮㠪 Xiang Qihu 枮崠洉 Xiang Yu 枮佦 xianghuoxi 楂䀔㇛ xiangsheng 䚡倛 xiangu Ẃ⥺ Xiangxianci 悲岋䤉 Xiangyang 壭昦 Xianhesu Ẃ浝儯

Xianhua Yangzhou 攻娚㎃ⶇ xianma ⻏楕 Xianqing ouji 攻の‟⭭ xianran ㌩檘 Xianren zhai dou Ẃṣ㐁寯 Xianyang ②昦 xiao 䯔 xiao da you ⮸⣐䓚 Xiao de hao 䪺⽀⤦ Xiao Dongmen ⮸㜚攩 Xiao Er ⮸ḵ Xiao guang ji ⭞⃲姁 Xiao guang jian ⭞⃲∶ Xiao Jinshan ⮸慺Ⱊ xiao kaikou ⮸攴⎌ Xiao lao mamazi 唖侪⩦⩦⫹ xiao Liang wang ⮸㠪䌴 Xiao Linglong shanguan ⮸䍛䑸 Ⱊ凁

Xiao nigu xia shan ⮸⯥⥺ᶴⰚ Xiao Penglai ⮸咕厳 Xiao Qianrenzuo ⮸⋬ṣ⛹ xiao qinglü ⮸曻䵉 Xiao Qinhuai ⮸䦏㶗 Xiao Qinhuai chasi ⮸䦏㶗募倯 xiao renwu ⮸ṣ䈒 Xiao Song ⮸㜧 Xiao Taohuayuan ⮸㟬剚㸹 Xiao Taoyuan ⮸㟬㸹 Xiao xing 㙲埵 Xiao Ying‘enhe ⮸彷〒㱜 xiaochi ⮸⎬ Xiaochi ⮸䖝 xiaodan ⮸㖏 xiao‘er ⮸ḵ Xiaofanghu ⮸㕢⢣ Xiaogu ⬆⥺ Xiaojuelin ⮸奣㝀 xiaomao ⮸ⷦ xiaosanzhang ⮸ᶲ⻞ Xiaoshan1 ⮸Ⱊ

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Glossary Xiaoshan2 唖Ⱊ Xiaoshanting ⮸ⰚṖ Xiaoshanyuan ⮸Ⱊ⚻ xiaosheng ⮸䓈 xiaoshuo ⮸婓 Xiaoshuo shibao ⮸婓㗫⟚ Xiaosoumen 唖⎈攩 Xiaoxian ◘Ẃ / 㬀⁳ Xiaoxing ⮸㗈 Xiaoyu ⮸䌲 Xiaoyuan 䮉⚻ xiaqu ᶴ⍤ Xichuntai 䅂㗎⎙ Xici zhuan 且彖⁜ xidan ╅噴 Xidu fu 夨悦岏 Xie He 嫆崔 Xie Rongsheng 嫆㹟䓈 Xiepu chao 㫰㴏㼗 xifang meiren 夨㕢伷ṣ Xiguan ╅⭁ Xihu 夨㷿 Xihu chunyou 夨㷿㗎忳 Xihu xiaoshuo 夨㷿⮸婓 Xijing zaji 夨ṕ暅姁 Xilou / Xilou 夨㦼 Xilou ji 夨㦼姁 Ximen 夨攩 Ximenjie 夨攩堀 Xin guancha 㕙奩⮈ Xin Guangling chao 㕙⺌昞㼗 xin huaben 㕙娚㛕 Xincheng beilu zhong 㕙❷⋀抭ᷖ Xinchou shiyi yue shijiu ri ji yu Zi You bie yu Zhengzhou Ximen wai ma shang fu shi yi pian ji zhi 彄ᶺ⋪ᶩ㚱⋪Ḇ㖎㖋冰⫹䓚⇎㕥惖 ⶇ夨攩⢿楕ᶳ岏娒ᶩ䭰⭭ᷴ Xinchun shibi 㕙㗎娏䫯 Xinfengquan 㕙对㱲 xing ⥼

Xing‘an 埵⹞ Xingjiaosi 冱㔂⮣ xingma 埵楕 Xingzhai shi le ィ滴⋪㦫 xinhai 彄Ṏ Xinjiang 㕙䔯 xinmao 彄⌘ xinwei 彄㛓 Xiongnu ⊱⤝ Xipi 夨䙗 xiqu ㇛㚛 Xishi 夨㕦 (Xizi 夨⫹) xiucai 䥩ㇶ Xiuguan 䥩⭁ Xiuxi Hongqiao ᾗ䤳嘢㧴 Xiuyuan Ẻ⚻ Xiuyuan zhi Ẻ⚻⾀ Xixia 夨⢸ Xixiang 夨⹫ Xixiang ji 夨⹫姁 Xixiangxuan 夛楂幻 Xiyou ji 夨㷡姁 Xizi (see Xishi) Xu Baoshan ⼹⮜Ⱊ Xu Fuzuo ⼹⽒䤃 Xu Gou ⼹䊀 Xu Jingye ⼹㔕㤖 Xu Ke ⼹䍫 Xu Ning ⼹ↆ Xu Qianfang ⼹嫂剜 Xu Rixi ⼹㖎㚏 (Zhanming 䝤㖷, Shuo‘an 䡒⹞) Xu Shen 姚ヷ Xu Shiji ⼹ᶿ⊌ Xu Shunlong 姚枯漶 Xu Shuo‘an ⼹䡒⹞ Xu Yangzhou zhuzhici 丵㎃ⶇ䪢 㝆娇

Xu Zhenya ⼹⾚ṇ xuan 䴋 Xuan Ding ⭌溷

Glossary Xuancheng ⭌❷ Xuanhe ⭌␵ Xuantong ⭌䴚 Xuanye 䌭㙭 Xuanzhou ⭌ⶇ Xue 啄 Xue Deli 啄⽠䥗 Xue Tianxi 啄⣒拔 xuepai ⬡㳧 Xun meng ⮴⣋ Xuningmen ⼹⮐攩 Xunyang Zijigong gan qiu zuo

㳽昦

䳔㤞⭗ト䥴ἅ

Xunyuan 恰⚻ Xunzi 勩⫹ Xuyi 䚚䛂 yabu 普悑 yahui 普㚬 yamen 堂攩 Yan 䅾 Yan Sheqing 敤冶⌨ Yan Shifan ♝ᶿ哬 Yan Song ♝ⴒ Yan Zhen ♝屇 Yan zhi 妩娵 Yandang 敢溑 yang 㲴 Yang Bajie 㣳℔⥹ Yang Cheng 㣳ㆹ (Chengzu 婉䣿) Yang Fa 㣳㱾 (Yijun ⶚并) Yang Guifei 㣳屝⤬ Yang Hui 㣳廆 Yang jia jiang 㣳⭟⮰ Yang jia jiang yanyi 㣳⭟⮰㺽佒 Yang Jiheng 㣳⬌單 Yang Jiumei 㣳Ḇ⥢ Yang Jiye 㣳严㤖 Yang Lütai 㣳Ⰾ㲙 Yang pan ㎃䚁 Yang shouma 梳䗏楕 yang shouma zhe 梳䗏楕侮

Yang Wenguang 㣳㔰⺌ Yang Wudi 㣳䃊㔞 Yang Xian 㣳ⲝ Yang Xiaobao 㣳⮸⮜ Yang Xiong ㎃晭 Yang Xuanzhi 㣳埻ᷴ Yang xuzi ㎃嘃⫹ Yang Yanyu 㣳⺟䌲 Yang Ye 㣳㤖 Yang Zhongne 㣳ᷖ姎 Yang Zhou ㎃ⶇ Yang Zongbao 㣳⭀ᾆ Yangbang ㎃㴅 yangfang 㧌㇨ Yanggu 昦寠 Yanghu 昦㷿 Yangju ㎃∰ yanglou 㲴㦼 yangma 䦐楕 Yangmen nüjiang 㣳攩⤜⮰ Yangshi Lei 㧌⺸暠 yangwu 㲴䈒 Yangzhou ㎃ⶇ Yangzhou ba guai ㎃ⶇ℔⿓ Yangzhou ba guai ge ㎃ⶇ℔⿓㫵 Yangzhou de xiari ㎃ⶇ䘭⢸㖎 Yangzhou ershisi jing tu ㎃ⶇḵ⋪⚄ 㘘⚿

Yangzhou fangyan ㎃ⶇ㕢妩 Yangzhou fentu jilüe ㎃ⶇ桑⛈姁䔎 Yangzhou huafang lu ㎃ⶇ䔔凔抭 Yangzhou huaguxi ㎃ⶇ剚溼㇛ Yangzhou huayuan lu ㎃ⶇ䔔剺抭 Yangzhou jiaxianghua ㎃ⶇ⭟悲娚 Yangzhou jinshi ㎃ⶇ彺Ḵ Yangzhou liang cheng tu ㎃ⶇℒ❷⚿ Yangzhou luantan ㎃ⶇḫ⻱ Yangzhou man ㎃ⶇㄋ Yangzhou meng / Yangzhou meng ㎃ ⶇ⣋

Yangzhou meng ji ㎃ⶇ⣋姁

447

448

Glossary Yangzhou meng xiang ci ㎃ⶇ⣋楂娇 Yangzhou pinghua ㎃ⶇ姾娚 Yangzhou Qingming ㎃ⶇ㶮㖷 Yangzhou qingqu ㎃ⶇ㶮㚛 Yangzhou shi ri ji ㎃ⶇ⋪㖎姁 Yangzhou shouma ㎃ⶇ䗏楕 Yangzhou xi kao ㎃ⶇ㇛侬 Yangzhou xiaoshuo ㎃ⶇ⮸婓 Yangzhou Xiuyuan zhi ㎃ⶇẺ⚻⾀ Yangzhou xuepai ㎃ⶇ⬡㳧 Yangzhou zhuzhici ㎃ⶇ䪢㝆娇 Yangzhoufu zhi ㎃ⶇ⹅⾀ Yangzhouhua ㎃ⶇ娚 Yangzhuangzhen ㎃匳捖 yanhua sanyue 䄂剚ᶲ㚱 Yanshiyuan 敤㮸⚻ Yanweng 䀷佪 yanyi 㺽佒 Yanyunting 删暛Ṗ Yanzhao ⺟㗖 Yanzhijing 傖傫Ḿ Yanzhou ℀ⶇ Yao ⟘ Yao Er Kuazi ⦃ḵἲ⫹ Yao Nai ⦃溹 Yao Weichi ⦃哃㰉 Yao Yutiao ⦃䌲婨 yaochuan ㎿凢 Yaogen 喎㟢 yapai ershisi jing 䈂䇵ḵ⋪⚄㘘 Ye Fanglin 史剜㝀 Ye gugu 史⥺⥺ Ye kan Yangzhou shi ⣅䚴㎃ⶇⶫ Ye Shengtao 史俿星 Ye taiye 史⣓䇣 Ye Xianzu 史ㅛ䣿 Ye Zhenchu 史暰⇆ Yechun fandian ⅟㗎梘⹀ Yechunshe ⅟㗎䣧 yelang zida ⣅恷冓⣐ Yeyu qiudeng lu ⣅暑䥴䅱抭

yi ben bing kai fu Ẏ㛕℞攴⹅ Yi jian xiao shi ᶩẟ⮸Ḵ Yi Junzuo 㖼⏄ⶏ Yi shi 塽㮸 yi shou san yuan ᶩㇴᶲ⃬ Yi Yangzhou ㅟ㎃ⶇ Yi Yin ẳ⯢ yi you bing kai fu Ẏㄫ℞攴⹅ Yi Zhenyuan 塽㋘怉 yi1 ⭅ yi2 忡 Yifeng 侥桑 Yijiangmen ㋢㰈攩 Yijing 㖼䴼 Yili ẳ䈪 yimao Ḃ⌘ yimin 怣㮺 Yin Kaishan 㭠攴Ⱊ Yin Qi 㭠崠 Yin shui si yuan 梛㯝⿆㸹 Yin Yun 㭠剡 Yin zhong ba xian ge 梛ᷖ℔Ẃ㫵 Yin Zhou (see Shi Zengxiang) Yin‘an ⏈⬲ Yingtianfu ㅲ⣒⹅ Yinguai congshu 晚⿓⎋㚡 Yingyuan ⼚⚻ Yingyuan yaohua ji ⼚⚻䐍厘景 Yingyuan zi ji ⼚⚻冓姁 yinlü 果⼴ Yi peng xue ᶩ㌐暓 yipin 忡⑪ Yiqing ᶩの Yishan ῃⰚ yishu 怣㚡 Yixing ⭅冱 Yixingtang ⿊⿐➫ Yizheng ₩⽞ Yizhengxian zhi ₩⽞䷌⾀ yizhong 佒⅋ Yizizhai ᶩ⬀滴

Glossary yizu 喆䣿 Yongan 㲜⹞ Yongbaotang ji 㯡⟚➫景 Yongbaotang shiji 㯡⟚➫娒景 Yongjia zhi luan 㯡▲ᷴḫ Yongzheng 晶㬌 You 惲 You gan 㚲ト You Yangzhou 㷡㎃ⶇ Youbao 惲ᾆ youyou huhu, tumu xinghai ぉぉ⾦ ⾦焒⛈㛑⼋橡 Yu Chan 嘇垧 Yu Chu 嘇⇆

Yu Chu xinzhi 嘇⇆㕙⾀ Yu Dafu 恪忽⣔ Yu Hao ╤䘼 yu hua 暑剚 Yu Minzhong ḷ㓸ᷖ Yu Shuye ḷ⍽⣅ Yu Ye ḷ惝 Yu Youchun ἂ⍱㗎 Yu Yue ᾇ㧧 Yuan 堪 Yuan Chang 堪㗟 Yuan Mei 堪㝃 Yuan ye ⚻⅟ Yuan You 堪䋠 Yuan Yuling 堪ḷẍ yuanben 昋㛕 Yuanhe ⃬␵ yuanji ⚻姁 yuankou ⚼⎌ Yuanmenqiao 廮攩㧴 Yuanmingyuan ⚼㖷⚻ Yuanshiyuan ⒊㮸⚻ yuanwailang 昋⢿恷 Yuanxiao ⃬⭞ Yuanyang hudie pai 泄泏圝土㳧 yuanyangyou 泄泏㱢 Yuanye ⚻⅟

Yue 崳 Yue Fei ⱜ梄 Yue Song ⱜ㜧 Yue su sao mu 崳ᾀ㌬⠼ yuehu 㦫㇟ Yuemingqiao 㚱㖷㧴 yueqin 㚱䏝 Yuewei caotang biji 敚⽗勲➫䫯姁 Yuexian 㚱Ẃ Yuexiang 㚱楂 Yugou caotang 䌲⊧勲➫ Yuguan 䌲⭁ Yuhua xiang 暑剚楂 Yuhuatai 暑剚冣 Yuli hun 䌲㡑櫫 Yulian 暑咗 Yulin 䌲㝀 Yun, Wu, Tian, Qin, Liu 暛焒Ặ焒䓙焒 䦏焒㞜

Yun Jin 暛拏 Yun Lin 暛湈 Yunhuaguan zhu 枤剚棑ᷤ Yunjian 暛攼 Yunli ⃪䥗 Yunlin 暛㝀 Yupian 䌲䭰 Yuqinggong 䌲㶮⭗ Yuwangmiao 䥢䌴⺈ yuxingcao 欃儎勲 Yuzhang 尔䪉 Yuzhen 刴䍶 Yuzi 欃⫹ zaju 智∰ Zang Hong 冐㳓 zaocha 㖒募 zaonie qian 忉⬦拋 zeli ⇰ἴ Zeng Yu 㚧䆉 Zengbie 岱⇎ Zha Shenxing 㞎ヷ埵 zhaijiao 滴慗

449

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Glossary Zhaixinglou 㐁㗈㦼 Zhaixingsi 㐁㗈⮣ Zhaixingting 㐁㗈Ṗ Zhang Bin wang ⻞屼䌴 Zhang Chao1 ⻞㼗 (Shanlai ⰚἯ) Zhang Chao2 ⻞崮 Zhang Dai ⻞ⱚ (Zongzi ⭀⫹, Tao‘an 星⹞) Zhang Dalai 䪉⣐Ἧ Zhang Fei ⻞梄 (Yide 侥⽠) Zhang Fei mai rou ⻞梄岌倲 Zhang Feng ⻞沜 Zhang Fengyi ⻞沜侥 Zhang gong jie dai ⻞ℕ㍎⷟ Zhang Haohao ⻞⤦⤦ Zhang Haohao shi ⻞⤦⤦娒 Zhang Haohao shi xu ⻞⤦⤦娒⸸ Zhang Henshui ⻞】㯝 Zhang Hu ⻞䤅 Zhang Jingyin ⻞㶑⚉ (Yin ⚉) Zhang Lianfang ⻞倘剜 Zhang mama ⻞⩦⩦ Zhang Mingke ⻞沝䍫 Zhang Nanzhuang ⻞⌀匳 Zhang Qiao ⻞㧞 Zhang Quan ⻞戼 Zhang Rengui ⻞Ṫ潅 Zhang Shike ⻞⢔䥺 (see also Zhang Sike) Zhang Sike ⻞⚄䥺 Zhang xian song zi ⻞Ẃ循⫹ Zhang Xianzhong ⻞䌤⾉ Zhang Xun ⻞ⶊ Zhang Yanzhu ⻞䅾䫺 Zhang Yide ju shui duan qiao ⻞侥 ⽠㒃㯝㕠㧴

Zhang Youde ⻞㚲⽀ Zhang Youfu ⻞䓚䓔 Zhang Yuefang ⻞侩剜 Zhang Zeduan ⻞㑰䪘 Zhang Zhenglu ⻞㬌嶘

zhanghui xiaoshuo 䪉⚇⮸婓 Zhangtang ⻞➫ Zhao 嵂 Zhao Bujiang 嵂ᶶ⮰ Zhao gong san nian 㗖ℕᶲ⸝ Zhao Hede 嵂⎱⽠ Zhao Kuangyin 嵂⋊傍 Zhao Mengfu 嵂⬈柔 Zhao Mingyang 嵂沝昦 Zhao Wuniang 嵂ḽ⧁ Zhao Yi 嵂侥 (Yunsong 暛Ⳑ, Oubei 䒵⋀) Zhao yinshi ㊄晚⢔ Zhao Zhibi 嵂ᷴ䑐 Zhao Zhiqian 嵂ᷴ嫂 Zhaocun 嵂㛺 Zhaoyang 㗖昦 Zhen 䒭 Zhendan ribao 暰㖏㖎⟚ zheng 䬸 Zheng 惖 Zheng Banqiao (see Zheng Xie) Zheng Daotong 惖忼⎵ Zheng Juzhen 惖⯮屇 Zheng Qinghu 惖ㄟ䤅 Zheng Sanjun 惖ᶲέ Zheng shi wangzu 惖㮸㛄㕸 Zheng Weiguang 惖䁣⃲ Zheng Weixu 惖䁣㖖 Zheng Xiaojiao 惖⮸⦌ Zheng Xiaru 惖ᾉ⤫ (Shijie ⢔Ṵ) Zheng Xie 惖䆗 (Banqiao 㜨㧴) Zheng Yimei 惖忡㠮 Zheng Yuanhua 惖⃬⊿ (Zanke 岳⎘, Yi 佒) Zheng Yuansi 惖⃬▌ Zheng Yuanxun 惖⃬⊜ (Chaozong 崮⭀, Huidong ら㜚, Zhong ⾉) Zheng Yuanyue 惖⃬ⵦ Zheng Zhiyan 惖ᷴ⼎ zhengli 呡㡑

Glossary Zhenhuaimen 捗㶗攩 Zhenjiang 捗㰈 Zhenjie paifang 屇䭩䇵⛳ Zhenzhou 䛈ⶇ Zhenzhuniang 䍶䎉⧁ zhima 䳂楕 Zhishangcun 㝆ᶳ㛺 zhiyin 䞎果 Zhong Fei ẛ梄 Zhong Shaojing 挧䳢ṕ Zhongguo yingzao xueshe huikan ᷖ⚴䆈忉⬡䣧⼂↴ Zhongjing ⾉替 zhongjue 州㰣 Zhongnanhai ᷖ⌀㴠 Zhongshan ᷖⰚ zhongshu ᷖ㚡 Zhongzheng ⾉㬌 Zhou 䲫 Zhou Boyi ␑Ộ佒 (also see Zhou

Sheng, Jiaodong Zhou Sheng) Zhou gong ␑ℕ Zhou gong zhi li ␑ℕᷴ䥗 Zhou Houyu ␑⍃➲ Zhou Lang ␑恷 Zhou Mi ␑⭯ Zhou Ronggen ␑㥗㟢 Zhou Sheng (see Zhou Boyi) Zhou shi ␑㮸 Zhou Yu ␑䐅 Zhou Zhaoji ␑⃯➣ Zhou Zuoren ␑ἅṣ zhoutong ⶇ⎵ Zhu 㛚 Zhu Dongshu 㛚㜚㚂 Zhu Guangqian 㛚⃲㼄 Zhu Gui 㛚䎓 Zhu Hong 㛚批 (Hechao 浝ⶋ) Zhu Jiang 㛚㰈 Zhu Jianmang 㛚∶刻 Zhu Mu 䤆䧯

Zhu shilang 㛚ἶ恷 Zhu Shouhong 㛚⢦懅 (Lu Xian wang 欘ㅛ䌴) Zhu Shouju 㛚䗏即 (Haishang Shuomengren 㴠ᶳ婓⣋ṣ) Zhu Tang 㛚㢉 (Huinan ら⌀) Zhu Wenzhen 㛚㔰暰 Zhu Yedong 㛚慷㜚 Zhu Yizun 㛚⼅⮳ (Zhucha 䪢❇) Zhu Yu 㛚偛 Zhu Yuanzhang 㛚⃬䐴 Zhu Yun 㛚䬉 Zhu Yunming 䤆⃪㖷 zhu zi xiu wen 䄗⬀上㔰 Zhu Ziqing 㛚冓㶮 Zhu Zuochao 㛚ỹ㛆 zhuan ⁜ Zhuang Zhou 匳␑ zhuangyuan 䉩⃬ Zhuangzi 匳⫹ zhuanshu 䭯㚡 Zhucaopo 楹勲✊ Zhuogeng lu 廈侾抭 Zhuoru 㟵⤫ zhusheng 媡䓈 Zhuxiting 䪢夨Ṗ zhuzheng ᷤ㓨 zhuzhici 䪢㝆娇 zhuzixue 媡⫹⬡ zi ⬀ Zi bu yu ⫹ᶶ婇 zigao 䳔伽 Zijian ⬀揺 Zijinshan 䳔慺Ⱊ Zikai manhua quanji ⫹ム㻔 䔔ℑ景 Ziru ⫹⤫ zitan 䳔㨩 Zixing 䳔㗈 Zixu 冓⸸ Ziyun 䳔暛

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Glossary Zong Bing ⭀䁜 Zong you Huainan ䷚忳㶗⌀ zongding ௩枫 zonghengshi ䷚㨔⢔ Zongshi wanggong gongji biaozhuan ⭀⭍䌴ℕ≈䷧堑⁜

zongzi 䱦⫹ Zu Hao 䣿䘼

Zu Yue 䣿䲭 Zuibaiyuan 愲䘦⚻ Zuo Liangyu ⶏ刘䌲 Zuo zhuan ⶏ⁜ zuoma ἅ楕 zuoya ⛹㉥ zuoye qian ἅ㤖拋 zushi 䣿ⷔ

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References Zhou Xun ␑㰄 and Gao Chunming 檁㗎㖷, eds. Zhongguo yiguan fushi da cidian ᷖ⚴ 堌ⅉ㚶梧⣐彖℡ [The great dictionary of Chinese costume, headgear and dress accessories]. Shanghai: Shanghai cishu, 1996. Zhu Huaigan 㛚ㆠ⸢ and Sheng Yi 䚄₩, eds., Jiajing Weiyang zhi ▲替䵖㎃⾀ [Jiajing-period Gazetteer of Weiyang]. [1523 ed.]. In Siku quanshu cunmu congshu: Shi bu ⚄⹔ℑ㚡⬁䚗⎋㚡: ⎛悑, vol. 184. Jinan: Qi Lu shushe, 1997. Zhu Jiang 㛚㰈. Yangzhou yuanlin pinshang lu ㎃ⶇ⚻㝀⑪岇抭 [An appreciation of Yangzhou gardens]. Shanghai: Shanghai wenhua, 1984. Zhu Jianmang 㛚∶刻. “Yangzhou meng kao” ㎃ⶇ⣋侬 [A study of Dream of Yangzhou]. In Jiaodong Zhou Sheng 䃏㜚␑䓈. Yangzhou meng ㎃ⶇ⣋ [Dream of Yangzhou], 1–7. Taibei: Shijie shuju, 1978. Zhu Qiaosen 㛚╕㢗, ed. Zhu Ziqing quanji 㛚冓㶮ℑ景 [Complete works of Zhu Ziqing]. 12 vols. Nanjing: Jiangsu jiaoyu, 1996. Zhu Yixuan 㛚ᶩ䌭, ed. Ming Qing xiaoshuo ziliao xuanbian 㖷㶮⮸婓屰㕂怡䶑 [Selected materials on Ming Qing fiction]. 2 vols. Jinan: Qi Lu shushe, 1989. Zhu Yizun 㛚⼅⮳. Jing yi kao 䴼佒侬 [Exegetical studies on the classics]. Reprint. 4 vols. Beijing: Zhongguo shudian, 2009. Zhu Ziqing 㛚冓㶮. “Chide” ⎬䘭 [Things to eat]. In Zhu Ziqing quanji 㛚冓㶮ℑ景, edited by Zhu Qiaosen 㛚╕㢗, 1:412–416. 12 vols. Nanjing: Jiangsu jiaoyu, 1996. ———. “Shuo Yangzhou” 婓㎃ⶇ [Speaking of Yangzhou]. Renjian shi ṣ攼Ḵ 16 (1934): 35–36. ———. “Wo shi Yangzhouren” ㆺ㗘㎃ⶇṣ [I am from Yangzhou]. In Zhu Ziqing quanji 㛚冓㶮ℑ景, edited by Zhu Qiaosen 㛚╕㢗, 4:455–459. 12 vols. Nanjing: Jiangsu jiaoyu, 1996. ———. “Yangzhou de xiari” ㎃ⶇ䘭⢸㖎 [Summer days in Yangzhou]. In Zhu Ziqing quanji 㛚冓㶮ℑ景, edited by Zhu Qiaosen 㛚╕㢗, 1:147–149. 12 vols. Nanjing: Jiangsu jiaoyu, 1996. ———. “Yangzhou de xiari” ㎃ⶇ䘭⢸㖎 [Summer days in Yangzhou]. In Zhu Ziqing, Ni wo Ἁㆺ [You and I], 39. Beijing: Sanlian shudian, 1991. Zhu Zongzhou 㛚⭀⭂. “Qingdai Yangzhou yanshang jutou Jiang Chun” 㶮Ẍ㎃ⶇ渦⓯ ⶑ柖㰈㗎 [Jiang Chun, the tycoon of Qing-dynasty Yangzhou salt merchants]. Yangzhou shizhi ㎃ⶇ⎛⾀ 19 (1991): 17–20. Zhuang Sue 匳䳉⧎. Gao Fenghan huihua yanjiu 檁沜侙专䔔䞽䨟 [Studies on paintings by Gao Fenghan]. Taibei: Yishujia, 1996.

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CONTRIBUTORS

Roland Altenburger is professor of East Asian cultural history at the University of Wuerzburg, Germany. He received his doctoral degree in Chinese studies from the University of Zurich in 1996. His research stays include a two-year postdoctoral visiting position at Harvard University. His publications focus on premodern and early modern Chinese literature and culture, particularly vernacular narrative. His research interests include literary regionalism, popular culture, and the social history of the late imperial period. He is the author of The Sword or the Needle: The Female Knight-Errant (xia) in Traditional Chinese Narrative (2009), and of two earlier monographs in German: Addressing Behavior in China Around 1750: A Sociolinguistic Study Based on the Novel Rulin waishi (1997); and Hermitic Concepts and Characters in the Novel Rulin waishi: An Intertextual Study (1994). He is the coeditor of the volume Dem Text ein Freund: Erkundungen des chinesischen Altertums (2009). From 2007 to 2012 he acted as a coeditor of the Swiss Asian studies journal Asiatische Studien / Etudes asiatiques. Vibeke Børdahl is senior researcher at the Nordic Institute of Asian Studies, Copenhagen University. She received her PhD degree in sinology in 1990 at the University of Copenhagen and in 1996 earned the degree of Dr.Phil (Doctor Philosophiae) at the same university for her studies of Yangzhou storytelling. Her research covers Chinese vernacular literature, literary theory, dialectology, and oral literature, with special emphasis on Yangzhou dialect and storytelling. She and Lucie Olivová initiated the interdisciplinary research group “The Yangzhou Club” in 2002. Her publications include The Oral Tradition of Yangzhou Storytelling (1996); The Eternal Storyteller: Oral Literature in Modern China (1999); Chinese Storytellers: Life and Art in the Yangzhou Tradition (with photographer Jette Ross) (2002); Four Masters of Chinese Storytelling: Full-Length

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Contributors Repertoires of Yangzhou Storytelling on Video (with coeditors Fei Li and Huang Ying) (2004); Lifestyle and Entertainment in Yangzhou (with coeditor Lucie Olivová) (2009); The Oral and the Written in Chinese Popular Literature (with coeditor Margaret B. Wan) (2010); Wu Song Fights the Tiger: The Interaction of Oral and Written Traditions in the Chinese Novel, Drama and Storytelling (2013); the translation of Jin Ping Mei into Danish as Jin Ping Mei i vers og prosa, Første Bog [First Book] (2011); Anden Bog [Second Book] (2013); Tredje Bog [Third Book] (2014, in press); [the entire work will be published in ten books]. Rüdiger Breuer is dean of studies for the Faculty of East Asian Studies at Ruhr University, Germany. He is also director of the Richard Wilhelm Translation Center. He earned a PhD in Chinese and comparative literature from Washington University in St. Louis. In his many publications, he focuses on oralperformative storytelling, the Chinese theater, and premodern narrative fiction. He is currently working on a monograph on the professional storyteller Liu Jingting and his interrelations with members of the literati class. He is a coeditor of the Bochum Yearbook for East Asian Studies. Winnie Yuen Lai Chan is a PhD candidate in Chinese studies at the University of Oxford. She is now adjunct assistant professor at the School of Architecture, the Chinese University of Hong Kong (CUHK). She was first educated and trained as an architect and worked as a researcher in the Centre for Architecture Heritage Research at CUHK, where she edited the book 100 Traditional Chinese Buildings in Hong Kong (2009) before embarking on her doctoral study at Oxford. She writes on garden history of Qing-dynasty China. Fan Xiong, born in Kunming, studied English at the graduate level in China, undertaking postgraduate study at La Trobe University. She received a PhD in 2001, with a thesis entitled “Trajectory of Desire: Narratives of Home and the World from Nora to the White-Haired Girl.” She lives with her family in Melbourne. Antonia Finnane is professor of history at the University of Melbourne and a member of the Australian Academy of Humanities. She has interests in material culture and social change since 1500. She first visited Yangzhou in 1980, when she was an exchange student studying at Nanjing University. She later graduated with a PhD in Chinese history from the Australian National University. She has written and edited a number of books, including Far from Where? Jewish Journeys from Shanghai to Australia (1999); Speaking of Yangzhou: A

Contributors Chinese City, 1550–1850 (2004), and Changing Clothes in China (2008). Speaking of Yangzhou was awarded the 2006 Joseph Levenson Book Prize for a work on pre-1900 China. Patrick Hanan was the Victor S. Thomas Professor of Chinese Literature, Emeritus, at Harvard University. He is the author of The Chinese Short Story: Studies in Dating, Authorship and Composition (1973); The Chinese Vernacular Story (1981); The Invention of Li Yu (1988); and Chinese Fiction of the Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries (2004). He also translated Silent Operas by Li Yu; The Carnal Prayer Mat by Li Yu; A Tower for the Summer Heat by Li Yu; The Sea of Regret, Two Turn-of-the-Century Chinese Romantic Novels; The Money Demon, An Autobiographical Novel by Chen Diexian; Falling in Love: Stories from Ming China; Courtesans and Opium, Romantic Illusions of the Fool of Yangzhou; and Mirage (Shenlou zhi). He was a fellow of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences. Alison Hardie is a senior lecturer in Chinese studies at the University of Leeds, UK, where she teaches Chinese history, visual culture, business, and ChineseEnglish translation. Her area of research interest is the social and cultural history of early modern China. Since the 1980s, she has studied the history of Chinese gardens, with a particular focus on their social uses. She is currently working on a book on issues of identity and individuality in the life and work of the seventeenth-century poet, playwright, and garden patron Ruan Dacheng, a frequent visitor to Yangzhou. She is the translator of Ji Cheng’s seventeenthcentury garden manual, The Craft of Gardens (1988), and revised Maggie Keswick’s The Chinese Garden: History, Art and Architecture for its third edition (2003). She has published many translations and articles on Chinese garden history for both academic and general readers. Jiang Ji was born in 1983 in Nanjing of Jiangsu Province. A doctor of literature, she is a lecturer at Renmin University, Beijing, as well as a member of the China Society for Anthropology of Art and the China Nuo Opera Research Institute. Her main research area is the comparative study of theater and literature. Philip A. Kafalas is associate professor in the Department of East Asian Languages and Cultures, Georgetown University, in Washington, D.C. He earned his PhD in Asian languages (Chinese) from Stanford University in 1995. His research centers on nonfiction prose of the late-imperial period, and in particular he has an enduring interest in how writers used descriptions of place for

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Contributors lyrical ends, and how they described and understood their own dreams. He is author of In Limpid Dream: Nostalgia and Zhang Dai’s Reminiscences of the Ming (2007), and “Mnemonic Locations: The Housing of Personal Memory in Prose from the Ming and Qing” in Chinese Literature: Essays, Articles, Reviews 27 (2005). Stefan Kuzay is a lecturer of sinology at the University of Helsinki, Finland. He received his PhD from the University of Göttingen, Germany. His research focuses on Chinese drama, local opera, the history of Chinese literature of the late-Qing period, and social development in rural China. He did field research on local opera and religious opera in Anhui, Zhejiang, and Hunan Province between 1991 and 2009. His current projects include the Asian Art and Performance Consortium “Shift ing Dialogues: Asian Performance and Fine Arts,” at the Academy of Finland. His recent articles appeared in Lifestyle and Entertainment in Yangzhou (2009), in Chinoperl Papers No. 27 (2007), and in Perspectives on China, edited by Raisa Asikainen (2005). Lindy Li Mark is professor emerita of anthropology, California State University East Bay (CSUEB) at Hayward, California. She is a cultural anthropologist specializing in Chinese culture and ethnomusicology. She received her PhD in anthropology from the University of California–Berkeley. She taught at CSUEB for thirty years, and was a visiting professor at Northwestern University and the University of California–Berkeley. Her recent works include translations of the Young Lovers’ edition of Tang Xianzu’s Peony Pavilion and the new edition of Gao Lian’s Jade Hairpin. Both plays have been performed internationally by the Suzhou Kunju Theatre. Her ongoing research and publications has been in Chinese drama and music, especially Kunqu. Liu Zhen is director of the Traditional Chinese Drama Research Institute at the China Art Academy. He is also professor at the Graduate School of the Academy. He was guest professor at Wuhan University and Tongji University. He is the editor in chief of the journal Xiqu yanjiu (Traditional Drama Research), vice president of the China Society of Traditional Drama, vice president of the China Society for Anthropology of Art, and the president of the China Nuo Opera Research Institute. His research focuses on Chinese drama history, folk culture, and religious ritual drama. Among several national awards, in 2009 he was awarded as Outstanding Kunqu Opera Researcher by the Ministry of Culture. He is the author of two monographs and eight edited volumes. He is deputy director-editor of the Complete Works of Kunqu Opera, and deputy editor in chief of the Kunqu Opera Stage Per formances Literature Review Series (12 volumes).

Contributors Colin Mackerras is professor emeritus at Griffith University in Australia. His many research areas include Chinese theater, ethnic minorities, and history and Western images of China. He has written widely on all these topics, and his books include The Rise of the Peking Opera (1972), China’s Minorities: Integration and Modernization in the Twentieth Century (1994), and China in Transformation, 1900–1949, Second Edition (2008). He also edited the four-volume Ethnic Minorities in Modern China, Critical Concepts in Asian Studies (2011). His work on Yangzhou springs from the city’s importance in Chinese theater history. He is a fellow of the Academy of the Humanities of Australia, and has received several major honors, especially his appointment as Officer in the Order of Australia in 2007. Michele Matteini is an assistant professor of Chinese art and the humanities at Reed College. He specializes in late eighteenth-century painting. In 2009, he was cocurator of the exhibition Eccentric Visions: The Worlds of Luo Ping (1733– 1799), which traveled to Zurich and New York City. His scholarly interests include eighteenth-century discourses on the exotic, the social history of Beijing’s Xuannan district, and the relationship between “evidential scholarship” and the visual arts. His publications include “On Huineng’s ‘True Body’: The Matter of the Sacred” in Anthropology and Aesthetics, no. 55/56 (2010) and a forthcoming study of master-pupil relations in eighteenth-century Yangzhou. He is currently completing an essay on the cult of Su Shi among late eighteenth-century poets and scholars. Lucie Olivová is associate professor of Chinese culture, Department of Asian Studies, Palacký University, Czech Republic. She received her PhD from Charles University, Prague, and her DSc in 2011 from the Academy of Sciences, Czech Republic. Her Czech monographs include The Development of the Administrative System in China (2000); Tobacco in Chinese Society, 1600–1900 (2005); Chinese Folktales (2007); and Traditional Chinese Architecture (2008). She edited The Gems of Chinese Literature (2006) and three collections of modern Chinese and Taiwanese stories. Her recent English publications include “Images of Collectors in Eighteenth Century China” in Autour des collections d’art en Chine au XVIIIè siècle (2008); “A Map of the Chinese Imperial Summer Resort Discovered in a Czech Museum,” Imago Mundi 62/2 (2010); “Ignaz Sichelbarth, a Jesuit Painter in China,” Bohemia Jesuitica 1556–2006 (2010); and she contributed to the Routledge Encyclopedia of Contemporary Chinese Culture (2004). Margaret B. Wan is associate professor of Chinese literature at the University of Utah. She received her PhD from Harvard University. She has published on

485

486

Contributors Chinese fiction, popu lar culture, and local literature. She is the author of Green Peony and the Rise of the Chinese Martial Arts Novel (2009) and coeditor of The Interplay of the Oral and the Written in Chinese Popular Literature (2010). Her current project on drum ballads as regional literature was awarded an American Council of Learned Societies Fellowship. Marc Winter is librarian at the University of Zurich, Institute of East Asian Studies. He also teaches in the university’s Chinese department. He pursued Chinese studies in Zurich and Nanjing and earned a PhD in 1995 with a dissertation on Shuowen Jiezi, published as . . . und Cang Jie erfand die Schrift (1998). His research interests then turned to Qing-dynasty intellectual history and the struggle within Confucian schools, and he is at work on a study examining the struggle between the evidential schools, mainly Dai Zhen, and the Tongcheng scholar Fang Dongshu. Recent projects include a study of Chinese encyclopedias (leishu) and the depiction of knowledge in texts such as the Sancai Tuhui. Sue Zhuang (Su-o Chuang) is professor emerita of the history of art in the Graduate School of Art History at Taipei National University of the Arts, Taiwan. She is also a member of the Committee of Collection of Taipei National Palace Museum. She received a PhD in art history from the University of Iowa. Her specialty is Chinese painting, especially the painting of the Eight Eccentrics of Yangzhou, Chinese export painting, and modern ink painting. She is the author of the books The Studies of Kao Fenghan’s Paintings (1996) and Yen Shuilong (1992). She has published articles in The Anthology of the School of Lingnan (Guangzhou, 2011), Art and Science (Beijing, 2011), The National Palace Museum Research Quarterly (Taibei, 2010), and Study of the Arts (Taibei, 2009).

INDEX

Abundant Joy Street (Fenglejie), 105 Abundant Spring Restaurant (Fuchun), 349, 355n23 accent: Beijing (Jingqiang), 362, 365, 367; Capital speech (Jinghua), 379n19; change of, 367; Northern Mandarin, 362; Shanxi, 269–270; Taizhou, 267; Yangzhou dialect, 322. See also language; dialect allusions, 55, 91, 175, 178, 187n31, 187nn37–39, 400 Altar Lane (Tanxiang), 109 ambiguities, 311, 318n7, 385 An Qi, 112, 145n25 Analects of Confucius (Lunyu), 187n37, 201n29 Anding Academy (Anding shuyuan), 125, 147n49 anecdotes, 39, 41, 46, 50n31, 53, 73, 85n24, 89, 101, 103–104, 128–129, 219, 252n29, 276, 280n20 Angling Bridge (Diaoqiao), 135 Anhui Province, 3, 6, 14, 19, 32n1, 39, 48n12, 48n14, 49n23, 50n31, 97n4, 97n14, 111, 145n12, 146n43, 150n21, 153, 189, 194, 201n16, 241, 282, 283, 407 antithetical couplets (duilian), 69 architectural construction, methods of, 102 artisans, 119, 155, 159, 238–239. See also painting, artisan audience: imagined, 9; intended, 9, 11; local, 191; national, 11, 288; nonlocal, 175. See also readership Aunt Ye’s village, 294–295, 297 autobiography, 13, 64, 208, 281n25, 286

Autumn in the Han Palace (Hangong qiu), 147n52 Autumn Rain Nunnery (Qiuyu‘an), 179–180 awakening, 68, 73, 77, 81, 83, 85n19 Bai Juyi, 399 Bai sui gua shuai. See Taking Command at Age One Hundred “Ballad of Han Peng, The” (Han Peng fu), 399 bamboo-branch songs (zhuzhici), 11, 13, 144n3, 174–175, 217, 310, 398; as a historical source, 186n6; cycles of, 174–177, 186n4; range of topics of, 175, 177; about Yangzhou, 176, 186n4 Bamboo-branch Songs of Guangling (Guangling zhuzhici), 397 Ban Gu, 158: “Rhapsody on the Western Capital” (Xidu fu), 90 banquets, 165: birthday, 234, 328, 330, 333; cost of, 233; feast, 233–234 Bao Zhao: “Rhyme-prose on the Overgrown City” (Wucheng fu), 2, 159, 171n40 Bao Zhidao, 111–112 bath houses, 106, 108–109, 271 bean-curd threads, dried, 310, 312–313, 316–317 beggars, 135, 295, 408, 423n18 Beggars’ Street (Huazijie), 140, 142, 306n42 Beijing (Beiping), 4, 14, 37, 40, 75, 111, 152, 155, 159, 176–177, 285, 309, 311–312, 315, 317, 319n33; literature, 16n12. See also Capital

487

488

Index Beijing Opera (Jingju), 14, 205–206, 326 Beimang Mountain, 73 Belvedere of the Love of Solitude (Meiyouge), 163 Bender, Mark, 17n32 bense (simple and natural), 205 Bian Shoumin, 276, 278 Bianliang (Kaifeng, Dongjing, Eastern Capital), 54, 61, 61n5, 157, 170n33, 332 Biographies of Meritorious Princes and Ministers (Zongshi wanggong gongji biaozhuan), 125 biography, 103–104: historical (shizhuan), 40; literary (zhuan), 39 birthday: celebration, 260; festivities, 271; garments, 265. See also banquet blue houses (qinglou), 344, 382. See also brothels; courtesans; prostitutes; thin horses boats, 59, 128, 226, 312, 317; canal, 227; dragon, 261–264, 272n1; officials’, 143; pleasure, 74, 102, 104, 107, 127, 136, 143, 263–264; river, 227 Book of Changes (Yijing), 49n17, 204, 243, 245, 254n52 Book of Rites (Li ji), 188n45 Braggart’s Tale, The (Fei Tuo quanzhuan), 189, 199n1, 200n8 Breach Gate (Quekoumen), 108 Breadth in Learning and Vastness in Letters (boxue hongci) special examination, 115, 147n47, 280n21 Brocade Spring Flowering Islet (Jinquan huabu), 106 Brokaw, Cynthia, 5, 11 brokers, 58, 178; marriage, 53 brothels, 122, 132, 148n64, 219, 231–232, 252n29, 258–260, 315, 344, 386. See also blue houses; courtesans; prostitutes; thin horses Brown, Peter, 6–7 Buddhist: celebration, 306n41; Chan-, 72, 74, 85n19, 160; chanting, 129; cleric, 69, 74; devotee, 232; images, 387; laymen, 187n24; masters, 141; monasteries, 156; monks, 46, 403n15, 407; practices, 51, 171n53, 255n74; priest, 268–269; rituals, 256n83, 406–407; scriptures, 86n27; sign,

252n32; site, 150n121; story ( jataka), 67; sutra, 65; temples, 146n41. See also releasing live creatures butler (tangguan), 365 calligraphy, 71, 118, 120, 145n25, 159, 227, 233, 239–242, 244, 254n50, 255n66, 276, 281n22, 314, 389–390. See also scrolls, calligraphy Canton, 37 Cao Juren: “Chatting at Leisure about Yangzhou” (Xianhua Yangzhou), 309, 311–313; Myself and My World (Wo yu wo de shijie), 386–387 Capital, 4, 38, 49n15, 75–76, 105, 114, 124, 136, 152, 154–155, 173, 176, 211, 232. See also Beijing carriages, 42, 52, 59–60, 226, 393 cartoons, 343–344, 347 carving: bamboo, 238; on fans, 240; intaglio, 242; seal, 276; stone, 24 Celestial Lady Aunt Ye, 299–300 Celestial Realm Monastery (Shangfangsi), 105, 140 center and periphery, 4 centrifugal and centripetal forces, 5 Chan master of the Ultimate Truth (Dayi chanshi), 76 Chan-Buddhist Monastery of Ancient Enlightenment (Gudu chanlin), 160 Chang Residence Lane (Changfuxiang), 178 Changshan, 72 Chanzhi Temple (Chanzhisi), 351 Chao Chongzhi, 398 charity, 77–78, 164, 178–180, 189, 417. See also philanthropy charity tomb (yizhong), 179, 187n25 Chart of Good and Evil (Shan‘e tu), 189, 199n1, 200n8 chastity: female, 15, 104, 123, 134, 137, 139, 208, 213; widow, 137 Chastity Memorial Arch (Zhenjie paifang), 123 Chen Dizan, 140 Chen Dong: The Dream of Weiyang (Weiyang meng), 345 Chen Jiru, 23, 30, 35n45, 157, 163, 171n51 Chen Kengran, 289

Index Chen Si, 42 Chen Xiangshan, 179 Chen Xiu, 45–46 Chen Xuanzang, legend of, 297–298, 306n44 Chen Zheng, 68–77, 80–81, 84–85n16 Cheng Mengxing, 145n13: Short Chronicle of the Hall Level with the Mountains (Pingshantang lansheng zhi), 104–105 Cheng Zhanlu, 289 Chou Ju-hsi, 274, 276 Chow, Kai-wing, 87 Chronicle of the Baoyou Reign (Baoyou zhi), 139 chuanqi (southern-style drama), 149n93, 204, 215n21, 345 Chunxiang, 133, 149n94 circulation of books and printed matter, 11; nationwide, 15 city: life, sense of, 258; literature, 4; novel, 12, 14, 193, 258; peasants leaving for the, 291–292; relationship of countryside and, 259–260; spatial sense of the, 259 city god: 306n35, 418; Honorable Lord Ye, 294, 297, 300–301, 303 City God Temple (chenghuangmiao), 294, 418, 421 civil drama (wenxi), 204. See also drama civil ser vice examinations. See examinations, civil ser vice Classic of Lu Ban (Lu Ban jing), 154–155 Classic of Songs (Shijing), 34n27, 54–55, 176, 187nn31–32 Classified Dictionary of Poetry (Peiwen yunfu), 117 Clear Wind Sluice (Qingfengzha), 12–14, 17n36, 189–192, 194, 217, 379n8 cloisonné, 159, 171n42 clothes, 258: fur coats, 228; jacket, 262; robes, 262; socks, 262; trousers, 262; tunic, 262. See also fashion Clunas, Craig, 217 cock fighting, 60 Code of the Great Qing (Da Qing lüli), 155 Cold Garden (Lingyuan), 264 Collectanea of the Wangs from Jiangdu (Jiangdu Wang shi congshu), 91 collectors, 243: art, 19, 274; book, 116–118

commentary, social, 53 commerce, 54, 220 Commerce Street (Maimaijie), 24, 163. See also Lower Commerce Street commodities, 217, 219, 221, 393 common locality, 362. See also local place Compendium of Unofficial Histories of the Qing (Qingchao yeshi daguan), 392 Competing with The Lute (Sai Pipa), 214 Complete Library of the Four Trea suries (Siku quanshu), 114, 173 concubines, 52–53, 57–58, 120, 233, 315, 386–388; buying, 180; distinctions between wife and, 395; fear of husband’s taking, 296; market in, 382; marriage ceremony, 59; words for, 180–181. See also thin horses Confucian, 205, 216n35; canon, 65; classics, 5, 87; ethics, 38, 67; ideals, 289; morality, 5, 91; philosophy, 15; ritual, 6; scholar, 42; society, 137; virtues, 157 Confucianism, 39, 89 connoisseur, 54, 118, 132, 365 consumption, 106; conspicuous, 1. See also luxury goods contemporariness, 11, 67, 71, 101, 144n3, 175, 409 Convenient Gate (Bianyimen), 105 cosmopolitanism, Qing, 218 court-case story (gongan), 190, 192–193, 201n17 courtesan, 52, 56, 121–122, 233, 258–260, 265, 345; culture, 385; famous, 60, 63n16; houses, 382; novels, 193, 258; protectors of, 259; searching out, 391. See also blue houses; prostitutes; thin horses cranes, 133, 159, 170n39, 248–250, 257n96, 383. See also riding on a crane crickets, 113, 129, 247, 250 crowd, 53, 60, 226, 259, 295, 345, 411 Cui Lu, 398 Cui Yingying, 133, 149n94 cuisine, 36; haute, 314; Huai-Yang, 312, 315, 317, 319n33, 355n23; Huaiyin, 317; Shandong, 315–316, 319n33; Yangzhou, 403n15; Zhenjiang, 316 culinary: culture, 312; history, 311 cultural integration, 5–6

489

490

Index Cultural Revolution, 343, 347, 381 Current Regulations and Precedents on Interior Handicrafts in the Inner Court’s Garden of Perfect Brilliance (Neiting Yuanmingyuan neigong zhuzuo xianxing zeli), 154 Customs House (Chaoguan), 55–57, 60, 62n10 customs, 54, 102, 119, 175, 315, 401; degraded, 402; established, 391; folk, 154, 174, 176; local, 42, 142, 174–175, 178, 183–184, 219, 237, 285, 287, 305n15, 362, 383; old, 181; popu lar, 177; present, 387; Yangzhou, 199–200, 202n30, 264, 294. See also local customs Dai Zhen, 91 daily life. See everyday life; Yangzhou: daily life Daoist, 242; charm, 244–245; dress, 299; monasteries, 156; priest, 407, 423n19; ritual, 245, 256n83, 406; sage, 38; site, 150n121; wisdom, 67 “Daoist Immortal Lü Chunyang Thrice Harasses White Peony” (Lü Chunyang san xi Bai Mudan), 407 “Daoist Priest Wang Captures the Demon” (Wang daoshi na yao), 407 deities: Bodhisattvas, 150n129, 296, 303, 417; Crown Prince Spirit, 263; Dragon Girl (Longnü), 141; Earth God (Tudi), 141, 414, 423n30; Erlang, hero-god, 379n17; God of Blessing, 411; God of the Hearth, 410–411, 423n16; God of Longevity, 59; God of Pestilence, 411; God of Plague, 412; God of Poverty, 411; God of Wealth, 411, 417; Guanyin Pusa (Bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara), 272n8, 294–297, 306n37, 306n41; Jade Emperor, 423n16; King of Hell, 420; kitchen god, 265; Ksitigharba (Dizang), 141, 150n121, 150n129, 151n132; local, 287; Lord of Supreme Justice (qingtian yeye), 300; Maitreya, 141; Sudhana (Shancai), 141, 150n128; ten kings of Hell, 141, 150n129, 151n132; Vajrapani, 141; Weituo/Weiduo, 141, 146n41. See also city god Des Forges, Alexander, 7

Di Garden (Diyuan), 238, 240–241, 255n67 dialect, 5–6, 8, 192, 361, 380n20: Beijing, 367; boundaries, 14; Dingyuan, 18n44, 200n12; features, 192, 194; Huizhou, 201n14; Jiangbei (Jiangbei hua), 362, 367; local, 40, 175, 178, 288, 349, 361; northern, 185; regional, 5; songbooks in, 11; southern, 185; use of, 11, 192; Yangzhou, 8, 18n44, 191–192, 200n9, 202n32, 202n35–36, 258, 314, 352, 361, 363, 379nn12–13, 380n22, 380n24, 407, 409, 422n12. See also accent; language; storytellers’ registers Ding Family Bend (Dingjiawan), 178 Ding Gao, 118–120; son Ding Yicheng, 120; Portraiture and the Mind (Chuanzhen xinling), 118–120; Sequel to Portraiture and the Mind, 120 Dingyuan County, 14, 18n44, 190, 192, 194, 201n16 Dirt Sweeping Hill (Saogoushan), 179 ditties, 56, 225, 232 divination, 234, 244–245, 297–298, 418; boatmen as diviners, 245; Daoist charms, 245–246; forecasting, 254n52; fortunetelling, 130, 245–246, 293; skills, 246 Dogwood Bay, 28 Dong Bangda, 277 Dong Qichang, 20, 24, 32, 33n19, 35n45, 120, 147n61, 157, 160, 252n27, 277 Dong Weiye: Bamboo-Branch Songs on Yangzhou (Yangzhou zhuzhici), 176–177, 186n12 doorways, 156 double entendre, 91. See also puns; word games; word play Double Peace Monastery (Chongningsi), 114 Double Rainbow Teahouse (Shuanghonglou), 107 drama (xiqu), 344; historical, 203–204, 206; local, 5, 8, 14, 363 (see also huabu; Huai drama; luantan); military (wuxi), 204–205. See also chuanqi; yuanben; zaju drama troupes: Chuntai Company, 146n38, 205, 216n28; Deyin Company, 146n38, 149n102. See also theatrical troupes Dream of Red Mansions (Honglou meng), 228, 282, 286, 383

Index dreams, 20, 33n4. See also Yangzhou dream Drenched Eyebrows’ Prominence (Meirong), 162–163 drinking, 190, 195, 198; capacity, 370, 372–373; games, 196, 271, 314; liquor, 74–75, 79–80 drumsinging, 14, 266 Du Fu, 344, 380n23; “Song of the Eight Immortals of the Wine Cup” (Yin zhong ba xian ge), 278 Du Hongyu, 44 Du Liniang, 133, 149nn93–94 Du Mu, 344, 349, 355n20; courtesan Green Leaf (Lüye), 345; courtesan Purple Cloud (Ziyun), 345; courtesan Red Rain (Hongyu), 345; invented life stories for, 345; romances in Yangzhou, 344–346, 348 —poems: “Easing My Heart” (Qianhuai), 218, 251n6, 345, 350, 355n28, 382, 386; “Parting” (Zengbie), 351, 356n29; “Preface to the ‘Zhang Haohao Poem’ ” (Zhang Haohao shi xu), 345; “To Judge Han Chuo at Yangzhou” (Ji Yangzhou Han Chuo panguan), 62n8, 349–350, 354n10, 355n27; “Zhang Haohao Poem” (Zhang Haohao shi), 344 Duan Yucai, 88, 91 dumplings, 108, 261, 309; breakfast, 235; steamed, 312–313, 317; sweet, 234 Dwarf-Bamboo Garden (Xiaoyuan), 126–127 East Customs Street, 115 East Garden (Dongyuan), 114 Eastern Customs House (Dongguan), 108 Eastern Watergate (Dongshuiguan), 105 eccentric, 69, 84n15, 85n21, 112: artist, ideal of, 276. See also Eight Eccentrics of Yangzhou Eight Eccentrics of Yangzhou (Yangzhou ba guai), 274–275, 277, 351, 353, 355n22, 356n34, 386, 403n15; anecdotes about, 276, 280n20; assessment of, 279n4; biographical sources of, 275; lists of, 279nn7–8; historiography of, 279n8; rubric of, 274 Eight Immortals, 380n23. See also Lü Dongbin

eight-legged essays (baguwen), 113, 283 Elegies of Chu (Chu ci), 188n47 embroidery, 293, 389; of bedding, 229; of garments 228, 262; of shoes, 264; patterns, 304, 307n53; shop, 293 Emperor Yang of the Sui (Sui Yangdi), 2, 34n24, 386: tomb of, 320n39 Enlightenment Bridge (Kaimingqiao), 108 entertainment, 49n24, 91, 104, 121, 194, 258–260, 272n15 Eternal Spring Bridge (Changchunqiao), 105 everyday life, 1, 175, 185n3, 218, 253n42, 312; pleasures of, 106–109 evidential research (kaoju, kaozheng), 87, 154–155; evidential scholarship (kaozhengxue), 178 examinations, civil ser vice, 5, 19, 26, 38, 64, 87–88, 124, 165, 208, 211, 215n21, 216n35, 256n91, 272n9. See also Breadth in Learning and Vastness in Letters Exchanging a Leopard Cat for a Prince (Limao huan taizi), 321 exorcists’ incantations, 129 Extended Storage Gate (Guangchumen), 107–108, 295, 301 factions: Eastern Grove (Donglin), 21; Eunuch Party (Yandang), 21 Revival Society (Fushe), 21 fair ladies (meiren), 383 falconry, 60 famines, 145n12, 164 Fan Changjiang, 402, 405n60 Fan Jingwen, 43 Fan Luo and Xizi, story of, 396, 404n32. See also Xishi fashion, 15n1, 177, 182; clothing, 1; new, 228; in painting, 281n27. See also clothes; hairstyles; shoes feasts, 261, 293. See also banquets, festivals feet: bare, 142; bound, 296, 391; large, 54, 58; little, 232; manly, 56; small, 58, 123, 383 Fei Xuan: Fragrant Verses of the Yangzhou Dream (Yangzhou meng xiang ci), 144n3, 397 fellow townsman (tongxiang), 362, 367 female generals, 322, 324

491

492

Index Female Generals of the Yang Family, The (Yangmen nüjiang), 326. See also Yang Family Generals female impersonator (nandan), 205 Feng Menglong, 201nn17–18, 216n35; Gujin xiaoshuo (Stories old and new), 201n18; Jingshi tongyan (Stories to caution the world), 201n17 Feng Shigao: Poetry Collection of Tower of Another Shadow (Bieyinglou shi), 166 Feng Zikai: life of, 343; son Feng Xinmei, 344, 348, 350–351; daughter Feng Yiyin, 343, 347–348, 351; self-criticism, 346 —works of: “An Attempt to Write at New Year” (Xinchun shibi), 346; Complete Cartoons of Zikai (Zikai manhua quanji), 343; Paintings in Defense of Life (Hu sheng huaji), 343; Selected Works of Feng Zikai (Feng Zikai wenxuan), 343–344; “A Spring Excursion at West Lake” (Xihu chunyou), 346; “A Trivial Matter” (Yi jian xiao shi), 346; “The Twenty- four Bridge Is Still Here,” 350; “When Drinking Water, Think of Its Source” (Yin shui si yuan), 346; “The Yangzhou Dream” (Yangzhou meng), 7, 13, 15, 344–347, 354n1, 384 Fengyang Prefecture, 201n16 Fengyue meng. See Hanshang Mengren: The Dream of Romance festivals, 6, 223–224, 258; Begging for Handicraft Skills (Qiqiao), 224, 255n70; Buddha’s birthday, 223; Clear-and-Bright festival (Qingming), 52–53, 59; Double Ninth, 115; Double Seventh, 129, 149n86; Double Yang (Chongyang), 252n28; Dragon Boat (Duanwu), 109, 223; Duanyang, 259–260, 264, 266; Dutian, 249; Flower (Huachao), 223; Forenoon, 223; Green Sprout (qingmiaohui), 406; Guanyin’s Birthday, 140–142, 294, 306n41; Hungry Ghost, 407; Lantern (Yuanxiao), 254n53, 418; Mid-Autumn, 122, 223, 294; New Year, 109, 406, 410, 412, 414, 416, 418; Winter Clothes (Hanyi), 252n28; Winter Solstice (Dongzhi), 252n28

fiction: author, 68; fictional narrative (xiaoshuo), 67, 344; modern popu lar, 305n18; modern urban popu lar, 284, 289, 305n26; regional, 189. See also court-case story; novel; place: fictional representation of; tales of the strange; vernacular short story; West Lake fiction; Shanghai fiction Fift h Watchtower (Wuditai), 132, 135 fi lial piety, 15, 94, 137–138, 205, 208 Finnane, Antonia, 177, 192 fireworks, 244, 272n4 fish, 234; market, 109–110; salted, 110 Five Heroes Shrine (Situmiao, Wusitumiao), 140, 150n122 Fivefold Cranked Residence (Chiwulou), 106 Fixing-the-Huai Gate (Zhenhuaimen), 140 Flower Garden Lane (Huayuanxiang), 108 Flower Sellers Village (Maihuacun), 248 Flower Villa South of the River (Shuinan huashu yin‘gao) garden, 113 flower-drum opera (huaguxi), 206, 321, 407, 422n4 flowers: chrysanthemums, 248; jade flower (qionghua), 145n19, 247, 256n88, 386, 403n15; jasmine, 249; orchids, 111, 248–249; peach blossoms, 248; peonies, 247–248; Tang-dynasty flower, 256n89 flowers and willows (hualiu), 72, 85n22, 181 folk: culture, traditional, 325; folklore, 251n24, 325; hero, 150n122, 325; religion, 104; religion, local features of, 287; songs, 323; theater, 204, 326; Yangzhou folk literature, 408. See also huabu (flower section); popu lar local theater; popu lar song; customs food, 309: evoking what is local, 310; memories of, 310–311; as a reminder of home, 311; Shandong, 316; writing about, 310–311; Yangzhou, 316; Zhenjiang, 316. See also bean-curd threads; cuisine; dumplings; Huizhou; noodles; seafood; snacks foreign: foreign-style buildings, 261; lamps, 239; mansion (yanglou), 257n93; things, 218, 221; watches, 261. See also imported from abroad, items

Index Four Books (Si shu), 5 Four Eyes Well (Siyanjing), 178 Fourth Watchtower (Siditai), 123 fox spirits, 180 fruit, 246–247 furniture, 169n21, 238, 346, 348. See also wardrobes Fuzhou, 37 gambling, 60, 135, 189–190, 194, 196–198, 261, 267, 408–409, 411, 413–418, 420–421: with cards, 244; with dice, 244. See also games games: Bat and Ball, 271; chess, 71, 120, 128, 224, 238, 254n60, 389–390, 397; fi nger, 129; Flowing Cups, 271; guess-fi ngers, 196, 271; Ice Dish, 271; ivory tallies of the twenty-four views of Yangzhou (yapai ershisi jing), 159, 168n4, 170n37; of chance, 53, 63n20; Official Promotions (shengguantu), 244, 256n82; shuttlecock kicking, 60; Soft and Hard Kungfu, 271; Ten Lakes, 270; Ten Pots, 272n14. See also gambling gangs, 259, 314 Ganquan County, 118, 131, 139, 148n78, 173, 282 Gao Fenghan, 277–278, 281n24 Gao Jie, 19–20, 165–166, 172n62, 172n64 Gao Ming: The Story of the Lute (Pipa ji), 133, 149n95, 149n103, 205, 208, 215n23 Gao Xiang, 277, 351 Gaoyou, 257n100 garden, 1, 11, 19–20, 72, 104, 161, 223, 382, 386, 403n15: architecture, 153, 155–156; construction of, 20; description, 156; design of, 20; record (yuanji), 20 Garden of Affi rmation (Shiyuan), 113 Garden of Fine Trees (Jiashuyuan), 34n24 Garden of Perfect Brilliance (Yuanmingyuan), 167 Garden of Rest (Xiuyuan), 34n24, 126–127 Garden of Shadows (Yingyuan), 20–21, 23, 27, 156, 160, 164: construction, 160; inscriptions, 157, 161–163; literati gatherings in the, 157, 165; naming, 157, 160; scenic spots, 160–163; relics, 163. See also Zheng Yuanxun

Garden of the Pleasing Trees (Jiashuyuan), 157, 167 Garden of Yielding (Rangpu), 148n79 gardens owned by the Yan, Feng, and Yuan families, 161 gatha ( jie), 74, 85n25 gatherings, literati, 114–115, 126, 148n79, 157, 165 gazetteers: local, 401; official, 101–102, 104 Gazetteer of the Garden of Rest (Xiuyuan zhi), 167 Generals of the Yang Family (Yang jia jiang), 321, 341n6. See also Yang Family Generals genre: affi liations, 9; determining use of registers of language, 8; framing, 9; imagined audiences for, 9; literary, 1; per formance, 6, 36–37, 135, 206–207, 323; question of local versus national, 10. See also bamboo-branch songs; Beijing Opera; biography; garden record; incense-fire plays; jottings; novel; rhapsody; tales of the strange; vernacular short story; Yangzhou Opera; Yangzhou storytelling geomancy (fengshui), 34n28 ghosts, 180, 190, 192, 303 Girl with the Red Silk Ribbon (Hongxiao nü), 134, 149n100 glass: glasses, 121; lanterns, 271; windows, 237–238 go-between, 197, 292, 306n32, 393. See also brokers, marriage; matchmaker Golden Embankment (Huangjinba), 109–110 Golden Hill, 112 goldfish, 249, 266, 271 Gong Jianxiang, 139 Gong Wei: Chaolin’s Random Notes (Chaolin bitan), 394 Gong Zizhen: “Passing through Yangzhou again in the sixth month of the jihai year” (Jihai liuyue chong guo Yangzhou ji), 171n40 Graceful Tranquility Gate (Xuningmen), 108, 113 Grand Canal, 3–4, 22, 33n23, 62n10, 97n21, 192, 221, 257n100, 319n34 Green Grass Canal (Caohe), 105, 107

493

494

Index Gu Kaizhi, 118, 147n53, 158 Guangling (Yangzhou), 1–2, 42, 55, 90, 92–93, 96, 98nn24–26, 99n32, 181, 244, 284, 352, 356n36, 389, 401 Guangling chao. See Li Hanqiu: The Tides of Guangling “Guangling dui.” See Wang Zhong: “Dialogue about Guangling” Guanyin: Hall (Guanyintang), 113; Monastery, 139; Mountain (Guanyinshan), 139, 294–295, 302, 306n41; Pilgrimage Road (Guanyin xianglu), 140; Road, 306n42; Shrine (Guanyintang), 248; Street (Guanyinjie), 140, 142; Temple, 9, 259. See also deities: Guanyin Pusa Guazhou, 105, 109 guilds: craft, 406; merchant, 406; timber merchants’, 130, 143 hair, flowers in the, 53, 60, 224, 249, 297 hairdressers, 232 hairpin, 58, 199, 292, 300, 302, 377, 392 hairstyles, 397 Hall Level with the Mountains (Pingshantang), 22, 26, 34n24, 60, 157, 158. See also Level with the Mountains Han Bangqing: Lives of Shanghai Flowers (Haishang hua liezhuan), 305n12 Han Canal (Han‘gou), 28, 55, 62n9, 92, 97n21, 186n10 Han Yu, 90 Hancheng (Yangzhou), 1, 186n10 handbook of construction, 153 handicrafts, 255n70. See also skills Hang Shijun, 147n49; Collection from the Hall of Discoursing about Antiquity (Daogutang ji), 115, 143, 166 Hangzhou (Qiantang, Wulin), 3–4, 14, 36, 43, 51, 53–54, 60, 78, 84n2, 92, 170n33, 173–174, 176–177, 182, 208, 230, 285–286, 349; literature, 16n12 Hanjiang (Yangzhou), 9, 22, 32, 159, 170n38, 186n10, 352, 356n36 Hanjiang sanbai yin. See Lin Sumen: Three Hundred Poems of Hanjiang Hankou newspaper: Public Opinion News (Gonglun xinbao), 287

Hanshang Mengren (The Fool of Yangzhou): Dream of Romance (Fengyue meng), 7, 12–14, 193, 217, 219, 258, 259, 305n12, 310 Hao Tianxiu, 216n28 He Ruchong, 49n23 He Wenduan, 43 Heavenly Kingdom of Universal Peace (Taiping Tianguo). See Taiping Rebellion Heavenly Protection Wall (Tianbaocheng), 317, 320n38 Heavenly Tranquility Gate (Tianningmen), 108, 157, 265 Heavenly Tranquility Monastery (Tianningsi), 60, 105, 143, 164 Heavenly Waves Residence (Tianbofu), 323, 328, 332 Heavenly Weaver and Herd Boy, legend about, 129, 149nn85–86, 223, 251n24 hermitage, 167 hermits, 29, 68–69, 84n15, 227, 248. See also recluse heroism, 323–324 High Bridge (Gaoqiao), 109 hinterland, 3, 14, 193–194 historiography, 91, 99n29, 99n34, 279n8, 381 Hongniang, 133, 149n94 horse, 111: expressions incorporating the word, 387–388; female as, 399–400; racing, 60 Hot Pepper Pi Fift h (Pi Wu Lazi), 407–409; complexity of the character, 422n9; nickname of, 422n7. See also Pi Fift h household encyclopedia (riyong leishu, wanbao quanshu), 65 Hu Shi, 289 Hua Yuan, 274 huabu (flower section), 8, 146n38, 203–205, 208–211, 214. See also luantan; popu lar local theater Huabu nongtan. See Jiao Xun: Peasant Chats on Popular Local Theater Huai drama (Huaixi), 378n6, 379n15 Huai River, 2, 62n9, 94, 97n20, 109–110, 141, 319n34, 347, 352 Huai-Yang, 389. See also cuisine Huainan, 110–111 Huaiyin, 319n34

Index Huang Jiarui, 165 Huang Jingren, 123, 148n66 Huang Junxing, 124 Huang Shen, 278, 281n27, 351 Huang Wenyang, 104, 131: son Huang Wujia, 131–132; wife Zhang Jingyin, 131 —works of: A Catalogue of Bottle Gourds (Hulu pu), 131; The Collectanea of the Hidden and the Strange (Yinguai congshu), 131; Collected Works of a Subaltern Official (Bingguan ji), 131; Encyclopedia of Old and New (Gujin tongkao), 131; An Introduction to General History (Tongshi fafan), 132; Poems from the Hut at Filth-Sweeping Hill (Saogou shanfang shichao), 131 Huang Yu, 127, 148n81 Huang Zhaosen: Dreaming of Yangzhou (Meng Yangzhou), 345 Huang Zongxi: “Biography of Liu Jingting” (Liu Jingting zhuan), 150n107 Huizhou: food, 254n54; merchants, 60, 68, 192; noodles, 310; Prefecture, 6, 9, 19, 21, 68, 77, 111, 145n12, 146n43, 157, 164, 241, 272n5; Restaurant, 235. See also dialect humor, 14, 101, 106, 111, 136, 233, 406, 409 Hundred Flowers Campaign, 347 identity: construction of, 17n21, 192; cultural, 51; group, 13, 175; regional, 195; sources of, 13–14; Yangzhou, 19, 22, 192–193. See also local identity Immortal Crane’s Craw (Xianhesu), 105 immortals, 22, 34n30, 128, 236, 366: abodes of, 157, 170n35; island of the, 70, 73, 85n16. See also Eight Immortals Imperial Garden, 114 Imperial Household Department (Neiwufu), 117, 154 imported from abroad, items, 177–178; air-rifles, 218; clocks, chime, 182–183; cotton, 233; fabrics, 228; lamps, 218; watch, foreigner’s, 183; western goods, 184; wool, 182. See also foreign incense-fire plays (xianghuoxi), 207, 321, 406, 422n1 ink monochrome outline technique (baimiao), 281n28

international trade. See imported from abroad; foreign irony, 174, 205; dramatic, 194 Jade Clarity Temple (Yuqinggong), 125 Jade Flower Temple (Qionghuaguan), 107 Jasper Flower Collection from the Garden of Shadows, The (Yingyuan yaohua ji), 24, 171n60 Jesuits, 147n51, 257n93 Ji Cheng, 21, 23, 32, 35n50; The Craft of Gardens (Yuanye), 21, 23, 35n50, 157 Ji Yongren: The Dream of Yangzhou (Yangzhou meng), 345, 354, 356n37 Ji Yun: Random Jottings from the Cottage of Close Scrutiny (Yuewei caotang biji), 130 Jia Baoyu, 383 Jian Zhen 386, 403n15 Jiang Chengzong, 29, 35n42, 162, 171n49 Jiang Chun, 104, 112–114, 205, 216n28; descendants, 114; life and career, 146n27; son, 114; theatrical troupes Deyin and Chuntai, 112, 146n38 —works of: Autumn Songs from the Estate of Depth (Shenzhuang qiuyong), 113; Essays from the Following-the-Moon Study (Suiyue dushulou shiwen), 113 Jiang Deliang, 88 Jiang Family Bridge (Jiangjiaqiao), 114 Jiang Family Garden (Jiangyuan), 128 Jiang Fan, 88, 91 Jiang Feng, 321 Jiang Kui: “The Slow Tune of Yangzhou” (Yangzhou man), 345, 347, 355n18 Jiang Shidong, 137 Jiang Shiquan, 125–126, 148n75, 281n26 Jiang-Huai region, 164, 380n20, 380n23 Jiangbei, 14, 193, 194, 363. See also dialect Jiangdu (Yangzhou), 2, 320n39, 352, 356n36 Jiangdu County, 64, 87, 105, 139, 145n13, 148n81, 150n114, 165, 282, 406 Jiangdu County Gazetteer (Jiangduxian zhi), 153, 163 Jiangnan region, 14, 18n42, 87, 122, 140, 162, 185, 232, 273, 277, 383, 392, 394, 396. See also Lower Yangzi region Jiao Tinggui, General, 322

495

496

Index Jiao Xun, 88; life and works, 204 —works of: Illustrations of Palaces in the Classics (Qunjing gongshi tu), 154, 167, 172n70; Peasant Chats on Popular Local Theater (Huabu nongtan), 15, 203–207; Sayings on Drama (Ju shuo), 204 Jiaodong Zhou Sheng (Scholar Zhou of Jiaodong). See Zhou Boyi Jiaoshan Temple (Jiaoshansi), 348 Jin Nong, 274, 278, 280n21, 281nn22–23, 349, 351, 355n22 Jin Zhaoyan, 136, 150n108, 189 Jin Zhi, 397 Jingdezhen, 155–156 Jingzhong Temple (Jingzhongsi), 319n37 Johnson, David, 5 jokes, 44, 56, 65, 124, 129, 130, 136, 230, 253n33, 266–267, 315, 409, 422n4 jottings (biji), 103; random (biji), 221, 310. See also notes Journey to the West (Xiyou ji), 272n8, 306n44 Ju Fuchen, 37 Judge Bao (Bao gong), 190, 192–193 Kang Hai, 73, 85n23, 114 Kang Hill (Kangshan), 85n23, 113–114. See also Kang Hai Kong Shangren: The Peach Blossom Fan (Taohua shan), 253n47, 388 Kong Yupu, 138 Kunqiang, 132, 146n38, 213. See also Kunqu Kunqu, 15, 132, 135, 146n38, 149nn101–102, 204–205, 207–208, 213–214 Kunshan, 204, 394; strings, 389 “Lady White Snake Fights the Monk Fahai at Golden Mountain Temple” (Bai niangniang Jinshan dou Fahai), 207 lakes: Ailing, 109–110; Dongting, 247; five, 396; Pishe, 109–110; Shaobo, 109–110; Tai (Taihu), 34n33. See also Slender West Lake lamps, 218, 221, 233, 239–240, 247 landscape, 6, 72; appreciation of, 77, 283; city, 153; cultural, 55; designs, 240; local, 15, 22, 153; natural, 70; potted, 241. See also painting

language: Capital (Jinghua), 8, 379n19; Classical Chinese (wenyan), 5, 8, 38, 53, 90–91, 103, 178, 286–287, 322; colloquial, 103, 174–175, 178, 409; dialect from North of the River (Jiangbeihua), 362, 367; Jiang-Huai Mandarin, 18n44, 192, 200n12; local Mandarin (difang guanhua), 8, 361, 379n18; local variation of Mandarin, 286; local Yangzhou dialect (Yangzhou fangyan), 361, 363, 379n12, 380n24; low-style local dialect (Yangzhou jiaxianghua), 361; low-style patois (tuyu), 200n10, 361; Mandarin (guanhua), 8, 17n32, 40, 192, 200n10, 258, 361, 367, 380n20; Modern Standard Chinese (putonghua), 8, 322, 361, 380n20, 422n12; North Chinese dialects (Beifang fangyan), 361; Northern Mandarin (Beifang guanhua), 8, 18n44, 361–362; registers of, 8, 192, 200n10; vernacular (baihuawen), 175, 286–287, 345; Western, 185; Yangzhou patois (tuyu), 361, 400; Yangzhou speech (Yangzhouhua), 361. See also accent; dialect Laughlin, Charles, 310, 319n23 lean horse (shouma), 58. See also thin horse lecturing on ancient times ( jianggu), 37 ledgers of merit and demerit, 86n29 leisure: activities, 177; joys of, 74–76; literature of, 310; Yangzhou as the city of, 106 Leisurely Old Man’s Gate (Xiaosoumen), 163 Lesser Thousand Men’s Throne (Xiao Qianrenzuo), 28, 162 letter and kerchief (shupa), 63n15 Level with the Mountains (Pingshan), 138, 226, 253n34. See also Hall Level with the Mountains Li Bai, 30, 35n45, 344, 348, 355n22, 366, 380n23; “Seeing off Meng Haoran for Guangling at the Yellow Crane Tower” (Huanghelou song Meng Haoran zhi Guangling), 304n9, 350, 354n10, 355n26 Li Dou: author’s own voice, 127; knowledge of building trade, 153–154; life of, 101–102; link with timber trade, 143; personality, 104; as a playwright, 101–102, 132

Index —works of: Aitang’s Ballads (Aitang yuefu), 102; Collection from the Hall of Eternal Retribution (Yongbaotang ji), 102; The Marvel Tale of Planet Jupiter (Suixing ji chuanqi), 102; preface to The Plea sure Boats of Yangzhou, 153; The Story of a Strange Misery (Qisuan ji), 102; Yangzhou huafang lu (The Plea sure Boats of Yangzhou), 9, 14, 24, 61–62n8, 101–103, 106, 112, 130–131, 144n3, 152–158, 168n4, 189, 200n8, 217–218, 227, 273, 310, 351, 408 Li Fangying, 276, 278, 281n26, 351 Li Fei: Records of the Famous Gardens of Luoyang (Luoyang mingyuan ji), 157, 170n33 Li Hanqiu: life of, 282–283; pen names, 282; popularity of, 288–290; relative Li Shiquan, 283; studies on, 306n28; works of, 283–284, 304n1 —works of: Errors of Love (Qing cuo), 284; The History of Sorrows and Evils in Society (Shehui bei‘e shi), 284; Human Reflections in the Mirror (Jingzhong renying), 284; The Mirror of Demons (Meijing), 284; The Mirror of Transition (Guodu jing), 283, 287, 289; The New Tides of Guangling (Xin Guangling chao), 289; Notes from the Pavilion of Permeating Fragrance (Qinxiangge biji), 304n1; A Strange Family: With a Sequel (Guai jiating zhengxu ji), 284; The Tides of Guangling (Guangling chao), 9, 283–290, 288; A Young Woman (Nü qingnian), 284 Li Ling Stele, The (Li Ling bei), 206 Li Richeng, 165 Li Sanniang, 149n100 Li Shan, 278, 310, 351 Li Shutong, 343 Li Tianzuo, 137 Li Tingzhi, 95 Li Yu1 (fiction author and playwright, 1611–1680), 34n39; Casual Expressions of Idle Feeling (Xianqing ouji), 84n13, 85n24, 391, 404n29; Twelve Towers (Shi‘er lou), 68; “The Tower of Heeding Criticism” (Wen guo lou), 68

Li Yu2 (playwright, c. 1591–c. 1671): A Handful of Snow (Yi peng xue), 208, 216n26 Li Yu 3 (Southern Tang ruler and man of letters), 278, 281n22 Li Yufen: Catalogue of Browsing through the Calligraphy and Painting of the Ouboluo Studio (Ouboluoshi shuhua guomu kao), 274, 276 Li Zhiyin, 116 Li Zhounan, 127, 148n78 Li Zicheng, 39 Liang Zhangju, 221 Liang-Huai: region, 3, 117; salt administration, 111; salt monopoly, 114 libraries, 27, 116; private, 114, 116; official, 116 libretto script ( juben), 322. See also scenario script lifestyle, 37, 67, 85n21, 177; luxurious, 315; traditional, 15, 285 Like-Water Pier (Ruoshui matou), 140 Lin Daiyu, 383 Lin Dike (Linti), 72 Lin Sumen, 174, 277; father Lin Qingquan, 179, 185n2; life of, 173–174, 185n1; nephew and patron of (see Ruan Yuan); nephew Lin Pu, 177; “Sequel to Bamboo-Branch Songs on Yangzhou” (Xu Yangzhou zhuzhici), 176, 185n1; Three Hundred Poems from Hanjiang (Hanjiang sanbai yin), 11, 12, 147n62, 176–177, 186n13, 217–218, 254n54, 310–311 Lin Yutang, 219; “Eating and Drinking,” 311–312 Ling Tingkan, 88, 103, 145n9, 218 Ling Xia: life of, 276 —works of, 277: Catalogue of Inscriptions on Ancient Bronze Objects and Stone Tablets Collected in the Hall of Favorite Hobbies (Pihaotang shoucang jinshi mulu), 280n13; Collection of the Hall of Heavenly Hiding (Tianyintang ji), 277; “Song of the Eight Eccentrics of Yangzhou” (Yangzhou ba guai ge), 274–275, 277 Literary Amusements from the Belvedere of the Love of Solitude (Meiyouge wenyu), 171n51 Literary Inquisition (wenziyu), 104

497

498

Index literati, 36, 38, 43, 91, 383; authors, 175, 215n21; gatherings, 114–115, 126, 148n79, 157, 165; late-Ming, 20, 23, 35n41, 35n48, 164; painting, 85n20, 351; Qing, 252n33; writing, 311, 344 Little East Gate (Xiao Dongmen), 62n10, 105, 107 Little Exquisite Mountain Lodge (Xiao Linglong shanguan), 126 Little Gold Hill (Xiao Jinshan), 261, 263 “Little Nun Escapes Down the Mountain” (Xiao nigu xia shan), 407 Little Peach Blossom Spring (Xiao Taohuayuan), 22, 27, 160 Little Qinhuai (Xiao Qinhuai), 62n10, 105, 121 Little Qinhuai Teahouse (Xiao Qinhuai chasi), 132 Little Wang Second (Wang Xiao‘er), 407–408 Little Welcome-the-Emperor Canal (Xiao Ying‘enhe), 107 Liu Jingting, 14, 37, 52–53, 57–58, 230, 253n47, 357, 359, 377n2; dates of, 47n1; life of, 36–37, 40–44; names of, 41–42; place of origin, 47n2; reminiscence literature on, 40. See also Wu Weiye; Huang Zongxi Liu Maoji: Maps of the Two [Parts of the] City of Yangzhou (Yangzhou liang cheng tu), 153 Liu Taihong, 88 Liu Zongyuan, 90 Liyang, 92, 97n19 loan-sharking, 259 local: chronicler, 284–285; community, 175; expression, 362; focus, 67; genre versus national genre, 9; history, 4–5, 285; identity, 193, 363; in literature, 1, 6, 8; legend, 285; literature, 4–5; and non-local, interplay between, 9; peasants, 203; personages, 361; place, essay about, 313. See also under customs; deities; dialect; drama; gazetteers local features: of language, 361; of architecture, 362; of clothes, 362; of food, 362; of scenery, 362 Long Dike (Changtang), 60 Longjiangguan, 50n28

Lotus Flower Bridge (Lianhuaqiao), 105, 140, 142, 263–264 Lotus Flower Channel (Lianhuageng), 107 Lotus Nature Monastery (Lianxingsi), 105 Love Songs and Secret Lore of Tshangyang Gyatsho (Cangyang Jiacuo qingge ji mizhuan), 399–400 Lower Commerce Street (Xia Maimaijie), 265 Lower North Canal, 108 Lower South Canal Street (Nanhe xiajie), 113 Lower Yangzi region, 36, 38, 40, 49n19, 51, 98n27, 192, 219–220, 253n42, 357, 362–363. See also Jiangnan region Lü Dongbin, 366, 380n23, 407 Lu Jianzeng, 144n3, 148n79, 153, 168n168 Lu Lin, 220 Lu Rong: Miscellaneous Notes from the Garden of Pulses (Shuyuan zaji), 396 Lu Tanwei, 158 Lu Wenchao, 88 Lu Xinyuan: Record of Glancing through the Hall of Rice Stalks and Pear (Rangliguan guoyan lu), 276 Lu Xun, 219, 285, 290, 309 Lu Yayu, 119 luantan (confused strumming), 8, 204, 208, 321. See also drama; huabu Lujin Shrine (Lujinci), 250, 257n100 Luo Pin, 274, 279n7, 310, 351 luxury goods, 1. See also consumption; material culture Lyrics of Baixiang, The (Baixiang cipu), 347–348, 355n17 Ma Liben, 139, 150n114 Ma Minglu, 165 Ma Yueguan, 113–116, 146n29; Ma family, 126; Poems of the Old Recluse of the Sandy River (Shahe yilao shiji), 115; son Ma Zhenbo, 116–117; as sponsor of publications, 115, 147n46 Ma Yuelu, 114–116; Collection from the Southern Studio (Nanzhai ji), 115; libraries, 116; son Ma Yu, 115, 117 Ma Zhiyuan, 399 macro-regions, 4 magic, 130, 266, 271

Index Manchus, 37, 49n15, 54, 215n21 Mandarin-ducks-and-butterfl ies school (Yuanyang hudie pai), 289–290, 305n26. See also fiction: modern urban popu lar martial arts, 220, 329; contests, 325, 326; novels, 201n22; teaching, 334 matchmakers, 135, 190, 306n32, 391, 393–396, 401–402. See also brokers, marriage; go-between material culture, 14, 54, 217–219, 221; late-Ming, 52. See also imported from abroad, items; luxury goods May Fourth: intellectuals, 289–290; Literature, 289; Movement, 289 Maze Tower (Milou), 26, 28, 34n24 McLaren, Anne, 17n32 memory: collective, 344; cultural, 54; personal, 54 Meng Dingguo, General, 322 Meng Lijun, 321 Meng Yuanlao: Dream of Splendors Past in the Eastern Capital (Dongjing meng hua lu), 101, 170n33 Meng Yue, 218 merchants, 21, 72, 114, 140, 158, 183, 243, 383, 396: Handan, 393; Shanxi, 60; timber, 190; wealthy, 218, 382, 391, 401; wine, 369. See also salt merchants; Huizhou merchants metropolis, 3, 38, 312 Meyer-Fong, Tobie, 4, 221 Min Zhen, 404n32 Ming dynasty, late: art critic, 20; beliefs, 86n29; corruption, 216n26; dramatist, 207; dreams, 33n4; fiction 16n12, 206, 310; garden, 19, 23, 156; “informal prose,” 310; literati, 20, 23, 35n41, 35n48, 164; material culture, 52; notes, 176; painters, 277; politics, 21; salt monopoly, 3; setting of fiction, 67; statesman, 35; storytellers, 49n24 Ming loyalism, 38, 41, 51, 171n41, 172n62, 216n35 Ming- Qing transition. See under transition Ministry of Public Works, 154–155, 167 Miscellaneous Jottings from the Western Capital (Xijing zaji), 118

misers, 68, 78, 81, 236 Mo Houguang, 40, 42 Monastery of Resplendent Teaching (Xingjiaosi), 108 Monk Ji Gong, The (Ji gong), 321 Monk Yaogen, 127, 148n80 Moonlight Bridge (Yuemingqiao), 351, 353 morality books (shanshu), 65 morning tea (zaocha), 201n30. See also customs Mountain of Merit (Gongdeshan), 139–141. See also Guanyin Mountain Mu Guiying, 323, 325, 341n4 Nakagawa Chusei: Recorded Accounts of Qing Customs (Shinzoku kibun), 154–155 Nanjing (Jiangning, Jiankang, Jianye, Jinling), 3, 13–14, 24, 36, 38–40, 42–43, 45–47, 54, 57, 60, 63n16, 92, 94–95, 97n19, 99nn31–32, 121, 139, 164, 286–287, 320n38, 321, 361, 383, 407 native-place chauvinism, 385 New Account of Tales of the World (Shishuo xinyu), 53, 62n14 New City, 85n23, 105, 115, 153, 178, 254n57. See also Old City Ni Yuanlu, 23, 29, 35n42, 162, 171n49 night patrol, 229 Nine Crooks Pond (Jiuquchi), 141 Nine Glorious Mountains (Jiuhuashan), 140, 150n121, 151n129 Ningbo, 110, 221 Niudawang, 294, 298 non-fiction, 8, 67–68 noodles, 235–236, 309–311, 313, 316; noodle houses, 316. See also Huizhou noodles North Gate: Bridge (Beimenqiao), 107; Pier, 144; Street (Beimenjie), 107, 109 nostalgia, 41, 310, 349, 352, 384 notes, collection of (biji), 176, 344. See also jottings novel: classic, 310; courtesan, 193, 258; city, 12, 193, 258; modern urban, 285; serialization, 284, 286–287; social, 289–290; urban popu lar, 284. See also Shanghai novel; Yangzhou novel nunneries, 121

499

500

Index Official Canal (Guanhe), 109 Okada Gyukuzan: Illustrated Description of the Famous Sites of China (Morokoshi meishō zue), 154 Old City, 62n10, 64, 69, 149n91, 153, 219, 319n37. See also New City Old Ford Bridge (Guduqiao), 60, 105 opium: addiction, methods of curing, 237; harm of, 236–237; lamp, 236–237, 243, 261; paraphernalia, 243; pipe, lighting the, 293; smoking, 259 Opium War, 221, 253n42 oral per formance. See drama; storytelling; Three Kingdoms; Water Margin orchestra, 126 outing, 104, 127, 225, 228, 249, 287 Ouyang Xiu, 22, 34n24, 90, 344 painting, 68, 71, 104, 314, 343, 389–390, 397; art of, 119; artisan, 68, 80, 85n20; bamboo, 278; colophons on, 310; commercial, 85n20, 278; flower-and-bird, 71, 77, 121; ink, 244; landscape, 19–20, 22, 25, 25–26, 35n42, 54, 71, 73, 77, 86n28, 121, 140, 239, 255n69, 275, 279n4; literati, 85n20; objects, 71; plum blossom, 278; portrait, 46, 71, 118–121; technique of, 77; ruler-lined ( jiehua), 54, 61n6; Southern Song, 54, 60–61. See also Eight Eccentrics of Yangzhou; scrolls, painting; Yangzhou painting Pan Yue, 57, 62n12 paper models (tangyang), 155, 159, 169n24 Parade Ground (Jiaochang), 107, 236, 246, 259, 264 pastimes, 51, 77, 177, 247, 252n33, 314. See also entertainment; festivals; games; leisure; outings pastries, 234–235, 349 patriotism, 323, 325, 345 pawnbrokers, 190, 192, 262, 272n5, 416 pawnshop, 198–199, 416, 423n35 Peng Yuanrui, 125 Peony Alley (Shaoyaoxiang), 133 Perch of the Precious Stamen (Baoruiqi), 160, 163 per formance styles: Daoist and Buddhist scriptural recitations and per formances,

406–407; diddling (chuo bao‘er), 396; Erhuang, 263; jokes, 266–267; Mashangchuo, 263; off-stage mimic, 267–271; popu lar songs, 267–268; scenes from fan plays, 271; singing, 389–390; slapstick comedy, 409; song in Beijing style, 267; sound imitation, 267; Suzhou style of singing, 148n70; vaudev ille, 265, 271, 272n11; vocal mimicry, 136; Xipi, 263. See also storytelling performing genres: Shandong clapper tale (Shandong kuaishu), 378n6; Fuzhou pinghua, 379n15; Sichuan pinghua, 379n15. See also Beijing Opera; Yangzhou Opera; Yangzhou storytelling philanthropy, 136. See also charity Pi Fift h (Pi Wu), 135, 191, 193, 195–199; biography, 189; names, 189, 198, 200n4. See also Hot Pepper Pi Fift h Pi Fifth Celebrates New Year (Pi Wu guo nian), 14, 407–409, 408, 422n5 Pi Fift h the Hot Pepper (Pi Wu Lazi), 189, 200n4, 200n10 Pi Fift h the Rogue (Pi Wu Laizi), 190, 194 Pi Wu guo nian. See Pi Fifth Celebrates New Year pilgrimage, 139, 141–142, 150n116, 151n129, 294–295, 306n40 Ping Heng: The Tides of the Human Ocean (Renhai chao), 305n11 pinghua (commented talk), 47n3. See also Yangzhou storytelling places: fictional representation of, 6; in literature, 6, 13, 51; literary, 6, 157; naming of, 178; paying homage to, 6; representation in literature, 7, 175, 286, 313, 382. See also local literature pleasure quarters, 60, 62n10, 193, 219 Plum Blossom Hill (Meihualing), 125–126, 317, 320n41 Plum in the Golden Vase, The (Jin ping mei), 403n19, 405n54 poetry, 310; appreciation, 77; collaborative writing of, 126; competitions, 127; recitals, 314; regulated-verse, 264; salons, 224; society, 31 popu lar: beliefs, 287; culture, 38, 41

Index popu lar local theater, 203–204, 206–207, 211, 214. See also huabu poverty, 41, 83, 187n38, 211, 246, 260, 410, 417 Prince Rui (Dorgon), 125–126, 148n74 printing: family, 65; houses, 199n1; private, 186n14. See also publishing producing women, Yangzhou as, 315, 384, 386–387, 396. See also thin horses prose: classical, 91; informal, 310; nonfiction, 55; old-style (guwen), 90, 355n20 prostitutes, 52–53, 56, 219, 309, 315, 382–383, 385–387. See also blue houses; thin horses Prunus Blossom Ridge, 28 Public Shop (Gongdian), 179 publishing, 116, 283: industry, 219; popu lar, 5; projects, 111 Pukou, 308 puns, 200n8, 201n26, 253n33, 256n78, 272n13, 405n53. See also double entendre; word game; word play Pure Wind Pavilion, The (Qingfengting), 207, 211, 214 Qi Shaonan, 113, 146n28 Qi-Lu region, 5 Qian Qianyi, 24 Qianlong Emperor, 100n42, 104, 112, 116, 125, 144n3, 218; visits to Yangzhou, 4, 104, 112, 132, 150n120, 152–153. See also Southern Inspection Tours Qiao Ji, 399; Du Mu’s Dream of Poetry and Wine in Yangzhou (Du Mu zhi shi jiu Yangzhou meng), 344–345, 354, 356n37 Qing conquest, 1, 3, 37, 51 Qing court, 152–153 Qing dynasty: architects, 169n24; artistic traditions, 152; authors, 64, 148n75, 220, 310, 351; beliefs, 86n29; book culture, 11; building standards, 155; capital, 49n15; cosmopolitanism, 218; drama, 345; dress, 253n39; fiction, 219, 286, 310; law, 169n25; literati, 252n33; living conditions, 286; monarchy, 315; painters, 279n5, 351, 355n22; professionals, 155; prose, 91; salt merchants, 3; scholar, 87, 388; scholarship, 88, 255n76; setting of fiction,

67; storytelling “schools,” 357; taboo characters, 187n36; trade networks, 14 Qingfengzha. See Clear Wind Sluice Qingjiang, 14 Qinhuai River, 54, 60 Qiu Ying, 157, 170n35 Qu Qiubai, 289 Qu Yuan, 264, 272n1 Qufu, 173 radio broadcast, 357, 378n5 railways, 4, 308 Rainbow Bridge (Hongqiao), 72, 74, 105, 107, 136, 144n3, 261 Rainbow Bridge Road, 140 rascals: buying up young girls, 401; chasing young women, 295 readership, 65, 67–68, 175, 287–288; non-local, 287. See also audience recluse, 46, 76, 171n45, 281n25. See also hermit Rectification Campaign, 346 recumbent traveling (wo you), 33n20, 159, 170n39 Red Boy, 263, 272n8 Red Peony Bridge (Hongyaoqiao), 62n8. See also Twenty-four Bridge Reed, Christopher, 219 regional: culture, 36; descent, common, 88; histories, 4; identity, 192, 195; literature, 4, 16n12; theater styles, 204, 206. See also dialect, regional; local identity; local literature Regulations and Precedents Concerning Technical Instructions for the Building Crafts by the Ministry of Public Works (Gongbu gongcheng zuofa), 154 releasing live creatures (fangsheng), 35n48, 171n53. See also Buddhist religion. See Buddhist; Daoist; deities; folk religion; religious cults religious cults, 139, 258 restaurants, 107, 234, 258, 313, 349, 351–353, 355n23, 362. See also Huizhou Restaurant; Yangzhou restaurants rhapsody (fu), 90, 158 riddles, 259 riding on a crane, 159, 170n39. See also cranes

501

502

Index rocks: from Lake Tai (Taihu), 34n33, 241; from Mount Huang (Huangshan), 28, 34n33 Romance of the Three Kingdoms (Sanguo yanyi), 150n109, 272n10 Romance of the Western Chamber (Xixiang ji), 149n94 Romance of the Yang Family Generals, The (Yang jia jiang yanyi), 206. See also Yang Family Generals romanticism, 324–325 Rong Fenglou, 321 Rouge Well (Yanzhijing), 178 Ruan Dacheng, 21, 45 Ruan Family Retreat (Ruanjia‘an), 233 Ruan Yuan, 87–88, 102, 144n6, 145n9, 173–174, 176, 178, 187n20, 320n37; mother of, 185n2. See also Lin Sumen Ruitenbeek, Klaas, 169n13, 169n24 rural and urban folk, 294 rural-urban divide, 5. See also cultural integration salt, 110; boats, 143; brokerage, 178; business, 111; censor of Liang-Huai, 179; industry, 145n22; monopoly, 3–4, 100n43, 192, 391; production, 179; shipping, 143; trade, 6, 34n38, 77, 100n43, 111. See also salt merchants salt merchants, 1, 3, 6, 19, 68, 111, 145n12, 145n22, 152, 178, 205, 245, 315, 382, 396; drama troupes, 215n10; extravagance of, 111–112; providing social relief, 111; as sponsors of academic and publishing projects, 111. See also An Qi; Bao Zhidao; Jiang Chun Sanjiang port, 109 Sanzi jing (Three Character Classic), 5 satire, 68, 174, 409 scenario script (mubiao), 321, 341n2. See also libretto script scholars: network of, 88; community of, 88 schools of learning (xuepai), 88; Suzhou (Wupai), 88, 97n4; Tongcheng (Tongchengpai), 88, 97n4; Yangzhou (Yangzhou xuepai), 87–88 schools of storytelling: Wang School of Water Margin (Wang pai Shuihu),

357–359, 378n4, 379nn16–17; Deng School (Deng men), 359; Song School (Song men), 359 screens, 71, 78, 126, 224, 239, 271; of mirrors, 238; of stone, 29, 241 scrolls: calligraphy, 140, 244; paintings, 54, 60–61, 146n42, 244, 255n68, 404n32. See also calligraphy; painting Sea of Drama (Quhai), 131 Sea-of-Dharma Bridge (Fahaiqiao), 140 Sea-of-Dharma Monastery (Fahaisi), 72 seafood, 14, 110–111 seals, 117, 221, 241–243, 266, 276, 281n24, 332 secondary wife, 395. See also concubines secretary, private, 173, 276; informal clientelism (mufu), 277; secretarial staff (muliao), 88, 90 sedan chairs, 180, 226, 227, 231–233, 261, 265, 299, 304; bridal, 59, 195; decorated, 395–396 Sensor of Hearing Cottage (Wenjiao‘an), 130 servants, 231; banquet attendants, 233; maidservants, 149n94, 231–233, 242, 292, 296; sedan chair attendants, 231–232; slave girls, 388; terms for, 232 Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove, 62n14 Shanghai, 4, 7–8, 14, 218, 260, 287, 289, 311, 321, 343, 349, 352, 361, 407: Japa nese occupation of, 385; literature, 16n12; surpassing Yangzhou, 260, 273, 383; Yangzhou people in, 318n5 Shanghai newspapers, 287; Aurora Daily (Zhendan ribao), 287; The Great Republican Daily (Da gonghe ribao), 287; The National Herald (Shenzhou ribao), 287–288; Shenbao, 219 Shanghai novel/fiction (Haishang xiaoshuo), 7, 285 Shanghai publishers: Kaiming Publishing House (Kaiming shudian), 343; Shenbaoguan, 258 Shanguang Temple (Shanguangsi), 356n32 Shaobo, 64, 108 Shaoxing, 51–53 She County (Shexian), 50n31, 111, 113, 145n12, 164, 241 Shen Defu: Hunting in the Wilderness of the Wanli Era (Wanli yehuo bian), 176, 389

Index Shen Gongxian, 44 Shen Jing: The Story of the Double Pearl (Shuangzhu ji), 207, 213, 216n34 Shen Longxiang, 48n14 Shen Qingrui, 393 Shi Chengjin: life of, 64; place of residence, 64 —works of: Chuanjiabao (The Family Trea sure), 65–66, 69, 84n5; Heavenreaching Joy (Tongtian le), 64, 66, 69; “Iron Caltrop” (Tie lingjiao), 68, 77; “The Merits of Sutra Reading” (Nian fo gong), 69–70, 84n15; Recent Stories of Yangzhou (Yangzhou jinshi), 15, 64–65, 67, 70; The Scent of Raining Flowers (Yuhua xiang), 64, 66–67, 69–70; “The Tower of Immediate Awakening” (Jin jue lou), 68–70, 84n15; Xiao de hao (Achieving goodness through laughing, or Having a good laugh), 65 Shi Kefa, 89, 96, 100n42, 124–125, 317, 320n41; letters, 125–126; portrait of, 125; shrine, 125; tomb, 125–126 Shi Tao, 171n40 Shi Yunyu, 392 Shi Zengxiang, 321 Shizhuang, monk, 118 shoes, 229–230, 262; butterfly, 182; satin boots, 262; Yangzhou-style, 182. See also fashion shops, 78, 196, 229, 258, 259, 351, 364; embroidery, 293; fish, 110; shoe, 182, 229; Suzhou-Guangzhou, 253n42; tailor, 253n42; tofu, 199; wine, 56, 158, 344. See also taverns Shouchun, 92, 97n19 Shrine of Double Loyalty (Shuangzhongci), 164 Shrine of the Five Chaste Ones (Wulieci), 139 Shrine of the Local Worthies (Xiangxianci), 164 Shu Ridge (Shugang), 22, 26, 33n21, 106, 137–140, 160, 320n38 Shuihu zhuan. See Water Margin sightseeing around Yangzhou, 317 silk, 230: gauze dividers, 238 Sima Qian: Records of the Historian (Shi ji), 39–40, 319n31

Six Chapters of a Floating Life (Fu sheng liu ji), 220 Six Principles of Painting (liu fa), 160, 171n43 skills: acting, 132; girls’, 389–391; literary, 89, 113, 127, 170n37, 355n20; martial, 35n48, 341n4; musical, 102; scholarly, 71, 88. See also calligraphy; carving; chess; divination; painting; singing; zither Skinner, G. W., 4, 16n10 Slender West Lake (Shou Xihu), 9, 62n8, 73, 105, 108, 127–128, 234, 248, 260, 312, 348, 350, 362, 398 snacks, 59, 108, 316, 367 social mobility, 285 social networks, 23 sojourners, 9, 14, 190, 192, 194, 221, 383 Song Jieshan, 138 Songjiang, 277 Songs of Chu (Chu ci), 34n40 South Gate (Nanmen), 60, 62n10, 164, 178–179, 310 Southern Inspection Tours (nanxun), 104, 115, 152–153 Southern Ming, 39 Splendid Scenery with Clouds on the Water (Shuiyun shenggai) garden, 105 Spring Willows on Long Dike (Changti chunliu), 105 Spring-and-Autumn Annals (Chunqiu), 95, 210 stone: engravings, 242–243; jade tablet, 243; screen of, 241; types of, 34n33; uses for, 241. See also rocks Story of Killing a Dog, The (Shagou ji), 208, 215n24 storysinging, 37, 40, 183, 188n48, 231, 379n15 storytellers, 60, 135–136, 183, 230, 233, 321; Big Song (Da Song), 136–137; blind, 60; Pu Lin, 135–136, 189–190, 200n10, 201n17, 408; as strategists, 39; Wang Shaotang, 48n4, 357–358, 361, 363, 364, 377n1, 378nn4–5, 379n11, 380n22; Wu Tianxu, 136. See also Liu Jingting; Wang Shaotang; Yangzhou storytelling

503

504

Index storytellers’ registers: speaking mouth (shuokou), 361, 379n12; square mouth (fangkou), 361–362, 379nn18–19; round mouth (yuankou), 361, 380n24; square mouth northern speech (fangkou Beifanghua), 379n19–380n20. See also Yangzhou storytelling storytelling, 1, 4, 8, 9, 12, 16n12, 17n32, 17n36, 135, 193, 357, 377nn1–2, 378n5, 378n6, 399n9, 379n15; art of, 42–43, 57; lineages, 9, 379n8; pingshu, 37; training, 38, 377n3. See also performing genres; Yangzhou storytelling Studio of a Single Stroke (Yizizhai), 163 stupas (futu), 156 Su Shi, 28, 90, 344, 398 Sui Embankment (Suidi), 22, 26, 28 suicide, 38, 49n21, 100n41, 136–138, 190, 206, 216n33 Sun Guangxian: Fragments on Northern Dreams (Beimeng suoyan), 211, 216n33 Sun Tiansheng, 319n30 Suzhou (Gusu, Wumen), 3, 14, 34n34, 36, 42, 49n19, 54, 60, 78, 112, 121, 124, 132, 143, 155, 157, 159, 170n35, 171n47, 177, 182, 204, 208, 215n21, 226, 246, 263, 272n11, 289–290, 311, 393; girls, 389, 392 Swimming Hut (Yongan), 162 swindling, 190, 409, 416, 421 Swislocki, Mark, 311 syncretism, 67 Synthesis of Books and Illustrations of Ancient and Present Times (Gujin tushu jicheng), 117 Taicang, 37 Taiping Rebellion, 1, 219–220, 222, 254n57, 273, 279n2, 282 Taizhou, 36–37, 40–41, 143, 359 Taking Command at Age One Hundred (Bai sui gua shuai), 15, 321–325, 327, 341n3, 409 tale, classical (chuanqi), 40, 50n31, 204 tales of the strange, 118, 128–130 Tang Laihe, 165–166 Tang Xianzu: The Dream of Handan (Handan meng), 208, 215n25; The Peony Pavilion (Mudanting), 133, 149nn93–94 Tang Yanqian, 398 Tang Yin, 72, 85nn21–22, 244

Tao Qian, 281n25; “Record of the Peach Blossom Spring” (Taohuayuan ji), 22, 171n45 Tao Zongyi, 147n54; Records of Ceasing Ploughing (Chuogeng lu), 118, 207, 213, 215n19 taverns, 106–107, 111, 364–366, 368–369. See also shops: wine tea-and-snack houses (hunchasi), 107–108, 145n18 teacher: music, 122; singing, 122; storytelling, 38, 377n3 tea houses, 56, 106–108, 114, 135, 197, 232, 235, 258, 265, 282, 310, 312, 316–317, 382. See also storytelling places; tea-andsnack houses Temporary Retreat (Xing‘an), 114–115 Thatched Cottage of the Jade Hook, 163 theatrical roles, 133, 134, 148n71 theatrical troupes, 103, 132, 263; Chuntai, 146n38; Deyin, 146n38, 149n102; Double Clarity Troupe (Shuangqingbang), 132–133; girls’, 132–134; private, 112, 132, 146n38, 215n10; professional, 321. See also drama troupes thin horses (shouma): breeding/raising thin horses (yang shouma), 397, 399, 401; etymology of term, 399; examining and selecting, 391; exposition of, 385; fraud in the thin horses business, 394–396; market, 392; meanings of term, 388; of Yangzhou, 386, 389, 396; origins of term, 398; sex ratio as an explanation for, 400–401; term, 382, 387–388, 399; texts making reference to, 383; thin-horse breeders (yang shouma zhe), 388, 391, 394; training of, 390–391. See also blue houses; concubines; courtesans; prostitutes Thousand Men’s Throne (Qianrenzuo), 34n34, 171n47 Three Hundred Poems of the Tang Dynasty (Tang shi sanbai shou), 347, 355n17 Three Kingdoms (Sanguo), oral repertoire, 188n49 Three Maos Mountain (Sanmaoshan), 140, 150n121 Thunder Dam (Leitang), 317, 320n39 Tianjin, 287, 308

Index tidal bore of Guangling (Guangling tao), 285; name of bathhouse, 108 tide (chao), metaphor of, 285 Tiger Hill (Huqiu), 34n33, 54, 60, 171n47, 226 Tiger-Skin Wall (Hupiqiang), 161, 164 Timberwork Manual (Mu jing), 110, 154, 167, 172n69 timepieces, 243 Tomb of the Five Chaste Ones (Wuliemu), 137, 139. See also Shrine of the Five Chaste Ones Tomb of the Four Chaste Ones (Siliemu), 139 Tongzhou, 36 topographical text, 7 topography, 103, 105 Topography Book for Visiting Places of Scenic Beauty (Fangyu shenglan), 140–141 Tower of Literary Selections (Wenxuanlou), 317, 319n37 traditional Chinese opera, movement for reform of, 322–323 transition: from Ming to Qing 3, 36, 40, 86n33; from Qing to Republic, 286, 289 Treaty of Nanjing, 222 trendiness, 177, 182–183 trickster, 195, 198, 363, 408 tuberculosis, 123 Twelve Widows’ Expedition toward the West (Shi‘er guafu zheng xi), 321, 323 Twenty-four Bridge (Ershisiqiao, Niansiqiao), 55, 61–62n8, 140, 168n4, 290, 306n30, 317, 344, 346, 348–350, 350, 352–353, 386. See also twenty-four Yangzhou bridges twenty-four views of Yangzhou, 145n16, 153, 168n4 twenty-four Yangzhou bridges, 62n8 Two Martyrs’ Shrine, 139 Two Mas of Yangzhou, the, 115. See Ma Yueguan; Ma Yuelu Two Wolves Mountain (Lianglang shan), 205–207, 210 two Yangzhous: refined and vulgar, 385, 396–398, 402. See also Yi Junzuo Underworld, 150n129, 420 Undulant Spring Bridge (Bochunqiao), 105 Universal Peace Bridge (Taipingiqao), 108 universal retribution (baoying), 67

urban: culture, 273; household, 172n58; life, 284; popu lar fiction, 284, 289, 305n26; society, 218. See also city Venice, 1 vernacular: court-case story, 192; essay, 311; novels, 4, 305n18; prose narrative, 283; short story, 64, 68, 193; tales, 67; vignettes, 70 vices, four, 71 village drama, 214 village festivals, 406, 422n1. See also festivals Village on a Branch (Zhishangcun) garden, 114 village prostitutes, 122 villages, women from the, 264 waiter (paotangde), 365 waiter, young (xiao‘er, Wang Er, Wang Xiao‘er, Xiao Er), 358, 362–376, 379n15, 407. See also trickster Wan Family Garden (Wanjiayuan), 107–108 Wang Chun, 31, 35n48, 163 Wang Hongxing, 37 Wang Hui, 279n5 Wang Jian: “Night Scenes on a Yangzhou Marketplace” (Ye kan Yangzhou shi), 351, 354n10, 356n31 Wang Mian, 84n15 Wang Shaotang, 357; adopted son Wang Xiaotang, 378n4; family of, 361; granddaughter Wang Litang, 378n4; radio per formance, 358, 378n5, 361; “Ten Chapters on Wu [Song]” (Wu shi hui), 357; Water Margin storytelling cycles, 378n4. See also storytellers Wang Shifu: The Story of the Western Chamber (Xixiang ji), 133, 149n94, 228, 282 Wang Shiheng, 21 Wang Shishen, 351 Wang Shixing, 389 Wang Shixiong, 171n42 Wang Weikang, 204–206 Wang Xiao‘er Celebrates New Year (Wang Xiao‘er guo nian), 407, 409 Wang Xiuchu: “Ten Days at Yangzhou” (Yangzhou shi ri ji), 16n7, 86n33, 125, 351, 356n35 Wang Yanlin, 179

505

506

Index Wang Yinggeng, 140, 145n12; Sightseeing Gazetteer of the Hall Level with the Mountains (Pingshantang lansheng zhi), 104 Wang Yinzhi, 91 Wang Yuanqi, 279n5 Wang Yuesheng, 57–58, 63n16 Wang Yun, 276; painting, 275; Record of the Painting Garden of Yangzhou (Yangzhou huayuan lu), 274–275, 279n4 Wang Zhong, 89, 127, 148n82; Comprehensive Standard Work of Guangling (Guangling tongdian), 89–90, 105; “Dialogue about Guangling” (Guangling dui), 90–91, 144n3; letters by, 88; life of, 87, 96n1; personality of, 89; professional career of, 88; Records of the Historian of Guangling: Long Version (Guangling shi shi ji changbian), 90; Records of Learning (Shu xue), 89; son Wang Xisun, 89–90 wardrobes, 238–239 Warm Breeze in the Lotus and Reeds (Hepu xunfeng) garden, 105 warmers, 240; warming bowl, 243 Water Margin (Shuihu zhuan), 63n17, 188n49, 262, 357–359, 377n1: in drama styles, 377n1, 378n6; in genres of performed narrative (shuochang), 377n1, 378n6 Water Margin (Shuihu), oral repertoire, 188n49, 357–359, 362, 378n4 wedding, 53, 111, 135, 138, 194–196 Wei Changsheng (Wei San‘er), 205, 209, 215n11, 216n28 Wei Minghua: “Explaining ‘The Thin Horses of Yangzhou’ ” (Shi ‘Yangzhou shouma’), 382, 385; father of, 381; life and work of, 381; photo of, 384 Wei Ren: Study of Yangzhou Theater (Yangzhou xi kao), 406–407, 409; “Yangzhou Theater and I” (Wo yu Yangzhou xiqu), 406 Weiyang (Yangzhou), 348 Weiyang Gazetteer (Weiyang zhi), 109, 139, 145n21 Weiyang Prefecture, 3 Weiyangxi, 215n11. See also Yangzhou drama Wen Tianxiang: “Looking toward Yangzhou” (Wang Yangzhou), 345

West Bamboo Pavilion (Zhuxiting), 347, 355n19 West Gate (Ximen), 71–72, 80, 108, 294, 349 West Gate Street (Ximenjie), 140 West Lake (Xihu, Hangzhou), 54, 60, 84n2, 398, 404n32 West Lake fiction (Xihu xiaoshuo), 16n12, 84n2 Western barbarians, 185 Western Canal, 149n91 Western Hills, 71, 74, 76 Western Xia (Xixia), 322, 331 White Hare, The (Baitu ji), 149n100 White Pagoda under a Clear Sky Spotted with Clouds (Baita qingyun), 106 widows, 87, 137, 220, 260, 322, 341n4, 342n6, 342n10, 377. See also chastity window hangings, 239 Window of Prominence (Rongchuang), 162 wine, 366–369; diluted with water, 372; odd and strange names of, 369–370; Three Bowls and You Cannot Cross the Ridge (San wan bu guo gang), 358, 364, 368–370. See also shops: wine; taverns Wishing Longevity on the Spring Terrace (Chuntai zhushou) garden, 106 Wolf Hill (Langshan), 110 women, social position of, 286 women warriors, 342n6 women’s dress, 228–229 women’s handkerchiefs, 230 wooden things, 238 woolen cloth, 230 word: games, 252n33; play, 200n8, 244. See also double entendre; puns Wu Baitao, 321–323, 326, 341n3 Wu Changshuo: Foulu’s Collected Writings (Foulu ji), 277 Wu Changyuan: Description of the Capital and its Environs (Chenyuan shilüe), 154, 167, 172n70 Wu Chunyan, 220 Wu County, 392 Wu Daozi, 281n27 Wu Family Brick Bridge (Wujia zhuanqiao), 62n8. See also Twenty-four Bridge Wu Hill (Wushan), 114

Index Wu Jingzi: The Unofficial History of the Scholars (Rulin waishi), 84n15, 282, 286 Wu Juyue, 140 Wu region, 43, 46, 49n19 Wu Song1 (Grand Secretary), 137 Wu Song2 (Water Margin hero), 57, 137, 361–362, 364–375: names for, 379n17; saga, 358, 362. See also Water Margin “Wu Song Fights the Tiger on Jingyang Ridge,” 57, 63n17. See also Water Margin, oral repertoire Wu Weiye: life of, 37–38; “Biography of Liu Jingting” (Liu Jingting zhuan), 14, 36–38, 40–41; “Song of the Nine Friends in Painting” (Hua zhong jiu you ge), 277 Wu Yi, 42 Wu Zimu: Record of the Millet Dream (Meng liang lu), 157, 170n33 Wu-Yue region, 4 Wuchang, 39, 46, 110 Wuhan, 286 Wuxi songs, 389 Xia Mianzun, 343 Xiang Kairan: Stories of Amazing Knights-Errant in the Rivers-and-Lakes (Jianghu qixia zhuan), 284 Xichun Pavilion (Xichuntai), 62n8 Xie Rongsheng, 144n6 Xishi. See Fan Luo and Xizi Xu Baoshan, 319n30 Xu Fuzuo: The Story of Red Pear Blossom (Hongli ji), 208, 216n27; Xiao guang jian (Sword Shining in the Night), 134, 149n101 Xu Ke: Gleanings from the Qing (Qingbai leichao), 390, 400 Xu Ning: “Remembering Yangzhou” (Ni Yangzhou), 188n46, 351, 354n10, 356n30, 405n56 Xu Qianfang: A Brief Account of Yangzhou Customs (Yangzhou fengtu jilüe), 400 Xu Shuo‘an, 30, 163 Xu Zhenya: The Jade Pear Spirit (Yuli hun), 284 Xuan Ding: Records of Night Rain and Autumn Lights (Yeyu qiudeng lu), 395 Xuyi County, 41, 46, 48n12

yabu (elegant section), 204–205. See also drama; huabu; Kunqu Yamen Gate Bridge (Yuanmenqiao), 107 Yan Sheqing, 31 Yan Zhen, 140 Yan, Feng, and Yuan family gardens (Yanshiyuan, Fengshiyuan, Yuanshiyuan), 27 Yang Cheng, 166, 172n64 Yang Fa, 275, 279, 280n9 Yang Family Generals, 205, 322, 327, 331; in various per formance genres, 342n6; legend of the, 324, 341n4; plays on the, 341n5; popu lar novels on the, 341n5. See also Romance of the Yang Family Generals, The; Yang, House of Yang, House of, 322–325, 328, 340, 342n11. See also Yang Family Generals Yang Jiheng, 47 Yang Lütai, 220 Yang Wenguang, 322, 325 Yang Xian, 276 Yang Xiong, 158 Yang Xuanzhi: Record of the Monasteries of Luoyang (Luoyang qielan ji), 101 Yang Zhongne, 138–139 Yang Zongbao, Marshal, 322–324, 341n4 Yangbang, 124, 148n70 Yangzhou, other names for. See Guangling; Hancheng; Hanjiang; Jiangdu; Weiyang Yangzhou: city wall, 21, 26, 29, 95, 105, 160; cosmological location of, 92–93, 223; daily life, 217–218, 222, 284; decay of famous scenery, 346; decline of, 260, 273–274, 290, 345, 383; defense against the Qing armies, 100n42; destruction of, 54, 82, 86n33; gendered image of, 383; history of, 15n1; identification with, 9; importance of, 96; in poetry and history, 314, 345; map of, 2, 12, 360; massacre (1645), 3, 86n33, 89, 104, 125, 351, 356n35; past vs. present, 314; as a place of economic opportunity, 383; prosperity (fanhua) of, 218, 243, 247, 344, 345, 401–402; shift ing place in history, 1; society, idiosyncrasies of, 309; stranger to, 259 Yangzhou ballad singing (Yangzhou qingqu), 323

507

508

Index Yangzhou dream: elaboration of, 385; expression, 345, 354; locus classicus of, 218, 344, 382; metaphor of, 13, 382; topos of, 4, 13, 15, 217, 344, 382, 386; writings entitled, 345 Yangzhou experience: through recognition, 7; through nostalgia, 7 Yangzhou flower-drum play (Yangzhou huaguxi), 407, 409, 422n1, 422n4, 422n11. See also flower-drum play Yangzhou folk literature, 408 Yangzhou gardens, 156, 161. See also gardens Yangzhou huafang lu (The Plea sure Boats of Yangzhou). See Li Dou Yangzhou jinshi. See Shi Chengjin: Recent Stories of Yangzhou Yangzhou meng. See Zhou Boyi: Dream of Yangzhou Yangzhou novel, 305n12 Yangzhou Opera/drama (Yangju), 15, 206–207, 215n11, 321–323, 325–326, 327, 407, 409, 422n4; artists of, 321; melodies of, 323; classics of, 321, 323 Yangzhou painters, 310. See also Eight Eccentrics of Yangzhou Yangzhou painting, 15n1, 18n45; eighteenthcentury, 273–274, 277; relationship with Shanghai School Painting, 279n3; school of, 118, 404n32. See also painting Yangzhou people, terms for: shuaizi gangs, 314; Yang xuzi, 315; Yangpan (Yangzhou dish), 315; shangpai (merchant set), 315 Yangzhou Prefecture, 14, 36, 40–41, 64, 97n19, 102, 131, 201n16, 282, 359 Yangzhou Prefecture Gazetteer (Yangzhoufu zhi), 12, 163, 166, 171n54, 204, 401 Yangzhou, reference of term: larger administrative region, 97n19; name for vast area of Southeast China, 383; province of, 3 Yangzhou restaurants: Abundant Spring Restaurant (Fuchun), 349, 355n23; Seductive Spring Restaurant (Yechun fandian), 362. See also restaurants Yangzhou storysinging, 183, 188n48 Yangzhou storytellers’ repertoires: episode “Wu Song Fights the Tiger” (Wu Song da hu), 357–359; Clear Wind Sluice

(Qingfengzha), 201n17, 408, 422n10; Pi Fift h the Rogue (Pi Wu Lazi), 362, 379n8; repertoire of Yu Youchun, 409; Three Kingdoms (Sanguo), 357, 362; transmission of, 377n3; Water Margin (Shuihu), 357–359; Wu Song saga, 358, 362 Yangzhou storytelling (Yangzhou pinghua), 8, 14, 36, 135, 149n105, 188n48, 189, 191–192, 282, 304n2, 357, 378n6, 379n10; art of, 135–136; audience of, 135, 184, 358, 363; authorship in, 358–359; circuit of, 359–361, 360, 379n10; genealogies of, 37, 48n4, 253n47, 359; listening to, 408; public per formances of, 184, 358; repertoire, 191, 200n10; storyteller’s house (shuchang), 282, 358, 361, 409 Yangzhuangzhen, 406 Yangzi River, 2, 62n9, 92, 94, 97nn20–21, 109, 111, 141, 273, 348, 365 Yanzhou, 51 Ye Shengtao, 311 Ye Xianzu: The Phoenix and the Hairpin (Luan bi ji), 400 Ye Zhenchu, 115, 146n42 Yellow Jade Bridge (Huangjueqiao), 138 yellow register (huangce), 82, 86n34 Yi Hill (Yishan), 114 Yi Junzuo: Chatting at Leisure about Yangzhou, 308–309, 313, 314, 384, 396–397, 402; case of, 386 Yijiang Gate (Yijiangmen), 62n10 Yin Yun, 170n39 Yizheng County, 102, 106, 113, 124, 165, 220, 246, 255n64, 322, 341n3 Yizheng County Gazetteer (Yizhengxian zhi), 166 Yu Chan, 279 Yu Dafu, 309 Yu Ye: “Record of the Dream of Yangzhou” (Yangzhou meng ji), 344–345 Yu Youchun: Hot Pepper Pi Fifth (Pi Wu Lazi), 409 Yu Yue, 12 Yuan Chang, 276 Yuan Mei, 144n6, 310: biography of, 168n6, 170n38; preface to The Plea sure Boats of Yangzhou, 153, 157, 159, 170n33; What the Master Would Not Discuss (Zi bu yu), 130

Index Yuan Yuling: The Story of the Western Bower (Xilou ji), 208, 213–214, 215n21, 216n35 yuanben (farce skits), 131 zaju (variety play, northern-style play), 131, 147n52, 215n21, 344 Zeng Yu, 273 Zenith Mound (Tianxindun), 131, 149n91 Zha Shenxing, 113, 146n30 Zhang Chao1, 41: Yu Chu’s New Records (Yu Chu xinzhi), 50n31 Zhang Dai: as a personality, 52; “Clear-and-Bright Festival at Yangzhou” (Yangzhou Qingming), 54, 59; cousin Zhang Zhuoru, 56; Dream Reminiscences of Tao‘an (Tao‘an mengyi), 8, 13, 51–52, 55, 221, 251n13, 311, 315, 377n2; father Zhang Yuefang, 61n3; life of, 51, 61n3; “The Lean Horses of Yangzhou” (Yangzhou shouma), 51, 53, 58, 315, 387, 391–392; portrait of, 52; “Romance at Twenty-four Bridge” (Ershisiqiao fengyue), 53–55; uncle Zhang Lianfang, 51 Zhang Dalai, 388, 401 Zhang Fei, 136, 150n109, 263, 272n10 Zhang Fengyi: The Red Duster (Hongfu ji), 149n100 Zhang Henshui: Fate in Tears and Laughter (Tixiao yinyuan), 284; Preface to Guangling chao, 304n1 Zhang Hu, 344, 349: “Sightseeing at Huainan” (Zong you Huainan), 351, 354n10, 355n22, 356n32 Zhang Mingke: Trivial Records from Discussing Art in the Studio of the Cold Pine (Hansongge tanyi suolu), 276–277 Zhang Nanzhuang, 394 Zhang Qiao, 42 Zhang Sike, 127, 148n79: Collection of Poetry and Song Lyrics (Shici ji), 148n79 Zhang Xianzhong, 39 Zhang Yanzhu, 44 Zhang Zeduan: Along the River at the Clear-and-Bright Festival (Qingming shanghe tu), 54–55, 60–61, 61n5 Zhao Wuniang, 133, 149n95

Zhao Yi, 149n104, 388, 405n57: Collection of Oubei (Oubei ji), 134 Zhao Zhibi: Illustrated Chronicle of the Hall Level with the Mountains (Pingshantang tuzhi), 105, 145n14, 158 Zhao Zhiqian, 277 Zheng Xiaojiao, 321 Zheng Xie, 176, 276, 278, 280n20, 281n25, 349, 351, 355n22, 382; poem “Untrammeled” (Luotuo), 280n19 Zheng Yimei, 288 Zheng Yuanxun, 157, 164–166; ancestors, 164, 167; brother Zheng Yuanhua, 34n24, 157, 164, 166–167; descendants, 164; father Zheng Zhiyan, 164; life of, 19–24; lineage, 164, 167; “Personal Record of the Garden of Shadows” (Yingyuan zi ji), 9, 24, 163, 171n50; painting by, 25; shrine of the two gentlemen Zheng, the “Loyal” and the “Righteous”, 160, 164; Zheng brothers’ role in local affairs, 157; Zheng Xiaru, 34n24; Zheng Yuanyue, 27, 34n29, 161–162; Zheng Yuansi, 34n24 Zhenjiang, 14, 72, 111, 220, 222, 226, 232, 236, 308, 348, 354n9, 407 Zhong Fei, 321 Zhou Boyi: life of, 220–222 —works of, 220–222; Dream of Yangzhou (Yangzhou meng), 13–14, 217–221, 345, 354n9; History of Flowers (Hua shi), 242 Zhou Mi: Former Events in Hangzhou (Wulin jiushi), 101 Zhou Ronggen, 321 Zhou Sheng. See Zhou Boyi Zhou Zhaoji: Essential Explanations on Poetic Rhymes from the Honoring Literature [Library] (Peiwen shiyun shiyao), 148n77 Zhou Zuoren: “Selling Candy” (Mai tang), 311; “Wild Herbs in My Hometown” (Guxiang de yecai), 319n23 Zhu Guangqian, 343 Zhu Gui, 90, 92 Zhu Jiang, 156 Zhu Jianmang, 219–220 Zhu Shouju: Tides of Huangpu (Xiepu chao), 305nn11–12

509

510

Index Zhu Wenzhen: “Song of the Ten Worthies in Painting” (Hua zhong shi zhe ge), 277 Zhu Yedong, 124 Zhu Yizun, 115, 147n45 Zhu Yun, 87, 90 Zhu Ziqing, 309, 343, 385–386; life of, 308, 314, 318n4 —works of: “I Am from Yangzhou” (Wo shi Yangzhouren), 318n7; “Seeing his Back” (Beiying), 308; “Speaking about Yangzhou” (Shuo Yangzhou), 13, 308–313,

387–388, 403n18; “Summer Days in Yangzhou” (Yangzou de xiari), 311–313, 398; “Things to Eat” (Chide), 312–313; You and Me (Ni wo), 319n28 Zhu Zuochao: Beautiful Clouds Pavilion (Yanyunting), 134, 149n97 Zhuang Zhou, 182; Zhuangzi, 187n38; butterfly dream, 187n39 zither (qin, zheng), 60, 71, 121, 224, 389–390, 395 Zuo Commentary (Zuo zhuan), 172n57 Zuo Liangyu, 36, 38–39, 44–47

Production Notes for Altenburger | YANGZHOU, A PLACE IN LITERATURE Jacket design by Mardee Melton Text design by George Whipple with display and text type in Minion Pro Composition by Westchester Publishing Ser vices Printing and binding by Sheridan Books, Inc. Printed on 50 lbs. House White Opaque, 606 dpi.