Geo-Narratives of a Filial Son: The Paintings and Travel Diaries of Huang Xiangjian (1609-1673) 0674088433, 9780674088436

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Geo-Narratives of a Filial Son

Harvard East Asian Monographs 389

Geo-Narratives of a Filial Son The Paintings and Travel Diaries of Huang Xiangjian (1609–1673)

Elizabeth Kindall

Published by the Harvard University Asia Center Distributed by Harvard University Press Cambridge (Massachusetts) and London 2016

©  2016 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College Printed in the United States of America The Harvard University Asia Center publishes a monograph series and, in coordination with the Fairbank Center for Chinese Studies, the Korea Institute, the Reischauer Institute of Japanese Studies, and other faculties and institutes, administers research projects designed to further scholarly understanding of China, Japan, Vietnam, Korea, and other Asian countries. The Center also sponsors projects addressing multidisciplinary and regional issues in Asia. This publication is made possible in part by a grant from the James P. Geiss Foundation, a non-profit foundation that sponsors research on China’s Ming dynasty (1368–1644).

Publication of this book is also partially underwritten by the Mr. and Mrs. Stephen C. M. King Publishing and Communications Fund, established by Stephen C. M. King to further the cause of international understanding and cooperation, especially between China and the United States, by enhancing cross-cultural education and the exchange of ideas across national boundaries through publications of the Harvard University Asia Center. Additional subventions from the Association for Asian Studies First Book Subvention Program, the Millard Meiss Publication Fund of the College Art Association, and the College of Arts and Sciences at the University of St. Thomas are also gratefully acknowledged.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Kindall, Elizabeth. Geo-narratives of a filial son : the paintings and travel diaries of Huang Xiangjian (1609–1673) / Elizabeth Kindall. pages cm.— (Harvard East Asian Monographs ; 389) Includes bibliographical references and index. Summary: “This definitive study of Huang Xiangjian’s paintings identifies geo-narrative as a distinct landscape-painting tradition lauded for its naturalistic immediacy, experiential topography, and dramatic narratives of moral persuasion, class identification, and biographical commemoration”— Provided by publisher. ISBN 978-0-674-08843-6 (hardcover : alk. paper) 1. Huang, Xiangjian, 1609–1673—Criticism and interpretation. 2. Huang, Xiangjian, 1609–1673— Diaries. 3. Landscapes in art. 4. Narrative painting, Chinese. I. Title. ND2070.H84K56 2015 759.951–dc23 2015005607 Index by Anne Holmes   Printed on acid-free paper Last figure below indicates year of this printing 20 19 18 17 16

For my parents

Contents

List of Maps and Figures ix Acknowledgments xv Abbreviations and Conventions xviii Introduction 1 Suzhou Place Painting Traditions 2 Paintings of the Southwest for Suzhou Audiences 3 Filial Geo-Narratives 4 Attaining a Grand View from Mount Jizu 5 Topographies of Yunnan 6 Picturing the Quest toward Sagehood

1 17 95 161 202 257 315

Epilogue

341

Appendix 1: Editions and Transmission of Huang Xiangjian’s Texts 343  A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents 344  Diary of the Return from Yunnan 365 Appendix 2: Finding Lists for Huang Xiangjian’s Paintings 384   List of Extant and Recorded Paintings by Huang Xiangjian Cited in the Text 384   Chronological List of Extant and Recorded Paintings by Huang Xiangjian 388 Notes 393 Bibliography 433 Glossary-Index 459

Maps and Figur es

Maps 1 Ming-dynasty Suzhou sites 2 Selected Yunnan sites visited and later painted by Huang Xiangjian Figures 1.1 Huang Xiangjian, Watching a Waterfall, 1641 1.2 Huang Xiangjian, leaf from Landscapes 1.3 Chen Si, Departing at Daybreak at Jinchang, 1626 1.4 Zhu Zhi, Ten-Thousand Tablets of Mount Tianping, 1626 1.5 Sun Zhi, Tiger Hill, detail 1.6 Lu Shiren, Lord Zhang Cave, detail 1.7 Shen Wan, Mount Tianping, detail 1.8 Zhu Zhi, Mount Tianping, detail, 1626 1.9 Chen Si, Departing at Daybreak at Jinchang, detail, 1626 1.10 Yuan Shangtong, Tiger Hill 1.11 Zhang Hong, Night Moon over Tiger Hill, 1638 1.12 Zhang Hong, Spring Dawn at Panchi, detail, 1638 1.13 Yuan Shangtong, Hushan 1.14 Yuan Shangtong, Stone Lake 1.15 Yuan Shangtong, Mount Lingyan 1.16 Zhang Hong, Snow on Yao Peak, 1638 1.17 Zhang Hong, Stone Cliff at the Pond of Heaven, detail, 1638 1.18 Zhang Hong, Night Moon over Tiger Hill, detail, 1638

16 94 20 21 25 25 27 27 32 33 34 39 40 41 42 43 43 44 45 46

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1.19 Zhang Hong, Evening Ferry on the Xu River, 1638 47 1.20 Zhang Hong, Evening Ferry on the Xu River, detail, 1638 48 1.21 Zhang Hong, Evening Verdure at Mount Zhixing, detail, 1638 48 1.22 Zhang Hong, Evening Verdure at Mount Zhixing, 1638 49 1.23 Tiger Hill, Suzhou 50 1.24 Pond of Heaven, Suzhou 51 1.25 Yuan Shangtong, Pond of Heaven 52 1.26 Yuan Shangtong, Mount Tianping 53 1.27 Zhang Hong, Myriad Tablets Reach the Sky, 1638 54 1.28 Zhang Hong, Autumn Colors on Hushan, 1638 56 1.29 Hushan, Suzhou 57 1.30 Yuan Shangtong, Mount Zhixing 58 1.31 Yuan Shangtong, Mount Zhixing, detail 59 1.32 Zhang Hong, Wintry Mist on Mount Lingyan, 1638 61 1.33 Zhang Hong, Mist and Rain on Stone Lake, 1638 62 1.34 Stone Lake, Suzhou 63 1.35 Zhang Hong, A Thousand Mountains and Distant Water, detail of the Xu River and the Waicheng Canal at Xukou, 1648 65 1.36 Zhang Hong, A Thousand Mountains and Distant Water, detail of the summit monastery, waterfall, and Thousand Man Rock of Tiger Hill, 1648 66 1.37 Zhang Hong, A Thousand Mountains and Distant Water, detail of the stairs and monastery at Mount Zhixing, 1648 67 1.38 Zhang Hong, A Thousand Mountains and Distant Water, detail of Mount Tianping, 1648 68 1.39 Zhang Hong, A Thousand Mountains and Distant Water, detail of the Pond of Heaven, 1648 69 1.40 Zhang Hong, A Thousand Mountains and Distant Water, detail of the cave and pagoda atop Mount Lingyan, 1648 70 1.41 Zhang Hong, A Thousand Mountains and Distant Water, detail of the nine-arch bridge and summit pagoda of Stone Lake, 1648 71 1.42 Zhang Hong, A Thousand Mountains and Distant Water, detail of the pagoda, canal, and bridge of Hushan, 1648 72

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1.43 Zhang Hong, A Thousand Mountains and Distant Water, detail of the blossoming plum trees of Dengwei, 1648 73 1.44 Qian Gong, Fuyuan Monastery at Dongting West Mountain, leaf 1 80 1.45 Qian Gong, Fuyuan Monastery at Dongting West Mountain, 1610, leaf 2 81 1.46 Qian Gong, Fuyuan Monastery at Dongting West Mountain, detail of the monastery grounds, leaf 1 87 1.47 Qian Gong, Fuyuan Monastery at Dongting West Mountain, detail of the monastery grounds, 1610, leaf 2 87 2.1 Huang Xiangjian, Jiming Pass, 1656 103 2.2 Huang Xiangjian, Scenic Frontier of Yunnan, 1656 104 2.3 Huang Xiangjian, Li Peak Station, 1656 107 2.4 Huang Xiangjian, Qinglang Military Station Town, 1656 108 2.5 Huang Xiangjian, Scenery of Yunnan and Guizhou Provinces, 1656 109 2.6 Huang Xiangjian, Baikoupo, 1656 110 2.7 Huang Xiangjian, Malongzhou Road 111 2.8 Huang Xiangjian, Luodian 112 2.9 Huang Xiangjian, Xiangshui Pass, 1656 113 2.10 Huang Xiangjian, Jinsha River 114 2.11 Huang Xiangjian, Wusheng Pass, 1656 115 2.12 Huang Xiangjian, Passing Laishipo, 1656 117 2.13 Huang Xiangjian, Guan Suo Mountain Range 124 2.14 Huang Xiangjian, Guan Suo Mountain Range 125 2.15 Huang Xiangjian, Guan Suo Mountain Range 125 2.16 Huang Xiangjian, Qinglang Military Station Town 126 2.17 Huang Xiangjian, Scenic Frontier of Yunnan 127 2.18 Huang Xiangjian, Scenic Frontier of Yunnan, 1656 128 2.19 Huang Xiangjian, Sandu Pass 132 2.20 Huang Xiangjian, Pingyuefu 133 2.21 Huang Xiangjian, Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents 134 2.22 Huang Xiangjian, Wu Village 135 2.23 Huang Xiangjian, Wu Village 136 2.24 Huang Xiangjian, Mountain Village in the Evening, 1656 137 2.25 Huang Xiangjian, Northern Foot of Mount Jizu, 1656 138 2.26 Huang Xiangjian, Leaving Qiongshui 140 2.27 Huang Xiangjian, Road to Langqiong 141 — xi —

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2.28 2.29 2.30 2.31 2.32 2.33



2.34 3.1



3.2 3.3 3.4



3.5 3.6



3.7

3.8 3.9 3.10 3.11 3.12 3.13 4.1-4.4

4.5 4.6



4.7



4.8 4.9



4.10



4.11

Huang Xiangjian, Road to Heqing 142 Huang Xiangjian, Mahage, 1656 143 Huang Xiangjian, Wulong Cave 144 Huang Xiangjian, Kailou Fortified Village, 1656 145 Huang Xiangjian, Mount Jizu 146 Huang Xiangjian, Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents, detail of monkeys 148 Huang Xiangjian, Descending Zhuge Mountain Range 149 Huang Xiangjian, Descending Zhuge Mountain Range, detail 173 Huang Xiangjian, Malongzhou Road, detail 174 Huang Xiangjian, Xiang River, 1656 175 Huang Xiangjian, Qinglang Military Station Town, detail of a boat crossing 181 Huang Xiangjian, Langqiong Road, detail of deer 181 Huang Xiangjian, Baikoupo, detail of soldiers on elephants, 1656 182 Huang Xiangjian, Northern Foot of Mount Jizu, detail of houses, 1656 182 Huang Xiangjian, Jiming Pass, detail of a village, 1656 186 Huang Xiangjian, Pan River, detail of a bridge, 1656 187 Huang Xiangjian, Pan River, 1656 188 Huang Xiangjian, Guan Suo Mountain Range, detail 189 Huang Xiangjian, A Stream in Guizhou, detail 190 Huang Xiangjian, Leaving Qiongshui, detail 191 Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), sections 1–­4, 1656 204–7 Mount Jizu 208 Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of a boat and a village, 1656 210 Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of Huadian and farming, 1656 211 “Mount Jizu,” from Yang Erzeng, Hainei qiguan, 1609 214 Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of the Mount Jizu summit and the Monkey Stairs, 1656 215 Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of the Dragon Flower Monastery, 1656 216 Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of Kāśyapa Monastery, 1656 217 — xii —

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4.12 Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of Xiacang, 1656 218 4.13 Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of Haoran Pavilion, 1656 227 4.14 Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of the middle of the scroll, 1656 228 4.15 Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of the White Stone Precipice, 1656 229 4.16 Er Lake, Dali, Yunnan 241 4.17 View of Er Lake, Dali, Yunnan, from the Mount Jizu summit pagoda 242 4.18 Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of a fishing village, 1656 247 4.19 Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of farming activities in a village, 1656 248 4.20 Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of Cleanse the Heart Bridge, 1656 249 4.21 Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of the Dragon Tarn, 1656 250 4.22 Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of Pressing the Clouds Cliff, 1656 251 4.23 Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of a waterwheel, 1656 252 4.24 Chongsheng Monastery pagodas, Dali, Yunnan 253 4.25 Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of Qixian Ravine, 1656 255 4.26 Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of figures below the summit of Mount Jizu, 1656 256 5.1 Huang Xiangjian, Huadian on the Li River (Diannan album leaf 1), 1658 260–61 5.2 Huang Xiangjian, Hot Springs of Qiong County (Diannan album leaf 2), 1658 262 5.3 Huang Xiangjian, Stone Cliffs of Jianchuan (Diannan album leaf 3), 1658 264–65 5.4 Huang Xiangjian, Stone Cave and Indented Peak (Diannan album leaf 4), 1658 266–67 5.5 Huang Xiangjian, The Pine Trees and Stone Steps of Taihua (Diannan album leaf 5), 1658 269 5.6 Huang Xiangjian, Dawn on Lotus Peak (Diannan album leaf 6), 1658 270–71

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5.7 Huang Xiangjian, Numinous Peaks and Billowing Clouds (Diannan album leaf 7), 1658 272–73 5.8 Huang Xiangjian, The Ancient Buddhist Monastery of the Brahman (Diannan album leaf 8), 1658 274 5.9 Huang Xiangjian, Huadian on the Li River, detail, 1658 277 5.10 Huang Xiangjian, Hot Springs of Qiong County, detail, 1658 278 5.11 Huang Xiangjian, Stone Cliffs of Jianchuan, detail, 1658 280 5.12 Huang Xiangjian, Stone Cave and Indented Peak, detail, 1658 281 5.13 Huang Xiangjian, The Pine Trees and Stone Steps of Taihua, detail, 1658 282 5.14 Huang Xiangjian, Numinous Peaks and Billowing Clouds, detail, 1658 283 5.15 Huang Xiangjian, The Ancient Buddhist Monastery of the Brahman, detail, 1658 284 5.16 Huang Xiangjian, Stone Cave and Indented Peak, detail, 1658 285 5.17 Zhang Fengyi, Tiger Hill, 1626 287 5.18 Huang Xiangjian, Stone Cliffs of Jianchuan, detail, 1658 291 5.19 Huang Xiangjian, Dawn on Lotus Peak, detail, 1658 292 5.20 Huang Xiangjian, Dawn on Lotus Peak, detail, 1658 295 5.21 Huang Xiangjian, Hot Springs of Qiong County, detail, 1658 297 5.22 Huang Xiangjian, The Pine Trees and Stone Steps of Taihua, detail, 1658 299 5.23 Huang Xiangjian, The Ancient Buddhist Monastery of the Brahman, detail, 1658 301 5.24 “Dali fu ditu,” from Yunnan tongzhi, 1577 303 5.25 “Diancang shan tu,” from Yang Erzeng, Hainei qiguan, 1609 304 5.26 Diancang Mountain Range, Dali, Yunnan 305 5.27 Huang Xiangjian, The Pine Trees and Stone Steps of Taihua, detail, 1658 311 5.28 Huang Xiangjian, Huadian on the Li River, detail, 1658 313 6.1 Huang Xiangjian, Dawn on Lotus Peak, detail, 1658 325

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Ack now l ed gm en ts

Father told me not to worry, for we could count on all of his examination classmates out there on the road ahead. We would have to impose ourselves on them. — Huang Xiangjian

T

his study may have engaged as many friends, colleagues, and strangers as did the Huang family odyssey and campaign. Li Heyun of Suzhou University and John Dardess of the University of Kansas patiently worked through my translations of the journey texts, colophons, and inscriptions. Patricia Berger, Ellen Johnston Laing, and Eugene Wang offered insightful comments concerning various aspects of my research, as well as moral support, for which I am truly grateful. A number of scholars have commented on the ideas and paintings I present here. François Louis, Pierre-Étienne Will, Timothy Brook, Ihor Pidhainy, Juliane Noth, Keith McMahon, and Daniel Stevenson offered many useful thoughts, suggestions, and corrections to this work. James Cahill, Richard Barnhart, Roderick Whitfield, Chu-tsing Li, and Julian Ward offered their advice during the initial stages of my research. I am also grateful to the two anonymous readers who reviewed the book and offered many thoughtful recommendations. A variety of conferences, symposia, and invited talks over the years have allowed me to develop my arguments. These include the Association for Asian Studies Annual Conference meetings in San Diego, California, and Toronto, Canada; the Midwest Conference on Asian Affairs at Macalester College; the Midwest Conference on Asian Affairs at St. Olaf College and Carleton College; the College Art Association Annual Meeting in New York City; the Suzhou

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Museum; and the International Symposium on Chinese Local History at the University of Utah. I am particularly grateful to the organizers and participants of two conferences. Karin Gludovatz, Juliane Noth, and Joachim Rees of the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft Research Group “Transcultural Negotiations in the Ambits of Art” (FOR 1703) invited me to present my ideas concerning geo-narrative at their international conference on “The Itineraries of Art: Topographies of Artistic Mobility in Europe and Asia, 1500–1900” at the Freie Universität Berlin. I appreciated the insights offered by this group on the relationship of place and painting. The “Biography in East Asia, 1400–1900” conference at the Institute of Asian Research, University of British Columbia, which was organized by Ihor Pidhainy, Adam Bohnet, and Leo Shin, allowed me to explore how lives were portrayed pictorially in China. A secondary goal of this study was to introduce and contextualize previously unstudied, and often unpublished, paintings to the larger scholarly community and public. Many, many kind people went out of their way to assist me in this endeavor. Curators, scholars, librarians, and support staff found ways through and around difficult regulations and fees, enabling me to view, and sometimes photograph, the paintings discussed in this book. I am grateful to Lee Chi-Kwong of the Art Museum of the Chinese University of Hong Kong; Shan Guolin, Huang Fukang, Ling Lizhong, and the staff of the Shanghai Museum; Zhu Ying and Lu Jun of the Suzhou Museum, as well as Qian Gonglin, Yang Wentao, and Qian Yucheng; Yuen-kit Szeto, Cherry Wong, Twiggy Au, Hilda Mak, and Raymond Tang of the Hong Kong Museum of Art; Heng Wu and Zhang Juan of the Nanjing Museum; Zhang Ying, Guang Jianbo, Yu Hui, and the staff of the Palace Museum, Beijing; Zhao Kun of the National Museum of China; Xu Hongliu, Miao Zhe, and especially Wang Xiaohong of the Zhejiang Provincial Museum; Pan Gongkai, Cheng Baohong, and Wu Meili of the China Academy of Art, Hangzhou; Lucretia Ho of the Collection of Chih Lo Lou; Hyon Su Kwon of Atlantic Art Partners; Yang Liu of the Minneapolis Institute of Arts; Stephen Allee of the Freer Gallery of Art; and Deborah Rudolph of the Fong Yun Wah Rare Book Room at the C. V. Starr East Asian Library, University of California, Berkeley. Robert Graham, the director of publications, and Deborah Del Gais, my editor at the Harvard University Asia Center, have worked tirelessly on the production of this book. I am extremely grateful for their expert help and good humor. Travel and research for this project was partially funded by a Louise Wallace

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Hackney Fellowship for the Study of Chinese Art from the American Oriental Society; a research grant from the Metropolitan Center for Far Eastern Art Studies, Tokyo; a travel grant from the Department of Art History, University of Utah; research grants from the University of St. Thomas Center for Faculty Development, and travel grants from the University of St. Thomas Art History Department. I was able to prepare the book manuscript thanks to a Junior Scholar Grant from the Chiang Ching-kuo Foundation for International Scholarly Exchange. At the University of St. Thomas I am particularly indebted to Dean Terence Langan for his resolute support throughout the preparation of the manuscript. I am grateful for permission to reproduce material from the following articles: “Experiential Readings and the Grand View: Mount Jizu by Huang Xiangjian (1609–1673),” The Art Bulletin 95:3 (September 2012): 412–36; “Envisioning a Monastery: A Seventeenth-Century Buddhist Fund-Raising Appeal Album,” T’oung Pao 97 (2011): 104–59; “Visual Experience in Late-Ming Suzhou: ‘Honorific’ and ‘Famous Sites’ Paintings,” Ars Orientalis 36 (2009): 137–77; “The Paintings of Huang Xiangjian’s Filial Journey to the Southwest,” Artibus Asiae 67:2 (2007): 297–357. A book that relates a filial journey must acknowledge friends and family. Hence, I must first write a heartfelt thank you to my department chairs at the University of St. Thomas, Mark Stansbury-O’Donnell and Victoria Young, whose support has been unstinting throughout the entire process. I am also grateful not only to have good colleagues, but also supportive friends, who are, amazingly, one and the same. Thank you Heather Shirey, Craig Eliason, Shelly Nordtorp-Madson, and William Barnes for your kind encouragement. Special thanks go to Christine Dent, who prepared maps and polished illustrations till they shone, all the while assuring me she enjoyed it. I would also like to thank my family: Edith and Kurt Engelbrecht, James Kindall, Jonalyn Schuon, Alexis, José, and Kurtis Villafañé, Anne and Rodney Dreier, Emma Engelbrecht, Henry Baughman, and Lola Kindall. Your enthusiastic encouragement and love has made all the difference. Finally, to my Yumin, who, like Huang’s friend, took the journey with me— never complaining and always helping. I could not have done it without you.

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A bbr ev i at ions a n d C on v e n t ions

ZBZ ZGGDSHTM ZGYJSWDX

Zhibuzu zhai congshu 知不足齋叢書, ed. Bao Tingbo 鮑廷博 (1728–1814). (Reprint: Shanghai: Gushu liutongchu, 1921). Zhongguo gudai shuhua tumu 中國古代書畫圖目 (Beijing: Wenwu chubanshe/Cultural Relics Publishing House, 1986–2001). Zhongguo youji sanwen daxi: Guangxi juan / Yunnan juan 中國 游記散文大系: 廣西卷/ 雲南卷, eds. Qu Yuxiu 屈毓秀, Zhang Renjian 張仁健, Lin Youguang 林友光 (Taiyuan: Shuhai chubanshe, 2002).

Conventions The reader is advised that all Chinese lunar-calendar dates mentioned in the discussion have been converted to the Gregorian (i.e., “Western”) calendar. In the main text, Chinese characters are included only for unpublished inscriptions and colophons or for comparative purposes. The reader should consult the glossary-index in the back matter for the Chinese characters for personal and place names, titles of works, and specific terms romanized in the text. For a discussion and translation of Huang Xiangjian’s A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents and Diary of the Return from Yunnan the reader is directed to appendix 1. A brief inventory of Huang’s paintings and a chronological list of his works examined for this study are included in appendix 2.

Introduction

D

uring the fall of the Ming dynasty (1368–1644), Huang Xiangjian (1609–73) journeyed on foot from his native Suzhou to far-distant Yunnan Province to rescue his father, who had been posted there as an official of the collapsing dynasty. Leaving home in early 1652 and returning in mid–1653, Huang traveled for 558 days over 2,800 miles, braving hostile armies, violent bandits, fierce minority tribes, man-eating tigers, disease-laden regions, earthquakes, and the freezing rain and snow of the “Little Ice Age” to find his parents amidst the vast mountainous borderland province. Despite nearly impossible odds, he brought them back home. Huang then began to paint pictures of his odyssey through the sublime landscape of the dangerous, “barbarian” southwest in an extraordinarily dramatic style, and he wrote vivid accounts of his travels that were published as The Travel Records of Filial Son Huang (Huang Xiaozi jicheng).1 Huang Xiangjian created pictorial and literary works with distinct functions for the multilayered social networks that surrounded him. Personally, his most pressing concern was to establish a socially valuable reputation regarding filial piety and loyalty for himself and for his father in the wake of their return home to disorder. The initial step in this process was the writing of The Travel Records of Filial Son Huang, here translated for the first time in their entirety. The next step was to create paintings that captured the Huang family odyssey. This book is the first comprehensive examination of Huang Xiangjian’s landscape paintings of the southwest edge of the Chinese empire. Paintings of southwest China are extremely rare. Huang’s paintings, however, should not be understood as factual records of the southwest. Instead, they represent a seventeenth-century Suzhou citizen’s expectations and perceptions of the colonial southwest. The primary goal of these works was to illustrate vividly how one man put the practice of filial

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piety into action. The way in which the Huang family utilized these paintings and writings demonstrates the societal mechanics of how a reputation for filiality may be engineered by a group of like-minded educated men as an alternate form of validation to a government-issued degree. Indeed, these paintings present an intriguing case study of the social function of art as an agent of moral persuasion, class identification, and biographical commemoration. In this art-historical study, I use the paintings of Huang Xiangjian to encourage new readings of site-specific paintings and to identify a previously unrecognized category of Chinese site painting, the geo-narrative, as I have so labeled it.2 The artists, commentators, subject matter, and styles of geo-narrative paintings vary, but they all present a structured topographic experience for viewers through an identifiable landscape whose greater significance, ultimate meaning, and purpose are slowly revealed.3 Careful visual, textual, and cultural analysis of the works of Huang Xiangjian, set against the horizon of the site-specific painting tradition that surrounded him in his native Suzhou, reveals the strategies that he employed to create novel geo-narrative paintings using the unfamiliar landscape of the southwest. Huang not only created site-specific paintings as part of a campaign for the socially generated title Filial Son, he also prepared works that served more private functions, such as a handscroll that creates an experiential ascent of a mountain, or a visual spiritual biography for his father in the form of a landscape album.

Approaches to Site-Specific Painting The written and painted records of Huang Xiangjian allow unparalleled access to the experiences and vision of one seventeenth-century gentleman as he moved through a decidedly foreign landscape. Indeed, with the exception of the work of the early Ming-dynasty physician Wang Lü (ca. 1332–91), the extensive inscriptions, extant paintings, and lengthy travel records that Huang Xiangjian created provide more information than for any earlier maker of place paintings. Using my translation of his travel diaries and art-historical examination of his paintings, most of which are inscribed with episodes from his odyssey, I compare his works to descriptions of the same southwest sites in contemporaneous gazetteer entries and to personal narratives by other seventeenth-century travelers. In this I follow scholars such as James Cahill, Kathlyn Liscomb, and Alfreda Murck, who have studied paintings of sites and travel. Cahill has examined renderings

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of specific mountains, such as Mount Huang; Liscomb has discussed the theoretical impetus for the creation of such paintings, particularly of Mount Hua; and Murck has explored the poetic, political, and stylistic symbolism of site paintings such as those depicting scenes in the Xiao Xiang region.4 Most recently, Flora Fu has examined paintings of mountains as “grand tours” of China for a variety of social groups.5 The implications of specific topography are a focal element of Fu’s study. This may be seen as part of a larger trend, in which scholars such as Jennifer Purtle, Julia Orell, and Catherine Stuer have begun to analyze the role of identity, place, and painting in relation to specific areas of China, including Fujian, Guangzhou, the Yangzi River, and Nanjing.6 Since there was no catalogue raisonné for the work of Huang Xiangjian, or even any monograph on Huang in any language, my first task was to identify all paintings attributed to him and to determine which of them were authentic and important. I traveled to over a dozen museums in mainland China and visited private collectors in the United States to view them firsthand.7 I also located and documented the sites depicted in the Suzhou place paintings that surrounded Huang as a young man and those in the Guizhou and Yunnan landscapes he created after his journey to rescue his parents. I examined famous sites, such as Suzhou’s Tiger Hill (Huqiu) and Mount Taihua in Kunming, Yunnan, as well as those that had been not only forgotten, such as Haoran Pavilion at the edge of Er Lake (Erhai) in Dali, but also abandoned, such as Mount Zhixing in Suzhou. Much has changed in China since the seventeenth century. Some sites have been geologically and culturally altered by time.8 Little original architecture remains. Tourism, the government, and commerce have touched every site in some way. Even so, many have been carefully preserved or reconstructed, and the relationship of the updated architecture with the geography can sometimes present a physical experience roughly similar to that enjoyed by traditional visitors. Earlier studies such as Richard Edwards’s The World Around the Chinese Artist and James Cahill’s Shadows of Mount Huang also include photographs of geographic areas or specific sites represented in place paintings.9 Usually photographs of this type introduce viewers to the general topography of the area under discussion or highlight the distinctive topographical features of one site to which artists might allude in painted form. Rather than using photographs primarily for visual comparative purposes, to illustrate that a painting looks like a site, this study employs photographs for experiential comparative purposes; that is, as evidence that a specific view is attainable or unavoidable or impossible from a certain place.10 The photographs appearing here represent

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visual evidence of very specific and experiential views of the actual topography pictured in the paintings. The “geography” captured in the paintings and photographs included in this book should be understood to represent the “multifaceted phenomena of human experience” discussed over the centuries by countless visitors and writers.11 An unmediated experience of the natural Chinese landscape was not only impossible, but also culturally undesirable for traditional viewers. Visits to specific sites allowed sightseers to commune with the individuals and ideas associated with those sites throughout history. Such site visits also allowed them to transcend cultural and historical time to participate in the anthropocosmic schema at the heart of a number of belief systems.12 On these visits the natural environment of specific sites allowed viewers to engage in spiritual dialogue. Given the extensive and multilayered symbolism of some sites, it might be argued that one cannot know for certain what traditional viewers read in painted versions of the same landscapes. The complex implications of site geography, however, clarify rather than muddle the reading of place paintings because they allowed painters and patrons greater nuance of meaning and purpose in their creation. This study interprets the implications of the specific physical paths, topography, and views within place paintings as landscape markers that position the viewer culturally, historically, and spiritually by placing him topographically. Painting paratexts and contemporaneous writings provide many clues to the experiences illustrated in these works. Art historians, however, should employ other purely visual evidence as well. Connoisseurship and stylistic analysis are one means to this end, and I utilize these methods. Visual analysis of the geography of the sites in relation to their painted counterparts is another. The paintings and photographs in this book identify the site and sight experiences that painters represented to locate the cultural and historical vision sought by viewers and patrons in specific physical places. As observer and photographer, I intentionally created the photographs to signify predetermined and carefully structured experiences. As did traditional visitors, I had read Ming-dynasty travel writings, poetry, and gazetteer reports describing the sites and had viewed numerous sixteenth- and seventeenth-century paintings of the sites prior to my arrival at them. Relying on the written and visual descriptions found in these traditional sources, I sought out the specific, historically sanctioned views associated with each place. Certainly, mine was a twenty-first-century academic’s experience and recording of the proceedings, but I would suggest that the experiential tradition I followed—meaning the materials I studied, what those

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materials prepared me to seek and view, and how I perceived them on site—may be seen to replicate in part the experiential visual tradition represented in the paintings. The paintings discussed in chapter 1 of this study reveal an extensive site-painting lexicon utilized by Suzhou artists to represent the unique somatic and visual experience of the topography, architecture, and views at each of the Suzhou sites. The realization that these painters were manipulating the topographical elements in their site paintings for specific narrative reasons then informed my consideration of Huang Xiangjian’s paintings of the southwest. As in the Suzhou paintings, viewers’ experiential knowledge of the illustrated landscapes allowed Huang to create a diversity of readings and functions. For example, only by ascending Mount Taihua did I grasp the import of the view from the observation platform entitled “Endless Expanse of Blue” (Yibiwanqing) in one of Huang’s albums, and only when I trekked up Mount Jizu was its relationship to the Himalayas in one of his handscrolls made clear. These experiences so invigorated my reading of the topography depicted in Huang’s site paintings that the landscape emerged from its more typical role as background to become an active participant in and narrator of the journeys illustrated. Indeed, I found that the experience of actual sites exposes how artists such as Huang manipulated the topographical elements of their painted counterparts to narrate the distinctive vision of individual players and their role in a wide range of social interactions and functions.

Geo-Narrative Painting Paintings of identifiable places have been the subject of scholarly study for some years, yet much debate has surrounded what to call them. “Topographical” painting has been utilized, but also much disputed as a label inappropriate for Chinese painters’ renderings of real places. In his study of travel themes from the fourteenth to the seventeenth century, Kenneth Ganza calls the term “an unsatisfactory classifier because it presupposes that the subject landscape is portrayed in a topography-conscious manner,” and he believes that “the primary problem posed by these paintings is the pictorial interaction between the objective requirements of geographical specificity and the subjective expression of artistic inspiration.” He suggests the term “toponymic” as more appropriate to paintings of this type in that it “states only that the artist based the painting

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on a specific place that he names in the title and thus leaves the door open for inquiry about the artistic aspects of the painting.”13 The term “topographical” has, however, continued to be employed. Eugene Wang has observed that there is “no exact equivalent in Chinese to the Greek word topos that conveniently collapses the dual senses of locus and topic,” but suggests that the word ji (site, trace, vestige) may hold similar meanings.14 James Cahill has used topographical painting to designate “representations of particular places” and “paintings presenting stages in a journey to some particular place” in a variety of discussions about specific-site paintings.15 Richard Vinograd has called paintings of personalized topographical sites “landscape of property.”16 Other writers, such as Kathlyn Liscomb and Joseph McDermott, have avoided the pitfalls of terminology altogether by focusing on paintings of specific sites and referring to them as such; “paintings of Beijing” or “paintings of Mount Hua.”17 Most of the place-painting studies discussed above rightly identify the painter or patron as the key player and focus of the work. The pictured landscape, meanwhile, serves as the backdrop or intermediary sphere through which this persona voyages. In these readings, the confluence of an individuated painting style with a few topographic features both associates the landscape with its creator or recipient and reflects his identity. This is true of many seventeenth-century landscape paintings. By physically journeying through the landscapes illustrated in some works, however, I discovered a distinct experiential place-painting tradition that inverts this priority. The focal persona remains an important element in the creation and picturing of these works, but it is the individuated landscape that serves as the active agent. In this role, the geographical features of a specific place rather than the persona of the artist or patron describe the journey and explicate its meaning.18 I have proposed the term “geo-narrative” earlier in the introduction for place paintings that lend themselves to this reading.19 “Geo,” as a shortened form of “geography,” emphasizes the active and dominant role of specific geography in these works, while “narrative” stresses the very particular story and meaning the painted geography conveys. The term “geo-narrative” also agrees with the traditionally active role of geography in Chinese thought. Topography did not consist of passive natural forms; rather, those forms were seen as dynamic players. It was they that guided viewers’ experience. Mountains, for example, were often described as inscrutable twisting dragons, as in this quotation from a seventeenth-century geomancer: “The magic dragon writhes and changes, unknowable in its subtle origins; and mountain ridges that have life breath will

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start to run east then suddenly turn west, or begin to run south then suddenly head north; you cannot pin them down—off they go in all directions. Surely nothing but the writhing of the magic dragon is an adequate figure of the mountain ridges’ permutations.”20 Inscriptions and paratexts further elaborate the geo-narrative experience. Many such works include an abundance of written material, often in the form of colophons added to the end of the scroll or album. Those that do not may have had such materials removed and remounted as separate artworks because the reputations of those who wrote the accompanying commentaries were often of a higher status than those who painted the pictures. This commentary may provide the name of the artist as well as the recipient or patron of the work. It almost always identifies the site or area illustrated and often explicates the topographical experiences pictured. It may take the form of a travel account describing the topographic experiences of the painter or recipient on the road. The writer may discuss the history of the natural and architectural elements pictured, similar to the style of a traditional gazetteer, or he may present impressionistic poetry or prose descriptions of the views and experiences along a route. Appended writings may even offer one explanation for the meaning and function of the work. Such texts are an important element of these paintings because they allow the recovery of some historical elements that surround the paintings and the viewing process itself; but they are only one complementary aspect of the geo-narrative. They contribute to, rather than explain, viewers’ understanding of the pictured landscape experience. The experiential knowledge that viewers brought to the topography in the painting is a fundamental element of geo-narratives. Varying levels of experiential knowledge could be attained through journeys to the sites or familiarity with the verbal reports or recorded experiences of others who visited the sites. Scholars such as Susan Bush and Minna Törmä have addressed the various roles of site experience in relation to Chinese painting. Bush examines Zong Bing’s (375–443) views on painting landscape in relation to Buddhism as practiced on Mount Lu.21 Törmä suggests that the landscapes of some extant Song-dynasty handscrolls were originally mounted as screens presenting a “wandering-experience through the process of viewing.”22 Studies such as these, paired with early writings, some of which are discussed below, indicate that landscape experience was a major focus in the development of painting theory and its reception throughout Chinese imperial history. Zong Bing is usually credited with the idea of visual journeying through

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painted landscapes once he was no longer able to travel to the sites themselves.23 Later biographers, such as Shen Yue (441–513) in the Song History (Songshu), explain that Zong Bing created place paintings on the walls of his home through which he might “roam while reclining” (woyou).24 This concept grew in popularity over the centuries, and by the late Ming, as Flora Fu has observed, Zong Bing was a favored model and inspiration for painters and viewers of landscape.25 Amongst early writers, the Song-dynasty painter Guo Xi (ca. 1020–after 1090), as recorded by his son in The Lofty Truth of Forests and Streams (Linquan gaozhi), most directly addresses the experiential goals of landscape painting and how they might be achieved: It is generally accepted opinion that in landscapes there are those through which you may travel, those in which you may sightsee, those through which you may wander, and those in which you may live. Any paintings attaining these effects are to be considered excellent. . . . You seem in fact to be in those mountains. This is the mood of a painting beyond its mere scenery. You see a white path disappearing into the blue and think of traveling on it. You see the glow of setting sun over level waters and dream of gazing on it. You see hermits and mountain dwellers, and think of lodging with them. You see cliffs by lucid water or streams over rocks, and long to wander there. To look at a particular painting puts you in the corresponding frame of mind, as though you were really on the point of going there.26

Viewers’ expectations of a travel experience through painted topography were well advanced by the Song dynasty, when the poet Qin Guan (1049–1100) in a 1087 inscription to a painting of the Wangchuan Villa described in detail his journey through the work: “Wild with excitement, as if I were with Mojie (Wang Wei) himself, I entered Wangchuan. We crossed Huazi Hill, passed through Meng Wall Cove, and paused to rest at Wangchuan Villa. We tied up at Grained Apricot Lodge, ascended the Clear Bamboo Range, and stood at Magnolia Enclosure. . . . We boated on Lake Yi, played among Willow Waves, and rinsed in the Luan Family Shallows. . . . People in scholar’s caps, carrying staffs, and wearing sandals were playing chess and drinking tea, or composing poems for their own amusement.”27 The writer relates the experience of traveling through the very specific historical topography of a villa associated with the famous Tangdynasty poet Wang Wei (701–61). The idea of experiential travel through painted landscapes became ever more popular throughout the Yuan and Ming dynasties

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to the point that in the early Ming, the physician-painter Wang Lü (ca. 1332– 91) created a complete sensorial experience of his trip to Mount Hua (Shaanxi Province) in a painted album that included prefaces, a travel record, and poetic inscriptions.28 Such experiential renderings continued to be practiced into the early Qing dynasty by artists such as Mei Qing (1623–97), who stated plainly the journey potential of his 1690 album Sixteen Views of Mount Huang: “[a]lthough the magnificence of the thirty-six peaks cannot be completely shown in this album, a brief look may inspire others to travel through them vicariously.”29 Topographical experience was key in both the stylistic choices and training of traditional artists, as suggested by Zhang Hong in his conclusion to the 1639 inscription he attached to Ten Scenes of Yue. He states: “About half [of the things I saw there] did not agree with what I had heard. So when I returned home I got out some silk and used it to depict what I had seen, because relying on your ears is not as good as relying on your eyes.”30 The established method of achieving these experiential effects involved traveling through and experiencing specific regions and sites. Li Chengsou (ca. 1150–after 1221) explains: “Those who paint landscapes must travel everywhere and observe widely, only then will they know where to place and move the brush. How do I know this? From youth on, I, Chengsou, have observed the landscape of Xiangzhong and roamed at length in the Three Gorges and the Kui Gate. Whether land or water, I completely absorbed its aspects, and after a long while I involuntarily perceived my capacity for monochrome painting. It is necessary for students to understand this.”31 Li learned to paint by traveling throughout specific sites. Wang Lü expresses this sentiment in his Mount Hua album by stating, “This is what is meant by the saying that one cannot transmit spirit in a painting by imitating other paintings. It is only possible to convey spirit by encountering such marvelous things for oneself.”32 Artists then returned to their studios to paint the spirit of these places. The topographical experience was believed to have become a part of the artist between the time spent traveling and the time spent painting. This melding of person and place was then transferred to the artwork. I would suggest that this practice promoted the development of experiential renderings of landscape. Spatial and temporal distancing of the painter from the landscape allowed the topography and the artist’s experience and perception of it to merge in his mind, then to be expressed in the painted landscape. The artist was not painting what he saw, but his remembrance of it. The experiences portrayed in geo-narrative paintings may be seen as one form of artistic expression of the merging of place and person. Xu Xiake (1587–

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1641) articulated this ideal in his introduction to the first gazetteer of Mount Jizu (Yunnan Province): “The outward manifestations of a mountain’s scenes are its peaks and caves. A scene is created when a passer-by chances upon it: once transmitted through his emotions, it is made distinct.”33 This type of experiential rendering required more naturalistic styles than other painting genres because it simulated what viewers to the sites might see or had actually seen. Artists, as necessary, defended the representational styles of these works because their goal was experiential reportage rather than stylistic play. Some described a revelatory moment after having actually visited and experienced the site, which forced them to make a stylistic shift. Wang Lü explains, “I have studied painting for more than thirty years, but that was only receiving a legacy of paintings on paper and silk. By referring to this or that artist and stealing a thing or two, I really was just appropriating the fame of those artists. How could I have known that beyond the realm of paper and silk there were divine transformations such as these at Mt. Hua? . . . I am no longer the same person who merely received a legacy of paintings, for now I have roamed Mt. Hua.”34 He describes the development of his style from experience in great detail in the second preface to his paintings. The final line of his discussion’s opening section expresses his argument succinctly: “I take my heart-mind to be my teacher. It takes as its master my eyes, which in turn revere Mt. Hua as their teacher.”35 The early Qing painter Hongren (1610–64) and his biographers point to his time on Mount Huang as having irrevocably altered his style as well. Hongren stated: “I dare to say that nature itself has been my painting teacher; I have roamed alone with my walking stick the myriad valleys and cliffs.”36 In geo-narrative paintings, meaning is captured and communicated through pictorial and textual narratives focusing on specific sites, locational views, meaningful seasons, and hours of the day. The writings included in these works might be composed for the paintings or consist of separate compositions added to the works later. The handscroll entitled Eight Views of Jiahe (Jiahe bajing), attributed to the Yuan-dynasty painter Wu Zhen (1280–1354), captures eight sites of his hometown, paired with detailed inscriptions in a tone similar to those found in gazetteer entries, such as this one for “Evening Clouds at Dragon Pool”: “Three li west of the city, outside the Tongyue Gate, in front of the Three Pagodas Temple, is the Dragon King Shrine. The stream running below this is fast-flowing and deep. When a drought occurs, the people pray at this shrine. At times, when there is a wind, the waves are terrifying.”37 Here, locational and seasonal details of the area mingle with the writer’s emotional

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response to the site at particular times of the year. In 1656, Xiao Yuncong (1596– 1673) painted a handscroll called Living Abroad or Returning Home Is One and the Same (Gui yu yiyuan tu), which presents a topographically distinctive journey around Jingting Mountain (modern Anhui Province) highlighted by numerous inscriptions focused on particular experiences of the artist and his friend, the monk Jingru (b. 1604), concerning specific sites. Here, Xiao moves viewers pictorially and textually through temporal topographic experiences as he merges them with historic personalities, events, and landscape markers of the past, as in the scene depicting “Thunder over Jing Mountain.” He writes, “The strange, soaring summit reaches to the clouds; today I climbed the highest peak. Who made the golden inscription in the grotto? Now I know, it is made by the thunder.”38 Successful geo-narratives are most often lauded for their naturalistic immediacy, their ability to place viewers within the geography pictured, and the active re-experiencing of the topographic narrative that viewers might enjoy as they “roamed while reclining.” Zong Bing presents an early description of just this experience in his Introduction to Painting Landscape (Hua shanshui xu). According to Susan Bush, Zong Bing sought enlightenment as his transformative goal when viewing paintings. “As I unroll paintings and face them in solitude, while seated I plumb the ends of the earth. Not having to avoid a multitude of natural dangers, I simply respond to the uninhabited wilderness, where grottoed peaks tower on high and cloudy forests mass in depth. The sages and virtuous men shed reflected light from the distant past, and a myriad delights are fused into their spirits and thoughts. What then should I do? Freely expand my spirit, that is all. What could be placed above that which expands the spirit?”39 Over a thousand years later in the late Ming, Huang Kongzhao (1589–1678), Huang Xiangjian’s father, recounts how deeply the experiences captured in such works still affected him as he re-experienced the sites he had once traveled with his son. “I ran my hands over the leaves [of this album by my son] and after a while, I could feel every dot and drop of the blood and the tears. The wind and the mist were still there in all their splendor on the paper.”40 Huang Xiangjian’s geo-narrative paintings were developed from the complex and diverse place-painting tradition that surrounded him in his hometown of Suzhou. They exhibit well-known site-specific views and compositions of the locales pictured; they signal and compose views using a distinctive codified topographical vocabulary; and they emphasize experiential concerns such as time and seasonal influences to narrate the visual and physical experiences of specific

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sites. Suzhou site paintings were created for a variety of purposes. For example, “honorific” paintings of places were produced as gifts for distinguished individuals; “famous sites” paintings were made as luxury items that lent the fame of their subject matter and inscribers to the recipients; and fund-raising appeal paintings were used to garner financial or material support for religious or civic projects. Huang used these traditional artistic devices and social strategies in new and personal ways to formulate complex geo-narrative routes animated by the multidimensional symbolism of both the famous and obscure sites and views of the southwest. His landscapes are layered constructions of physical topography and the experience of journeying through it; cultural topography as manifest in historically established symbols representative of generalized principles as well as in specifically condensed symbols of persona, social group, and class; and personal topography infused with the personality, beliefs, and experiences of a specific recipient. Journeying through these scenes, viewers were affected and transformed. Geo-narrative represents a distinct category of painting within the visual culture of seventeenth-century China. It was a finely executed yet functional type of luxury good utilized by the growing educated class of the Ming-Qing transition to communicate personal meaning within a well-defined cultural space. The sophisticated implementation of its characteristics as described above and analyzed throughout the rest of this book suggests that it represents a mature painting tradition developed over many centuries. As such, it joins an alternative history of landscape painting first introduced and explored by scholars such as Anne Clapp and Kathlyn Liscomb, who explained types of paintings outside the elite art-history tradition that focused on the style of select premier personalities promoted by contemporaneous tastemakers. Although geo-narrative painters continued to construct personal styles and to employ regional painting modes, they built pictorial meaning around landscape experience rather than personal style. The illustrated landscape experiences might be particular to the artist or the recipient or both. The painters also implemented the contemporary signifiers for sites that surrounded them in paintings, historical gazetteers, and travel writings. These varying elements, however, were employed to render specific geographic experiences narrating particular journeys that communicated specific meanings.

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Southwest Studies This book is the first study to focus on visual depictions of the southwest. It examines some rare extant Han-Chinese pictorial renderings of Guizhou and Yunnan Provinces made prior to the modern era. It has benefitted from the historical and geographical research within the burgeoning field of southwest studies. In the 1930s, Chinese scholars who had relocated to Kunming drew attention to studies of the southwest done in the Ming and Qing dynasties.41 The great pioneer in the study of local history and culture of the southwest was Fang Guoyu (1903–83). A native of Lijiang (Yunnan Province), Fang exhaustively researched the history, geography, and ethnology of the southwest, with a special emphasis on Yunnan. His decades of contributions to ethnological and historical studies have served as a foundation for later Chinese and Western historians.42 English-language studies of the southwest developed later. Published in 1947, The Ancient Na-Khi Kingdom of Southwest China by Joseph Rock remained one of the few works of its kind for several years.43 Since the 1950s, a growing number of books and articles on literature, history, and colonialism have focused on the identity and culture of native peoples of the southwest and their interaction with the Han Chinese. Historians such as Herold J. Wiens, Charles Backus, C. P. Fitzgerald, Lynn Struve, John Herman, and Yang Bin have treated early Han-Chinese colonizing efforts in the area, its later political struggles, and the histories of its diverse native inhabitants.44 Laura Hostetler and C. Patterson Giersch have studied the indigenous history of the southwest in relation to its Han colonizers.45 Literary historians, such as Julian Ward and Ihor Pidhainy, have examined Chinese travel literature and geographical writings on the southwest.46

The first chapter of this book, “Suzhou Place Painting Traditions,” introduces readers to the contemporary topographical images that surrounded Huang Xiangjian in his youth. Paintings representing tourism to the famous natural scenery, ancient sites, and monasteries of seventeenth-century Suzhou, a city long considered a center of high culture, were quite fashionable, and their visual vocabulary became his foundation. The southwest, however, was not a traditional painting subject and lacked a standard vocabulary. This chapter examines how the stylistic, literary, and topographical conventions of Suzhou place paintings functioned. It also cues readers to the basic techniques of this tradition later utilized by Huang Xiangjian and expanded on in his own work.

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For a fuller understanding of chapter 2, readers may turn first to appendix 1 to read a full translation of the two travel records: Huang’s arduous southwest journey to rescue his parents and his diary describing the family’s harrowing voyage home to Suzhou. Influential friends and colleagues had these two narratives printed together as The Travel Records of Filial Son Huang within a year of the family’s return. This text is presented as it was written, with no subdivisions or commentary. Footnotes are provided to assist modern readers unfamiliar with the social, political, cultural, or environmental context. In the second and third chapters, “Paintings of the Southwest for Suzhou Audiences” and “Filial Geo-Narratives,” I argue that the majority of Huang Xiangjian’s painted oeuvre was part of a successful campaign that visualized his filiality and his father’s and his own loyalty to the fallen Ming dynasty. In ink albums and hanging scrolls, Huang illustrated himself and his family at dramatic moments along their journeys. Chapter 2 relates the basic components of the Huang family odyssey and examines the mechanics of content, style, and production evident in the paintings Huang produced after his return to Suzhou. It also introduces seventeenth-century views of the southwest and the variety of self-styled “Ming loyalists” who would have been interested in Huang’s paintings. Chapter 3 interprets Huang’s geo-narrative paintings and The Travel Records of Filial Son Huang as the material evidence of a campaign to enhance the moral standing of the Huang family within the elite circles of their friends and acquaintances in their hometown of Suzhou. A primary goal of this campaign was to earn Huang Xiangjian the socially generated title Filial Son in order to aid his impoverished family on their return with immediate material benefits, such as monetary gifts, and the societal advance of status that such a title could elicit. The fourth, fifth, and sixth chapters discuss two of Huang Xiangjian’s most complex geo-narrative paintings. Although both works may have aided the Huangs’ filial campaign, they were created for two separate filial purposes and require a complex experiential and visual understanding of the topography pictured. In the fourth chapter, “Attaining a Grand View from Mount Jizu,” focus is on the ascent of the Buddhist Mount Jizu (Yunnan Province), which Huang painted in 1656, and the multilayered experiences it afforded to a variety of contemporary viewers. Huang composed the pictorial elements of the topography and the narrative in the inscription to create three interrelated, experiential readings of this handscroll, depending on the viewer’s level of knowledge of the geography of the Mount Jizu region. The first and most accessible reading is

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as a traditional painted journey-experience of an exotic locale. The fullest reading of the second journey-experience, articulated in the inscription at the end of the painting, is dependent on the viewer’s knowledge of the history of that area and the painter’s extraordinary personal story. The third reading was available only to the reader who had fully understood the topography as he viewed the painting; grasped the personal significance of the journey while reading the inscription; and then employed the ability, through experience and imagination, to visualize the comprehensive view of the surrounding region from the mountain’s summit and to associate it with the metaphorical implications of the daguan, or “grand view.” Those able to combine a knowledgeable reading of the picture and inscription with a full visualization of the varied topography as seen from the summit could interpret the transformative experience activated by a daguan—the comprehensive understanding of an enlightened individual. In the fifth and sixth chapters, “Topographies of Yunnan” and “Picturing the Quest toward Sagehood,” I argue that Huang’s 1658 masterpiece, Scenic Frontier of Yunnan (Diannan shengjing), presents his father’s lifetime quest for sagehood. This undertaking extends over the eight-leaf album as a written and visually narrated journey through a set of unique sites filled with topographical metaphors for personal growth and illumination. I refer to this geo-narrative type as a pictorial “spiritual biography.” The complexity of the route and multi­ dimensional symbolism of the painting’s sites are examined in three analytical dimensions. First is the physical topography and the attendant experience of journeying through it. Next is the cultural topography as manifest in historically established symbols representative of generalized principles, as well as specific condensation symbols of persona, social group, and class. The last to be considered is the personal topography infused with the personality, beliefs, and experiences of a single person: the artist’s father, Huang Kongzhao.47 This study analyzes how one man used artistic creativity and his society’s belief in the traditional values of filiality and loyalty to survive during a complicated and dangerous time. Huang Xiangjian was one of thousands of educated men who sought to preserve and distinguish themselves amidst the political disorder, social upheaval, and financial distress of this period. The strategies he used tell much about life and art in this period, but they tell still more about Huang Xiangjian himself. I began my research on Huang because his painting fascinated me. I continued it because of the variety of geo-narratives it revealed. I present it now as a tribute to a man I deeply admire, for in the end, Huang Xiangjian truly was a Filial Son.

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Map 1  Ming-dynasty Suzhou sites. Map courtesy of Scott Walker, Harvard Map Collection, Widener Library.

Ch a p t er On e

Suzhou Place Painting Traditions

R

ecords suggest that Huang Xiangjian spent the entirety of his life in Suzhou before his southwest journey. This means that he matured, married, and established himself in one of the most culturally sophisticated and commercialized urban regions of late-Ming China. He then traveled at the age of forty-three to an area considered among the most barbaric, peripheral, and war-torn of any in the Chinese empire. Despite receiving an elite education, Huang was an unremarkable artist and scholar before his departure. Paradoxically, it was his journey to an undomesticated Yunnan that provided Huang with the opportunity to gain the kind of singular moral status that had become almost unattainable in his urbane hometown. This chapter introduces Huang’s Suzhou milieu (map 1) and examines two rare extant occasional works that he created prior to his trip, then analyzes the established imagery of seventeenth-century Suzhou place paintings that would inform the southwest paintings Huang created upon his return.

Huang Xiangjian in Suzhou The Suzhou of Huang’s youth boasted the greatest number of successful degree holders, one of the highest standards of living, and some of the most productive farming districts in the empire, and its prosperity funded a rich arts-and-crafts industry.1 The remarkable affluence of this urban area was already well established by the end of the fifteenth century, as described by Wang Qi (1433–99) in “The Prosperity of Wu in Recent Years”: “The eaves of the houses, and a myriad of roof tiles are laid like fish scales. Even to the corners of the city walls and along

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the city moat, teahouses and inns are lined up, with scarcely any space between them. Carriages, horses, and entourages, with jugs, cups, jars, and boxes, rush about on the thoroughfares. On small canals, the painted boats, dazzling with brilliant colors, go on excursions to the mountains, and boats carrying singing girls thread between the emerald waves and crimson pavilions. The music accompanying their singing and dancing mingles with the sounds of the city.”2 The people of late-Ming Suzhou were an urbanized cultural mélange that met and mingled in literary societies, charitable organizations, Buddhist study groups, personal libraries, government-sponsored schools, shopping districts, festivals, and private and public art viewings.3 They navigated a vast array of overlapping cultural networks composed of urban and suburban educated elite who moved between the traditional categories of official, gentry, student, or merchant. Officials and unsuccessful examination candidates alike are reported to have participated in Suzhou business culture. Educated elite operated storage houses, moneylending businesses, and extensive groceries, which eventually forced the traditional peddlers of the region out of business.4 Silk production and trade was another popular choice, as Yu Shenxing stated: “The people of Wu make silk production their profession, even official families. Many seek profit from spinning silk. Their customs of industry, thrift, and good business sense have made [Wu] wealthy and populous.”5 Although most educated citizens of late-Ming Suzhou occupied multiple societal roles, many individuals chose to construct and publicize one defining identity. The eminent writer Zhang Fengyi (1527–1613, 1564 juren degree) presented himself as a calligrapher for hire with a sign on his door: “This household lacks paper and brush. For those who bring a fan seeking to have it covered with regular script it will cost them one qian of silver; eight lines in running script will be three fen; for specially composed birthday poetry and prose, each scroll will be priced accordingly.”6 Indeed, the terms “farming with the brush” (bigeng) and “inkstone rice field” (yantian) were common vocabulary in late-Ming Suzhou identifying the calligrapher or painter as available for hire. The writer Gui Zhuang (1613–73), in his essay “On My Farming with the Brush” (Bigeng shuo), explains how established this practice had become by the seventeenth century: In my family, from the time of my ancestor Taipu [Gui Youguang], who sold his writings, to the time of my father Chushi [Gui Changshi], who sold his calligraphies and paintings, it has been several generations that we have farmed with our brushes in order to be self-supporting. Since the ruin of our

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family during the great turmoil [1644] and the passing of my father, I have fallen prey to hardships and starvation and more than once was at death’s door. In the last few years, as I have made a small name with my writing, as well as with my calligraphy and painting, people have begun to come to buy them. My daily food depends on these demands for my literary and art works.7

Just as educated elite sought the material rewards of business, wealthy business families sought the social and material rewards an official title could accrue by educating their sons for the official examinations, purchasing familial pedigrees, commissioning false genealogies, and paying extravagantly for embellished epitaphs by prominent officials. Social historians from the late-Ming dynasty onward have suggested that a wide variety of factors, from the overabundance of degree candidates to the mounting wealth of the Suzhou citizenry, led to the extensive dismantling of traditional Confucian social strata that had prevailed at least in the writings of previous times. Irrespective of its cause, the widely acknowledged social fluidity and competitiveness of late-Ming Suzhou made the establishment of societal position all the more important and difficult. Huang Xiangjian came from a distinguished family. He was the descendant of Huang Yue, a Supervising Secretary (Jishizhong) in the Jianwen era (1399– 1402) of the early Ming who had been martyred for his loyalty to the emperor. According to his biographer, Gui Zhuang, the Huang family was originally from Changshu and had moved to the western suburbs of Suzhou.8 Huang’s father, Huang Kongzhao, had earned the Provincial Graduate (juren) degree.9 Given this family background, Huang would have been studying to become one of the approximately 50,000 candidates throughout China who typically competed for the 1,300 provincial-level juren degrees available if he passed the official examinations.10 If he did attempt the exams, he was not successful, so as with most young men from elite families, much of the activities of his twenties and early thirties would have revolved around preparations for his continued attempts.11 He would have studied with his father and perhaps some other teacher; visited the libraries of his father’s friends and the collections of local monasteries; and discussed various topics with his companions.12 Constructing one’s role in late-Ming Suzhou was a fraught endeavor due to the large number of educated elite competing for everything from national official positions to the role of local leaders amongst specific cultural groups. Competitors might characterize those who sought political, literary, or artistic prominence as crass social climbers focused on fame, power, or riches. The label of “mountain

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Fig. 1.1  Huang Xiangjian, Watching a Waterfall, 1641. Fan, mounted as an album leaf, ink on gold-dusted paper, 18.7  51.5 cm. Private collection, courtesy of the owner.

man” or “hermit” (shanren) for an unsuccessful degree candidate was a common pejorative of this period. The term originated with specific talented and erudite educated elite who integrated it into their style names, but by the mid-sixteenth century it was often used as a derogatory slur against those who traded their literary skills for financial gain. It implied a pretentious poseur whose sycophantic manipulation of specific powerful people was for personal gain alone.13 “Shanren,” a revised folk song, mocked the type of gentleman who took the title.14 Other attacks were more personally vicious. Liu Feng was labeled a “fashion deviant” (fuyao) by Shen Defu because after Liu retired as censor he still dressed in official robes of deep red, covered with embroidered cranes, when calling on local magistrates.15 It is impossible to determine the truth of these accusations. They do suggest, however, the volatility of identity in Huang’s Suzhou. The occasional paintings Huang created prior to his journey express his chosen role as a cultured, educated man of Suzhou and were probably used to cement important relationships for him within specific cultural spheres. Two extant paintings suggest the unremarkable scholar-gentleman identity Huang cultivated prior to his Yunnan trek. One is an ink fan of gold-dusted paper mounted as an album leaf in which two gentlemen in a landscape setting admire a waterfall (fig. 1.1). The other is a landscape album of twelve leaves. The scene of a mistenshrouded mountain peak and forest (fig. 1.2) is a fine example from this set of paintings. It is important to note that neither of these works illustrates a specific

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Fig. 1.2  Huang Xiangjian, leaf from Landscapes. Album, ink on paper, 23.8  15.6 cm. Courtesy of the Yu Wei Du Zhai collection.

place. They represent generic landscapes, the extreme opposite of the specific sites Huang would depict when he returned from his southwest odyssey. Huang did, however, develop several of the stylistic elements found in these paintings far more extensively in his post-journey work. For example, the strong diagonals he cultivated later are evident in the riverbank described in the fan and in the central mountain peak of the album. His interest in textured brushwork is also anticipated in the mountain formations of both paintings, as are the wash effects. In this fan, Huang’s attention to spacial recession is manifest in the waterway that moves into the distance beneath the inscription at right. Finally, such details as the careful delineation of tree fronds over a splotch of wash seen in the album leaf and the curly waves of water beneath the waterfall in the fan landscape would become common tropes in his pictures of the southwest. Primarily, however, the subject matter, style, calligraphy, and format of both of Huang’s early works adhere to those strictures associated with a group of

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traditional gentry and official elite of Suzhou, later called the Wu school. Such paintings of the late Ming consisted primarily of meticulously rendered, mildly abstracted ink landscapes on paper with subtle blue, green, and pink highlights. The sharp, careful calligraphic style of the painting inscriptions was done in the popular Suzhou Wen-family manner, which was developed by one of the cultural leaders of the second generation of Wu-school artists, Wen Zhengming (1470– 1559).16 The orthodox Wu-school characteristics of these works, coupled with the intimate format choices of fan and small album, suggest that Huang utilized painting in one of its most conservative roles: that is, as an object created by a young gentleman scholar for specific social occasions and meant to be treasured by the recipient as a memento of the occasion and relationship. There were countless examples of such work for Huang to emulate. Erudite gentlemen had memorialized and reinforced their prescribed relationships and cultural circles for centuries when, for example, Shen Zhou (1427–1509), the designated founder of the Wu school, painted the group that gathered for a farewell party at Tiger Hill in the spring of 1498 for Wen Lin, the grandfather of Wen Zhengming, who was transferring to Wenzhou to serve as magistrate there. As was customary, every figure of the literary circle was dressed according to his social position, which included Shen Zhou as a hermit and others in the robes of students and officials.17 Later Ming paintings promoted social roles and relationships through landscape. Wen Jia (1501–83), the second son of Wen Zhengming, records one such event in 1540. “When we got there, the rain had stopped and the moon was out. . . . All in great high spirits, we started painting on the paper on the table. . . . While the painters tried to paint the flowers in the herb garden, the owner of the cottage added the rocks and trees from the other side in an upside-down way. Since the eight gentlemen were unable to link the lines together into one poem, we decided to have each write a poem with a rhyme assigned. . . . Shi Minwang was already there, and he added the narcissus by the rocks. Lu Zizhi will write an essay for this occasion. I write this as the leaf for it.”18 Group efforts that reinforced the roles and relationships of gentlemen “painters,” “landowners,” and “essayists” in this way were common. Works of art produced for these gatherings were meant to cement and reinforce roles, relationships, and cultural networks. Huang’s paintings prior to his journey are such occasional works. The fan and album were probably presented to acquaintances to be enjoyed privately or displayed publicly. Indeed, fans were a particularly stylish accessory amongst a variety of social groups during the late Ming, and by the sixteenth century, Suzhou had some of the most skillful fan makers in the empire.19 The fan and

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album are our few examples of Huang as person and painter before the MingQing cataclysm. When Huang brought his parents home to Manchu-occupied Suzhou, many of the people, places, and circumstances celebrated in these occasional works were dead, ruined, or gone. The societal infrastructure they represented, however, remained. The paintings that Huang Xiangjian created when he came back from the southwest appealed to the remnants of the various social networks that formed this infrastructure. Huang, however, did not return to the occasional landscape paintings of his youth; yet he did use the established imagery and paratexts of seventeenth-century Suzhou place paintings that surrounded him in late-Ming-dynasty Suzhou. The remainder of this chapter examines the mechanics of this painting tradition and how he utilized and adapted them to his own purposes in the paintings he created upon his return from the southwest.

Suzhou Place Painting Although during the late Ming, paintings of identifiable landscapes were produced in nearby Songjiang and the secondary capital of Nanjing—also in other regions such as Huizhou and the primary capital of Beijing—their quantity was nothing like that emerging from Suzhou.20 Paintings of Suzhou sites were a favorite among the moneyed and educated clientele of a city that had long been considered a nexus of painting by connoisseurs, collectors, and artists. Throughout the Ming dynasty, paintings of specific Suzhou locales (map 1) were produced by artists who chose or were forced to take on one of a variety of artistic personas. They were made by trained artists who openly supported themselves by painting, such as Zhang Hong (1577–ca. 1652); by affluent artists who purportedly painted to amuse themselves and their friends, among them Shen Zhou; and by artists including Wen Zhengming and Lu Zhi (1496–1576), who created artworks as commodities for exchange but did not publicly claim an identity as painters.21 The place paintings that Suzhou artists produced also ranged widely in tone and purpose, from Wen Jia’s pictorial reminiscence of a group visit to two famous local caves to Qian Gong’s (act. ca. 1573–1619) illustration of a yet-to-be-rebuilt monastery as part of a direct appeal for funds for the project, and to Tang Yin’s (1470–1524) visual report of the devastation and famine that followed a series of floods in the Suzhou environs.22 Paintings of Suzhou were produced as functioning components integral to common societal situations in which a variety of educated elite were involved,

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such as training for official life and duties thereafter, social entertainments, and religious activities. Carefully organized works depicting experiential views were ubiquitous. The specific paintings discussed below are thus not treated as unique artworks. Rather, they have been selected as examples of general categories of contemporaneous, commonplace paintings of Suzhou, produced by painters who successfully specialized in these painting types, which would have been familiar to Huang Xiangjian. In his work, he used elements from three dominant categories of functional site paintings: “honorific” paintings, “famous-sites” paintings, and fund-raising appeals.23 Some of these works qualify as geo-narratives and others do not.

“Honorific” Paintings “Honorific” paintings of Suzhou were produced for eminent officials or other distinguished individuals, such as abbots, to celebrate the successful culmination of an official assignment, the leaving of one post for another, the completion of a particularly extensive journey in the line of duty, or upon retirement. Such works were usually ordered and bestowed as part of a sophisticated “farewell culture.”24 This type of picture falls under the broader category of “commemorative” painting, to use the term designated by Anne Clapp.25 It would be difficult to determine the earliest example of this genre, but it was mature by the Ming period. An early Mingdynasty example of an honorific place painting is Taibai Mountains (Taibaishan tu), a handscroll by Wang Meng (ca. 1301–85), prepared for the Buddhist abbot of Tiantong Monastery in the Taibai Mountains near Ningbo in eastern Zhejiang Prefecture, most likely between 1378 and 1382.26 It presents a detailed and colorful forest journey along a path through the mountains to the elaborately appointed Tiantong Monastery at the handscroll’s end. A mid-Ming honorific painting in a different format is the Journey by Water (Shuicheng tu), a set of three albums in the National Palace Museum, Taipei. This work depicts the scenery between Suzhou and Beijing and was done by Qian Gu (1508–72) and Zhang Fu (1546–ca. 1631) for the high official Wang Shizhen (1526–90) in honor of his trip to Beijing in 1574.27 Huang would have seen such paintings produced for use in the elite world of his father. Two large, multileaf albums illustrating the landscape of Suzhou and its environs provide examples of what he may have observed. Paintings for Suzhou Prefect Kou Shen’s Resignation from Office (Suzhou Taishou Kou Shen quren tu) was created in 1626 in ink and color on paper by a group of eight painters for the official Kou Shen (jinshi degree 1616) on the occasion of his retirement as prefect of Suzhou.28 Its ten painted leaves, each

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Fig. 1.3  Chen Si, Departing at Daybreak at Jinchang. Leaf from Paintings for Suzhou Prefect Kou Shen’s Resignation from Office, 1626. Ten-leaf album, ink and color on paper, 32.7  64.5 cm. Courtesy of the Suzhou Museum.

Fig. 1.4  Zhu Zhi, Ten-Thousand Tablets of Mount Tianping. Leaf from Paintings for Suzhou Prefect Kou Shen’s Resignation from Office, 1626 (Suzhou Museum).

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paired with a leaf of calligraphy, depict the cityscapes of Suzhou, among them the Chang Bridge and the Jin-Chang Gate area (fig. 1.3), and famous spots in the surrounding countryside, including Mount Lingyan and Mount Tianping (fig. 1.4). Seven painters were enlisted around 1583 to create a different album, entitled Famous Sites of Southern Jiangsu (Jiangzuo mingsheng tu), in ink and color on silk for the official Li Jiquan, who was leaving the locale for another position.29 Its sixteen painted leaves, each paired with a leaf of calligraphy, intersperse some of the most celebrated sites of Suzhou, Stone Lake and Tiger Hill (fig. 1.5), with illustrations of other Jiangsu sites within Li’s jurisdiction: the Lord Zhang Cave (Zhanggong dong) near Yixing (fig. 1.6) and Mount Jin, an island situated at the confluence of the Grand Canal and the Yangzi River. The documentation attached to the honorific paintings elucidates the illustrated visual experiences. Each painting has a companion leaf of poetry, as in Paintings for Suzhou Prefect Kou Shen and Famous Sites of Southern Jiangsu, or an explanatory inscription, and the entire album is framed between an extensive preface and colophons. These laud the accomplishments and character of the recipient through a flattering overview of his career and achievements. The documentation also clearly states the goals of the albums. The colophon for Famous Sites of Southern Jiangsu was written by a man who had formerly served under the recipient, Li Jiquan. His detailed description of the social context for the production of the album merits its complete presentation here: Formerly, when I was an Assistant in the Provincial Surveillance Commission in Ying [in modern Hubei Province], it was actually because of Mr. Li Jiquan, our Surveillance Commissioner, that I was able to avail myself favorably of a good reputation there, and as a result I was transferred to the border of Zhejiang. At that time, Mr. Li had been made a censor due to his talents and was sent out to arrange the military administration of the area. [Although] his administration did not fail to gather the full taxes due, the people were not preyed upon. His prestige became known everywhere, and his great reputation was known in court and countryside. And yet, [Mr. Li] alone did not agree with the ideas of the Grand Councilor of the time, and although he was not given any reward for his virtue, he obeyed and persevered in serving the government [when he was] sent out to serve in Huzhou. At the lakefront he first prepared the area to withstand floods, so that [the area] not destroyed by floods extended to the southern part of his jurisdiction. When I heard this news I was pleased. Increasingly the heavens blessed [Mr. Li] and so his jurisdiction increased. It was ordered he be given a special flag token for the road. [Mr. Li] ably led

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Fig. 1.5  Sun Zhi, Tiger Hill, detail. Leaf from Famous Sites of Southern Jiangsu, early seventeenth century. Thirty-four-leaf album, ink and color on silk, 25.5  50 cm. Courtesy of the Nanjing Museum.

Fig. 1.6  Lu Shiren, Lord Zhang Cave, detail. Leaf from Famous Sites of Southern Jiangsu (Nanjing Museum).

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the civil and military officers in guarding and caring for our fellow citizens of Wu. In the four jun of Wu, he rebuilt the flood embankments. When people acquire such an official, it is as good as bringing in a harvest. They know that none will die of hunger [and be found] in ditches or on the roads. Mr. Li went to the four corners of his jurisdiction to inspect [the situation] and console [the people]. Moreover, he returned many times to offer them relief. After concluding this [project], he assisted the leaders and petty officers of the area to muster their troops and equip their boats in case they had not adequately prepared. Mr. Li said, “Destitute people do evil. You cannot govern them.” Trembling, the leaders and petty officers followed his orders. From then on there were warships on the lake. All the fords and waterways had police boats and troops. Every ten days there was an inspection, and every month a review. He only took his leisure after these preparations were complete. Now, villains could not operate and pirates did not dare spy into the Wu area. Further, he warned the officials in the towns and the jun to work together to set up flood embankments to prepare for the water, saying, “If the flooding still cannot be prevented, and the people have nothing to eat, extend the time for paying their taxes and purchase their labor. This will be a meritorious act.” The officials in the towns and the jun followed his orders promptly and diligently, and the people also happily rushed to execute them. Everywhere that there were flooded areas or marshy lands in the four jun, they built up the earth into embankments, and they always reported on their success in a timely manner. From that time on there were three floods in Wu, and in three successive years [the water] came up even with the embankments, and three times they had a harvest. From then on, the [amount] of reclaimed fields increased every year, and the high embankments along the lakes and rivers were farmed. The people cheered and danced at the crossroads and sang: Plentiful our grain and water, the waves of the lake do not climb. Plentiful our food and troops, our lord’s government is sublime. Now Mr. Li’s term of appointment has been fulfilled, and he has been transferred to serve as the Administrative Vice-Commissioner for the two Zhe. The country people were all sorrowful at his leaving, and they lamented because it was by Imperial [order]. Thus, they followed him, singing: Since our Lord cannot remain, who will [hear] our moans of pain? We think of your virtue and moral vein, as a towering pillar in a rushing stream.30

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Therefore, we donors got together to have sixteen paintings made of the unexcelled mountains and streams of the area to present [to him] as a testimonial, and because the people were unable to forget him, the literati have also come together to write poems for them, in order to translate the thoughts of the people. Because I have known Mr. Li the longest and have been helped the most personally by him, which I can never forget, I have written a preface for the paintings and their verses. Thus I have come to write this. On an auspicious day in the last month of winter of the guiwei year of the Wanli era [1583], respectfully written with bowed head by your student Jiang Menglong, a jinshi degree holder in the first rank, Grand Master for Court Precedence and former Right Assistant Provincial Administration Commissioner for Zhejiang.31 龍昔僉臬郢中，則我觀察大夫及泉李公寔渥然假之名焉，是以獲次及浙 藩。當其時，大夫以才御史出齊戎政。政無逋闕而民不見鷙。威聲泱泱稱， 大風表朝野矣。顧獨不會時相意，不庸德賞，而從恆資守，外服湖州。其爲 湖先備勝災，災不害也最南服。龍時在告矣，耳之，則心欣焉。益神明羡之既 而大夫遂增服。命專旄節。董文武吏士鎮綏我吳民。吳四郡禍水方新。民得 大夫則如得歲焉。知無殣於溝塗矣。大夫既四郊視吊。且賑之再。畢，戒將 士簡卒庀舟，為不虞備焉。曰:「民窮慝作，不可治也」。將士咸戰戰用命。於 是乎海有戰艦。津塗有警艘卒。旬有蒐,月有閱。備既整且暇。而姦宄不作， 海夷無敢窺吳境。又戒郡邑吏鳩工樹防為水備，曰:「水猶未弭，民又無食， 寛之租而賈之力。功可濟也」。郡邑吏用命亦唯謹，民亦樂趨焉。際四郡衍 隰，土無弗堤墳者，亦無弗時而告功。吳自是大水又三，歲荐三平堤矣，而三 穫。自是墾田亦歲增，有濆于湖江而稼者。民讙然衢舞,且歌曰: 豐我癸庚， 海波不興。 足食足兵， 我公政成。 今兹大夫以秩盈，移節參知兩浙之政事。民閭里相顧慼慼，猶有衮衣悲也。 乃從又歌曰: 公不我留， 孰我噢咻? 我思德猷， 岳柱川流。 于是好事者相率圖境內勝山川十有六以獻旌，民所以不忘也，大夫士則又 相率為詩焉，而以繹民思。龍于大夫最舊也，所獲私于大夫最又不可忘，又 序繪圖分詠之。故如此云，萬曆癸未季冬之吉，賜進士第，朝列大夫，前浙江 布政使司右參議，治下侍教生蔣夢龍頓首謹叙。

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The colophons, inscriptions, and poetry conflate the topography shown in the paintings with the person for whom they were produced. A good example is the companion poem to the painting of Stone Lake in Famous Sites of Southern Jiangsu. Here, the beauty and history of Stone Lake are topographically and metaphorically organized around the life and achievements of the recipient. First, the writer describes the time and setting of a visit he appears to have taken to Stone Lake with the recipient. They sailed to a shrine dedicated to the renowned official, scholar, and author Fan Chengda (1126–93). The author then reflects upon the lost historic period of the worthy Fan and transitions smoothly into a description of the equally outstanding talent of his modern-day counterpart, the recipient Li Jiquan. The author then emphasizes the sadness of all at Mr. Li’s parting with a second historic comparison of the recipient to the beloved later Han-dynasty (25–220 ce) official Kou Xun. Finally, the author returns to the Stone Lake journey with which he began. Reminding Mr. Li that just as no official will ever take his place in the hearts of the people, neither will any scenery he experiences compare to that of the area he leaves behind. The inscription is given in its entirety here: At Stone Lake in the eighth month the autumn waters are calm; in front of the shrine of the Grand Councilor,32 the moonlight is bright. The distant mountains are a horizontal belt of deep blue-green; in an instant, they are magically transformed by rising mists and sleet. The palaces of Wu and the walls of Yue can no longer be seen, and the silent solitude and green mosses have bound up this deserted hall. We mourned the ancients in this empty, deserted [place] where the deer roam; on this lofty mountain, we followers cherished thoughts of [this] worthy. Our lord’s talent was outstanding, the marvel of Jiangxi; [you served with] faithful admonitions and moral counsel at the imperial court. Since [your reputation] for standing against the enemy was already established in your achievements in many cities, [hence] your new command at the frontier by imperial edict. “Four steeds”33 are ready to leave, but they hesitate; we have no cause to “borrow Mr. Kou,”34 [yet] we cannot but desire to. When you remember traveling on the upper story of a boat on this lake, Mount Xian35 of former times will scarcely compare. Respectfully written by Gu Jiusi.

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石湖八月秋水平，丞相祠前月色明。 遠山一帶横翠黛，頃刻變幻烟霏生。 吳宮越壘不可見，寂寞蒼苔鎖荒殿。 弔古空傷麋鹿遊，高山徒切懷賢念。 我公才挺豫章奇，謇諤風猷在赤墀。 折衝巳樹千城績，新命籓垣協帝咨。 四牡欲行行且止，借寇無由情莫已。 記得楼船湖上遊，峴山昔日差堪擬。 顧九思敬賦。

As in most honorific paintings, the laudatory and personal nature of this inscription was given visual form in the accompanying picture. The unusually expansive perspectives of topography provided in the honorific albums represent the power and authority their recipients wielded over large geographical areas. High horizon lines and detailed topography provide the viewer with a bird’s-eye perspective of a sizable sweep of landscape. The extensive landscapes of the honorific albums were composed to be viewed laid out on a table, and their high horizon lines and minute details invite one to imagine commanding a view of the real topography itself from this same elevated position of authority. In presenting a high view over a vast panorama, painters of honorific works could also suggest the enlightened internal view of their recipients while illustrating the extensive districts and political units they governed. To further their aggrandizing function, the honorific albums also boast a greater number of leaves. Famous Sites of Southern Jiangsu, for example, contains thirty-two leaves of painting and calligraphy, in comparison to the average ten-to-twenty-leaf productions of the famous-sites paintings discussed below. The dimensions of their individual leaves are also larger. Those of Famous Sites of Southern Jiangsu and Paintings for Suzhou Prefect Kou Shen’s Resignation from Office are almost twice the size of most paintings in the other category. The topography portrayed in the honorific albums reflects the personal visual experiences of their recipients. Accordingly, both albums feature noncanonical sites of import to the recipient and distinctive views of famous sites that presumably had particular resonance for the honoree. Subjects such as the Jin-Chang Gate area (fig. 1.3) had been painted singly prior to the late Ming, but were not conventionally included in late-Ming paintings of the famous sites of Suzhou.36 Both albums also present sections of Mount Tianping (figs. 1.7, 1.4, 1.8) quite removed from the popular entrance, with equally secluded paths less traveled for the viewer’s ascent. Perhaps the atypical views found in these albums present

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Fig. 1.7  Shen Wan, Mount Tianping, detail. Leaf from Famous Sites of Southern Jiangsu (Nanjing Museum).

privileged entrances to these highly trafficked sites or the itinerary of a specific outing. Whatever the meaning behind the individualized views to the recipient, the fact of an album containing a unique group of sites and views identifies its honorific intent.37 Honorees were also provided with polite generic representative figures of themselves as a touchstone for viewing. Almost every leaf of both albums includes a scholarly figure involved in an appropriately high-minded activity. Men in scholars’ robes gaze and point at the landscape (fig. 1.6), travel via palanquin, donkey, or boat to a scenic spot (fig. 1.8), and converse with friends. Several leaves appear more personal still by presenting figures enacting specific incidents in the lives of the recipients. Distinctive examples include the carefully delineated group of spelunkers at Lord Zhang Cave (fig. 1.6) and the impressive ceremonial-parting scene in the bustling Jin-Chang area (fig. 1.9). The overall theme connecting the panoramic views and the personalized topography, figures, and events of the honorific paintings is that of good governance. Natural elements such as idyllic mountains, forests, and water-

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Fig. 1.8  Zhu Zhi, Mount Tianping, detail. Leaf from Paintings for Suzhou Prefect Kou Shen’s Resignation from Office, 1626 (Suzhou Museum).

ways fill the majority of the picture space in both albums, whereas the architecture is minimized in size and largely concealed amidst groves of trees. As seen in the famous essay by the reclusive scholar-painter Jing Hao (ca. 870– ca. 935), a gentleman’s love and understanding of nature, as symbolic of his erudition and comprehension of the underlying principles of the universe, had

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Fig. 1.9  Chen Si, Departing at Daybreak at Jinchang, detail. Leaf from Paintings for Suzhou Prefect Kou Shen’s Resignation from Office, 1626 (Suzhou Museum).

been utilized within the painting tradition since at least the tenth century.38 Large, gnarled pines and cypresses and unaffected local rustics in the form of fishermen and solitary wood-gatherers dot these landscapes, symbolizing the virtue and integrity of the recipients.39 In this sense, they may be seen as local versions of imperial paintings of the realm in that they legitimate the authority of a ruler by illustrating the beneficial effects of his reign: a peaceful, productive landscape. Set against a backdrop of the blue-and-green-hued landscape traditionally associated with paradisiacal lands and the distant past are a well-kept, historically celebrated topography, prosperous and unflooded fields, happy fishermen and woodcutters, even bustling commerce. Indeed, this interpretation is reinforced by the remarkable similarity of the bridge-market-and-boats scene (fig. 1.9) in Departing at Daybreak at Jinchang (Jinchang xiaofa tu) from the album Paintings for Suzhou Prefect Kou Shen to

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a section in the much-copied Qingming shanghe tu. This painting is believed to be an idealized depiction of the realm in peace and prosperity done to legitimate a Song-dynasty (960–1279) emperor’s reign.40 The most striking difference is the focus on an identifiable historical person, Kou Shen. He is dressed in a blue robe and red sash and is seen aboard a boat ready for departure. He bows to the group of scholars onshore to the right of a gate in the Jin-Chang area, which was located in the northwest section of the city. As the locale most convenient to the Grand Canal, it was often the setting for a departure scene. The poem Wen Zhenmeng (1574–1636) wrote to accompany the album leaf, “Departing at Daybreak at Jinchang,” reinforces the theme of the good governance of Kou Shen that it illustrates:41 Since his reputation reached the intelligence of the Emperor, he was the same as the many men who were praised in antiquity as worthy steeds. He had the curtains [of his carriage] lifted [to see] in all directions,42 and rain followed his carriage,43 and he held his tablet of office for a long time until there was a contrary wind. Heartbroken, he was conciliatory and upright, and slow to memorialize the throne, and so his strength was spent in writing musical dramas, for he was in no position to make great achievements. Desiring to prove to this sincere gentleman that this is a grateful place, we have exhausted ourselves in clinging to the shafts of his carriage in our grief. A small poem presented upon parting with Master Liting [Kou Shen] who, because of the death of his mother, is returning to Qin [Shaanxi Province].44 自有聲名達帝聪，古稱賢牧幾人同。 褰帷四野曾隨雨，秉笏踰时即返風。 心碎撫循遲奏最，力窮調劇不居功。 欲徵赤子銜恩處，盡在攀轅一慟中。 小詩奉送禮亭明公以內艱還秦。 部民文震孟。

Similar to the bustling port of the painting, the laudatory language of the poem reinforces the successful tenure of Kou Shen by comparing him to later

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Han-dynasty officials Jia Cong, who had his carriage curtains lifted in order to see and hear everything that occurred in his area of jurisdiction, and Zheng Hong, whose benevolent and virtuous presence ensured abundant rain. The rhetorical statement made by these paintings is that the recipients left their spheres of influence in better shape than what they had found upon their arrival. They governed successfully. Finally, the honorific albums present a unique physical and intellectual visual experience that allowed recipients to enjoy a conspicuously costly artistic production as they examined topographical views representative of their activities. These albums are the largest of the paintings of Suzhou discussed here, both in dimensions and numbers of leaves. To view and fully appreciate such sizeable sheets, it is necessary to place them on a table. An album-viewing session would have taken some time, particularly in the case of the thirty-two leaves of Famous Sites of Southern Jiangsu. As each leaf was laid out for examination, the material cost for paper and pigments as well as the implicit fees of the many artists employed would have been impressively obvious. The expanded format, number of painters, and organization of the illustrious colophonists who participated in the albums’ production signified the social cachet of both the organizer and recipient, but it was the intent of the literary allusions and painted views that would have been the focus of conversation. The expensive materials and impressive size of the production force were unspoken affirmation of the importance of the honoree. The written and painted views they present, however, attested to the recipient’s knowledge of his district, his ability to appreciate the variety of landscape painting styles represented, and his popularity among the many respected colophonists who wrote so admiringly of him. These topographical, stylistic, and personal views provided an emotional visual experience with endless discussion potential.

“Famous Sites” Paintings The “famous sites” of Suzhou were legendary. For over a thousand years, since the Eastern Jin dynasty (317–420) at least, pilgrims and sightseers had ascended its celebrated mountains to monasteries at their summits; literary and social clubs had met in countryside temple halls and secluded lakeside estates; and holiday vacationers had boated along its many canals and out onto nearby Lake Tai. As a result, by the late Ming, any chance for an unmediated experience of the natural beauty or topographical novelties that generated the initial

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repute of these famous sites had long been buried beneath the extensive religious, literary, and political history that had accrued to them over the centuries. Although some writers commented on their delight at finding the scenery as beautiful as they had been told, no vacationer or pilgrim expected to participate in an unstructured or uninformed experience of a well-known Suzhou site.45 Those visitors who considered themselves worthy contributors to the ever-developing cultural identity of these places—Maurice Halbwacks labeled this the “collective memory” and later scholars the “cultural memory”—publicized their visits in poems and prose, or wrote directly upon the rocky cliff faces.46 Lower-status visitors were expected to experience these celebrated spots as reverential observers of previously identified natural beauty and the multilayered cultural history they signified.47 As a native of Suzhou, Huang would have been well acquainted with its famous scenic sites. No doubt he had visited them all, from celebrated Tiger Hill to the mysterious Pond of Heaven (Tianchi), on pleasure excursions with friends, as part of some social or religious gathering, on visits to retired friends who had relocated to more pleasant surroundings, or upon more mundane business or family affairs conducted in their general vicinities.48 Although the reputation of these noted places had been established in part through their frequent mention in gazetteers, literature, and poetry, the development of a consistent group of Suzhou sites in the late Ming does not directly correspond to any single text and appears to have developed within a discrete pictorial tradition. In the Supplemental Collection of Literary Pieces from the Capital of Wu (Suzhou) (Wudu wencui xuji), a compilation of writings edited by the mid-Ming painter Qian Gu, many of the sites in the lateMing group are abundantly represented, but not more so than other sites that were rarely illustrated in late-Ming times.49 Neither did the famous sites of Suzhou develop from a particular poem cycle, in the manner of the Eight Views of Xiao Xiang paintings, which have been extensively analyzed by Alfreda Murck; nor did these sites suggest any political stance, as did some versions of the Eight Views of Xiao Xiang, or other later paintings that built upon this tradition, such as the Eight Views of Beijing.50 It appears that the individual sites favored by certain prominent mid-Ming artists influenced those late-Ming painters who developed this conventional menu. Exactly how such earlier works affected late-Ming artists’ versions of the same sites is complicated by the fact that many representations of these sites attributed

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to mid-Ming masters are copies or fabrications. The problematic nature of the extant famous-sites paintings attributed to mid-Ming-dynasty painters renders consideration of their impact on late-Ming works beyond the scope of this study. A typical late-Ming album would include Xukou, Panchi, Dengwei, Tiger Hill, Hushan, Stone Lake, Mount Tianping, Mount Zhixing, Mount Lingyan, and the Pond of Heaven. Two of the most prominent site painters of the day, Yuan Shangtong (1570–after 1661) and Zhang Hong, produced a large number of such albums. Twelve Views of Sutai (Sutai shier jing) by Yuan Shangtong and Twelve Views of Sutai (Sutai shier jing) by Zhang Hong illustrate the basic components of the many extant works of this type.51 The goal of these was not the differentiation of an individual through a personalized view of a place, but his inclusion within the “cultural memory” of a site via the shared experience of a historically sanctioned view. The focused perspective, seasonal references, populated compositions, codified topography, and conceptual presentations that artists employed in rendering these famous places provided viewers an accessible, experiential encounter with the illustrated sites. Select sections of topography are the primary focus of each rendering. In their views of Tiger Hill, for example, Yuan and Zhang do not encompass the entire mountainscape from above, as in the honorific albums (fig. 1.5). Instead, they present a frontal view of only the primary topographical elements found on the mountain summit, which they position to fill the majority of the picture space in the center of the composition (figs. 1.10, 1.11). Rather than provide a lofty view of vast landscape, they place the viewer in a more active and interactive position, whether climbing up toward the summit of Tiger Hill or looking down from an adjacent hill, as the figure at Panchi is doing (fig. 1.12). The emphatic seasonal references and the variety of people that fill the compositions of the famous-sites paintings provided viewers with dates and persons with which they might associate their memories or imagined experiences. Many paintings also evoke a certain time of day. “Night Moon over Tiger Hill” was a popular theme (fig. 1.11). The four seasons are also well represented. The changing colors of autumn are evident in Yuan Shangtong’s scene of Hushan (fig. 1.13) and the heavy rains of this same season in his rendering of the theme “Mist and Rain over Stone Lake” (fig. 1.14). Both painters capture the cold snows of deep winter at Mount Lingyan and Snow on Yao Peak (figs. 1.15, 1.16). Zhang Hong suggests the height of spring in the blossoming plum trees of Spring Dawn

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Fig. 1.10  Yuan Shangtong, Tiger Hill. Leaf from Twelve Views of Sutai. Twelve-leaf album. Ink and color on paper. 24.7  29.3 cm. Courtesy of the Shanghai Museum.

at Panchi (fig. 1.12), and he evokes the hot summer months through the lush, blooming foliage of the Stone Cliff at the Pond of Heaven (fig. 1.17). Some themes appear to have been more popular than others. “Night Moon over Tiger Hill,” “Mist and Rain over Stone Lake,” and “Accumulated Snow on Mount Lingyan” occur most frequently. The popularity of these particular themes may be tied to the festival days on which people visited these sites. For example, Tiger Hill was very crowded for the Mid-Autumn Festival moon-viewing activities. Yuan Hongdao (1568–1610) noted that “[w]henever this day arrives, so does every family in the city, shoulder to shoulder. From fine ladies and elegant gentlemen

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Fig. 1.11  Zhang Hong, Night Moon over Tiger Hill. Leaf from Twelve Views of Sutai, 1638. Twelveleaf album, ink and color on silk, 30.5  24 cm. Courtesy of the Palace Museum, Beijing.

Fig. 1.12  Zhang Hong, Spring Dawn at Panchi, detail. Leaf from Twelve Views of Sutai, 1638 (Palace Museum, Beijing).

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down to shanty dwellers, all put on their finery. . . . From Thousand Men Rock to the Temple Gate, they crowd together like teeth on a comb, like scales on a fish.”52 The universal nature of these seasonal themes allowed viewers to remember their visits to the sites, which probably occurred on a holiday, without actually depicting the details of any one person’s experience. Such seasonal references place these paintings in the tradition of those Southern-Song-dynasty album leaves depicting aspects of the annual festivals of the lunar calendar.53 As opposed to the specific events, places, activities, and people set against the timeless colors of the blue-and-green style in honorific paintings, the famous-sites paintings present the recognizable colors and collective activities of the seasons to which any personal memory could be tied. Figures involved in seasonally appropriate endeavors encourage the viewer in this activity. Tiny persons huddle beneath umbrellas as they scurry toward their destinations (figs. 1.14, 1.15, 1.16). People sit or loll quietly in the summer heat (figs. 1.17, 1.18). Travelers admire the moon (fig. 1.18).

Fig. 1.13  Yuan Shangtong, Hushan. Leaf from Twelve Views of Sutai (Shanghai Museum).

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Fig. 1.14  Yuan Shangtong, Stone Lake. Leaf from Twelve Views of Sutai (Shanghai Museum).

Fig. 1.15  Yuan Shangtong, Mount Lingyan. Leaf from Twelve Views of Sutai (Shanghai Museum).

Fig. 1.16  Zhang Hong, Snow on Yao Peak. Leaf from Twelve Views of Sutai, 1638 (Palace Museum, Beijing).

Fig. 1.17  Zhang Hong, Stone Cliff at the Pond of Heaven, detail. Leaf from Twelve Views of Sutai, 1638 (Palace Museum, Beijing).

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Fig. 1.18  Zhang Hong, Night Moon over Tiger Hill, detail. Leaf from Twelve Views of Sutai, 1638 (Palace Museum, Beijing).

More than the honorific albums, paintings of famous sites provide a larger cast of characters involved in a variety of activities to which viewers may relate. A solitary, focal set of figures does occur in several of the Zhang Hong and Yuan Shangtong paintings, but many also display an assortment of working people and their pursuits. Professional boatmen and what appear to be families take a ferry over the Xu River (figs. 1.19, 1.20). Shopkeepers ply their goods at the foot of Mount Zhixing, and figures who could be beggars loiter at the entrance to the monastery (figs. 1.21, 1.22). Compared to the Tiger Hill scenes of the honorific albums with only a single set of travelers depicted, the Tiger Hill compositions that Zhang and Yuan present are abuzz. In Yuan’s rendering, people cross the bridge, climb the stairs, take in the view, admire the waterfall, and rest on Thousand Man Rock (fig. 1.10). Zhang, too, depicts a set of nature admirers, as well as a congregation of monks and laymen in conversation halfway up the monastery stairs (figs. 1.11, 1.18). Many people are doing many things in paintings of well-known Suzhou sites, and this lack of focus upon a single representative figure or group suggests that the place so represented, not the buyer or recipient, was the focus of the project.

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Fig. 1.19  Zhang Hong, Evening Ferry on the Xu River. Leaf from Twelve Views of Sutai, 1638 (Palace Museum, Beijing).

Fig. 1.20  Zhang Hong, Evening Ferry on the Xu River, detail. Leaf from Twelve Views of Sutai, 1638 (Palace Museum, Beijing).

Fig. 1.21  Zhang Hong, Evening Verdure at Mount Zhixing, detail. Leaf from Twelve Views of Sutai, 1638 (Palace Museum, Beijing).

Fig. 1.22  Zhang Hong, Evening Verdure at Mount Zhixing. Leaf from Twelve Views of Sutai, 1638 (Palace Museum, Beijing).

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Fig. 1.23  Tiger Hill, Suzhou. Courtesy of the author.

Famous-sites paintings of Suzhou are easily identified by their codified topography, which consists of two or three simply rendered topographical or architectural elements. This pictorial shorthand does not parallel literary descriptions of the sites, nor does it seek to portray accurately the number of visitors at many of these places. Regarding Tiger Hill, all the historical writings, religious and political events, social occasions, and poetic moments associated with this most famous of Suzhou landmarks had over the centuries turned it into a tourist complex so crowded by the late Ming that many scholars eschewed it for less frequented sites.54 Despite the multitude of buildings and places of interest visitors passed on the gradual climb to the summit, however, only the earliest, most famed sites near the top of the ridge were delineated (fig. 1.23). Based on my own experience of the sites as they are preserved today, I believe the codified topography of these paintings represents the most striking visual memories that one retains from visiting them. Although I was prepared to see the features that are consistently depicted in the famous-sites artworks, I was continually surprised by how much more extensive and crowded the actual places are in comparison. It is largely possible to recreate a late-Ming-dynasty visual expe-

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Fig. 1.24  Pond of Heaven, Suzhou. Courtesy of the author.

rience of these sites today because they still occupy, albeit inexactly, the same grounds. Scenic areas such as the Pond of Heaven and Mount Tianping have been maintained and developed for tourism, and working sites such as the Xu River are still utilized as they have been for centuries.55 My on-location examinations of these famous places suggest that the standardized topographical and architectural elements artists employed in rendering them were those with the most powerful and memorable visual impact, and that they were depicted in such a way as to recreate the visitor’s experience of them. The mystical location of the Pond of Heaven has captured the imaginations of countless visitors (fig. 1.24). Its appearance, halfway up a mountainside, is startling. One wanders along a path deeper and deeper through groves of trees before emerging into the clearing containing the pool. The Pond of Heaven is a small, clear, oval-shaped, spring-fed mountain pond bordered by fantastically shaped rocks, many of which have been literally carved with fanciful titles such as “fairy stone,” “stone sutra,” and “immortal’s foot stone.” Several large, flat stones at the water’s edge provide the visitor with an area to sit and take in the view. A steep mountain peak scattered with equally extraordinary boulders

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Fig. 1.25  Yuan Shangtong, Pond of Heaven. Leaf from Twelve Views of Sutai (Shanghai Museum).

looms over the pool, further enhancing its isolated, magical feel.56 In rendering the Pond of Heaven, painters typically frame the pool and its clearing between the rocky peak and forest glen from which one emerges. The wall and rooftops of the Yuan-dynasty (1279–1368) Jijian Monastery to the side of the pool are usually delineated as well (figs. 1.17, 1.25).57 Countless partings and homecomings were enacted at Xukou, the intersection of the city’s outer canal and the Xu River, which led to the Grand Canal and destinations far away. Its scenery undoubtedly remained etched upon the minds of many. It was also a fine starting point from which to boat to a number of other famous sites.58 The “T” formation where the Xu River meets the Waicheng Canal signified this site in paintings (figs. 1.19, 1.20).59 The small rainbow bridge that boats pass under as they turn into the Waicheng Canal is always included, and boats are inevitably pictured at some stage of the crossing. Mount Tianping, which stands fifteen kilometers west of Suzhou city and at an elevation of two hundred and twenty-one meters, has a uniquely level summit, hence its name, which means “Flat Top.” Even more striking are the

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Fig. 1.26  Yuan Shangtong, Mount Tianping. Leaf from Twelve Views of Sutai (Shanghai Museum).

extraordinary formations that occur along its slopes. The peculiar shape of these tall, thin rocks struck traditional viewers as remarkably similar to the tablets (hu) held up by government officials when they received an audience with the emperor.60 Prior to encountering a pool and surrounding buildings at the base of the mountain, visitors to Mount Tianping pass through a large park that once held the maple forest planted at the foot of the mountain by Fan Yunlin (1558– 1641), the late-Ming descendant of the famous prime minister of the Northern Song dynasty, Fan Zhongyan (989–1052), whose shrine is here.61 As one gazes up at the mountain from the far side of the pool, the uniquely formed rocks are shown to best advantage and further highlighted in autumn by the deep red of the maples below. Late-Ming painters incorporated the most striking elements of this scene: the maple trees and mountain adorned with its particular rocks (fig. 1.26). Some, such as Zhang Hong, also added the pool (fig. 1.27). The Tiger Hill paintings of both Yuan Shangtong and Zhang Hong (figs. 1.10, 1.11) present a circular composition that moves counterclockwise around a tiny pavilion at the center: from the rooftops of the summit’s large monastery, which

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Fig. 1.27  Zhang Hong, Myriad Tablets Reach the Sky. Leaf from Twelve Views of Sutai, 1638 (Palace Museum, Beijing).

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encompass the middle and upper-right corner of the composition and crown its center, to the pagoda and bridge in the upper left; down the waterfall to Sword Pond at middle left; to the two large, flat surfaces of Thousand Man Rock emerging at the lower left. The unique components signifying the summit of Tiger Hill constitute the most detailed description of any of the Suzhou sites, probably due to their history and popularity. Gazetteers place the beginnings of the complex prior to the Spring and Autumn period (770–476 bce). Sword Pond first acquired its name in 496 bce when the King of Wu was buried beneath it with three thousand of his treasure swords. The monastery, called Yunyan (Cloudy Cliff) or Huqiushan (Tiger Hill) Monastery, was first established in 327 ce by two high officials of the Eastern Jin dynasty (317–420), the brothers Wang Xun and Wang Min, who converted their villas on Tiger Hill into two temples on the eastern and western sides of Sword Pond. These two temples were destroyed during the Huichang suppression (844–46) and were replaced between 995 and 997.62 Ming-dynasty tourists admired later versions of this monastery, one built in the second year of the Zhengtong era (1437) and its replacement in the eleventh year of the Chongzhen era (1638). The plethora of symbols for Tiger Hill could be attributed to a pre-established Tiger Hill iconography that existed prior to the standardization of a set of Suzhou sites. A Yuan-dynasty rendering of Tiger Hill, created in 1346 by Cui Yanfu (act. 1340s), for example, contains all the elements found in the two paintings of Tiger Hill discussed above.63 Whatever its origin, in the late Ming as today, this view of the most famous buildings and topography of Tiger Hill framed the many entertainments and activities staged here. Seating for such events was available on the steep steps up to the monastery, the bridge, and Thousand Man Rock. The discerning viewer, however, might climb the embankment facing the monastery to take in the entire scene. The codified topography of Tiger Hill is presented as though seen from this vantage point. Hushan (Tiger Mountain) has been confused with Huqiu (Tiger Hill) due to their similar names.64 Late-Ming visitors familiar with both sites, however, would have immediately recognized the Hushan scene in paintings that show the Guangfu Pagoda, which rises directly above a canal that flows west into Lake Tai, and the Hushan Bridge, which connects the pagoda with the region called Hushan on the opposite shore (figs. 1.13, 1.28).65 The site takes its name not from the landmass on which the Guangfu Pagoda is built, but the area opposite. The Guangfu Pagoda and Hushan Bridge have been rebuilt many times. I have taken the general location of the pagoda and bridge to be close to their lateMing predecessors, since the most recent pagoda reconstruction, for example,

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Fig. 1.28  Zhang Hong, Autumn Colors on Hushan. Leaf from Twelve Views of Sutai, 1638 (Palace Museum, Beijing).

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Fig. 1.29  Hushan, Suzhou. Courtesy of the author.

is situated in the same place as the one before it, as is evident when compared to an early photograph of the site.66 The extensive canal system of late-Ming Suzhou delivered visitors very near most of its famous landmarks.67 A certain amount of land travel was then necessary to reach the viewing summits of the mountains and the secluded beauty spots of the lowlands. Visiting Hushan did not require this often-distasteful foray amidst the more “common” tourists, business establishments, and beggars that were frequent at these places. Those arriving at Hushan by boat alighted directly below the monastic complex and could enter straight away. The beautiful view obtained by this idyllic entry on water is depicted in most paintings of the site (fig. 1.29). The Guangfu Pagoda rises above lush fields on the left, silhouetted against distant mountains. Hushan Bridge appears to the right, and the stretch of waterway and distant mountains beyond become visible as the boat prepares to moor. Not far from Hushan lie the two famous plum-blossom viewing sites of Panchi and Dengwei. Panchi is a small islet in Lake Tai to which late-Ming boaters could repair to immerse themselves in its flowering trees in early spring. The islet and the flowering trees can also be admired as a whole scene from afar. Both of these activities are illustrated in Zhang Hong’s painting of the site (fig. 1.12). The abundance of Panchi paintings produced by Zhang Hong suggests that it was one of his specialties. Paintings of Dengwei focus on Sheng’en Monastery

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Fig. 1.30  Yuan Shangtong, Mount Zhixing. Leaf from Twelve Views of Sutai (Shanghai Museum).

at the southern end of this mountain, from which one could view blossoming plum trees in the surrounding mountains and fields or the lovely vista of nearby Lake Tai. The abundance of plum blossoms that surrounded the monastery earned Dengwei the romantic title Xiangxuehai (Sea of Fragrant Snow). The area was at its most popular in the Qing dynasty (1644–1911), but by the middle of the twentieth century it had declined almost completely. Following the establishment of the People’s Republic of China (1949– ), the government helped the area’s farmers to redevelop it, but these efforts were obliterated during the periods of the Great Leap Forward (1958–59) and the Cultural Revolution (1966– 76).68 It was in the process of being restored when I first visited in the late 1990s. The monastery at Dengwei sits at the end of the mountain range near the lake. Wealthy visitors no doubt sailed to the site, and this mode of arrival to both sites affords a sudden, striking vision of a small, floating islet or mountain-framed monastery ablaze in pinks and reds. Paintings of both sites invariably capture this first, dazzling visual experience.

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Fig. 1.31  Yuan Shangtong, Mount Zhixing, detail. Leaf from Twelve Views of Sutai (Shanghai Museum).

Though it was being quarried when I visited, in the late-Ming dynasty Mount Zhixing (“Grindstone”) offered urbanites and other visitors a nearby forested retreat only about fourteen kilometers west of Suzhou (figs. 1.21, 1.30). Sightseers and pilgrims climbed a steep set of stone stairs to visit the ancient Baoen Monastery or one of the later subtemples built here in the Xuande era (1426–36). The monastery is recorded to have been established by the Jin-dynasty Buddhist monk Zhidun (314–66), who admired the mountain’s flat rocks and took the style name (hao) Zhixing, which then became the commonly used name of the mountain.69 After touring the monastery many visitors then traveled westward over a mountain path to Mount Tianping just beyond (fig. 1.31). The precarious flight of stairs and famous monastic complex are usually presented in silhouette, recreating the view of a visitor arriving from Suzhou (fig. 1.22). The viewer sees the approach to the site as a visitor would, by beginning amidst stalls offering mules and palanquins to rent, refreshments, and incense in the lower left. The viewer’s gaze then imitates the visitor’s progress in ascending the stone stairs to worship and wander about the monastery, the focal point of which is depicted midway up the frame at right. The mountain road in the center of the composition moves the viewer’s eye out of the frame and suggests the possibility of the visitor traveling on to Mount Tianping beyond.70

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From the summit of Mount Tianping, one can see the pagoda atop the crest of Mount Lingyan nearby. This became the predominant codified view of Mount Lingyan (figs. 1.15, 1.32). To provide a visual abstract of a tour, artists also included the canal that passes by the foot of Mount Lingyan as seen from the opposite bank and the natural cave at the midpoint of the mountain, made disproportionately large and seen from the front as though one were about to step inside. Visitors arrived by boat on the canal or by land on the nearby footpath to begin the ascent of the mountain. The mysterious Xi Shi Cave, which sits amidst a forest of bamboo, provides a place for rest and meditation midway up the climb.71 The ascent ends where leisure viewing and worship begin, at the renowned Lingyan Monastery at the summit.72 Painters could not illustrate all of the numerous manmade and topographical sites that are seen during a climb up Mount Lingyan in one small album leaf. They could, however, capture the overall experience of the ascent by delineating the three most visually striking moments of the journey—the arrival on water or land, the cave, and the summit monastery. In renderings of Stone Lake, the 294.5-meter-high Mount Shangfang repre­ sents the tallest mountain pictured in the Suzhou famous-sites paintings (figs. 1.14, 1.33).73 Situated on the western banks of Stone Lake, the mountain has panoramic vistas, monastic establishments, markets, and lake breezes that drew large crowds in the late Ming. Mount Shangfang and Stone Lake remain a very popular tourist and pilgrimage center today. On the western side of the lake at the base of the mountain is a market and amusement park area. One of the two smaller mountains that stand directly in front of it has been developed into a secondary pilgrimage site in a joint Suzhou-Japan venture, so in order to climb Mount Shangfang today, one must enter the Mount Shangfang tourist complex. From here believers and tourists take the traditional climb up the mountain path. Painters often rendered the monastery, pagoda, boats, bridges, and people of Stone Lake slightly smaller than their counterparts at other sites to emphasize the immensity of the Stone Lake district and the height of the mountain. They also captured the most evocative among the multitude of activities and amusements to be had at Stone Lake: the picturesque bridges encountered upon arrival, the various establishments to be visited along the beautiful, meandering shoreline, and, following a strenuous climb, the summit monastery and pagoda.74 These same activities are enjoyed today. Locals and tourists throng the nine-arch bridge during the Mid-Autumn Festival in order to celebrate the full moon overhead and the circular “moons” created by the bridge arches and their watery reflections (fig. 1.34).

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Fig. 1.32  Zhang Hong, Wintry Mist on Mount Lingyan. Leaf from Twelve Views of Sutai, 1638 (Palace Museum, Beijing).

Fig. 1.33  Zhang Hong, Mist and Rain on Stone Lake. Leaf from Twelve Views of Sutai, 1638 (Palace Museum, Beijing).

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Fig. 1.34  Stone Lake, Suzhou. Courtesy of the author.

Experiential Organization Late-Ming painters utilized an established visual code for Suzhou sites. For example, a mountain pool with strange rocks beside a clearing represents the Pond of Heaven; the “T”-shaped meeting of waterways and rainbow bridge designates Xukou; and a pool surrounded by trees at the foot of a mountain covered with tall, thin rocks indicates Mount Tianping. Although this visual code could be learned through careful comparison of several late-Ming famoussites albums, only a tour through these sites reveals how painters organized the codified topography and architectural elements in a way that reinforced the experiential intent of these works. Some such presentations emphasized the heart of specific sites. As the place with the longest history and greatest fame in Suzhou, Tiger Hill was indicated by its oldest monuments where its most famous activities occurred: the large monastic complex, pagoda, waterfall, and two flat stones. Other experiential presentations recreated the full journey path through a site. The islet monastery with pagoda and arched bridge bordering a canal that indicates Hushan recreates the initial visual encounter and subsequent journey a visitor would experience at this locale (figs. 1.13, 1.28). For the largest Suzhou sites, such as Mount Zhixing, Mount Lingyan, and the Stone Lake area, painters organized the conceptual presentation of codified topography into synopses of a visitor’s tour. The distinctive elements in the lower

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to middle foreground signify the beginning of the trip. The midpoint of the experience is captured in the upper-middle ground by the most striking natural object or architecture encountered when moving through the site. The culminating moment is symbolized in the upper picture frame by a monastic establishment atop a mountain; or in the middle of the composition by a revelatory view of the exceptional natural beauty or a historic institution found at the extreme interior of the site. In describing the Stone Lake area, the codified elements in lateMing paintings delineate the visual experience of someone arriving by boat from Suzhou to the north (figs. 1.14, 1.33). Figures in the left foreground emerge from boats or hurry along one of the lake’s two famous bridges. They first reach the single-arch bridge that connects to a spit of land where many boats are harbored. The vast expanse of Stone Lake flows into the background behind this bridge. To the right, the famous nine-arch bridge of Stone Lake extends to the far shore. The viewer may then travel through the shops and religious buildings represented by the rooftops that dot the landmass at right, move to the foot of Mount Shangfang, and climb to the pagoda of Lengqie Monastery that caps its summit.75 Some painters expanded the conceptual presentation of routes from a single site in one painting to an extended journey through a number of Suzhou famous sites. Zhang Hong’s 1648 handscroll, A Thousand Mountains and Distant Water (Qianshan yuanshui tu), offers an excellent example.76 The handscroll begins as though viewers were arriving in Suzhou off the Grand Canal at the “T” formation of the Xu River and the Waicheng Canal at Xukou (fig. 1.35). They then travel on to the summit monastery, waterfall, and Thousand Man Rock of Tiger Hill (fig. 1.36), over to the steep stairs and monastery at Mount Zhixing (fig. 1.37), and then forward to the fantastic stones of Mount Tianping (fig. 1.38). Next they pass the strange rocks surrounding the Pond of Heaven (fig. 1.39); go on to the cave and pagoda atop Mount Lingyan (fig. 1.40); over to the nine-arch bridge and summit pagoda of Stone Lake (fig. 1.41); on to the pagoda, canal, and bridge of Hushan (fig. 1.42); and end at the blossoming plum trees of Dengwei (fig. 1.43). None of the sites are labeled. Here, viewers’ understanding of the codified symbols that identify each site helps to guide them through the entire Suzhou region as represented in the handscroll. In addition to a familiarity with the individual sites depicted, however, a comprehensive understanding of the topography of Suzhou was necessary to understand the handscroll in its entirety because the sites are ordered in such a way as to diagram a circular, counterclockwise tour from one to the next, excepting the final two. Maps suggest that it would have been easier to boat along a larger, suburban canal from Stone Lake to Hushan and Dengwei.

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Fig. 1.35  Zhang Hong, A Thousand Mountains and Distant Water, detail of the Xu River and the Waicheng Canal at Xukou, 1648. Handscroll, ink and color on paper, 25.9  206.8 cm. Courtesy of the Zhejiang Provincial Museum, Hangzhou.

Fig. 1.36  Zhang Hong, A Thousand Mountains and Distant Water, detail of the summit monastery, waterfall, and Thousand Man Rock of Tiger Hill, 1648 (Zhejiang Provincial Museum, Hangzhou).

Fig. 1.37  Zhang Hong, A Thousand Mountains and Distant Water, detail of the stairs and monastery at Mount Zhixing, 1648 (Zhejiang Provincial Museum, Hangzhou).

Fig. 1.38  Zhang Hong, A Thousand Mountains and Distant Water, detail of Mount Tianping, 1648 (Zhejiang Provincial Museum, Hangzhou).

Fig. 1.39  Zhang Hong, A Thousand Mountains and Distant Water, detail of the Pond of Heaven, 1648 (Zhejiang Provincial Museum, Hangzhou).

Fig. 1.40  Zhang Hong, A Thousand Mountains and Distant Water, detail of the cave and pagoda atop Mount Lingyan, 1648 (Zhejiang Provincial Museum, Hangzhou).

Fig. 1.41  Zhang Hong, A Thousand Mountains and Distant Water, detail of the nine-arch bridge and summit pagoda of Stone Lake, 1648 (Zhejiang Provincial Museum, Hangzhou).

Fig. 1.42  Zhang Hong, A Thousand Mountains and Distant Water, detail of the pagoda, canal, and bridge of Hushan, 1648 (Zhejiang Provincial Museum, Hangzhou).

Fig. 1.43  Zhang Hong, A Thousand Mountains and Distant Water, detail of the blossoming plum trees of Dengwei, 1648 (Zhejiang Provincial Museum, Hangzhou).

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Subcategories of “Famous-Sites” Paintings Famous-sites paintings present the opposite problem to the honorific paintings: their subject matter is easily identified, but the recipients are not. The lack of personalized documentation on these paintings suggests they were produced not for people in official positions, but for groups such as local gentry, educated local elite, and visitors for whom the cultural capital of famous sites illustrations would have been more appealing than a description of their own personal circumstances in an honorific work. The lack of personalization does not preclude the possibility that famous-sites paintings were acquired by the most elite officials and gentry as well, but it does suggest that painters did not prepare them with this group in mind. Several subcategories of famous-sites paintings may be identified by the presence or absence of inscriptions, and further by the writings’ content, placement, and calligraphic style. One subcategory of famous-sites paintings consists of works that were simply signed and dated by the artist with no information given about a recipient. Although it is possible that calligraphy leaves were originally prepared for these albums and then separated later for resale, this subcategory typically lacks them. Many of these albums were produced by individual artists, such as the Ten Views of Gusu (Gusu shi jing) by Wen Boren (1502–75), whereas others were made by groups of artists, among them the ten-leaf album called Ancient Sites of Sutai [Suzhou] (Sutai guji) by Yuan Shangtong, Zhang Hong, Sheng Maoye (act. ca. 1594–1640), Chen Guan (act. ca. 1604–40), Wu Ling (act. ca. 1637–71), and Ge Xu (act. ca. 17th c.), in which each painter produced what may have been the famous site in which he specialized. These works could have been prepared well in advance of purchase and no doubt cost much less than an inscribed album. The coordinated nature of these group efforts suggests that someone was orchestrating their production. This may have been the owner of a painting or mounting shop that stocked this subcategory. The litterateur Zhang Dai mentions paintings of lake scenes that were sold at the pilgrims’ market at West Lake in Hangzhou, and these may have been offered out of a specialty shop that carried works such as famous-sites paintings.77 One of the famous-sites artists may also have acted as a go-between to augment his income. The lateMing artist Wen Dian (1633–1704), a descendant of Wen Zhengming, is known to have acted as his own agent in certain painting transactions in Suzhou.78 He is reported to have resided occasionally at Huiqing Monastery to the west of the Jin-Chang area in Suzhou, “where he sold his own calligraphy and painting to earn a living.”79 Indeed, many late-Ming descendants of the Wen family appear

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to have been active in the famous-sites market. On a fan painting of Suzhou famous sites by Wen Congchang (1541–1616) are poems by himself and four other family members: Wen Zhenheng (1585–1645), Wen Congjian (1574–1648), Wen Qianguang, and Wen Chongguang.80 Another subcategory of famous-sites paintings is differentiated by short inscriptions in which the painter identifies the recipient and date and occasionally states the circumstances under which the work was completed. Zhang Hong inscribed the Twelve Views of Sutai album discussed above: “On a fall day in 1638, I lodged at the study of the Zhuang family in Piling [Wujin county, Jiangsu, north of Lake Tai], where I casually painted these twelve leaves of Sutai [Suzhou]. Although this is just to while away the summer heat, I am ashamed I could not achieve a likeness.”81 At the conclusion of the handscroll A Thousand Mountains and Distant Water, he wrote, “in the third month of 1648, I sketched this at a guest house in Piling.” Zhang’s mention of Piling may indicate that this handscroll was done for the Zhuang family, or it may have been done for some member of the Piling branch of the Tang family, with whom he had been friends for years.82 The Tangs were a wealthy family of artists with an impressive art collection who, despite their many achievements, had remained unsuccessful in placing a son in official service.83 This type of unobtrusive allusion to a certain family in the artist’s inscription on a famous-sites painting would serve to place the family within the sphere of elite Suzhou culture, a position a good deal higher than any painting customized to their personal circumstances could have achieved; yet, it also indicates their wealth in sponsoring a painter and their good taste in avoiding works tricked up with forged calligraphy. Another subcategory of famous-sites paintings are albums whose painted leaves are matched with leaves of calligraphy seemingly inscribed by famous literati, such as the 1632 album Unexcelled Prospects of Wu (Wuzhong shenglan tu) by Zhang Hong, which boasts poetry ascribed to famous calligraphers such as Dong Qichang (1555–1636) and Chen Jiru (1558–1639).84 Although the paintings appear to be genuine works by the artists who signed them, the inscriptions attributed to famous calligraphers and personalities of the time are not. They were produced within Suzhou’s well-developed forgery trade.85 On this album, an inscription “signed” by the illustrious late Ming official Wen Zhenmeng celebrates Sword Pond and the canal behind Tiger Hill as follows: King Wu buried his swords many autumns ago, and still, on clear nights the light shines up from the pool.

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Ever since Baigong [Prince of Chu] opened up a path here, flutes and drums play on painted boats that sightsee here in all four seasons. 吴王埋劍已千秋，尚有晴光夜壑浮。 一自白公開徑，畫船簫鼓四時遊。

The poem supposedly written by Wei Shizhong (act. 17th c.) for the Stone Lake leaf reads: Where the mist and water of Stone Lake meet the length of the sky, visitors row fishing boats from west to east and back again. Leisurely reclining on a spring outing, they turn their heads to see the terrace and halls on Mount Shangfang, amidst the hazy green. 石湖煙水接長空，客棹漁舟西復東。 閒倚行春回首處，上方臺殿翠微中。

The trite content and brevity of these poems bespeak a forger’s commercial association with the artist or go-between, rather than a personal relationship with a recipient. In addition, although the calligraphic impersonations of the writing are very good, the arrangement of the characters within each inscription is too neatly balanced, and the uniformity of position among the celebrity signatures is suspicious. The careful inclusion of each calligraphic script type, including the tasteful and antiquarian clerical script, is also suspect. These are the classic traces of a good forger. Forgeries ascribed to famous calligraphers such as Dong Qichang were ubiquitous, yet they seemed to have been accepted as part of the period’s artistic culture. Dong himself discussed the prevalence of forgeries of his own work “made by people from Wu [Suzhou]. . . . Whenever I visit scholar-officials, they always show me their collections [of my works]. Although I know that many of them are fakes, I never argue with these collectors.”86 Famous-sites paintings may also have appealed to buyers who had grown wealthy through commerce and desired to elevate their social status by acquiring paintings with sophisticated subject matter. According to Zhang Hong’s biographer, as Zhang was forced to sell his paintings due to the impoverished state of his family, “merchants” could get his best work when he and his dependents were in most desperate need. Due to this, dealers in rice and salt amassed large collections of his paintings.87 An apology for selling to merchants was a common

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trope of the time. Within the complex urban society of seventeenth-century Suzhou, the designation of merchant does little to clarify the buyers of Zhang’s work. The term could apply not only to dealers in rice and salt, but also to the countless officials and elite gentry who participated in business, such as Sun Chunyang (late 16th c.), the owner of the most famous grocery store in Suzhou, who had turned to commerce after failing to pass the official examinations.88 As Huang Xingzeng (1490–1540) stated, “Many members of the official class of Wu are zealous to get rich. . . . The methods they use in their loan and pawn businesses, and their trade in salt and liquor, double their profits from the common people.”89 Although Zhang Hong painted a wide variety of subjects, his paintings of famous sites account for a large proportion of his work. No doubt many of these paintings were purchased by a variety of people engaged in trade. The comparatively inexpensive production of the famous-sites paintings also suggests some may have been intended for the tourists and pilgrims who, in the words of Wang Qi, traveled about on the waterways of Suzhou in “painted boats, dazzling with brilliant colors on excursions to the mountains.”90 On festival days, such as the very popular Lotus Flower Lake Festival in summer and the Mid-Autumn Festival, female tourists could visit the famous monasteries and natural sites of Suzhou, and during religious festivals, pilgrims of both genders flocked to the renowned monasteries of the area. Zhang Dai, for one, complained of the sale of paintings that may have been famous-sites works at the pilgrims’ markets around West Lake, saying “the scene was completely altered with the arrival of the motley crowds of pilgrims. The quiet elegance of the gentle people was no match for the gaudy showiness of the rustic folk; the subtle scent of orchids was no match for their pungent herbs; the string and wind instruments were no match for their loud drums and pipes; antique bronzes and fine porcelain were no match for their mud statues and bamboo toys; Sung and Yuan masterworks were no match for their pictures of the Buddha and lake views.”91 Famous-sites paintings may have been prepared with this group in mind. They depict fewer sites, contain fewer leaves, and are often smaller in size than the honorific paintings, making them easier to transport home. Most of the famous-sites paintings I have examined were produced by a single artist. In those produced by groups, however, it appears that each artist painted the scene that was his specialty. Yuan Shangtong painted almost every extant version of Hushan seen in group-produced albums. Perhaps such a situation evolved as a way to speed the process along. With less time, energy, and material used to produce these works, artists could paint a greater number of

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them, and they could be sold more cheaply to those wishing to remember their experience. The famous-sites paintings had been pared down to an established visual experience of select codified elements that would have taken less time and thought than the unique views and detailed compositions of the honorific paintings, and the pre-established components of the trips they illustrated would have appealed all the more to buyers seeking to remember their visits in the historically and religiously sanctioned light of the past. If the cultural cachet of the visual experiences captured in the famous-sites paintings was to reflect on this disparate group of owners, then the paintings must have been conspicuously displayed. Fortunately, the codification of these painted visual experiences was so complete that they could be shrunk, enlarged, or extended to any format. The greatest numbers were produced as small albums, purchased perhaps to show to family and friends in correlation with the narration of a trip to the sites illustrated. Another inexpensive and easily displayed format was the folding fan. Zhang Hong produced many of these, and Wen Congchang incorporated several sites into one fan design.92 On the more expensive end, Zhang Hong created a tour-de-force in the handscroll format with his long 1648 scroll, A Thousand Mountains and Distant Water, discussed above (figs. 1.35–1.43). His complex composition linking the sites of Suzhou would have allowed the painting’s owner an uninterrupted account of his tour of the entire Suzhou area. Yuan Shangtong too produced an ostentatiously large display by dividing a set of famous-sites paintings of Mount Zhixing, Hushan, Mount Lingyan, the Pond of Heaven, Xukou, and what may be Dengwei across six large hanging scrolls that could have filled the walls of a studio or reception hall.93

Fund-Raising Paintings The gentry were closely connected to Buddhist monasteries in Huang’s youth, as they were throughout the Ming dynasty.94 Many educated men lived in monasteries as students to take advantage of the quiet, inexpensive rooms and extensive libraries; and landed elites, officials, and wealthy merchants utilized temple halls for meetings and lectures. Buddhist clerics assisted the elite in fulfilling family obligations by providing rites and services for the dead, supervising activities within the annual cycle of festival days, and offering public lectures on Buddhist topics. Lectures in Chan monasteries were particularly well attended.95 On holiday, elite sightseers were attracted to the ancient grounds and prospects of monasteries and their environs. Many literati visitors recorded these trips

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in paintings, essays, and diaries. Art connoisseurs also sought out these religious institutions to examine their collections of painting and calligraphy. An inscription by Chen Jiru (1558–1639) on the painting The Bamboo Monastery (Zhuyuan) by Zhao Zuo (ca. 1573–1644) explains that educated art lovers often visited the Helin Monastery near Nanjing in order to study its calligraphy collection as preserved in the engraved stone steles found on its grounds.96 The beautiful natural settings of many monasteries also made them attractive to retired gentlemen for lengthy retreats. Given the amount of interaction between the monastic community and the elite, it is little wonder that many monasteries enjoyed a high degree of support in the seventeenth century; yet supporting local monks and monasteries was more than just a public service or religious work for these men. The number of educated scholars competing for official positions in this period grew continually, making the chances to earn a degree and gain a coveted government position increasingly rare. Patronizing monasteries was one way for educated men to distinguish themselves publicly as the elite protectors of the cultural capital of their districts outside the politically hazardous and increasingly inaccessible bureaucratic system. Much of this patronage was directed toward the construction or refurbishment of temple buildings. Because the cost of these building projects often went beyond the means of the average wealthy household, it was necessary to have many funders. To reach a wider audience, essays soliciting the financial support of local patrons were written by prominent individuals and circulated.97 Writing prose works of this type was in itself an act of support for Buddhist institutions because the fame of the authors of these financial appeals would increase the effectiveness of the petitions. These fund-raising appeals were shown to the writers’ friends and family, circulated among other local educated elites, placed in public sight on monastery doors and elsewhere, and promoted through subscription albums carried door-to-door. These documents were sometimes illustrated. The Fuyuan Monastery album, which is now mounted as a handscroll and held in the collection of the Suzhou Museum, is one example of this type of work.98 The Fuyuan Monastery album begins with two frontispieces by Wang Zhideng and Shen Shixing (1535–1614), who also wrote two of the album’s fund-raising appeals. Wang Zhideng’s frontispiece reads: “To Revive an Ancient Monastery” (Gucha zhong xing), but Shen Shixing’s seems to employ a metaphor for the roof of a building in his invitation to potential donors: “Cover [with] a Rain Hat [to Attain] Infinite Merit” (Fu li yu gong). Following the frontispieces are two paintings mounted as album leaves, each of which depicts a

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Fig. 1.44  Qian Gong, Fuyuan Monastery at Dongting West Mountain. Leaf 1 of two album leaves mounted as a handscroll, ink and light colors on paper, 33.2  57.7 cm. Courtesy of the Suzhou Museum.

monastic complex (figs. 1.44, 1.45), executed in ink and light colors on paper by the artist Qian Gong.99 They perfectly illustrate the scene described in the poem by Wang Zhideng at the end of his essay: Sounds from the cloudy spring emerge from the foot of the mountain, and the ancient pines from the Tianjian era [502–20] are still verdant. If the old Fuyuan Monastery could be revived, the sound of the spring and shade of the pines would fill the monastery gate.100 雲泉

出山根，天監長松翠盖存。

若使福源興舊刹，泉聲松影滿山門。

In both paintings an arched bridge spans a gurgling brook, and twin pine trees tower above visitors who enter the gates of a monastery surrounded by forest. A lake dotted with islands and boats is to be seen in the distance. Both scenes are imaginary, as the monastery no longer existed. One of the paintings, entitled Painting of Fuyuan Monastery, is signed and dated to the summer of 1610 by

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Fig. 1.45  Qian Gong, Fuyuan Monastery at Dongting West Mountain, 1610. Leaf 2 of two album leaves mounted as a handscroll, ink and light colors on paper, 33.2  58 cm. (Suzhou Museum).

Qian Gong. The other is merely signed by the artist. Eight inscriptions that vary from one to three album leaves in length follow the two paintings. Important local luminaries, both active and retired, wrote the first seven inscriptions. They were, in the order in which their inscriptions occur as mounted on the present handscroll: Yao Shangde (jinshi degree 1586), Wang Zhideng, Shen Shixing, Zhang Guoshen (dates unknown), An Xifan (1564–1621), Ye Chuchun (jinshi degree 1580, d. 1622), and Wen Zhenmeng (1574–1636). The final inscription was added much later by the late-Qing-dynasty official Wu Yun (1811–83), in the first lunar month (January 26–February 24) of 1876. The album was remounted as a handscroll sometime after this last inscription was written. To my knowledge, the Fuyuan Monastery album contains a unique surviving example of a late-Ming fund-raising-appeal painting.101 The tradition, however, was probably of long duration by this time. An earlier painting that could have been a fund-raising appeal is the handscroll Eight Views of Jiahe, attributed to the retiring Yuan-dynasty painter Wu Zhen (1280–1354), which depicts eight topographic views of Jiahe, Jiaxing (modern Zhejiang Province). At the end of the scroll is written this plea: “The Yulan [Deep and Overflowing] Spring is one of the Eight Views of Jiahe. The pavilion there is on the point of collapse.

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The Buddhist monks who live in the mountains nearby would like to rebuild it, but have not the time or funds to do it. If anyone who unrolls this scroll thinks he has the means to help them, this would be a very pure act. Mei Daoren, Zhen, exhorts your participation.”102 Subscription appeals by well-known Mingdynasty artists and art patrons, such as Wen Zhengming and Wang Shizhen, may have originally had such paintings appended, but these are now lost or detached.103 The present scarcity of this painting type may be due to its blatantly utilitarian purpose. Traditionally, paintings produced by elite artists as a means of self-expression were highly prized, whereas artwork by a lesser-known artist produced to fulfill a quotidian function would have held less appeal for most art collectors from the seventeenth century to today.104 Although the paintings and essays are now mounted continuously in a handscroll format, the physical evidence reveals that they were once mounted as an unbound folio album.105 The viewer would pick up one album leaf at a time and unfold it. The essayists’ straightforward discussions of the monk Xingtian’s fund-raising plan and requests, their effusive descriptions of the temple complex that did not then exist, and the portable folio format all suggest Xingtian carried this album with him on visits to various local elite households in search of funds and when traveling on his fund-raising tour. An Xifan’s essay elucidates the role of the subscription album in these interactions: Monk Xingtian, who plans to revive this temple, brought out the album inscribed by retired scholar Wang [Zhideng] for me to examine. It made me sigh with appreciation. Because of this I wrote these several words on this album, and I made a small cash contribution in order to assist with the building expenses. I did this in order to encourage all future benefactors!106 性天上人方圖中興此寺，出王居士題冊觀之。余亦為之贊嘆。因為書數語于 冊而稍捐貲以助一榢之費，且以為諸檀越勸云！

The fund-raising appeals written for the Fuyuan Monastery album share certain basic elements. All describe the location of the monastery and the writers’ personal experiences of the site, and half present some aspect of Fuyuan Monastery history. All clearly state that the monk named Xingtian had undertaken the making of the album to raise funds. Most of the writers appear to have known Xingtian personally. Each writer also emphasizes both the karmic and societal benefits of contributing to the project. They discuss the religious merit one will accrue for giving (dāna); the importance of protecting and prop-

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agating the Buddhist law (dharma); and how the reconstruction will benefit the Buddhist community and the area at large.107 Shen Shixing’s appeal contains the majority of these attributes: Some years ago I traveled to Dongting West Mountain and explored all its scenic sites. When I saw lofty pines a thousand feet in height and thick, verdant green undergrowth, I thought this would be the site of an ancient monastery. But instead, the crumbling, faded walls were overgrown with thorns and brushwood. It was gloomy and deserted. I asked about it, [and I was told] that it was the ruins of the former Fuyuan Monastery. It saddened me. Now the bodhisattva Xingtian has a keen determination to reestablish and repair it, and Master Baigu [Wang Zhideng] has written an appeal to collect donations on a large scale, in which he explains karmic merits and proclaims the path of enlightenment, which is thorough and sincere. Is this not an opportunity to revive the monastery and again reopen the lecture hall?! I am happy about this, and so I wrote my subscription appeal after that of Master Baigu.108 往歲余嘗逰洞庭西山，遍探諸名勝。見喬松千尺篬翠蓊鬱，意其為古刹道 塲。而破壁頹垣，荒榛宿莽，杳無人跡。問之，則故福源寺遺墟也。為之愴 然。今性天開士銳意興修，而百穀先生為作疏廣募，所以開示福緣宣明覺 路，周至諄懇。茲非鹿苑重興龍宮再闢之會乎？！余復為之跫然以喜，因題 募疏之次而歸之。

In his subscription appeal, Yao Shangde presents a detailed history of the monastery and the reconstruction process. Established during the Liang dynasty, it had experienced periods of ruin and rebuilding throughout the subsequent centuries, and by 1566, it was again in a dilapidated condition. He explains how the monk Mingzhi rediscovered the Fuyuan Monastery site and made it his religious home. Mingzhi’s follower, the monk Xingtian, then dreamed of reconstructing it. Xingtian did not attempt this venture on his own. He enlisted a group of influential local people to give money and to encourage their social networks to do the same. Wang Zhideng and Shen Shixing both wrote subscription appeals for the project and contributed money and grain.109 Xingtian also appears to have been in charge of the building project. Not only did he solicit funds in Suzhou, but he also made a fund-raising tour into modern Jiangxi and Hunan Provinces. After several years, Xingtian finally traveled to Huguang (modern Hubei and Hunan Provinces) to acquire materials for construction

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sometime between the end of 1614 and 1618. In a later report by Wen Zhenmeng, the end of the story is revealed. Construction on the monastery began in 1618 and was completed four years later in 1622.110 The preparation of the subscription album, fund-raising, gathering of construction materials, and construction proper took about thirteen years. The first six essays constitute the active solicitation for funds in the period before the monastery was rebuilt, and it is important to note that each author seems to have achieved distinction in a different way, so that each could have connected Xingtian to a discrete pool of donors. All were local men who had achieved fame on the national stage, yet their personalities and ties differed. Wang Zhideng was an artistic celebrity, associated by training and marriage to the Wen family, whose surviving correspondence reveals a wide circle of friends and acquaintances. Shen Shixing was a lifelong politician who had reached the height of office and lived to enjoy a long retirement in his hometown. An Xifan not only came from a wealthy, well-established merchant family with a long-standing reputation for charity, but he was also widely admired for his role in establishing the Donglin Academy in Wuxi.111 Ye Chuchun had gained national admiration for his brave stand for principle against the wrath of the emperor. He was also a native of Dongting West Mountain (Dongting xishan), the site of the monastery. Such authors could exert a local appeal to many donors in the Suzhou and Lake Tai area, as well as having the national cachet necessary to impress donors visited by Xingtian on his fund-raising tour in Jiangxi and Hunan. Given that the Fuyuan Monastery album subscription appeals explain the situation so clearly, it seems unnecessary to incorporate a painting of the site into the album. However, the presentation of the subscription appeals in the guise of an album of paintings and calligraphy not only made the appeal more persuasive by presenting the fund-raising project as an enjoyable art-viewing experience for possible donors, but also allowed them to envision the history and future of Fuyuan Monastery in a variety of ways. It was a long-standing tradition for elite connoisseurs of painting, prose, and poetry to create and appreciate art in polite gatherings; thus looking through the Fuyuan Monastery album offered its viewers a familiar and pleasurable experience, within which the option of contributing to the temple reconstruction project discussed by the essayists was presented without pressure or embarrassment. Still, the inclusion of paintings in the album requires explanation. How this type of painting fit into the Suzhou place-painting tradition, how it reconciled reality with imagination,

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and why there are two depictions of the monastery all reveal the complexity of this painting genre in Huang’s time. Fuyuan Monastery was located on a famous island known as Dongting West Mountain, located thirty kilometers from the modern city of Suzhou. It is the largest island in Lake Tai, with a landmass spanning 62 square kilometers, and its highest peak, which is the highest on the lake, reaches 336 meters above sea level. In the seventeenth century, Dongting West Mountain was known for its special agricultural products and as a favored leisure spot.112 It was the place of retirement of the great litterateur, official, and art patron Wang Ao (1450–1524; jinshi degree 1475), who hailed from Dongting East Mountain, and a summer retreat for many others.113 Seventeenth-century vacationers to the Dongting Lake islands could relax amid the cool breezes, enjoy the scenic views and quiet monasteries and temples, and sample the islands’ local delicacies. The tangerines grown here had been famous since the Tang dynasty. Visitors also sampled the “Startling” (or “Green Snail Spring”) tea of Dongting, said to have been cultivated there for a thousand years.114 Elite mid-Ming Suzhou artists had established the Dongting islands as a subject. Tang Yin painted the no-longer-extant Two Mountains of Dongting (Dongting liangshan tu), to which was affixed a nostalgic poem that Wang Ao wrote about his home.115 In 1559, Wen Zhengming’s nephew Wen Boren created the hanging scroll Dongting West Mountain (Xi Dongtingshan tu). It bears seven inscriptions by Wen family members, such as Wen Jia, and friends, including Xie Shichen (1487–ca.1560), and may have been done during a trip by the group to Dongting West Mountain.116 The famous patron Wang Shizhen and the painter Lu Zhi (1496–1576) also depicted their 1572 trip to the Dongting islands with a group of friends.117 Sun Zhi (ca. 1535–ca. 1601) painted an elaborate handscroll that depicts both the Dongting islands and Lake Tai in 1587.118 The two Dongting islands were also included in the 1626 honorific album Paintings for Suzhou Prefect Kou Shen’s Resignation from Office discussed above. The Fuyuan Monastery album (figs. 1.44, 1.45) was not created as a literati trip memento, a famous-sites production, or an honorific parting painting. It was a visual bid for funding that demanded a convincing manifestation of a predominantly fictional monastic complex within the familiar landscape of Dongting West Mountain. The painter, Qian Gong, achieved this through his perspectival choices, his experiential presentation of the site, and his stylistic references. He presents a privileged view of the scenic tourist area that is most similar to the honorific paintings in its elevated perspective of the monastery, which reveals its

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immediate surroundings and its location on Dongting West Mountain in Lake Tai. In this way Qian accentuates the natural scenery and geographic exclusivity of the site, while also illustrating the respected position of the potential donors. This view moreover invites exploration of the monastery and its surroundings. The strongly opposing diagonal compositions evident from this angle encourage viewers to move through generic temple buildings nestled amidst the beautiful surroundings of Lake Tai and to explore the grounds along a clear path that extends through both leaves. This experiential, exploratory aspect of the painting is also found in Suzhou famous-sites paintings. Late-Ming viewers of the Fuyuan Monastery album progressed through an idealized or projected monastic space. Qian Gong underplayed the architecture in the two paintings because it did not yet exist. Qian describes the façade of the foremost building in both leaves while taking care not to delineate any unique architectural elements and enveloping the remainder of the temple complex within the surrounding forest. The architectural ambiguity also allowed individual viewers to imagine their own version of what they were about to fund.119 Qian further aids potential donors in this exercise by depicting figures of gentlemen with whom his viewers might identify. In both leaves, bowing monks greet visitors in long robes and scholars’ caps as they arrive to admire the new monastic buildings (figs. 1.46, 1.47). This visual treatment echoes Wang Zhideng’s literary invitation to imagine the refurbished monastery with “the sound of the spring and shade of the pines” filling the gate. Two explanations as to why Qian painted dual versions of one monastic complex present themselves. The paintings might represent two possible versions of the same complex seen from different angles. The main gate originally faced west but was reoriented to the south in 1618 when construction began on this project.120 If the paintings accord with what was eventually built, with the gate facing south, then the first leaf shows a view from the east, and the second shows a view from the west. The notion that these were two possible versions would explain the slight architectural variations in the two renderings. Monk Xingtian may have even offered viewers a choice of versions, eliciting their opinions of the two possible designs in the hope that this would encourage them to contribute to the project. The opposing direction of the entrance gate in the two paintings could also suggest that one of the two paintings denoted the ancient Fuyuan Monastery and the other presented its planned modern counterpart. This interpretation would echo the format of the essayists, who first discuss the “ancient monas-

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Fig. 1.46  Qian Gong, Fuyuan Monastery at Dongting West Mountain, detail of the monastery grounds. Leaf 1 of two album leaves mounted as a handscroll (Suzhou Museum).

Fig. 1.47  Qian Gong, Fuyuan Monastery at Dongting West Mountain, detail of the monastery grounds, 1610. Leaf 2 of two album leaves mounted as a handscroll (Suzhou Museum).

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tery of Emperor Wu of the Liang dynasty” and then envision “the old Fuyuan monastery revived.”121 In this reading the first leaf begins with the smaller of the two monastic complexes with a freestanding gate on the opposite bank (fig. 1.44). The smaller, simpler complex may suggest an earlier architectural form, or what a Ming-dynasty viewer might imagine Liang-dynasty architecture to look like, even though there are no obvious components that allow its identification as Liang. In addition, this first complex is sheathed in the blue-and-green landscape style traditionally associated with paradisiacal lands and the distant past.122 Viewers would exit this monastery complex and then move down the forested hill to the beginning of the next leaf on the following page (fig. 1.45). Here, a bridge is crossed to enter a larger compound surrounded by an impressive gated enclosure. In this leaf, the blue-and-green color washes of the mountains and trees of the first leaf are replaced with the famous pinks and blues and careful brushwork made popular by the essayists’ grandfathers, fathers, and friends. Painting the second monastery in this contemporaneous style, called the Wu-school manner by later scholars, updated the Fuyuan Monastery for its then current audience, which included those within the essayists’ social circles and those who wished to be. In this interpretation of the two album leaves, viewers begin at the renowned Liang-dynasty monastery, pass through the landscape of the past, turn the page to traverse the modern landscape, and finally enter into the newly built monastery and the elite society of the present.

Suzhou Place Paintings and Geo-Narrative Some Suzhou place paintings may have been read as geo-narratives. The majority of famous-sites paintings are not geo-narratives because their experiential topography does not compel viewers to contemplate a subtle narrative with a deeper underlying meaning. Famous-sites works are similar to geo-narratives in that they present topographically specific landscape journeys in which experiential understanding of the illustrated sites is key. They picture seasonally accurate renderings of identifiable sites keyed to travelers’ journeys through them. These paintings, however, generally lack the specific personalities and explanatory textual material that painters utilized to formulate the concentrated meanings of geo-narrative works. Most famous-sites paintings do not appear to have been inscribed with personalized writings. Instead, their painters employed the legendary topography of Suzhou to present buyers with phys-

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ical journey-experiences through the entirety of the historical, religious, and cultural meaning encapsulated at each site. The significance and purpose of these capsulized topographic experiences of some of the most identifiable landscape of Ming China could be adapted to any situation. Consumers and recipients of Suzhou famous-sites paintings could then create an array of meanings suitable to a variety of occasions. Some honorific paintings may have been read as geo-narratives. Their impressive, individuated topographic journeys narrate the localized civic careers and personal experiences of their recipients over time and imply a change of status for the recipient, the donors, and the locale. This meaning was created through lavish series of paintings in elite contemporary styles. The artworks presented local geography associated with historical persons, scattered with figural focalizers, and were extensively annotated with inscriptions and colophons. The topographical journeys they narrate were then utilized within the traditional functional category of farewell paintings. In this reading, honorific geo-narratives represent elaborated, late-Ming versions of parting paintings. The Fuyuan Monastery album may be read as a geo-narrative because it invited viewers to enjoy a detailed series of topographical experiences on Dongting West Mountain that narrate the story of Fuyuan Monastery through past, present, and future. The topographically constructed narrative incorporated viewers into the history of the monastery through illustrations and text. Pictorial elements such as the color palette and carefully composed monastic grounds define the illustrated site experiences. These are accentuated by the figures of monk and scholar guides. The written fund-raising appeals present the textual history of the monastery and the tale of its champion, the monk Xingtian. As in the paintings, the written appeals also assimilate readers directly into the narrative by elaborating on the site, its geography, and the story. A full experience of the subscription appeal book moved viewers through the past, present, and hopeful future of Fuyuan Monastery in that the primarily monetary choice the viewers were called upon to make next dictated how the story would end. This personalization of the spiritual and cultural import of the monastery imparted greater significance to the painting’s fund-raising function. If the Fuyuan Monastery album represents a typical illustrated fund-raising appeal, it is likely that most such paintings were geo-narratives.

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Huang Xiangjian and Suzhou Place Painting Late-Ming painters of the Suzhou area employed distinctive topographical vocabularies, site-specific views, and visual experiences to create structured journeys and geo-narratives through identifiable landscape rich in meaning. The individuated concepts and specific social functions of the paintings they made aided educated Suzhou elite in the construction and promulgation of their chosen identities. The objective of a site painting or geo-narrative was to create or reinforce a societal role. The particular geographic vantage points of each painting also quite literally located the viewer, or at least suggested where he wished to be. It was to this artistic tradition that Huang Xiangjian would turn upon his arrival home from Yunnan. Huang borrowed liberally from the three categories here examined to recreate his journey and redefine himself. The educated elite of Suzhou used honorific paintings to express their esteem and strengthen their associations with officials, abbots, and other distinguished members of their social networks during significant events in their lives. The paratexts, poems, and inscriptions of these works carefully explicate the character of the recipient, the illustrated visual experience, and the overarching goal of each work. The documentation also unites the painted topography with the recipient. The pictorial elements of honorific paintings reveal similar goals. They commemorate recipients’ power and authority through their expansive perspectives of large geographical areas that often represent the recipient’s place of residence or jurisdiction. They imply the enlightened internal view of their recipients with elevated views over these vast panoramas. They also suggest the personalized visual experiences of recipients through distinctive views of famous landmarks as well as noncanonical sites of import to the recipient alone. Politely generic representative figures of honorees invite these people to remember, relive, and reimagine their experiences within these landscapes. The aggrandizing function of honorific paintings was also materially reinforced through their large size and impressive number of album leaves. Huang would borrow several of these attributes in his 1656 handscroll painting of Mount Jizu discussed in chapter 4 and almost all of them for his 1658 Diannan album discussed in chapters 5 and 6. The geo-narratives he constructs honor his father, Huang Kongzhao. His words and images relate his father’s character, circumstances, and personality. Viewers journey through the topography and experiential views of a trip Huang and his father enjoyed to Mount Jizu in the handscroll and his father’s area of governance in the album. Both works cele-

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brate specific aspects of his father’s (and his own) personal experiences, official career, ideals, and spiritual growth. Huang pushes the journey potential of both geo-narratives further, however, by linking the individual elements of each work into an organic whole representative of his father’s sagely understanding in the case of the Mount Jizu handscroll and life journey in the Diannan album. The visual experiences captured in famous-sites paintings and their noticeable lack of personalized documentation suggest they were produced primarily for sale to local elites and visitors who wished to trade on the vast cultural capital represented by the places illustrated. The wide variety of extant formats of this painting type, from fans to large hanging scrolls, further reinforced their appeal to a diverse audience. The majority of extant famous-sites paintings, however, were produced as small, portable albums and may have been viewed in correlation with the owner’s narration of his trip to the areas shown. Artists employed a variety of devices to provide viewers with experiential tours through the places depicted. The most memorable topographical elements of each famous site were rendered in accessible codified topography to recreate viewers’ experiences. For the largest Suzhou sites and routes, painters organized the conceptual presentation of codified topography into a synopsis of a visitor’s tour. Seasonal references and a diverse assortment of painted figures provided viewers with further associative signifiers for their memories or imagined experiences. The majority of ink albums that Huang produced, as discussed in the following chapter, rely heavily on recognizable painted figures and accessible codified topography. Indeed, Huang included identifiable versions of himself and his family in every extant painting he produced. He does not, however, merely present them as active, associative symbols for viewers. He assigns them readily identifiable and consistent attributes. In color paintings, Huang’s father wears a red robe. His parents are identified riding in or resting beside their sedan chairs. Huang’s representative self sometimes wears a blue robe and always carries an umbrella. Huang also developed a distinctive codification system in rendering his southwest ink albums. The core of his oeuvre consists of a select number of topographical and architectural types and compositions. He presents this codified visual vocabulary in standardized sets of southwest landscape views. Huang’s creation and utilization of such a standardized system allowed Suzhou viewers to access the mysterious southwest as they had never before been able, but within a mode of presentation with which they were very familiar. Few fund-raising paintings remain. I will suggest some possible general characteristics of these works, however, based on the Fuyuan Monastery album.

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Fund-raising paintings were created to accompany written fund-raising appeals as candid petitions for monetary support for the construction or renovation of a structure, such as a Buddhist monastery. The fame and social networks of the writers of fund-raising appeals promoted the effectiveness of the appeal. The written appeals incorporated a variety of petition strategies, but probably included a recitation of the history of the structure, a description of the fund-raising tour, the virtues and accomplishments of the organizer, and the importance of communal unity to aid a good cause. The presentation of the subscription appeals for a project as part of an album of paintings and calligraphy not only made it more persuasive by presenting the fund-raising project as a nonconfrontational art-viewing experience, but also allowed possible benefactors to visualize the project. Envisioning the structure as it once stood in the historical past or as it would stand when completely restored in the present was a powerful incentive to possible donors. Through the careful manipulation of architecture, topography, ink, and color, fund-raising paintings presented an instantaneous, potent, and effective call for funds that could engage the potential donor quickly or offer a complementary experience to the careful reader of each appeal. Every painting Huang created of his southwest odyssey accessed the cultural prerogative of the fund-raising painting tradition in some way. The texts and images he produced following his journey present the circumstances of his family before, during, and after the Ming dynastic fall; they describe the southwest journey and his fund-raising tours; they highlight the virtues and accomplishments of the family; and his Diannan album even elucidates the dire financial straits of the family on their return to Suzhou. Huang also envisioned his odyssey amidst the dramatic southwest through a careful combination of historicized color schemes, experiential journeyscapes, and comprehensive distant views with metaphorical implications, all of which would have been familiar to viewers conversant with fund-raising paintings. The seventeenth-century cultural leader and tastemaker Dong Qichang echoed generations of art historians before him when he discussed the necessary Six Canons of a successful painter. He wrote, “The first is ‘spirit consonance should be lively and vitalizing.’ But spirit consonance is not something that can be learned. We already know it when we are born, for it is endowed by heaven. There is, however, something that a painter can learn. Let him read ten thousand volumes and walk ten thousand miles. All these will wash away the turgid matters of the mundane world and help form the hills and valleys

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within his bosom. Once he has made these preparations within himself, whatever he sketches and paints will be able to convey the spirit of the mountains and rivers.”123 Huang met this criterion quite literally when he arrived home from the southwest. His travel narrative, paintings, and new style name—“the man who returned home ten-thousand li”—all indicate his awareness and employment of this concept in his artistic endeavors. Huang’s filial journey into the southwest consequently enabled him to convey his experiences of the “spirit of the mountains and rivers” in ways that others could not. In practice, Huang relied on the well-established conventions of Suzhou place painting to render the southwest intelligible to Suzhou viewers and to publicize a new social role for himself and his family. Huang reimagined the exotic amidst the familiar; but his journeyscapes did not overlay the Suzhou place-painting tradition onto the southwest seamlessly. Rather, as Huang accessed the well-known artistic tradition of Suzhou place painting to capture his personal experiences of the rarely seen peripheral southwest, he simultaneously reinvigorated and expanded the potential of the geo-narrative genre. In order to understand how he accomplished this, we now turn to the painted experiences that he created and to the social mechanism he activated in creating them.

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Map 2  Selected Yunnan sites visited and later painted by Huang Xiangjian. Map adapted from Tan Qixiang, ed., Zhongguo lishi dituji, vol. 7: Yuan Ming shiqi, 76–77. Map courtesy of Christine Dent.

Ch a p t er T wo

Paintings of the Southwest for Suzhou Audiences In 1643, my father was appointed district magistrate of Dayao in Yunnan. He took my mother and cousin with him to his official position. After they reached his post, the dynasty was overthrown. The passes and mountains were completely blocked, and warfare filled the roads. As I thought about my parents’ return, and how vague and unpredictable it was, I worried day and night. Pain and suffering were constantly before my eyes. Furthermore, the foreign invasions had created such chaos that there was almost no safe place for my family. In bitter straits and circumstances, we lived on very little. My brush and ink stone were covered in dust, and even such things as safety or a decent meal were unthinkable. —Huang Xiangjian, A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents, opening lines

T

he year after Huang Kongzhao traveled the width of the country to take office at the extreme edge of the empire in Dayao, Yunnan (map 2), the Ming court in Beijing fell. For seven years Huang Xiangjian then heard nothing of his father, mother, or the cousin who had accompanied them.1 Life in Suzhou changed dramatically over this time. In the first year alone the citizenry suffered heavy taxation under the fragile Ming government, which had relocated to the southern metropolis of Nanjing. Social unrest, civilian and military refugees from the north, and rampant robbery and looting also occurred throughout the region. Qing troops entered Nanjing on June 6, 1645,

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and an expeditionary force was sent southeastward to seize Suzhou and the surrounding area. Though Suzhou did not oppose the initial entry of Qing troops, a resistance movement began soon after in response to an edict requiring all citizens to adopt Manchu hairstyle and dress. It was quickly quashed. Huang had lost country and family, emperor and father in one blow. He records his response in the second half of the opening of his travel record: When I did obeisance at my ancestors’ graves, I told them of how I had dishonored my parents. My father and mother were in an inaccessible land, and I had not thought of them. Was I worthy of being anyone’s descendant? Bitterly distressed, I wiped my tears and thought quietly. Though the mountain ranges and waters were long, there was nowhere I would not travel. But, though I asked everyone, I could not figure out how to get there. After some time the warfare subsided. My spirit was disquieted as though my parents were calling me to make this journey. My family quickly chose a few clothes for me to take. Everyone was full of sadness, but they were encouraging and did not say one word to stop me. As I said goodbye to my friends and relatives that day, they were only partly convinced that I was doing the right thing. Unable to deter me, they gave me farewell gifts, poured some wine and bestowed some parting words upon me. Feeling apprehensive, I bowed in appreciation. And so I left.

On January 11, 1652, Huang set out on foot to find his father and mother in an “inaccessible land.” This chapter begins with a synopsis of the Huang family odyssey. It then introduces the basic elements of the body of painting Huang Xiangjian created on his return to Suzhou. Seventeenth-century conceptions of the southwest as evinced through travel writing, particularly those works associated with Yang Shen, are introduced. Although a large corpus of history and legend surrounded the southwest, little pictorial precedent existed from which Huang could draw. An examination of printed gazetteers provides the only contemporaneous extant pictorial representations of the area. The lack of a painting tradition associated with the southwest, coupled with his highly sophisticated Suzhou audience and specific purpose for the artwork related to his journey, necessitated that Huang rely solely on the complex site-specific painting techniques of his hometown. Two aspects of Huang’s artistic production of particular import to the function and reception of his work are then introduced: his presentation of “sketched” paintings of the journey and his standardization of an interchangeable set of

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subject matter, compositions, and text. Finally, this chapter introduces the new, multidimensional Suzhou patronage group to which Huang Xiangjian catered— Ming loyalists—and how this group may have interpreted his art.

The Huang Family Odyssey Huang Xiangjian traveled over land and water for 558 days and some 2,800 miles, confronting obstacles of every kind. Bandits and hostile native inhabitants were a primary threat, but soldiers of both Qing and pro-Ming rebel armies also proved dangerous. Just after he crossed into Guizhou, for example, Huang stumbled on “double-edged swords and two-pointed lances, and a stockade of closely fitted logs similar to a city wall.” He wrote: “The soldiers and officers stood divided into ranks and demanded in strong voices that I identify myself. As I came closer to them, they yammered at me angrily, for they thought I was a spy. With an angry look, the commander issued orders that the stockade be opened, and I was put inside. To his left and right were soldiers holding two-pointed lances. The commander stared at me angrily and interrogated me. He wanted to know my hometown, surname, personal name, and my business. He wanted to know what places I had come from and where I was going.” Other travelers were even less fortunate in their encounters. Huang reports seeing “people whose ears and noses had been hacked off. Some were missing both hands as well. Though the refugees were able to carry heavy loads on their backs as they traveled along, they were entirely helpless. So saddened was I to see this that I felt as though my heart would break.” Bandits were a concern, as well. Luckily, Huang and his family were robbed only once on their return journey. “We ran into some bandits,” Huang states. “They hastily searched us. Fortunately we had little in our baggage so we suffered no loss.” The southwest was known for its minority tribes. The Miao are the largest minority group of southwest China. They live in Sichuan, Guangxi, Guizhou, and Yunnan Provinces.2 These groups could be either friendly or fierce. Some minority villages offered Huang sanctuary amidst bucolic scenery, as did the Guangxi villagers Huang called “Miao.” “All of this land belonged to the Miao. The Miao people wear their hair in buns and wear earrings. Their language sounds like the shrike’s song. Some are able to understand and speak Chinese. They also know how to entertain guests. They make implements and prepare fermented wine that is like honey and grind their rice till it is like snow. The

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cliffs and pools here are so secluded and deep, and their springs and rocks so strange, that for the most part they have never been seen by outsiders.” Huang attempted to avoid less friendly residents believed to be violent. In Guizhou, he reports: “Miao tribespeople dwelt in caves on either side of the road. In years past, both officials and merchants had suffered under the destructive Miao, so outposts to sound warnings had been set up on a select number of tall, jagged mountains.” Wild animals were of constant concern to Huang. The effects of tiger attacks were particularly evident. In Guizhou, Huang explains, there were “postal relay stations set up every ten li, [but] at this point the station soldiers had been dragged off by tigers. Human skeletons lay piled one upon another at ridge tops and slope bases. This shocking spectacle terrified me.” On the journey home, the entire Huang family confronted a tiger. Having heard “the warnings of the local people, none of us dared sleep soundly, so at midnight we departed secretly. Just before dawn we ran into a tiger. It rushed in front of Mother’s sedan chair and almost knocked down the sedan-chair bearers. Screaming in fright, they jumped up and ran off.” Huang negotiated brutal humans and aggressive beasts amidst the strange, perilous geography of the southwest. The waterways were treacherous. In southern Hunan, Huang wrote: “I hired a dug-out canoe and made three different crossings of the large stream. As we approached the rugged bank amidst great billowing waves, I stood agitated and uncertain, for both the height of the bank and the depth of the current frightened me.” The mountain ranges were terrifyingly steep. “I went up above Xintian, Longli, and Qingping. High mountains were arrayed all along this road and pestilential vapors hung about even during the daytime. It was distressing enough to make me suspect I had walked into a hideout of ghosts. Truss bridges crossed deep streams. It was cold and desolate, and I was frightened. As I descended the steep mountain ranges, for every hundred steps there were nine bends in the road.” Huang contended with every type of weather on his journey, from torrential rains to freezing snow. The sudden severity of southwest rains was life threatening: One oppressive day, as the sun broiled my body, a bank of clouds suddenly gathered, and it began to thunder, and there was lightning. The violent wind dragged at my umbrella, and it was no protection against the soaking rain. From the old city wall I ran on to a Miao walled village where I could

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just make out one or two old Miao women who gaped and jabbered away at me while their cows and pigs wallowed about in filth. With the rain at my back I rushed on. As I climbed higher up the mountain range the rivulet of rains became a flood. There was the angry sound of rushing water plunging downward and, just before this rushing water hit me sidelong, I pulled my knees together and drew up my legs beneath me. It nearly knocked me off my feet to the ground.

The heat was insufferable. Near modern Chuxiong, Yunnan Province, Huang traveled “over forty li along a desolate mountain path” to discover that “there was not a drop of water to be found, and the summer heat was so extreme that I nearly died of thirst along the side of the road.” A few months later Huang and his family were pushing past Yanglin Post Station on their way out of Yunnan and inquired about the road ahead. This time they were imperiled by extreme low temperatures and drifting snow. “The wind rushed against us as we pushed on in the cold. We met a petty officer on the road. He stopped me, then, as we walked on slowly, he said that in Guizhou the sun had not shone from early winter until now. It had snowed for over forty days, and the snow was as high as a horse’s belly. The treetops were [like] double-edged swords and lances.” Huang even endured earthquakes. He explains: “As I was passing beneath Chu City [in northwest Yunnan] there was an earthquake. All the mountains swayed and shook, and the noise was like the sound of thunder. Bricks and stones rained down wildly as the city battlement walls collapsed. I barely avoided getting hit. This occurred on July 24, 1652. It was estimated that one thousand people were crushed to death in the Meidu area [south of modern Chengdu, Sichuan Province]. There were still more quakes periodically after this.” Despite these extreme obstacles, Huang found his father at Baiyanjing, near Dayao, Yunnan, on June 20, 1652. He vividly recounts their emotional reunion: When I entered the gate, all was quiet. Our old maidservant was the only person in sight. What with my disheveled hair, for a minute she sat as we stared fixedly at each other until she recognized me. Then she cried out loudly in astonishment, “Our young gentleman has come!” In disbelief, my mother said, “It can’t be!” By then, I had come up to the hall, where I dropped my knapsack and shouted, “Father! Mother!” Father was taking an afternoon nap and had not yet woken up. Startled, he jumped up hastily,

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asking who it was. Again and again my mother shouted back, “Our son has come!” Father, too, could not believe it, and as I rushed into his bedroom, he mumbled something from his dream and rubbed his eyes, unsure of what to do. Suddenly our eyes met, and I threw myself onto the ground in front of his bed. We embraced and wept so uncontrollably that we could not stand. We finally got up by leaning against one another, sobbing the whole time.

Huang then learned what had happened to his father in Yunnan. Huang Kongzhao initially retired from his post in 1645. From 1646 to 1647, however, he was reappointed an army inspector for the Wuding and Yuanmou areas as pro-Ming troops prepared to come to the aid of newly formed satellite Ming courts in Guangdong Province.3 Before these troops even set out, however, word arrived that Qing armies had invaded Guangdong in mid-January of 1647, that the Shaowu emperor’s satellite Ming court had been captured, and that the satellite court of the Yongli emperor (Prince of Yongming, r. 1647–62) had fled.4 At this point, the situation worsened dramatically in Yunnan, and Huang Kongzhao went into hiding at various sites until he arrived at Tiesuo Camp. In April and May of 1647, another rebel leader, Sun Kewang (d. 1660), and his troops entered Yunnan from Guizhou, wrested control from Sha Dingzhou (1621–62), and established a new government in Kunming.5 It was at this point that Huang Kongzhao officially resigned. He did not stop serving the Ming cause, however. In June of 1649, Huang Kongzhao and a “camp commander” by the name of Zhang Ru had mobilized troops. Perhaps they planned a pro-Ming resistance maneuver against the Sun Kewang government, but the plan was leaked, and the commander and his entire family were killed. Huang Kongzhao narrowly escaped the same fate. He could not return home because the roads were blocked by warfare. He therefore settled into seclusion in the small town of Baiyanjing, Yunnan, occupying himself by teaching his area of specialization, the Book of Changes (Yijing), to students and studying Buddhism. Huang Xiangjian found him three years later, living in a house that he described as being “as bare as a monk’s cell. A scroll of Guanyin hung on the wall and only Fuxi’s Book of Changes and some Buddhist texts lay on the table.”6 As a friend told his son, Huang Kongzhao “was delighted to be an official no longer and had put his heart into [the study of] the Buddhist scriptures. Peaceful at leisure and untroubled, he was revered as a true immortal and true Buddha.” 7

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Reunited, the Huang family chose to return home. They delayed leaving immediately, however, in order to give Huang Xiangjian time to recuperate and to raise money for the journey to Suzhou. He had suffered a variety of ailments on his outward travels. His feet were injured a number of times, often because his sandals had completely worn out, and he suffered from an unidentifiable eye ailment. His appearance was so altered on his arrival in Yunnan that his parents barely recognized him. They “observed that with my overgrown hair, the tufts of hair around my temples, my sun-blackened face and swollen eyes, the white hairs in my beard, worn-out clothes, and straw sandals, I did not look like my old self.” After his convalescence, Huang made two fund-raising tours around Yunnan in preparation for the family’s departure. Finally, the family left Baiyanjing early on the morning of December 4. Huang would pictorialize the family party just as he describes them in the introduction to his Diary of the Return from Yunnan: “I helped my father and mother into their bamboo sedan chairs. . . . Cousin Xian and I followed [on foot] on either side of them. We carried only one bag, in view of the dangers such as an [encounter] with minority tribes.” The family made a difficult and circuitous, but successful, trip home to Suzhou. The miraculous nature of this feat and their elation upon returning home is captured in the final section of Huang’s diary: According to my calculations, I traveled over 25,000 li roundtrip. In the twinkling of an eye, nearly two years had gone by. For now, this record of mine summarizes all the densely layered mountains and treacherous waters that my feet traversed and my eyes beheld. I do not dare put the difficulties of the trip into verse. Really it was entirely due to Father’s early departure from office, for he was free and unencumbered, and so he was able to be like a bird flying from a cage or a fish escaping from a net. Although we passed through every sort of extreme hardship, I have no regrets, because we made it back. The day we arrived home, we offered obeisance at the tombs of our ancestors. As we were returning, we kept running into friends, relatives, and neighbors who would grasp our hands and look us over.

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An Introduction to Huang Xiangjian’s Paintings of the Southwest Huang Xiangjian created over twenty-two paintings of the southwest after his return home to Suzhou.8 The content and style of the twelve-leaf album Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents (Wanli xunqin tu), now in the Suzhou Museum, and of the nine-leaf album A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Xunqin jicheng tu), now in the Nanjing Museum, exemplify this body of painting. Each album leaf illustrates Huang alone on the way to Yunnan or the Huang family on their return amidst the perilous circumstances and strange sites they encountered en route, primarily in Guizhou and Yunnan Provinces. For example, in the Suzhou Museum ink album, eight leaves illustrate sites in Guizhou. Two leaves are set in Yunnan, with a separate leaf depicting the YunnanGuizhou border, whereas another depicts a scene in Huguang (roughly, modern Hunan and Hubei Provinces). At a pass (fig. 2.1), a solitary Huang with his umbrella raised travels along a precarious path beneath a village that clings to an overhanging cliff. A waterfall gushes down the mountain between the lush foliage and steep crevices to his right. Tall layers of cliffs and sheer rock walls ahead loom in the distant misty air. The entire family makes its way home in another leaf (fig. 2.2). Here, a jagged, snowy peak juts out over the Yunnan-Guizhou border, as the Huang party, the parents in sedan chairs and the rest on foot, climb down an embankment to the small settlement at the foot of the mountain. In every painting, tiny images of Huang and his family navigate the landscapes and, as viewers who had read or heard the account of the Huang family might expect, the situations illustrated are rarely good. For example, not only does Huang Xiangjian face the unimaginably high mountain passes pictured in Li Peak Station (fig. 2.3), but there are also frightening walled minority villages, as in Jiming Pass (fig. 2.1), which Huang describes in his inscription: As I crossed over Jiming Pass, there were many layers of cliffs and tall mountains, and the descent below was so deep I could not measure it. It was very hard going, and for every hundred steps there were nine bends. I scarcely saw any wood-gatherers or herd boys. The Miao and Lao people occupied these strategic heights where they had built fortifications.9 They were a threat to travelers, and I was in unmitigated terror as I passed by here. 踰鷄鳴關，多層崖岞崿，下臨不測之渊。百步九折，舉趾維艱。樵牧罕覯。苗 獠據險築砦。行旅患之，過此不胜悚惧。

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Fig. 2.1  Huang Xiangjian, Jiming Pass. Leaf from Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents, 1656. Twelve-leaf album, ink on paper, 24.4  14.7 cm. Courtesy of the Suzhou Museum.

Fig. 2.2  Huang Xiangjian, Scenic Frontier of Yunnan. Leaf from Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents, 1656 (Suzhou Museum).

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In the inscription for the Scenic Frontier of Yunnan (fig. 2.2), Huang describes the harmful vapors believed to carry pestilence, the drenching rains, and the impenetrable snow that slowed his travel: When we arrived at the arch [that marks] Scenic Frontier of Yunnan [Diannan shengjing], there was a heavy snow falling. This is where you enter Guizhou. Everywhere there are poisonous bamboo groves and precipitous peaks and cliffs, and even in the daytime you run into malarial mists on the roads. As the proverb says: The heavens never have three days of fair weather; the earth never has three li of level ground. So because of the rigors of the road, we did not dare sing as we walked. 次滇南勝境坊，大雪下。此即入黔地。悉毒箐巉崖，嵐瘴晝塞。諺云：天無三 日晴，地無三里平。然不敢歌行路難也。

Flooding waterways that appear to suggest imminent disaster are also pictured in leaves such as Qinglang Military Station Town (fig. 2.4). Here, from the comparative comfort of the small settlement on the right, Huang crosses a wildly flowing river in a very small boat to the uninhabited and forbidding wilderness on the opposite shore. His inscription only enhances the painting’s drama: At Qinglang Military Station Town, there were dangerous cliffs all along the river. Since the river had flooded, it ran like a wild horse. We could not navigate it, so they drove stakes [into the ground] on either bank and stretched a rope across; then they tied the boat’s mast to a ring on the rope in order to cross. [We are pictured here] having reached midstream, where it was as though we were riding a raft on the Milky Way. 清浪衛城，峙險一江，江水泛溢，駛如奔馬。不能施楫，两崖置杙繫以篾，絙 貫桅末。渡至中流，恍若乘槎天漢。

The soldiers and military elephants that threatened not only physical harm, but also the end of the journey if Huang were to be arrested, are present in his paintings as well. He tells in his travel record that he made his way past “groups of mounted soldiers winding down the mountain ranges below. Some were riding elephants, some were on horseback. Their banners and flags dazzled the eyes, and the mountains and valleys shook.”10 He captures this very encampment in a handscroll now in a private collection (fig. 2.5). Then, blocked by a herd of elephants on the road, he stops for the night at Baikoupo

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(in modern Guizhou). Baikoupo (fig. 2.6) depicts two elephants, each carrying five soldiers apiece on the left, with poor Huang, his umbrella slung over his shoulder, on the right. The deep valley inhabited by the intimidating regiments spreads to the right past Huang, and the daunting climb he faces if he can get past the elephants stretches up and off into the distance to the left. His inscription attests that the danger of that moment remained fresh in his memory for many years: After going through Qinguan, I passed through Baikoupo, where soldiers on elephants blocked the road. I was unable to get by them, and I had to wait for them to examine my papers before they would release me, so I stayed on here temporarily. Not only did that give me anxious thoughts, but I was extremely afraid because that day I had to walk a gauntlet through these armed soldiers. 自逾秦闗，歷白口坡，象兵塞道。幾不得前，賴驗票放行，故駐此，不特有崎 嶇之慮而日踉蹌于兵戈載道中，尤為危惧也。

Such were the realities of travel through a foreign landscape inhabited by hostile non-Han peoples and contested by clashing Ming, rebel, and Qing armies. The short inscriptions Huang wrote in the upper corners of his paintings further magnify the danger and emotion of each illustrated episode. As in the examples above, he typically identified the general location of the incident, provided additional harrowing details, and described the emotions that these elicited in him. “When we met an overflowing stream, I was in trepidation because of the [steep decline] below the sedan chairs. Walking alongside I was fearful of each step and was happy to reach the other bank” (fig. 2.7). “There were foul malarial mists like splashed ink, and below [these mists] I saw a place thick with ten thousand pines, and dark clouds like rolling waves. Befuddled, I lost my way, and I felt myself to be in especially grave danger” (fig. 2.8). “When I passed by here, I was near the point of total exhaustion,” Huang wrote on the Li Peak Station album leaf (fig. 2.3), and he often emphasized the extreme agitation he felt in the scene depicted, as well as the emotions he remembered while painting it later. “I was in unmitigated terror as I passed by here” (fig. 2.1); “I was all the more afraid because that day, I had to walk a gauntlet through these armed soldiers” (fig. 2.6); “As I take up my brush, I am in extraordinary fright” (fig. 2.7); “Passing through here makes every traveler afraid, for it is the most precipitous and awesomely dangerous place in this

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Fig. 2.3  Huang Xiangjian, Li Peak Station. Leaf from Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents, 1656 (Suzhou Museum).

Fig. 2.4  Huang Xiangjian, Qinglang Military Station Town. Leaf from Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents, 1656 (Suzhou Museum).

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Fig. 2.5  Huang Xiangjian, Scenery of Yunnan and Guizhou Provinces, 1656. Handscroll, ink and color on silk, 36.5  554 cm. Private collection, courtesy of the owner.

region” (fig. 2.9); “Freshly painted in a spirit of terror” (fig. 2.10); “This day was the worst experience of a difficult journey. Even now it makes me shudder” (fig. 2.11). The tiny painted figure of Huang is present in almost every painting he produced, reinforcing the danger and isolation he perceived en route and then described in his inscriptions. Huang travels alone through the majority of his paintings and may be identified by the umbrella he carries. He accentuates the desperate loneliness of his journey still further by minimizing the identity of himself and his family, while magnifying their struggle through the overwhelming land and climate of the southwest. In Xiangshui Pass (fig. 2.9), a diminutive Huang holds his umbrella before him in the lower right. Ahead, an enormous wall of impenetrable peaks climbs into the heavens beyond the picture frame. At left, a distant bridge over rushing water and

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Fig. 2.6  Huang Xiangjian, Baikoupo. Leaf from Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents, 1656 (Suzhou Museum).

Fig. 2.7  Huang Xiangjian, Malongzhou Road. Leaf from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents. Nine-leaf album, ink on paper, 26.4  20.4 cm. Courtesy of the Nanjing Museum.

Fig. 2.8  Huang Xiangjian, Luodian. Leaf from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Nanjing Museum).

Fig. 2.9  Huang Xiangjian, Xiangshui Pass. Leaf from Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents, 1656 (Suzhou Museum).

Fig. 2.10  Huang Xiangjian, Jinsha River. Leaf from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Nanjing Museum).

Fig. 2.11  Huang Xiangjian, Wusheng Pass. Leaf from Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents, 1656 (Suzhou Museum).

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a tiny mountaintop village beyond only point up his separation from civilization. Huang emphasizes the unrelenting nature of his surroundings in his inscription: The Xiangshui Pass area is the old Panzhou, to the north of Yelang. It is thickly overgrown with thorn bushes, and I had to reopen a path through them. The Miao minority people are fierce and violent. They have set up fortified villages in the precipitous heights. Passing through here makes every traveler afraid; it may be called as precipitous and dangerous as Mount Guan [i.e., Guan Suo Mountain Range]. 響水關地古盤州，北距夜郎。蒙茸荊棘，重開一線。苗人獷戾猙獰，據險立 砦。過此莫不危惧；可称關山峻險。

The figures are given few details in his paintings: their faces are not delineated, and their clothes are implied by the most cursory of outlines. Huang included only those attributes necessary for recognition—his umbrella and his parents’ palanquins—and directed his energies toward communicating the actions in which his figures are engaged. In Passing Laishipo, the small images of Huang and his parents resting on the bank in the lower right are indistinguishable from one another (fig. 2.12). Viewers are directed not to their forms, but to follow their gaze to the overwhelming torrent of waterfalls spilling down the looming cliff in the upper left. Huang’s inscription moves viewers’ attention from the bank to this natural scene as well: While looking for the covered road at Weiqing, we passed Laishipo. We wandered along a large stream. The stream was flowing quickly, churning up froth, and the cliff-girded pool was dark and deep. This was an exceptionally fine spot for such a remote region. 覓威清複道，歷癩石坡。徬徨陟大溪。溪流奔湧，巖壑幽深。乃僻境中之佳 境也。

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Fig. 2.12  Huang Xiangjian, Passing Laishipo. Leaf from Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents, 1656 (Suzhou Museum).

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Yang Shen and Ming Visions of the Southwest Huang was not the first traveler to highlight the isolation, arduous topography, changeable climate, and dangerous minority tribes of the southwest. As early as the tenth century, writers documented the beauties and challenges of the region in works such as Old History of the Tang (Jiu Tangshu), which discusses southwest peoples such as the Nanzhao in relation to the Tang.11 Huang’s pictorial presentation of the southwest, however, most closely resembles the writings of Yang Shen (1488–1559), who was banished to Yunnan in 1524. Many of Yang Shen’s writings identify and often revolve around his experiences of specific southwestern sites. His Record of a Journey to Dian (Diancheng ji) is a prose account of his journey to Yunnan. The narrative is structured around the post stations en route.12 Similarly, the majority of the paintings that Huang Xiangjian created identify and delineate the topography of a particular locale. The presentation and inscriptions of paintings such as Huang’s Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents particularly capture the spirit of Yang Shen’s work. Yang’s two-hundred-line poem, “Song of Gratitude Recording My Punishment of Banishment to Dian” (En qianshu Dian jixing) records his journey into exile from Beijing to Yongchang, Yunnan.13 Ihor Pidhainy identifies the key elements of this poem in his extensive analysis. They include the extreme difficulties of travel in the region, including cold, sleet, remoteness, savages, tigers, and criminal officials; the hazards of the road, such as bad weather, poor routes, dangerous paths, wretched food, and loneliness; and his conflicting emotions of awe for the beauty of the region and homesickness.14 Pidhainy points out how Yang Shen’s vision of the southwest influenced later Ming travelers to the area such as Wang Shixing (1547–98) and Xu Xiake, who visited many of the places Yang mentions in his writings and recorded their journey experiences in similar ways.15 This also appears to have been the case with Huang Xiangjian. Huang’s contribution to this collective memory of the area, however, was to visualize the experience of journeying through it.

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Painting the Southwest Mysterious reports of the peoples and wilds of Guizhou and Yunnan had captured the Chinese romantic imagination for centuries. By the late Ming, “factual” information could be found in printed reference texts such as the Ming-dynasty encyclopedia A Pictorial Compendium of the Three Powers (Sancai tuhui) and the gazetteer Pictures and Descriptions of Strange Regions (Yiyu tu zhi), which illustrated specific southwestern sites. Painted “Miao albums” described its people and customs.16 The published diaries of Ming-dynasty travelers to these regions, the most famous being Xu Xiake, further described and glamorized them.17 Interest in the southwest also heightened during the MingQing transition as the pockets of resistance and attendant Qing military strikes in that region intensified. Minority troops, called “wolf troops” for their savage battle skills, were also drafted in Guizhou and brought north to fight against the Qing.18 Despite popular interest and a variety of literary descriptions and reference works on the area, however, no tradition of southwest landscape paintings existed in Huang’s day. Huang used the place-painting techniques he learned at the nexus of painting in his hometown of Suzhou to produce legible paintings of the peripheral southwest. The slightly earlier southwestern traveler and writer Xu Xiake had done the same in preparing his travel diaries. He presented them in the familiar travel-account (youji) genre. He discussed the peoples and landscapes of the southwest in relation to the culture and sites familiar to his readers. Julian Ward has found that Xu regularly compared the places he visited with places close to his home, such as Mount Tiantai.19 He even relocalized the worthy peripheral sites he experienced to the Chinese center by presenting them in the classic Chinese literary genres of prose, poetry, and gazetteer. Similarly, Huang Xiangjian’s visual presentation of the southwest relied on the basic artistic conventions of Suzhou place paintings with which his viewers were well acquainted. As did artists who created honorific paintings, he closely correlated text with image by integrating inscriptions that identify the areas pictured, described their sites and views, discussed historical figures and events appropriate to the pictured topography, and recounted episodes of his journey through the pictured area. Huang presents this information in the intimate experiential style utilized in Suzhou geo-narratives. Similar to the monks and scholars who wander about

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the grounds in Fuyuan Monastery at Dongting West Mountain (figs. 1.46, 1.47) are clearly identifiable personages in the form of Huang himself, his parents, the palanquin bearers, wood gatherers, and boatmen, with whom viewers could associate as they traveled through the painted countryside. Huang presents the weather and seasons clearly, as did Suzhou famous-sites painters such as Yuan Shangtong with mist and rain on Stone Lake (fig. 1.14). Huang utilizes strong diagonals (fig. 2.7) to move the viewer forward, as do those found in famoussites paintings, among them Zhang Hong’s Evening Verdure at Mount Zhixing (fig. 1.21). Huang’s codification of a southwest topographical vocabulary of significant visual experiences parallels the pictorial shorthand conventionalized by Suzhou famous-sites painters. Huang uses the basic pictorial vocabulary known to his Suzhou viewers to paint the southwest. He did not just employ these conventionalized tools, however. He expanded them to create a complex oeuvre of exhilaratingly innovative geo-narratives to illustrate his remarkable journey. His impetus for doing so is discussed in chapter 3.

Sketching En Route Although Huang never discusses his painting process, many of his inscriptions and others’ statements, as well as the very existence of his travel diaries, imply that he documented sites en route. Many of his own inscriptions have an immediacy that suggests he had only just recently experienced the landscape he is illustrating: “Freshly painted in a spirit of terror”;20 “I painted this in order to record my fear!”;21 “I picked up my brush to record these dangers and inscribe them”;22 “I take up a brush to record this place of scenic beauty”;23 “As I take up my brush, I am in extraordinary fright”;24 “I kept busy with my painting, but when I took a look about, I could not tell where my parents’ gate was, and that definitely unsettled me.”25 Huang visually augments the immediacy of these descriptions with energetic brushwork and a convincing sense of space, giving viewers the impression that the images were sketched swiftly in a moment of intense inspiration, as though painted on the road following the incident. Huang’s ink-monochrome albums particularly have the quality of draft sketches. In a colophon attached to one of Huang’s albums, Zhou Danling (ca. late 17th c.–ca. early 18th c.), a family friend and the grandson of Huang Kongzhao’s teacher, implies that plein-air painting was a part of Huang’s artistic technique

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on his trip. “In the places they passed through, [Huang Xiangjian] examined the appearance of mountain peaks and towering mountains, roaring rivers, and dashing streams. When something among them struck him, he immediately took down its form with brush and ink.”26 Zhou seems to say that Huang sketched during his trip. It would not have been unusual during this time period. Some form of sketching appears to have been practiced by several seventeenth-century artists. James Cahill presents a possible instance of sketching en route in which the brother of artist Li Liufang (1575–1629) presented him with a blank album and requested, “When you encounter places of particular scenic beauty in Xin’an, sketch them for me. Then return the album so that I can look at the pictures and feel as if I were traveling there myself.”27 Li-tsui Flora Fu’s translation of a 1547 inscription by Xie Shichen, in which he recounts a trip he took down the Yangzi, is clearer still: “On board the boat, I propped up the window of the cabin to capture the exhilaration and sketched the likeness of mountain and rivers.”28 The question remains, however, whether Huang’s paintings represent sketches he made during the trip or later recreations of them. Artists who sketched en route also appear to have later created paintings based upon these sketches. Louise Yuhas discusses the case of the travel album Painting Travel Notes by the artists Qian Gu and Zhang Fu (1546–ca. 1631). The National Palace Museum, Taiwan, holds two versions of this album, regarding one of which Richard Edwards said that it appeared to be “sketches made on the journey, whereas the latter is a more finished product, consisting of three albums.”29 Whether sketched en route or wholly painted in Suzhou based on artwork from his trip, Huang Xiangjian accessed a brush style that looks like sketching and was used to present travel of one sort or another in difficult and dangerous circumstances. In this tradition, artists presented such scenes with the active, animated brushwork of a sketch, whether they were created en route or not. Some seventeenth-century examples include paintings by Qian Gu of burdened donkey trains struggling through rough terrain, or those produced by Xie Shichen and Yuan Shangtong of boats navigating fierce waterways.30 In these works, jarring movement is communicated through meticulously described dynamic figures, landforms, and waterscapes rendered in quick, cursive brushstrokes. Another theme presented in this mode is that of oxcarts winding their way through rugged mountain ranges, as shown in pictures by the Qing-dynasty painter Yuan Jiang (ca. 1690–1730).31

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Huang’s work is most similar, however, to an earlier Ming traveler and artist, the physician Wang Lü, who stated outright that he sketched on his journey. He then recreated and perfected these sketches after his return home. Between 1381 and 1383, Wang, who lived in Kunshan (near Suzhou), created a painted album with prefaces, a travel record, and poetic inscriptions of his trip to the summit of Mount Hua in Shaanxi Province.32 As a doctor interested in both the spiritual and geological components of the challenging Daoist topography of the mystical mountain, Wang Lü sought to “capture his experiences” of the trip in his writings and paintings.33 He features the Daoist topography, establishments, historical lore, adherents, and beliefs relating to Mount Hua in twenty-two of the thirty-nine album leaves. The remaining seventeen record the more generalized folklore of the mountain. A detailed travel record precedes the album and recounts the itinerary, people, topography, and dangerous scrapes along the way. Poems are included in the album proper, usually placed at the close of each leaf in the far left, to explain his thoughts and feelings at various sites and to summarize what has been reported visually. His paintings describe natural topographical formations and supernatural incidents, debunk inaccurate reports and impossible myths, and report upon the exhilarating experiences and worries of the climb.34 Most of the leaves form a horizontal, threedimensional “U”-composition of rocks, trees, paths, and clouds to communicate movement that begins at a distance in the far right, curves forward and lower to reach the nearest point in the composition at midlevel, and then bends back out again into the distance at left. Wang Lü included painted versions of himself and his companions, Mr. Shen (the grandson of a friend), Wang’s servant, and two servant guides, as they travel through the lower elevation to the highest mountain summits of Mount Hua. Wang reports his painting method on the trip: “Frequently, when I came upon a spectacular scene, I set it down in a painting, using the brush and ink I had brought along with me. . . . I made notes to describe what I couldn’t fully depict in my sketches.”35 Similarly, Huang used descriptive brushwork, strong diagonals, and looming landforms to capture the intensity of the situations he depicted. What sets Huang’s work apart, particularly his albums, is his merging of the rough, textured brushwork of the “dangerous-travel” paintings to delineate his spatially believable views of the southwest. The structural and stylistic parallels between Huang Xiangjian and Wang Lü suggest that Huang’s production style may have been similar as well. It is likely that Huang sketched on his journey and then recreated both

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the content and style of these sketches upon his return home. This would also help to explain his swift production and the repetition of certain compositions in his oeuvre.

Production Method Huang painted in a style that captured the immediacy, physical difficulty, and emotional anguish of his journey; yet he also consistently painted a select group of southwest sites and compositions inscribed with interchangeable phrases. The uniformity of his subject matter, style, and writing suggests a particular production method common amongst Suzhou place painters, particularly artists of the famous-sites tradition. As discussed in chapter 1, famous-sites painters focused on a small number of places, and some of these artists even specialized in renderings of specific sites within this discrete group.36 Albums of famous sites contained fewer leaves and were often smaller in size than other albums of this period. The lesser amounts of time, energy, and material used to make these paintings allowed artists to produce a greater number of them. The body of Huang’s work appears to follow this production model. Many of his paintings share subject matter, compositional types, and inscriptions. This painting method suggests that his primary goal was economical and efficient production. Huang painted analogous renderings of several southwestern sites. He depicted the treacherous Guan Suo Mountain Range, northeast of the modern seat of Guanling Autonomous District, Guizhou Province, at least seven times. It is seen in four separate albums now in museums in Suzhou (fig. 2.3), Nanjing (fig. 2.13), and Beijing (fig. 2.14), and in the Collection of Chih Lo Lou (fig. 2.15). It also appears in a later copy of one of Huang’s albums, now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, and is recorded as included in two other albums no longer extant.37 The difficult river crossing he endured at Qinglang Military Station Town in Guizhou Province is similarly rendered in three different albums: an original in the Suzhou Museum (fig. 2.4), another in the Nanjing Museum (fig. 2.16), and a later copy in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. It is also recorded as having been in two other albums no longer extant.38 The Scenic Frontier of Yunnan also occurs in three albums (figs. 2.2, 2.17, 2.18), plus the later copy in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and is recorded as having been in two other albums no longer extant.39

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Fig. 2.13  Huang Xiangjian, Guan Suo Mountain Range. Leaf from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Nanjing Museum).

Fig. 2.14  Huang Xiangjian, Guan Suo Mountain Range. Leaf from Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents. Eight-leaf album, ink and color on paper, 25.7  31.3 cm. Reproduced with the permission of the National Museum of China.

Fig. 2.15  Huang Xiangjian, Guan Suo Mountain Range. Leaf from Journey in Search of My Parents. Twelve-leaf album, ink on paper, 26  37 cm. Courtesy of the Collection of Chih Lo Lou.

Fig. 2.16  Huang Xiangjian, Qinglang Military Station Town. Leaf from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Nanjing Museum).

Fig. 2.17  Huang Xiangjian, Scenic Frontier of Yunnan. Leaf from Journey in Search of My Parents (Collection of Chih Lo Lou).

Fig. 2.18  Huang Xiangjian, Scenic Frontier of Yunnan. Leaf from Filial Son Searching for His Parents, dated 1656. Ten-leaf album, ink and color on paper, 21.3  25.7 cm. Private collection, courtesy of the owner.

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Many of the inscriptions Huang wrote exhibit a standardized content and structure. Nearly identical inscriptions, varying only by a character or two, occur on multiple renderings of the same place, such as Li Peak Station. The five inscriptions below occur on leaves in separate albums. Li Peak Station. One climbs up the Guan Suo Mountain Range, on a long, narrow and winding path, a twisting path amidst a thousand peaks. Although this is the most precipitous place in the Guizhou region, there is a temple in the mountain range. The son [Guan Suo] of Marquis Ting of Hanshou [Guan Yu] once held [this place]. To this day the temple is impressive to look at. The tablet over the entrance has a four-character inscription, “Great Possessor of His Father’s Spirit.” When I passed by here, I was near the point of total exhaustion.40 歴頂站。豋關索嶺，羊腸一線，鳥道千峰。黔地最險處也，嶺有祠。廼漢壽亭 侯子昔守此。至今廟貌巍煥。額題“大有父風”四字。予過此，幾為之困憊 非常。 Guan Suo Mountain Range is in Guizhou. A long, narrow, winding path, a ghost land of a thousand peaks, dangerous and difficult to climb. Years ago, the son of Marquis Ting of Hanshou halted his troops here, which is the reason for the name.41 On my way through and on my return, I fell several times. It is no less hard than the road to Shu. It is as hard as climbing up into the blue sky.42 黔中關索嶺。羊腸一線，鬼國千峯，險不易登。當年，漢壽亭侯子駐兵於此， 故名。予往返時幾囘顛躓。不亞蜀道難。難於上青天。 Guan Suo Mountain Range is in Guizhou. Years ago when Wuhou [Zhuge Liang] was on the southern campaign, the son of Marquis Ting of Hanshou halted his troops here, hence the name. A long, narrow, winding path, a ghost land of a thousand peaks, dangerous and difficult to climb. Crossing this mountain range, therefore, was as hard as climbing up into the blue sky! I fell several times. Even now it makes me shudder.43 黔中關索嶺。當年武侯南征，漢壽亭子駐兵處也，所謂。羊腸一線，鬼國千 峯，險不易登。踰此嶺者故難於上青天耳。余幾囘顛躓。至今股慄。 Jigongbei is thirty li east of Li Peak Station. Guan Suo Mountain Range is thirty li north. The mountain range is forty-three mountain bends high.

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The son of Marquis Ting of Hanshou, whose name was Suo, once held [this place], hence the name of the mountain range. His temple is impressive to look at. The tablet over the entrance has a four-character inscription: “Great Possessor of His Father’s Spirit.”44 歴頂站東三十里有雞公背。北三十里有關索嶺。嶺高四十三盤。因漢壽亭侯子 諱索者曾守，此嶺故名。廟貌巍煥。額題“大有父風”四字。 Guan Suo Mountain Range. Years ago the son of Marquis Ting of Hanshou halted his troops here. A long, narrow, winding path, a ghost land of a thousand peaks, dangerous and difficult to climb. Coming and going, I fell several times. This is the most strategic spot in Guizhou. 關索嶺。當年漢壽亭侯子駐兵處也。羊腸一線，鬼國千峰，險不易登。往逨 時幾囬顛躓。黔中之最要害地。

The inscriptions below that Huang wrote for the Qinglang Military Station Town scenes depicted in four separate albums are equally similar. At Qinglang Military Station Town, there were dangerous cliffs all along the river. At the time, the river water was shooting past so fast that it was difficult to row the oars of the boat. Locals had driven stakes [into the ground] on either bank and stretched a rope across, then they tied the boat’s mast to a ring on the rope. The boatman relied on this to row and pull us across. At midstream it was not unlike riding a raft on the Milky Way.45 清浪衛城，峙險一江。時江水橫發，舟楫難施。土人兩崖置杙繫以篾，絙貫 桅末。榜人憑此搖曳以渡。至中流不啻乘槎天漢。 At Qinglang Military Station Town, there were dangerous cliffs all along the river. Since the river had flooded, it ran like a wild horse. We could not navigate it, so they drove stakes [into the ground] on either bank and stretched a rope across, then they tied the boat’s mast to a ring on the rope and the attached boat was able to cross. At midstream, it was as though we were riding a raft on the Milky Way.46 清浪衛城，峙險險江。江水汚溢，駛如奔馬。不能施楫，两崖置杙以篾，絙貫 桅末，繫舟以渡。至中流，恍若乘槎天漢。

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At Qinglang Military Station Town, there were dangerous cliffs all along the river. Since the river had flooded, it ran like a wild horse. We could not navigate it, so they drove stakes [into the ground] on either bank and stretched a rope across, then they tied the boat’s mast to a ring on the rope in order to cross. At midstream, it was as though we were riding a raft on the Milky Way. 清浪衛城，峙險一江。江水泛溢，駛如奔馬。不能施楫，两崖置杙繫以篾，絙 貫桅末以渡。至中流，恍若乘槎天漢。 At Qinglang Military Station Town, there were dangerous cliffs all along the river. The waters of this river were surging higher than at the Celestial Ditch [on the upper Yangzi]. It was difficult to row the oars of the boat. A rope was strung across between the two banks; then they tied the boat’s mast to a ring on the rope. The boatman relied on this to cross, but it was very dangerous! 清浪衛城，峙險一江。其江水奔騰甚於天塹。舟楫不易施。兩崖以篾絙貫 桅。榜人憑此以渡，真危險也！

In addition to presenting multiple versions of the same places in set compositions, Huang also utilized standard compositional types to depict different sites. In what could be labeled the “village atop a precipice” design, a walled minority village sits precariously on a steep cliff amidst an endless mountain range. Huang, with or without his family, travels a road dangerously close to the walled minority village. A waterfall often flows to the right. We see this same design in four paintings that are identified as Sandu Pass in modern Sichuan Province (fig. 2.19); and Pingyue fu (fig. 2.20), Jiming Pass (fig. 2.1), and Jianfu (fig. 2.21), all in Guizhou Province. In his “stone village in a secluded valley” composition, Huang crosses a waterway via stepping-stones or descends from above toward a stone village at the base of a smooth, sloping mountain. A large body of water is visible in the distance. This composition is repeated not only as Wu Village, Yunnan, in two album leaves (figs. 2.22, 2.23) and a hanging scroll (fig. 2.24), but also as a settlement at the northern foot of Mount Jizu, Yunnan (fig. 2.25).47 Additionally, Huang employs this composition in his depiction of the family’s journey home through Longquan county, Guizhou.48

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Fig. 2.19  Huang Xiangjian, Sandu Pass. Leaf from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Nanjing Museum).

Fig. 2.20  Huang Xiangjian, Pingyuefu. Leaf from Journey in Search of My Parents (Collection of Chih Lo Lou).

Fig. 2.21  Huang Xiangjian, Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents. Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper, 128.5  42.5 cm. Courtesy of the Suzhou Museum.

Fig. 2.22  Huang Xiangjian, Wu Village. Leaf from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Nanjing Museum).

Fig. 2.23  Huang Xiangjian, Wu Village. Leaf from Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents (National Museum of China).

Fig. 2.24  Huang Xiangjian, Mountain Village in the Evening, 1656. Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper, 68.6  30.5 cm. © Trustees of the British Museum.

Fig. 2.25  Huang Xiangjian, Northern Foot of Mount Jizu. Leaf from Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents, 1656 (Suzhou Museum).

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Other similar compositional types in which the individual elements are more varied include what might be called “crossing a flowing stream” (figs. 2.7, 2.12, 2.26). Here a jagged overhang looms above a rushing stream, and the Huang family is depicted midstream or resting on the opposite shore.49 In the “traveling by a point of interest” type, Huang examines a beautiful waterfall, an interesting carved inscription, a cave, or a distant view as he moves along a path beneath a jagged cliff. The course of a nearby waterway or floating clouds flows beside him and extends into the far distance (figs. 2.27, 2.28, 2.29, 2.30).50 The very common southwestern sight of “rainy mountains” is pictured in the form of a blurry “S”-curve of peaks, obscured by clouds and dotted with a few tiny architectural elements, such as the rooftops of a monastery, a bridge, or a gate (figs. 2.8, 2.11, 2.31).51 A final dramatic example is “crossing a bridge,” which captures Huang midstride across a vertiginous bridge connecting one wilderness with an even steeper and more daunting opposite terrain (figs. 2.10, 2.32). Although Huang’s replication of basic compositional types and standardized inscriptions might suggest simultaneous production of multiple versions of the same painting, other examples imply that he reproduced scenes from memory at different times. Compare, for example, two of Huang’s descriptions of the mountain scenery of the Jinma and Biji areas outside Kunming. In this instance, although the content of the inscriptions is similar, much of the wording is different: Jinma and Biji are famous sites in Yunnan. Ancient worthies inscribed their admiration [of them]. What dynasty is not represented [in the inscriptions] here? When I ascended these mountain ranges and crossed the passes, I gazed at the green waves and vast expanse of Dian Lake [Kunming Lake] and the peaks of Taihua amid a belt of billowing blue and green in the distance. It opens one’s eyes and understanding. Is it not a picture painted by heaven?!52 金馬碧雞滇雲名勝也。昔賢題賞。何代無之？予既登嶺度關，遥朢滇海蒼波 萬頃而太華諸峰浮青涌翠映帶其中。幾令人心目豁然。詎非天開圖畫哉?! Jinma and Biji are famous sites in Yunnan. Traveling officials inscribed their admiration here. What dynasty is not represented [in the inscriptions] here? The rocky outlines [of Jinma and Biji form] lofty, imposing peaks. Beside Kunming Lake, the billowing colors of blue and green were so strong they appeared to be competing in splendor and contending in beauty. As I went through these mountain ranges, I gazed at the peaks of Taihua in the

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Fig.2.26  Huang Xiangjian, Leaving Qiongshui. Leaf from Journey in Search of My Parents (Collection of Chih Lo Lou).

Fig. 2.27  Huang Xiangjian, Road to Langqiong. Leaf from Landscapes. Eight-leaf album, ink on paper, 26.4  20.2 cm. Courtesy of the Guizhou Provincial Museum, Guiyang.

Fig. 2.28  Huang Xiangjian, Road to Heqing. Leaf from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Nanjing Museum).

Fig. 2.29  Huang Xiangjian, Mahage. Leaf from Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents, 1656 (Suzhou Museum).

Fig. 2.30  Huang Xiangjian, Wulong Cave. Leaf from Journey in Search of My Parents (Collection of Chih Lo Lou).

Fig. 2.31  Huang Xiangjian, Kailou Fortified Village. Leaf from Filial Son Searching for His Parents, 1656 (Private collection).

Fig. 2.32  Huang Xiangjian, Mount Jizu. Leaf from Landscapes (Guizhou Provincial Museum, Guiyang).

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distance. The water picked up their reflection, enveloped in mist, like the hazy islands of the immortals.53 金馬碧雞滇中名勝也。宦遊題賞者。何代無之？其嵯峨突兀雄峙。昆明池 側，飛青舞翠矯矯如競麗爭妍。予歴其嶺，遙望太華諸峯。山光水色，縹緲 相涵，恍然閬苑蓬瀛。

Despite the repetition of compositional types and verbal descriptions, Huang’s paintings were not the result of workshop production. The varied sizes of the paintings reveal that Huang was not using paper patterns or the pouncing technique to create exact copies from one master painting. In the album-leaf format, the leaves of the Suzhou Museum ink album measure 24.4  14.7 centimeters, whereas the Nanjing ink album leaves measure 26.4  20.4 centimeters. Each album and scroll was created independently, and the differences in painted detail and written commentary between similar scenes strongly suggest that Huang was re-remembering his experiences of each site as he painted it. The completely new information he presents in a few of his inscriptions reinforces this. In one unique instance, he describes the rope walkways utilized by locals near Jianchuan, Yunnan Province: “[they] placed ropes [along] the mountain ridges, threading them through bamboo tubes that one can hold on to for support when coming or going.”54 Another leaf locates and presents an extensive geographical description of the Northern Pan River at the iron-link bridge east of modern Qinglong, Guizhou Province, a strategic point of entry from Guizhou into Yunnan.55 In addition, unique pictorial details suggest he was either re-remembering a particular location or experimenting with his renderings of it. Armed figures occur in the lower left of only one version of the “village atop a precipice” composition (fig. 2.19), whereas a pair of monkeys swing in the trees in the lower foreground of another (figs. 2.21, 2.33). Finally, some paintings have no identifiable counterpart, such as Huang’s rendering of his descent down Zhuge Mountain Range, which captures its “winding path that twists about, with dangerous cliffs that press in and narrow” (fig. 2.34).56 Huang created a large body of similar paintings in a relatively short period of time, yet he eschewed producing exact copies of paintings and incorporated unique elements into each composition. Although this certainly allowed him to reexamine some of the most exceptional moments of his life, his production of a group of paintings with similar content and inscriptions and just a scattering of unique individual elements was necessitated by their role in a campaign launched by the Huang family on their return to Suzhou. Time was

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Fig. 2.33  Huang Xiangjian, Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents, detail of monkeys. Hanging scroll (Suzhou Museum).

of the essence. The goal of this campaign was to enhance the Huang family’s moral and material eminence amongst Suzhou elite circles by promoting the narrative of their odyssey. The campaign is discussed in detail in chapter 3. The travel record and diary of Huang Xiangjian were published as part of this campaign, and the majority of his paintings may have been produced in correlation with it. Huang could have prepared some paintings prior to the publication of the Huang family journey; or he may have intentionally replicated one or two of his early attempts that were particularly successful. Individual recipients might have indicated their interest in a specific incident or detail in his travel diaries, which he then accommodated visually. Suzhou patrons certainly expected such control in artistic interactions, and this would have been a relatively simple way to personalize a variety of paintings. Although the true order of events cannot be known, the mode of production remains the same. Whether Huang prepared his paintings in a way calculated

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Fig. 2.34  Huang Xiangjian, Descending Zhuge Mountain Range. Leaf from Journey in Search of My Parents (Collection of Chih Lo Lou).

to save time and energy before presenting them, or in a self-imitative way after some initial attempts were well received, his production process was geared toward their swift completion.

The New Suzhou Patron: Ming Loyalists The printed story, commentaries, and paintings of the filial campaign were designed to appeal to a wide variety of personal tastes and social networks. The story they told could be read, among other things, as an adventure tale, an exploration of the southwest, or a reunion drama. It could appeal to active officials, retired scholars, Buddhist adherents, sons of Suzhou, educated merchants, travelers, geographers, historians, painters, and many others. The filial campaign,

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however, targeted the largest, most inclusive audience of charitable gentlemen and social elites as possible. Indeed, this intended audience included all of those viewers listed above, as well as anyone else who considered himself loyal to the former Ming dynasty. Sympathy for the fallen Ming dynasty was widespread in Huang’s lifetime, and loyalist actions ranged broadly. Some actively fought for and served satellite Ming courts, while others refused to serve under the Qing government. Less dangerous actions included using the claim of loyalty to the previous dynasty as an excuse to stop attempting the civil-service examinations or sprinkling romantic references to the previous dynasty in one’s writings. Lynn Struve warns that the term loyalist “should not be used indiscriminately in reference to men who wrote or spoke with enthusiasm or admiration for heroes and martyrs of the Ming demise.”57 Willard J. Peterson states that “refusal to serve the new dynasty was widespread after the fall of the Ming, but use of refusal to serve the Ch’ing dynasty as a criterion for identifying Ming loyalists is an oversimplification since personal predilections are not taken into account.”58 Timothy Brook finds this to be the case in his study of Ming-dynasty monastic culture and states “not all who went into monasteries during the 1640s did so out of loyalty to the fallen Ming.” He tells us that “many took temporary advantage of this convenient and acceptable justification for eremitism.”59 Although the term “Ming loyalist” has occasionally been misapplied, I use it here in its broadest sense to designate any viewer who experienced a momentary nostalgic thought of the previous native dynasty as inspired by the writings and paintings of Huang Xiangjian. In the 1650s, Ming loyalist activities in and around Suzhou were still very much a part of the social landscape, and resistance to the new government ranged from the complete withdrawal of many individuals from government-appointed positions and affiliated institutions to the organization of literary groups composed of men who also happened to oppose Qing rule, which were quickly made illegal. Countless individuals declared themselves “remnant subjects” (yimin) of the Ming dynasty and refused to serve the new government in any capacity.60 Tom Fisher identifies two types of Ming loyalism in relation to government service. Those who practiced “generational accommodation” encouraged younger family members to serve the new dynasty, but refrained from doing so themselves. Others chose “ethnic fundamentalism,” in which the proponent felt neither his descendants nor himself should serve the Qing.61 Those who chose not to serve, among them Fang Yizhi (1611–71), could take the

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tonsure and become monks or live as tonsured laymen in monasteries for a time, as did Zhang Dai (1597–1689).62 Some who did not choose the religious route sought their livelihood in unorthodox lower-class occupations rather than serve the Qing. Chen Chen (ca. 1614–66) and Shen Zuxiao (ca. 17th c.) told fortunes for a living, and others worked as teachers or doctors, or carved seals, or wrote popular novels.63 Wan Shouqi (1603–52) sold his calligraphy, seal carvings, and paintings, and raised medicinal plants to support his family.64 Huang Zhouxing (1611–80) began writing popular works only after the dynastic change. Ellen Widmer explains that he was “supposed to have supported himself selling writings of an indeterminate kind in Nanxun, and he also wrote ‘light, popular books’ for a bookstore in Hangzhou.”65 Huang Zhouxing was also a friend of the loyalist Lü Liuliang, who practiced medicine and opened a bookstore in Nanjing prior to becoming a Buddhist monk.66 A number of men, the most famous being Wu Weiye (1609–72), chose to serve the new dynasty, while remaining loyal to the previous court in their hearts.67 Literary societies had been a major component of late-Ming literati-official political life, and they continued to be popular among early Qing-dynasty men devoted to the previous Ming rulers.68 The Club of Startled and Secretive Poets (Jingyin shishe), founded by the loyalists Gui Zhuang (Huang’s biographer) and Gu Yanwu (1613–82), had so many loyalist members that it was also known as the League of Fugitives (Taozhi meng).69 Other poetry societies included the Society of Hope of Huaiyang (Huaiyang wangshe), the Society of Escape of Wuzhong (Wuzhong taoshe), the Society of the Eight Poets of West Lake (Xihu bazishe), and the Society of the Nine Poets of South Lake (Nanhu jiu­zishe).70 A particularly large gathering of these clubs had been attempted at Tiger Hill in Suzhou a few months prior to the Huang family’s return. The meeting place and proposed organization of the groups were in imitation of the late-Ming Restoration Society (Fushe), and several thousand scholars attended the gathering. The differing opinions of participants over collaborating with the Qing, however, ensured its failure.71 The political implications and possible threat of literary groups such as this were strong enough to elicit a governmental response, and in 1652 the Shunzhi emperor (r. 1644–61) issued regulations banning the clubs.72 Undeterred, many loyalists continued to meet in more private venues. The Club of Startled and Secretive Poets, the “principal poetic society of the Wu region,” whose membership consisted of “loyalists with literary talent,” met at the scenic and most likely secluded property of Ye Jiwu (1615–73).73 Others met in local monasteries. Indeed, many literati gentry

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were already in residence at these monasteries, having taken the tonsure rather than wear the Manchu hairstyle and serve the new dynasty. Zhou Liao was one of these loyalists, and the get-togethers he sponsored at a local monastery made it “a center of loyalist and literary activity in the 1650s and 1660s.”74 Active resistance to the Qing also continued in the Jiangnan region. On the water, the impressive pro-Ming naval forces of Zhang Mingzhen (d. 1656) and Zheng Chenggong (Coxinga, 1624–62) engaged in minor skirmishes with the Qing fleet throughout the 1650s and were said to be preparing for a large-scale attack. The bandit leader Qian Ying, who had been robbing the villages around Lake Tai, accepted two envoys from the Ming satellite court of the Yongli emperor (Prince of Yongming, r. 1647–62) in 1656 and began gathering ships, troops, and funds for an uprising.75 This rebel navy was ambushed and defeated in 1658, prior to the planned attack. Loyalist resistance on land was less organized. From 1650 to 1653, two groups of literati gentry around Wuxi, in modern Jiangsu Province, had moved from the subtle dissent of the literary societies from which they had sprung to active collaboration with the two remaining Ming satellite courts.76 The insurrections they eventually mounted, however, were quelled within the year.77 As Suzhou loyalists viewed the paintings Huang created from 1656 to 1658, one last political hope remained at the national level: the Yongli court, the sole remaining satellite court of the Ming dynasty. By late March 1656, the Yongli court was officially established in Yunnanfu (Kunming), renamed Dian Capital. The Yongli emperor reigned in this far-southwestern capital for three years, assigning positions and titles; communicating with allies further north, such as the bandit leader Qian Ying; and struggling with the few fractious officials who had chosen to serve him.78 Viewers who had read The Travel Records of Filial Son Huang would have been well aware of the Huang family’s loyalty to the fallen Ming dynasty. Indeed, Huang emphasizes those elements of the journey of particular interest to Ming loyalists. Four fifths of his narrative is set in pro-Ming rebel-controlled areas of Yunnan, Guizhou, Huguang (roughly modern Hunan and Hubei), and Sichuan, while only one fifth of the story describes the family’s movement through the Qing-subjugated south. Certainly the percentage of text detailing the southwestern portion of the trip reflects the vast amount of territory in these regions and the longer amount of time it took to travel through them. In A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents, however, Huang’s decision to devote a similar amount of text to his short fund-raising trips to former Ming civil servants in

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Yunnan as he gave to the Qing-occupied areas he traveled through at the journey’s beginning suggests the selective nature of his narrative. Additionally, the only political and military history Huang relates in any detail is that of Yunnan. He also highlights the actions of Han Chinese officials and military figures representative of the Ming dynasty who served in this region. Aside from vague references to “northern troops,” Qing leaders and Manchu forces are not identified or discussed. In Huang’s lengthy discussion of a 1645 uprising in Yunnan he gives the highest-ranking Ming official, Circuit Intendant Yang Weizhi (d. 1651), full credit for ending the violent rampage of Sun Kewang’s troops and for defeating the rebel Sha Dingzhou and none to the hereditary leader of the area, Mu Tianbo.79 The plethora of troubles Huang reports, though characteristic of the climate and terrain of the southwest, also could have been read by loyalists as indicative of the cataclysmic political changes of the period. The extreme obstacles the Huang family overcame—the radical climatic changes, tiger attacks, and local uprisings—had for centuries been viewed as symbolic of an emperor’s loss of Heaven’s Mandate to rule. To a Ming loyalist, they could be read as the inauspicious signs of the loss of the dynasty and the illegitimacy of Manchu rule. Huang’s frequent mention of tigers may have been meant symbolically as well. Although tigers were indeed a concern for the Huang family, the word tiger (hu) had also become a common derogatory allusion to the Manchus, being a homophone for the pejorative term for “barbarians.” In the poetry of the loyalist Gu Yanwu, he states that “when I go out the gate, I see so many snakes and tigers,/ That I crouch meekly in one corner,” and “let me not become the tool of little men:/ I would merely be throwing myself to the hungry tiger.”80 Through these subtle attentions and exclusions, Huang geared his elaborate descriptions—the topography, firsthand reports of the political and military figures, and events of the region occupied by the sole remaining Ming court—toward those interested in that court’s existence. Most importantly, Huang’s writings make his father’s devotion to the previous dynasty abundantly clear. Huang Kongzhao had been a student of Zhou Shunchang (1584–1626), one of the seven Donglin Party heroes of the Ming dynasty who died by order of the notorious court eunuch Wei Zhongxian (1568–1627).81 Huang Kongzhao had been so willing to serve the Ming government that he traveled to faraway Yunnan. Huang Xiangjian describes the official position Huang Kongzhao held under the Ming, his participation in the southwestern campaigns against the Qing, and, when these efforts failed,

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his withdrawal into Buddhism: all common choices of Ming loyalists at this time. The sentimental reflections, interests, and observations Huang Kongzhao shared with his son on the homeward journey reinforce his loyalist actions. Several times Huang recorded his father’s sadness as he remembered the people and events of the previous dynasty. The attention of both father and son given to one locale in particular clearly demonstrates their devotion to the lost Ming. In passing Caishi Jetty on the Yangzi River, Huang Kongzhao gazes at distant Mount Zhong, burial place of the Hongwu emperor (Zhu Yuanzhang, r. 1368–98), founder of the Ming, and is “overcome with nostalgia for the former dynasty.”82 For loyalists of this period, the tomb of the first Ming emperor was an important place to visit and mourn the lost dynasty, and the inclusion of this site in the writings and paintings of Ming-Qing individuals signified their loyalist tendencies.83 Many of the friends and acquaintances who assisted in the printing of the Huang family story were active loyalists after the fall of the Ming. 84 Gui Zhuang, the author of the “Biography of Filial Son Huang,” was a family friend and celebrated writer active in loyalist societies. Gui and his good friend Gu Yanwu helped to lead their native Kunshan in an uprising against the Manchus in August 1645. When the city fell, Gui disguised himself as a monk, taking the name “Long Live the Ming Dynasty (Zuoming),” and escaped. His and Gu Yanwu’s active and literary opposition to the Qing earned them the appellation “Gui the mysterious and Gu the strange” (Gui Qi Gu Guai).85 The second colophonist, Lu Shiyi (1611–72), was a respected writer-adventurer himself, who repeatedly refused to hold office under the Qing rulers.86 He and Gui Zhuang traveled together in 1654 and frequently corresponded in the mid-1650s.87 Finally, the financier of the publication, Wen Jieshi (Wen Zuyao, 1598–1661), was a Yunnan native known for his upstanding service to the fallen Ming. He refused to serve the new Qing dynasty and was listed as a loyal “remnant” official in at least two later texts on loyalists.88 The fact that nearly all of Wen’s writings were destroyed in the later Qing dynasty under the Qianlong reign (1736–95) suggests that they may have been anti-Manchu. His late-life sobriquet (hao) was “unofficial historian of the sun 日 and moon 月.” When these two characters are read together, they produce the word Ming 明, making his true name “unofficial historian of the Ming.”89 The self-proclaimed loyalists whose writings framed Huang’s printed story emphasized a variety of didactic themes commonly celebrated in popular

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morality books of this period to which Ming loyalist sentiments could be easily attached—describing the honorable natures of Huang Kongzhao as a retired and withdrawn Ming official and Huang Xiangjian as a member of the literati class who took righteous action amidst the conflict. The most powerful of these themes for those who viewed Huang Xiangjian’s paintings, however, was the correlation of the filial relationship between father and son and the bond of loyalty between emperor and subject. As stated in relation to Lesser Officials in chapter 5 of the Classic of Filial Piety, the well-known phrase reads “as they serve their fathers, so they serve their rulers, and they reverence them equally.”90 Li Kaishu emphasized the ancient equation of a filial son with a loyal minister in his Preface to the Travel Record of the Filial Son Huang. He wrote, “A non­canonical ritual text says, ‘To seek a loyal minister, you must go to the gate of a filial son.’ Perhaps the line in the Classic of Filial Piety, ‘Throughout heaven and earth, he who is disloyal in serving his lord is not filial,’ means that when a son becomes an official he truly will not lose his righteousness.”91 In his “Afterword,” Tao Hongzuo (1610–74) proposed Huang Kongzhao and Huang Xiangjian as modern exemplars of this filial principle: The people and culture of the land of Wu are so magnificent, they have never had difficulty having widespread fame, and their reputation is known everywhere. It is only the human relations between ruler and subject and father and son that are rather difficult of fulfillment. We have only had a dozen or so cases of low-ranking scholars who fulfilled their obligations to ruler and father—Xu, Gu, Huang, Wu and a few others. We have had nobody like Huang Hanmei [Kongzhao] and Duanmu [Xiangjian], where the father was a loyal official and the son a filial son, both in the same household. Hanmei commanded a far-off, remote county. When Yunnan was lost, he gave up his position and had to plough for himself, if only to preserve himself. Duanmu went ten-thousand li on foot through wilderness, wild beasts, and bristling lances to serve his parents and bring them home. Would he have been able to do this without having loyalty and filiality rooted in his heart?92

How these writers interpreted their own personal connections to the southwest under the Ming dynasty with regard to filiality and loyalty suggests how very personal the Huang family story and paintings could be for this viewing public. Some, like the first preface writer, Hu Zhouzi (jinshi degree 1640), were close personal friends of the Huangs. Hu attests to the upstanding character and

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life choices of Huang Kongzhao based on his personal observation of Huang as a fellow villager, classmate, and recommendee: [Huang Kongzhao] had been named a Provincial Graduate, but never passed the following examination. Despondent, he presented himself to the selectors, and obtained the post of magistrate of Dayao [Yunnan]. When we were young, Master Huang and I were fellow schoolmates and also fellow recommendees from the same village. I know him well. His family was incorrupt and retiring, and did not have fields in the suburban district. As for him, he had the appearance of an emaciated immortal. He kept to himself and did not consort with the rich and high-ranking. . . . Even disloyal officials and banished officials did not have to endure [being sent so far from home]. Master Huang loaded his family into a small, narrow carriage and nobly took to the road. His close friends escorted him. Blinded by tears, no one could restrain himself.93

Some of the writers, such as Li Kaishu, had other official friends who had served in Yunnan. Li cites his connection with the southwest official and Ming loyalist martyr Yang Weizhi as the reason why he wrote a preface for Huang’s book. Both men were from the same hometown and both ranked among the first tier of candidates in the 1630 official examinations. Li says of Yang, who died serving the Yongli court in Yunnan, that he was a good official much loved by the people. “Now as for what it says in the record, that the people of Yunnan were moved by the protection and sympathy of Mr. Yang Weizhi, and great crowds offered prayers by his corpse and offered sacrifices, Yang was a man of my hometown. He ranked level one in the provincial examinations of 1630, and he took the path of an official to hold positions and assist the country. This is why I have written a separate piece about him based on what Huang told me.”94 Finally, Tao Hongzuo explains that at least one of those connected with the production of the Huang family’s story, its financier, had family in Yunnan. A friend and teacher of many of the writers and the Huang family, Wen Zuyao was a native of Chenggong, Yunnan, and had served as a Ming official in charge of education in Taicang, near Suzhou. He was renowned for emphasizing loyalty and filiality in his teachings.95 When Qing troops advanced on Jiangnan, he gave up his government post and retired with his good friend, the monk Cangxue (1588–1656), into a monastery.96 Cangxue, a well-known poet, was also a native of Chenggong, Yunnan.97 In his colophon, Tao explains why Wen Zuyao was

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so struck by the Huangs’ story. Wen and Huang Kongzhao had both “traveled over ten-thousand li” to take up an official post, “and their birth year, their official positions, and the concerns they met with all fit like matching tallies.”98 Although their circumstances were quite similar, the outcome was not. Huang Xiangjian hand-carried a letter from Wen Zuyao to his son, but the two never saw one another again. As Tao reveals: Where the tallies did not match was that Hanmei [Huang Kongzhao] and his son, though separated for ten years, were reunited, while [Wen] Jieshi and his son were separated. Though Duanmu [Huang Xiangjian] was able to put them in contact by letter saying all was well, to this day [Wen Jieshi and his son] have never reunited. . . . The sons of these two men, although separated [from their fathers] by over ten-thousand li, were both filial, and in this [Huang Kongzhao and Wen Jieshi] also tallied. Alas! In truth, these two fathers and sons all considered the cherishing of uprightness to be the lifeblood that preserves ruler and subject and father and son. How could there be any difference!?99

In the final colophon to the Huang family story, Lu Shiyi explains what happened to the Wen family in greater detail. As the only survivors of the Ming-Qing disorder in their hometown of Chenggong, Yunnan, the Wen family’s preservation is attributed to the son’s filiality and the family’s virtue: The former [Ming] instructor [Wen] Jieshi of our Lou county [in Jiangsu] was originally a man of Yunnan. He was cut off from [Yunnan] during the current upheavals and could not return home these ten years. When the Filial Son [Huang Xiangjian] arrived in Yunnan, he learned the city where Mr. [Wen] Jieshi had lived was entirely massacred, and only his household was unharmed, thanks to the virtue they had accumulated over generations. From this we can see that a man should be concerned about his filiality, not that he would be unable to bring his family out of dangers, and concerned that he has not accumulated virtue, not that he would be unable to preserve himself and his family in chaotic times!100

The paintings that Huang Xiangjian produced between 1656 and 1658 could be read, on one level, as a tale of filial duty set amidst dramatic landscapes. These paintings easily fall within the tradition of “travelers in a mountain landscape”

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paintings, which were widely produced from the tenth century onward. Any nonlocal yet classically trained viewer, be they Han or Manchu, might view these works as outstanding achievements in this tradition. The discernable filiality of the pictured mission was a theme lauded by loyalists and Qing officials alike. In this way the landscapes that Huang created could be enjoyed, but more importantly supported, by the local and national Qing-dynasty officials he would have needed to petition the throne for the formal title Filial Son. For many viewers, a nuanced amount of loyalist symbolism was also embedded in these filial landscapes. The most informed group of local viewers—those who had read the printed story of their native son in the three years following his return—would have found the loyalist message of the associated paintings obvious. Even for viewers who had not read Huang’s story, the paintings’ subtle imagery and inscriptions could stand alone to offer a particularly affecting loyalist statement to a variety of viewers: from subversive political conspirators to active members of literary societies to dissenting reclusive scholars and even wistful romantics who merely dreamed of the lost Ming. The subtle symbolism of Huang’s paintings also ensured the safety of their creator and viewers. In this way, they are similar to other contemporaneous uses of signifiers that expressed Ming loyalist sentiment within this charged environment. A 1664 poem composed by Wu Jiaji (1618–84) tells of a friend who “stitched a coin of Wanli (1573–1619) vintage into the sash of his robe as a reminder of his period of birth.” When it was revealed to his drinking companions, the coin recalled “memories of the Ming dynasty itself,” and the group “shed tears at the sight of the coin.”101 In another instance, Wu Weiye, a good friend of the financier of the printed version of the Huang family story, wrote of the lovely fifth-century bce courtesan Chen Yuanyuan (Xi Shi)—who led to the downfall of the king of Wu—as a symbol of the fall of the Ming dynasty.102 Pictorially, Chen Hongshou (1599–1652) mourned the Ming past through self-portraits amidst heavily archaized landscapes.103 Gong Xian (ca. 1618–89) depicted his steadfast virtue amidst a hostile political environment through images of willows in mist.104 Shitao (Daoji, 1642–1707) referred to the fallen dynasty in plum blossoms and crimson dots.105 Huang’s paintings illustrate the dangerous journey of a solitary man through a foreign land on a filial mission soon after the fall of the Ming house. This was the essential experience of countless loyalists who survived the Ming-Qing transition. Many endured extreme hardship in the changeover period between Ming and Qing rule and often referred to themselves in their writings as sojourners

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through this period of suffering. In addition to fleeing their homes and roaming the countryside for survival, many loyalists traveled long distances in service to the various Ming satellite courts. In Gu Yanwu’s 1650 poem entitled “Roaming About” (Liu chuan), his description of his life as a loyalist sounds strikingly similar to Huang’s descriptions of his journey: Roaming about in the region of Wu and Kuei [Gui], I was distressed not to find my homeland. From the heights I gazed over the Nine Realms: Brambles and thorns as far as the eye can see. .............................. Full of sorrow, I have shed torrents of tears. .............................. Alas, when I think of these five years, It has not been easy for me to live like this. My arduous journeying took me over land and water; My enemy is waiting at my gate. I could not even spend a night under my own roof, Which I had to forsake to become a wanderer.106

Huang travels alone through the majority of his paintings, his desperate loneliness intensified by the overwhelming landscape that envelops him and the dangerous paths ahead of him. These compositions capture the physical and emotional isolation suffered by many loyalists amidst the nightmarish conditions of the changeover, as well as the reclusive lifestyle many others chose to follow after the establishment of the Qing dynasty. Zhang Dai expressed his feelings of alienation thus: “Now I am a man without a country and without a family. I have no place to go but into the wilderness, the mountains, with my hair unbraided, looking as terrible as a wild man.”107 The unfamiliar multitude of mountain formations, dangerous waterways, hostile minority villages, otherworldly flora and fauna, military tents, and war elephants in Huang’s other paintings identify the war-torn, wilderness areas through which he travels. Similarly, loyalist viewers now found themselves maneuvering through a social and political landscape rendered dangerous and alien by its non-Han-Chinese rulers. Loyalists referred to the Manchus as “barbarians” in their private writings, and prominent thinkers such as Lü Liuliang (1629–83), Wang Fuzhi (1619–92), and Gu Yanwu expounded on the

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dangers of serving under such foreign rulers.108 Interestingly, Huang’s most overt loyalist statement is his 1656 handscroll Scenery of Yunnan and Guizhou Provinces (fig. 2.5). The work depicts an impressive military encampment and elephants amidst the dazzling natural landscape around the Guan Suo Mountain Range. Huang’s positive depiction of pro-Ming soldiers presents the southern troops in a positive light.109 Finally, and perhaps most importantly, the filial mission of Huang’s paintings offered the perfect ideological parallel for loyalists. Long before the Ming, “the separation of family members had become a trope of Chinese literature and strongly associated with dynastic transitions.”110 In these primarily fictional narratives the goal was reunion, and dynastic collapse was presented as both the cause and a reflection of the family’s separation. Viewers of Huang’s paintings could see his devotion to his father as analogous to their own allegiance to the Ming throne. Just as a devoted son would heroically journey “ten-thousand li” into Yunnan in search of his father, the truly loyal subject would go to any lengths to see the Ming dynasty restored, as represented in 1656 by its last remnant at the Yongli court in Yunnan.

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Filial Geo-Narratives We had prayed sincerely and been blessed by Heaven. Yet only the walls of our house were left standing, and not one grain remained in the storage jars. That my parents have no way to enjoy their old age causes me, their son, the greatest shame. —Huang Xiangjian, Diary of the Return from Yunnan

T

he Huang family arrived home penniless. Their possessions had been confiscated and all but the frame of their house destroyed. Huang Xiangjian explains the family’s impoverished condition upon their return to Suzhou (quoted above) at the end of his second chronicle, the Diary of the Return from Yunnan. Friends and extended family most likely helped sustain them for a time. The question of how to survive long-term, however, must have troubled them greatly, just as it did so many families in this period. This chapter presents the evidence that a literary and pictorial campaign lauding the filial and loyal characteristics of the Huang family was launched to remedy this situation. The majority of Huang Xiangjian’s extant paintings present tangible evidence of a campaign to visualize him as a Filial Son.1 Their geo-narratives were the intimate and emotional propaganda tools of a larger project meant to enhance the moral, and by extension the material, standing of the Huang family within the elite circles of their friends and acquaintances in their hometown of Suzhou. This campaign would allow the family to survive. Prior to his journey Huang was just one of thousands of educated men without a government degree or official position, but he returned from his heroic ordeal to claim the title of one of the most essential roles in Confucian society:

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Filial Son. This designation may seem abstract to modern readers, but for viewers of the time this title implied not only upward social mobility for the family lineage, but also tangible material help for its recipient and his family. Filial Sons were granted gifts of rice, money, government appointments, and all of the social benefits such remunerations accrued. Theoretically, the designation Filial Son honored any Confucian household just as a civil-service degree or honorary imperial appointment would have done. Public notices, ceremonies, and local gossip advertised newly minted degree-holders, honorary appointees, and imperially acknowledged Filial Sons. To gain an official designation of this last type entailed a lengthy process that required passage through a variety of government agencies. Hence, although the Huang family campaign certainly sought the imperial designation of Filial Son as one end result, its primary goal was more local and practical. Huang’s diaries and paintings narrated his personal transformation into a Filial Son and advertised this status to the social elite whose admiration for such individuals would keep the impoverished Huang family alive. Huang’s paintings also served as the tangible evidence of this process by presenting to viewers a persuasive visual representation that evinced his right to claim that title.

The Campaign to Earn the Title Filial Son His father, Huang Kongzhao, and his father’s friends most likely devised the filial campaign, just as it was Huang Kongzhao who had planned the family’s journey home from Yunnan. As Huang Xiangjian states in A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents: One day [when] I mentioned to Father that we should leave soon, he said, “It has been several years since I unlocked the thatched hut beside my parents’ grave, and it troubles me day and night. I am so happy that you were able to come to us. Yet, with two grandsons at home [in Suzhou] who are all by themselves with no one to turn to, of course I, too, wish to hurry home. But I was apprehensive about the dangerous road ahead and our inadequate travel funds. So I went back and forth about it. I do have many friends in the area, [however,] and I will prepare letters for you to take to them. Despite the difficulty of [travel in this region] you will have to go [visit them to raise the money].”2

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With this plan in mind, Huang Kongzhao composed letters of introduction for his son in order to solicit contributions from local friends and students. Following his father’s instructions, Huang Xiangjian set out on two separate tours of north-central Yunnan to visit his father’s students for aid to make the journey home. In A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents, Huang Xiangjian reports that his father “told me not to worry, for we could count on all of his exam classmates out there on the road ahead. We should have to impose ourselves on them. . . . Out and back, I went over three thousand li and was obliged to trouble [Father’s] old friends for all of our travel expenses.”3 Although the funds raised through these two tours were insufficient, the Huang family set off for home at Huang Kongzhao’s insistence. Similarly, it was Huang Kongzhao, with the help of his family and friends, who developed a more detailed plan for survival when the family returned home to Suzhou. An array of promoters participated in a campaign to enhance the moral standing of the Huang family. The symbolic goods used in this campaign were the printed versions of the Huang family story and the paintings of Huang Xiangjian. In 1655, the travel record and the diary written by Huang Xiangjian were printed together as The Travel Records of Filial Son Huang to publicize the Huang family’s amazing story. The publication was financed by Wen Jieshi (Wen Zuyao, 1598–1661) and included prefaces by Hu Zhouzi (jinshi degree 1640) and Li Kaishu (act. mid-17th c.), colophons by Tao Hongzuo (writing as Yugu Daoren; 1610–74) and Lu Shiyi (1611–72), and a biography of Huang Xiangjian by the celebrated Ming loyalist Gui Zhuang.4 All of these men were old friends, contemporaries, and classmates of Huang Kongzhao, and their participation in the project hinged upon their belief in its message and purpose, as explained by one of the preface writers, Hu Zhouzi: “[Huang] pulled out a tear-and-bloodstained written scroll that recorded the journey. Those of the same generation agree with its purpose, so [we] took it and gave it to the wood-block printers.”5 Another preface writer, Tao Hongzuo (Yugu Daoren), discussed its broad appeal to the diverse literate audience of this period: “Because many people wanted to read about it, Mr. Jieshi [Wen Zuyao] had the travel account printed so that the text could circulate widely.”6 Finally, the preface writers made the purpose of the publication clear. They wished to celebrate and promote the filiality and loyalty of the Huang father and son as demonstrated in their heroic return from the southwest. The writers’ celebration of the Huangs may be seen as part of a long line of historically sanctioned individuals designated “traditional behavioral models.”

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Robert Hegel and Richard Hessney discuss the classification of such individuals in Confucian writings “in terms of their moral function in a particular social role” as fixed reference points for historians and their readers. A person was not merely “a minister, a father, a son, but instead an upright minister, an exemplary father, a filial son—or their converse.”7 The preface writers laud both Huangs as filial and loyal, but Huang Kongzhao would take on the mantle of the loyal official, whereas Huang Xiangjian was designated a filial son. Tao Hongzuo explains this in his “Afterword”: “The people and culture of the land of Wu are so magnificent, they have never had difficulty having widespread fame, and their reputation is known everywhere. It is only the human relations between ruler and subject and father and son that are rather difficult of fulfillment. We have only had a dozen or so cases of low-ranking scholars who fulfilled their obligations to ruler and father—Xu, Gu, Huang, Wu, and a few others. We have had nobody like Huang Hanmei [Kongzhao] and Duanmu [Xiangjian], where the father was a loyal official and the son a filial son, both in the same household.”8 Of Huang Kongzhao, Li Kaishu stated: “I see that at Dayao [Huang Kongzhao] experienced dangers and difficulties for a long time without withdrawing to nest in the sheep valley and just grow old in a distant place. Rather, his natural disposition cherished and could not bear to abandon his ancestral graves. Loyalty and filiality both pervaded his feelings and actions.”9 Of Huang Xiangjian and his journey, Gui Zhuang asked, “How could this be possible through human strength alone? Rather, his pure sincerity was communicated up to Heaven and that is why he was able to gain Heaven’s help in this. . . . The Filial Son is simple and unadorned, and undignified words do not leave his mouth. When he returned home, he supported himself by tutoring children. Such an undertaking of loyalty and filiality certainly cannot be accomplished by those who do trivial things in order to win a reputation!”10 Back in Suzhou, Huang Xiangjian was not just working as a tutor; he was also preparing a large group of paintings of his southwest journey. The majority of his extant dated paintings were produced within the five years after his return to Suzhou, although he was to live another twenty years. The majority of these are dated to 1656, the year after The Travel Records of Filial Son Huang was published. These include four albums, two handscrolls, and one hanging scroll (see app. 2). It is likely that Huang spent the three years between his return home and 1656 preparing this large group of paintings. In addition, the composition, style, and inscriptions of the majority of his undated paintings suggest they were also done within this period (see app.2). All of the album leaves and

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scrolls painted by Huang at this time depict his journey into the southwest. As discussed in chapter 2, most of them cleverly repeat and recombine a select group of scenes, compositional types, and inscriptions. Given Huang’s own statement that it took him two years to complete a handscroll, it seems unlikely that he could paint even the seven dated paintings, four of which were multileaf albums and two detailed handscrolls, in a single year.11 His production of paintings of his filial journey to the southwest appears to have diminished in the following two years, with two paintings dated to 1657 and two to 1658.12 None appear to have been produced after that time. Huang’s production of a large group of paintings with multiple variant renditions of unorthodox, dramatically styled subject matter during a limited period of time suggests that they were created for a very practical reason. They were intended to be the pictorial component of the Huang family propaganda campaign, and as a complement to Huang’s printed story, to serve as more visually evocative and perhaps emotionally affecting propaganda tools circulated within the Huang family’s social circles. Unlike the mass-produced printed story, Huang’s paintings were the product of his own hand and provided more personal references to the Huang family story. The circulation of the paintings was also intimate. Huang Kongzhao apparently orchestrated the introduction of the works into various social networks. He gave some of his son’s paintings to a monk friend, one Muchen of Tiantong Monastery, thereby creating entrée into Buddhist circles. Monk Muchen, in turn, showed Huang’s paintings to impor­ tant visitors to the monastery. Huang Kongzhao also brought his son’s paintings to the attention of social circles around the Zhou family, a nationally known scholar-official clan. Zhou Danling (ca. late 17th c.–ca. early 18th c.), the grandson of Huang Kongzhao’s teacher, Zhou Shunchang (1584–1626), wrote several colophons for Huang Xiangjian’s paintings, introducing them to both local and national officials, as well as the emperor.

Material Evidence of the Filial Son Campaign The printed records and filial geo-narrative paintings created by the Huang family and their friends are the material evidence of their campaign to earn Huang Xiangjian the socially generated title Filial Son. This visible and tangible evidence of Huang’s transformation provided multiple activation points within various cultural spheres from which the campaign could be launched and also

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continual axis points around which it could revolve. The overall structure of the campaign documents is a classic hybridization of travel record and filial-piety tale. Whereas Huang Xiangjian wrote his narrative as a filial journey, the colophonists’ framing discussions and the paintings formulate it as a filial-piety tale. The content of the campaign documents also interweaves a variety of historically sanctioned yet popular seventeenth-century themes, including the heroic adventure and the southwest odyssey, as discussed in chapter 2. All of these elements, however, remain firmly focused on proving that Huang Xiangjian had become a Filial Son. As a primary social and religious foundation of Chinese society, filiality had served as literary and pictorial subject matter from the late Eastern Zhou (ca. 450–256 bce) onward. It was extolled by Confucius (551–479 bce) in the Analects; immortalized by the Classic of Filial Piety (Xiao jing); celebrated in countless local histories, biographies, and literary works; and memorialized in pictorial imagery on such monuments as the Wu Liang Shrine of the Eastern Han dynasty (25–220 ce) and paintings such as Li Gonglin’s (ca. 1041–1106) illustrations to the Classic of Filial Piety (ca. 1085).13 The moral imperative of filial piety remained strong through the Ming dynasty, and in the Ming-Qing transition, the lengths to which one could go in devoted service to one’s parents was a particularly important theme. In the seventeenth century, poets such as Wu Jiaji (1618–84) wrote compelling narrative poems on local and historical instances of filial behavior, and gazetteer writers chronicled similar instances in their “exemplary biographies” (liezhuan) sections.14 The widespread emphasis on the principle of filial piety at this time was part of larger responses by both the Chinese literati and the newly ensconced Qing government. Confucian thinkers devoted to the former Ming dynasty reacted against the “moral laxity of late Ming society,” particularly the moral relativism espoused by Wang Yangming (1472–1529), which they believed had lost them their country.15 For them, filial piety (xiao) and loyalty (zhong) were the most fundamental values of Confucianism, and only by returning to these basic values could the tradition be saved. Tao Hongzuo expresses these sentiments most forcefully in his afterword to the writings of Huang Xiangjian. “Heaven sent down destruction and chaos, and as for the events of the shen, you, xu, and hai years [1644–47], I cannot bear to speak of them. Having no sympathy that the ruler is dead, [many people] just kept on pursuing wealth, and even though the great house has fallen, they still go after private family business. Further, there are some who, though their own relatives were slaughtered, have no feeling of sympathy at all, which shows

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that the discarding of righteousness and the loss of the kindness of father and son has never been as profound as at this time.”16 Reinforcement of the core Confucian values of filial piety and loyalty were also in the best interests of the Qing government, as these beliefs promoted social stability through an absolute and hierarchical set of relationships and obligations. To this end, Qing officials wrote glowingly of loyalist paragons, and a new imperial project to compile the Exploration and Amplification of the Classic of Filial Piety (Xiaojing yanyi) was commissioned in 1656.17

The Huang Family Story as Filial-Piety Tale The Huang family campaign drew from established traditions and contemporary interests associated with filial piety during the Ming-Qing period to establish the Filial Son status of Huang Xiangjian for a variety of readers from Ming loyalists to Qing government officials. In structural terms, the commenting writers and Huang as painter present his southwest odyssey as a filial-piety tale. In his travel records, Huang emphasizes the dangers and obstacles of his journey to evidence his filiality. He also describes in his account’s opening lines the intent that caused him to persevere. It was his concern for his parents that motivated the journey. His filial focus did not wane at journey’s end. He concludes both the travel record and diary with anxious discussions of his parents’ health and stamina. When Huang does focus on his own hopes and fears, they are inexorably tied to his parents: how far is he from reaching them, will he be able to find them, how will the various dangers slow him in his search for them, will he find them in good health? Lastly, almost all of the personal history, scholarly accomplishments, official duties, kind friends, and relevant sites discussed by Huang in his printed story relate to the filial/loyal nature of Huang Kongzhao. Because the individual elements of Huang’s narrative work together to present his journey as the filial-piety tale of a man destined to become an imperially designated Filial Son, only a recitation of the entire odyssey would commend him for such a status. The colophonists, too, present Huang’s journey in the historically sanctioned format of a filial-piety tale and endow him with the socially generated title Filial Son in their writings. Keith Knapp explains the form and content of early medieval filial-piety tales, on which later imperial narratives expanded, as including four sections: an introduction of the filial person and his character, a narrative of

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the person’s filial act or acts, the rewards of such acts, and concluding comments of praise for the person.18 Huang’s colophonists include elaborate versions of each of these traditional elements in a more creative form. All include discussions of Huang Kongzhao, making the records into a double filial-piety tale. Several rearrange its basic components and contribute other complementary elements. All, however, extol at length the character and acts of Huang Xiangjian. Most of the colophonists identify Huang and his father by name, style name, and native place, and statements of the upstanding character of both are included in several of the introductions as well as being scattered throughout the texts. Gui Zhuang presents the most straightforward introduction: “Filial Son Huang’s personal name is Xiangjian, and his style name is Duanmu. He is the descendant of Yue [or Yuezhi] who served as a Supervising Secretary [Jishizhong] in the Jianwen era [1399–1402] and died loyally. The previous generations were men of Changshu. Later they moved their home to the western suburbs of Suzhou.”19 Gui later describes Huang’s filial character as one of “pure sincerity” that is “simple and unadorned.”20 Narrative elements describing Huang’s filial acts make up the bulk of the writings. This aspect of the classic filial-piety-tale framework as outlined by Knapp is amplified significantly by both Huang and the colophonists because Huang presents his journey in the travel-record (youji) format and there was literally more to tell than in a typical filial-piety episode. The colophonists also emphasize the filial intent and actions displayed by Huang. Hu Zhouzi wrote: [Huang] thought of his parents for a long time. His tears fell without end. One morning, he announced at the [ancestral] graves, “I will leave my family and go alone in search of my parents.” In the twelfth lunar month of winter of the eighth year of the Shunzhi era, a xinmao year [January 1652], he hastily exited his gate to eat in the wind and sleep in the rain. Completely alone, in straw sandals, of necessity he went straight to far away Yunnan. In summer of the fifth month of the next year he found his father in Baiyanjing. That winter he served his father and mother. The two old people were carried home in bamboo sedan chairs. In a short robe, he followed behind. . . . In the sixth month of summer of the next year, they reached the family gate. The older men of the neighborhood gazed at them in astonishment and said, “Dear me! Bright as the flight of a gull, straight as the stance of a crane—is this not Filial and Honest Huang? A rent hat covers his head, a plantain robe covers his frame—is this not young Master Huang who went on foot to search out his parents? How virtuous!”21

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In his description of Huang’s selfless care of his mother and father, Gui Zhuang offers a particularly dramatic example of Huang’s filial behavior. “Hanmei [Huang Kongzhao] told me that on the return journey, a day’s travel was several tens to a hundred li. The two old people rode in sedan chairs, which was very hard and wearying, but Xiangjian from beginning to end followed on foot. At every stop where they lodged he purchased provisions and directed the cooking of them. He prepared hot baths and arranged places to sleep for them. When they arose in the morning, he again prepared food, put things in order, and packed up. All of this Xiangjian did himself, without taking a moment’s rest first.”22 Several colophonists discuss the rewards of Huang’s filial act. The most important benefit was that Huang’s virtuous behavior allowed his parents the opportunity to be virtuous as well. Li Kaishu explains: “Not only was he able to personally give delight to his parents as their child, but he also allowed his father to perform the sacrifices to their ancestors in their ancestral temple, so there were no omissions. His filiality toward his parents allowed his parents to be filial.”23 Tao Hongzuo extends this notion to all readers of the story: “I would hope that all who read this will become more caring towards their rulers and fathers and not just let this admirable example go unimitated.”24 The trip also allowed Huang to prove the extent of his filiality. All of the writers praise Huang and comment on this. Li Kaishu proves most effusive, giving Huang the ultimate title: “when filiality is spoken of in the world . . . those who praise Xiangjian surely call him the Filial Son of Filial Sons.”25 Li concludes with an illustrative quotation from the classics: “I have heard that the [Da] Dai [Li] ji says, ‘Filial piety is that by which you serve your lord.’ A noncanonical ritual text says, ‘To seek a loyal minister, you must go to the gate of a filial son.’ Perhaps the line in the Classic of Filial Piety, ‘Throughout Heaven and earth, he who is disloyal in serving his lord is not filial,’ means that when a son becomes an official he truly will not lose his righteousness.”26 The colophonists and Huang himself further reinforced this reward of his filial act through their use of the phrase “ten-thousand li.” For centuries, scholarofficials had utilized “ten-thousand li” to indicate the extreme distances they traveled in service to the emperor. They equated the great distance this phrase implied with their devout loyalty and filiality as officials. The Suzhou native Fan Chengda (1126–93), who served in the southwest areas of Guilin [modern Guangxi Zhuang Autonomous Region] and Chengdu, Sichuan, noted his own use of the term in his poetry composition. “To the three directions of south, north, and west, I have traveled ten-thousand li and have [in those quadrants]

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passed the Double-Ninth Festival. . . . The first line [of the lyric poem I wrote] at Yanshan [Yutian, Hebei, in the north] is: ‘Traveling ten-thousand li, I am the envoy of the Han people; the one at Guilin [in the south] opens with: ‘Traveling ten-thousand li, I am the military commissioner of the Han court; and the one written at Chengdu [in the west] starts with: ‘I am a guest at the Bridge of Ten-Thousand Li.’”27 Officials such as Fan Chengda emphasized that they traveled ten-thousand li on assignments mandated by the imperial “Son of Heaven.” Contributors to the Huang family filial campaign employed the official connotations of this term in their own writings to emphasize the filial mission of Huang’s successful journey and to equate the Filial Son status they sought for Huang Xiangjian with that of an official. Hu Zhouzi reports that Huang traveled through “ten-thousand li of wilderness.”28 Gui Zhuang records Huang’s vow that he would “travel alone ten-thousand li” in search of his parents.29 Gui then proceeds to reinforce this vow several more times in statements such as “[Huang] walked ten-thousand li of road” and the round trip was “probably ten-thousand li!”30 Tao Hongzuo also uses the term a number of times, explaining that Huang “went ten-thousand li on foot through wilderness, wild beasts, and bristling lances to serve his parents and bring them home,” and that he and his father were separated by “ten-thousand li.”31 Lu Shiyi also mentions this separation of “ten-thousand li.”32 Prior to discussing one of Huang’s paintings in a colophon, the family friend Zhou Danling introduces Huang as a Filial Son, who “amidst the cares and toils of a journey of ten-thousand li, passed over dangers and difficulties to serve his two parents and bring them home.”33 Huang himself utilizes the phrase frequently. In his travel records he refers to his “ten-thousand-li undertaking in search of my parents,” although at two other points in the journey he estimates the true distance to have been about three-thousand li, whereas at another point he states that he traveled over ten-thousand li.34 The distances he records in his painting inscriptions are slightly more regulated. Of most interest, however, is that he signs two of his works as wanli guiren, “the man who returned home ten-thousand li.”35 He also used an ovoid seal with this same phrase. He applied this particular seal at the beginning of his painting inscriptions to ensure that it was the first thing readers encountered. Huang’s use of this phrase as signature and seal suggests that he took it as his style name (hao). Used in this context, “the man who returned home ten-thousand li” became a label similar to one of the degree titles, such as that of “presented scholar” (jinshi) held by officials and, in this way, indicated that Huang’s newly earned social status was seen as equivalent in many respects to an official position.

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By the seventeenth century, filial-piety stories were significantly embellished versions of their medieval counterparts. The colophonists who participated in the Huang family campaign further highlighted Huang as a Filial Son by elevating him to the status of not only an official, but a Heavenly appointed one. Both Gui Zhuang and Hu Zhouzi equate Huang’s intent and actions as equal to or even more honorable than that of a loyal military or civil official. Gui Zhuang warned readers, “Do not take him for a laborer who walked ten-thousand li of road. Some travelers are on a military expedition or official missions. They have the dignity of official rank plus large retinues, and yet they fear going, and if they do go, never return.”36 Hu Zhouzi advises readers not to think “the son unable to manifest the purity and virtue of this humble official,” a reference to his father.37 The Huang filial mission is presented as having been mandated by Heaven. The protection and rewards of Heaven were another common motif of the classic filial-piety tale. The Heavenly Weaving Maid, for example, saved Dong Yong from slavery; Jiang Zhangxun escaped murder by his stepmother through Heaven’s protection; and Zhu Ming was rewarded with riches from on high.38 As evidence, the colophonists sometimes insinuate Huang’s Heavenly fiat by pointing to the miraculous evaporation of troubles and the peaceful minds of the family along the road. Hu Zhouzi writes, “The two old people were carried home in bamboo sedan chairs. In a short robe, he followed behind. Floating like duckweed, they drifted and stopped, and though they passed through every kind of agitation, the troubles dispersed and calamities dissipated. Each [person] slept sweetly.”39 Later in his essay, Hu Zhouzi states outright, “Now it appears that such a perilous [journey] had the blessing of Heaven.”40 Li Kaishu points to the combination of filial nature and actions as the reason for this mandate. “He mustered his sincerity and reverence, and communicated with the spirits [of his ancestors], and with the protection of Heaven, set out to reunite his family. . . . The father and son of Dayao alone had the blessing of Heaven. Were it not for their pure conduct and faultless [behavior] toward the ghosts and spirits, how could they have achieved this?”41 Both Gui Zhuang and Tao Hongzuo point out the impossibility of such a journey without the help of Heaven. Gui Zhuang states: “the Filial Son, all by himself, went to and returned from distant lands as though he walked along a great highway. How could this be possible through human strength alone? Rather, his pure sincerity was communicated up to Heaven and that is why he was able to gain Heaven’s help in this.”42 Tao Hongzuo asserts: “look at where Duanmu walked, every step was in a land of death, but the fulfillment of his purpose was blessed.”43

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Finally, the colophonists actually bestow the title Filial Son or Filial Son Huang (Huang Xiaozi) on Huang in their writings by insistently referring to him as such in the titles of their works and in the body of their texts. Excluding the colophon titles, Huang is referred to as Filial Son or Filial Son Huang over thirty-three times by the colophonists.44

Filial Geo-Narrative Paintings The geography of the paintings Huang Xiangjian created expresses his filial nature through specific incidents of the Huang family odyssey. His pictures are neither diachronic renderings nor topographical itineraries of his trip. The landscapes are not identified or presented according to topographical type, political division, or geographical region; nor do they illustrate any of the most dramatic moments of his story, such as the day Huang set out, several pivotal actions, nor the momentous family reunion in Yunnan. The absence of these suggests that Huang wished to avoid the melodramatic overtones of such emotional scenes in literature and drama. The family reunion has been cited as the most archetypal narrative in Ming-Qing Chinese literature and drama, to the degree that the final act of such a chuanqi drama in which “everyone is restored to his or her proper place” is specifically designated the “reunion” (tuanyuan) act.45 Tearful scenes of reunion would not have served the required purpose of his paintings. Instead, Huang used the topography of his southwest odyssey to narrate his filiality. The paintings created by Huang synchronize with the basic components found in his writings discussed in chapter 2 and those of the colophonists, which in turn align with the structure of the classic filial-piety tale. As in such narratives, Huang presented imagery and text in his paintings to introduce his character, narrate his filial acts, and suggest the rewards of these acts. Colophonists who attached writings to his paintings incorporated the final element of the filial-piety tale by commenting on his acts. As did the colophonists for the written story of his journey, Huang also moved beyond the basic attributes of the filial-piety tale to emphasize the import of his endeavors by associating himself with those of official status and by implying the Heavenly mandate by which his heroic actions were made possible. The following examination of Huang’s filial geo-narratives is organized according to the basic characteristics of the classic filial-piety tale found in the Huang story and colophons.

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Filial Character The character of a filial son is the foundation of the filial-son narrative. Huang creates his filial character through both text and image in his paintings. In each work he presents a small, undistinguished figure battling through antagonistic natural, social, and political elements. The figure’s movement through the challenge conveyed in each painting leaves little doubt of his character (fig. 3.1). The Huang parents join this figure in one or more leaves of most of his albums, riding in or resting beside their sedan chairs to symbolize his filial goal (fig. 3.2). Huang also includes the specifically filial topography of Li Peak in almost every album he created (fig. 2.3). In his inscriptions, Huang highlights these pictorial representations of his filial character through discussions of his filial thoughts, references to his filial actions, quotations from classic texts on filial piety, and explanations of topography associated with legendary filial persons. Finally, Huang implies his filial character by employing the archetypical characteristics of the scholar painting tradition and imagery that symbolizes a Heavenly mandate.

Fig. 3.1  Huang Xiangjian, Descending Zhuge Mountain Range, detail. Leaf from Journey in Search of My Parents (Collection of Chih Lo Lou).

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Fig. 3.2  Huang Xiangjian, Malongzhou Road, detail. Leaf from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Nanjing Museum).

The content of the inscriptions is an essential part of his self-expression, and sometimes they make reference to filial thoughts that would not be evident from the landscape imagery alone. Huang ruminates on his parents in their old home as he crosses the Xiang River in a misty rain (fig. 3.3). When he takes a look about, he finds that “I could not tell where my parents’ gate was, and that definitely unsettled me.”46 As Huang climbs amidst mountains surrounding the city walls of Pingyue that “soar up like shooting bamboo sprouts,” he writes that “looking out as I climbed them instantly gave rise to thoughts of my father and mother.”47 Huang presents more practical manifestations of his filial character in other scenes. He often mentions the dangers of sedan-chair travel, and how he served his parents, as in the fund-raising trip he undertook. “I was able to meet my two parents in Baiyanjing. Then, I acted upon my father’s orders and departed for Hechuan.”48 On the road to Longchang he presents his actions as evidence of his filial character by quoting a well-known phrase associated with filial piety: “I helped my two parents ford the overflowing stream. Amidst the adverse current I ran into rocks, and the rushing waves made my knees tremble. I would call this ‘ascending the heights and approaching the depths.’ 49My thinking of this admonition of the ancients now is no mere chance.” 50 This quotation from the “Quli shang” chapter of the Book of Rites (Liji) describes what the filial

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Fig. 3.3  Huang Xiangjian, Xiang River. Leaf from Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents, 1656 (Suzhou Museum).

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child must endure in serving his parents. It was both the perfect literal description of and metaphor for Huang’s filiality, as proven by his southwestern trip, during which he experienced the extremes of geographic and emotional heights and depths. It is also in his inscriptions that Huang was able to bring out filial associations with certain topographical and architectural features that he chose to depict. The most notable example is Li Peak Station, which appears in almost every album he created. Huang’s inscription on the Li Peak Station leaf (fig. 2.3) of the Suzhou album is typical. It reads: Li Peak Station. One climbs up the Guan Suo Mountain Range, on a long, narrow and winding path, a twisting path amidst a thousand peaks. Although this is the most precipitous place in the Guizhou region, there is a temple in the mountain range. The son of Marquis Ting of Hanshou once held [this place]. To this day the temple is impressive to look at. The tablet over the entrance has a four-character inscription, “Great Possessor of His Father’s Spirit.” When I passed by here, I was near the point of total exhaustion. 歴頂站。豋關索嶺，羊腸一線，鳥道千峰。黔地最險處也，嶺有祠。廼漢壽亭 侯子昔守此。至今廟貌巍煥。額題“大有父風”四字。予過此，幾為之困憊 非常。

Huang presents the Guan Suo Mountain Range and temple of Li Peak Station as landscape signifiers of the legendary figure Guan Suo in at least five of his paintings. Guan Suo was the fictitious third son of the celebrated military hero Guan Yu (161–219), who was lauded in history and literature as a paragon of loyalty and righteousness.51 Guan Suo was particularly popular in Huang’s time due to his principal role in the prosimetric performance literature piece, The Story of Hua Guan Suo (Hua Guan Suo zhuan).52 The story revolves around Guan Suo’s mission to find his father Guan Yu, from whom he had been separated at birth, and claim his rightful patrimony.53 Gail King synopsizes Guan Suo as “brave, resourceful, and bold. . . . He is raised a cherished son, only to be lost and separated from his true family. . . . He possesses remarkable strength, cleverness, self-confidence, agility, and determination. He is favored by the supernatural with magical weapons and aid when the need arises.”54 Later, Guan Suo was associated with Zhuge Liang’s campaign in the southwest. The combination of family circumstances, personal traits,

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and geographical connections attributed to Guan Suo in this popular literary work and later legends made him the perfect associative historical persona for Huang. Huang’s repeated illustration and pointed references clearly allow the viewer to compare his filial nature and circumstances to that of the famous Guan Suo. In the above Li Peak Station leaf and one other, Huang makes the filial association clearer still by pointedly remarking that the temple dedicated to Guan Suo bears the inscription “Great Possessor of His Father’s Spirit.”55 This connection is reinforced by the painted imagery. Huang always pictures himself beginning or midway up a peak of the mountain range, moving toward the temple to Guan Suo that stands at the summit. Huang employs both image and text to indicate his life goal of attaining the filial character of this paragon. Huang also emphasizes his own propensities by associating himself with those who performed the filial tasks of officialdom. He does so in his inscriptions by identifying specific scholar-officials associated with the southwest, chronicling their experiences of its landscape, and integrating classic scholar-official phrases into his descriptions of the southwest. Huang’s inscriptions consistently name three historic officials who served there. He cites the Han-dynasty general Ma Yuan (14 bce–49 ce) and the Three Kingdoms strategist and paragon of loyalty Zhuge Liang (181–234 ce).56 He also mentions a Provincial Commissioner Zhu of the Yuan dynasty (1279–1368), who built the iron suspension bridge to span the Pan River.57 Huang notes the previous visiting scholars and officials who experienced and recorded the southwestern landscapes that he describes. In passing through the Jinma Biji area, Huang says that “traveling officials inscribed their admiration here. What dynasty is not represented [in the inscriptions] here?”58 In a leaf illustrating the “most marvelous waterfall in Guizhou” at Baishuihe Post Station, Huang quotes the poetry of Wu Guolun (1524–93), who had served as an education officer in the region:59 Mountain forms like elephant trunks, mountain torrent paths like a cluster of silkworms. Bamboo rafts ferry below a thousand cliffs, carters cry amidst ten-thousand rocks. A low pavilion conceals the suspended moon, the sound of the waterfall is borne directly upon the wind. White haired, I lament the dangers of travel, when Heaven and earth in one revolution turn upside down.60

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山形如象鼻，礀道擬蠶叢。 筏渡千崖底，車鳴萬石中。 短亭微上月，鳴瀑直生風。 白髮悲行險，乾坤一轉蓬。

This poem ends by emphasizing the arduous travel expected of scholar-officials and the attendant loneliness. Huang also punctuated his descriptions of the southwest with well-worn expressions of homesickness and suffering commonly found in officials’ discussions of distant civil-service postings. On one album, he wrote that “I did not allow myself to think of my hometown far away, but raised my head to the road that disappeared into the distance.”61 On another, he compares traveling through Guan Suo Mountain Range as “no less hard than the road to Shu,” echoing a much referenced poetic phrase first used in Li Bai’s (701–62) immortal poem to indicate a difficult journey.62 Huang presents the classic pictorial elements of a Filial Son painting within the seventeenth-century Suzhou “amateur” landscape-painting tradition. Huang’s filial geo-narratives contain the basic elements found in ancient renderings of historical Filial Sons, such as the second-century Wu Liang Shrine panels, which present Filial Sons in action or posed with attributes that allude to their most famous filial moments. Similar to other later renderings, such as those incised on a sixth-century stone sarcophagus in the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, Huang presents a group of images with “synoptic compositions,” in which representative moments keyed to his most filial acts synopsize the entire narrative.63 The earliest images of filial sons are believed to have been illustrations to written texts, just as Huang’s images may be seen as complements to his printed travel records.64 Huang’s filial geo-narrative paintings also represent both his social milieu and concerted placement of his work within the painting tradition associated with filial scholar-officials. The majority of Huang’s works are done in ink monochrome on paper, a format associated with the gentleman-scholar artist since the eleventh-century rise of the notion of the literati artist with his focus on self-expression. This choice signals the viewer that Huang is expressing his true feelings using simply brush and ink, the basic materials of the literatus. The slight blue, pink, and green color palette seen in some of his works associates his style with the scholarly painting tradition of Suzhou. Art historians use the designation Wu school for the group of mid- and late-Ming artists who followed its putative founder, Shen Zhou, and his most prominent pupil, Wen Zhengming.65 By utilizing the Wu school style, Huang

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identifies himself as a member of the educated Suzhou elite working within the most famous painting lineage of his day. The misty mountains and waterways of several of Huang’s scenes would have reminded a late-Ming viewer of similar images in the tradition of Eight Views of Xiao Xiang and the multitude of officials who utilized it for political, religious, and personal reasons (figs. 2.31, 3.3).66 This stylistic choice allowed Huang to allude to both the political and filial reasons for his journey to and return from the miasmic southwest and to assert his link with those virtuous men who had attempted similar journeys for noble causes. Finally, Heaven itself attests to Huang’s filial character. Huang could not indicate his Heavenly mandate by eliminating the very challenges that served as pictorial evidence of his merit to hold the socially generated title Filial Son. Neither does he appear to have cued readers to this in his inscriptions. Only once does he state “that we were unharmed in the end, was this not the blessing of Heaven’s good fortune?”67 Rather, he presents Heaven’s blessings through a unique pictorial device: his umbrella. In almost every work he painted, Huang is shown carrying his umbrella. He unfurls it as shelter from the rain, snow, and sun (figs. 2.1, 2.8). He carries it before him like a drawn sword (fig. 2.9). He uses it as a hiking stick when mountain climbing and as a staff when he wades through water (fig. 3.2). He slings it over his back knapsack-style when he does not need it (figs. 2.6, 2.10). In most of his paintings, it is his sole iconographic attribute. His careful inclusion of the umbrella in every scene indicates its importance as a symbol of the Heavenly protection he enjoyed. This image of the “canopy of Heaven” is ancient. For example, an early fourth-century bce painted banner shows a man’s soul making the perilous journey up to the Heavens protected by a canopy.68 In the same way, Huang’s ever-present umbrella denotes the constant protection of Heaven throughout his dangerous odyssey.

Filial Actions In addition to character, the actions of a filial son are a second primary element of the filial-piety tale. Huang’s paintings dramatically narrate his filial acts. The true goal of these artworks was to present proof of his filiality rather than a navigable recreation of his itinerary. A full or partial diachronic rendering of his route would have submerged his filial exploits beneath the plotline and overwhelming scenery and dangers; hence, Huang chose to put forward specific incidents of the types of filial acts that he performed during the family odyssey.

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His albums present these filial acts as a synchronic record. Each leaf becomes its own geo-narrative of his journey toward filiality. Ten basic filial acts are represented in these works. Huang is seen to climb treacherous mountains (fig. 2.3); ford rushing rivers and cross frighteningly deep chasms (figs. 3.4, 2.10); trek through dangerous flora (fig. 2.9); suffer miserable weather (fig. 2.2); confront menacing animals (fig. 3.5), soldiers (fig. 3.6), and native peoples (fig. 2.1); seek shelter (fig. 3.7); and attempt not to lose his way (fig. 2.8); all for months on end. He then faces it again, more slowly, with the additional concern of transporting his elderly parents homeward in palanquins. The inscriptions written on each painting highlight and further define the ten basic categories of filial acts pictured. Of climbing vast mountain ranges, Huang writes that above Liwu Slope “there were also precipitous cliffs that thrust up thousands of feet and looked as though they were about to fall. Instantly its harshness made me tremble in fear.”69 Climbing Guan Suo Mountain Range he comments, “crossing this mountain range, therefore, was as hard as climbing up into the blue sky! I fell several times.”70 Huang often describes the difficulty of crossing rushing waterways while hiking along a narrow mountain pathway or hazarding a makeshift bridge over a vertiginous chasm. In descending Zhuge Mountain Range he records that there was “a winding path that twists about, with dangerous cliffs that press in and narrow [the road]. It looked down upon a large stream. The watercourse was overflowing, and I did not dare look. The difficulty of putting one foot in front of the other was quite extreme!”71 At Dalongshui, “there was a strong, rushing current. Locals framed a single tree trunk to make a bridge, which was dangerous and narrow in the extreme. I skittered across. The brave traveler would look on the raging billows as though they were only tranquil waves. It looked as though I were flapping my wings as I ascended the other bank.72 Hazardous flora constantly concerned Huang. Xiangshui Pass was “thickly overgrown with thorn bushes. A narrow path cuts through the middle.”73 The horrible weather was relentless, particularly in Guizhou Province, which earned it the proverb Huang quotes: “Everywhere there are poisonous bamboo groves and precipitous peaks and cliffs, and even in the daytime you run into malarial mists on the roads. As the proverb says: The heavens never have three days of fair weather; the earth never has three li of level ground.”74 Not only did Huang suffer torrential rain and obstructive snow,75 but he also feared that the air was contaminated. At Sandu Pass at dawn he reports, “the moon rose out of the malarial mists.”76 Wild animals were a never-ending source of anxiety.

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Fig. 3.4  Huang Xiangjian, Qinglang Military Station Town, detail of a boat crossing. Leaf from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Nanjing Museum).

Fig. 3.5  Huang Xiangjian, Langqiong Road, detail of deer. Leaf from Journey in Search of My Parents (Collection of Chih Lo Lou).

Fig. 3.6  Huang Xiangjian, Baikoupo, detail of soldiers on elephants. Leaf from Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents, 1656 (Suzhou Museum).

Fig. 3.7  Huang Xiangjian, Northern Foot of Mount Jizu, detail of houses. Leaf from Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents, 1656 (Suzhou Museum).

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On the Langqiong Road, “amidst the ancient climbing vines and otherworldly rocks, a number of apes and deer were wreaking havoc that could frighten a person to tears.”77 Above Baoqing, Huang saw “tiger tracks, each as large as a bowl.”78 Unpredictable and oftentimes violent soldiers met travelers who made it through the wilds to a frontier station. The Huangguanshao Frontier Pass had “guard soldiers who interrogated us closely and repeatedly, but we were released and allowed to travel on.”79 At Baikoupo there were soldiers on elephants blocking the road, and Huang was unable to get by them: “I had to wait for them to examine my papers before they would release me, so I stayed on here temporarily. . . . I was extremely afraid because that day I had to walk a gauntlet through these armed soldiers.”80 Sometimes, however, they helped him. The soldiers who stopped Huang at Weiqing guided him along the road to Longchang.81 All Han-Chinese travelers to the southwest were fearful of local minority groups. Huang was particularly afraid of the Miao who dwelt near Xiangshui Frontier Pass. He reproduced his journey through this area in several albums. Two of his inscriptions from these works explain his concern: “The Miao minority people are fierce and violent. They have set up fortified villages in the precipitous heights. Travelers coming and going through here invariably have trouble with them.”82 “Although the Miao minority people have set up fortified villages in the precipitous heights, west of the river there is a village [where one can get] help. Their nature is fierce and violent, and their hideousness is frightening.”83 Finding shelter along the road was another filial hazard with which Huang often had to contend. One night as he and his family anchored on a stream in Guizhou, “the port was filled with clouds and mist, obscuring the trees. The moonlight was cold, I could not sleep on my solitary mat, and frost covered the hair on my temples.”84 On another night at Zhuangyuan Ridge, “I encountered a heavy rain that would not stop. The rain poured down from dark clouds. Arriving at the Ningyuan Monastery I begged lodging. I was soaked from head to foot. I took off my clothes and dried them by the fire. That night I could not sleep.”85 Becoming lost was a further frightening obstacle that Huang was forced to overcome. On a covered road outside Luodian he reports that “there were foul malarial mists like splashed ink, and below [these mists] I saw a place thick with ten thousand pines, and dark clouds like rolling waves. Befuddled, I lost my way, and I felt myself to be in especially grave danger.”86 The final and most obvious filial action for Huang was the challenge of traveling with his elderly parents in sedan chairs. Oftentimes his concern was that an overflowing body of water would wash the senior Huangs away. Below Malongzhou Road “when we met an

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overflowing stream, I was in trepidation because of the [steep decline] below the sedan chairs.”87 Beneath a sheer cliff outside Qiongshui the family encountered “an endless expanse of water. We held the sedan chairs above the waves below as we searched for a road. I almost lost my footing.”88

Heroic Filial Action The written and pictorial presentations of Huang’s journey dramatize it as heroically filial. This was justifiable in that it was a valiant odyssey attempted and completed by few. The popularity of hero-tales in the seventeenth century reinforced this choice, but the framing of Huang as hero was also vital to the goal of the filial campaign. To attain the desired outcomes, Huang could not be labeled conventionally filial. Basic Confucian precepts required every member of society to be filial, but only the most filial would be rewarded with an official title. Therefore, Huang had to be, as Li Kaishu states, “the Filial Son of Filial Sons” in order to gain the desired social recognition of such a title.89 The active hero was increasingly celebrated during the Ming-Qing transition both in life and in literature. This vogue reached its climax in the mid-Kangxi period (r. 1662–1723), when “a marked preference is shown for a more martial brand of heroism similar to that of the traditional Chinese ‘knight-errant’ (youxia), and for subjects who, though they may not have died in the changeover, took vigorous, necessary, practical, and physically demanding action to save their dynasty and their people.”90 Stories and plays relating the adventures and achievements of legendary heroes and military men of previous periods were very popular. The Three Kingdoms historical novel in which Guan Yu and Zhuge Liang play major roles enjoyed a wide circulation among readers, and Yuan-dynasty plays such as The Lone Swordsman (Dan dao hui), dealing with Guan Yu’s adventures in the south, and The Duel of Wits Across the River (Ge jiang dou zhi), in which Zhuge Liang protects the throne of Liu Bei (161–223) against the various plots of the Wu court, were also popular.91 Of particular note for Huang’s purposes was the prevalence, throughout the Ming dynasty, of the heroic southwest adventures of Guan Suo in The Story of Hua Guan Suo.92 Admiration for heroism was not confined to characters on the stage. Wen Ruilin (fl. 1690–1710) celebrated “high-spirited adventurers or noble fighters and their willingness to gather comrades and practice martial skills when chaotic times seemed imminent.”93 Huang’s image was a perfect example of Wen’s emphasis on “action in historical portrayals.” For elites, Wang Yuan (1648–1710) espoused the “superiority of an active life

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and the importance of combining book-learning and moral cultivation with actual behavior and practical experience.”94 The active life, far from being just a new philosophical or literary focus of the period, was often a necessity for officials rendered jobless and elites left penniless by the violent chaos of the period. Many former Ming officials, such as Huang Daozhou (1585–1646), traveled home through the fighting or out into it to serve at the satellite Ming courts. Huang Daozhou served the Longwu court in a military campaign, but was captured and executed in 1646.95 The county school student Li Tingsheng moved his family around the countryside for twenty-two months to avoid the invading rebel forces of Li Zicheng. Beginning in 1642, he lived off friends, worked as a roadside vendor and merchant, and finally settled back down to the job of tutor and scholar.96 Others chose resourceful, active endeavors out of interest. Liang Fen (1641–1728) traveled thousands of miles in his study of history, geography, and techniques of warfare, from which he produced a work on the geography of North China.97 Similarly, Lu Shiyi, the author of a colophon for The Travel Records of Filial Son Huang, never held an official position for any period of time. Instead, he studied spearmanship, wrote a treatise on military strategy, formed various literary and charitable societies, and traveled the south as a lecturer. He held opinions on many practical subjects, as evinced by his most impor­ tant work, Speculations (Sibianlu), which dealt with ethics, political philosophy, education, metaphysics, astronomy, geography, agricultural economics, conservation work, strategics, and feudal institutions.98 When Huang Xiangjian began to paint, taking action in hard times was not only admired as an ideal in philosophy and literature, but it was also a harsh reality for many who survived the Ming-Qing transition. Huang presents himself as heroically filial in his paintings by emphasizing the obstacles he and his family had to overcome, the immediacy of their predicaments, and the actions that they took in response. Nearly insurmountable natural elements: massive mountain ranges, rough terrain, flooding streams, “malarial” mists, and drenching precipitation dominate each scene. Amidst these difficulties are details suggesting dangerous human interactions, such as with villages inhabited by feared minority tribes (fig. 3.8) and soldiers mounted on elephants (fig. 3.6). Huang placed the primary challenge of each episode prominently in the middle to lower foreground of each painting. Huang set diminutive figures of himself and his family within these overwhelming landscapes as foils to the dangerous obstacles in which they are enmeshed and to enhance the staggering effect of the southwestern scenery.

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Fig. 3.8  Huang Xiangjian, Jiming Pass, detail of a village. Leaf from Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents, 1656 (Suzhou Museum).

Regardless, the painted figures of Huang and his family move ever forward through this all-encompassing terrain. Huang always depicts them in action, and the majority of this movement is either physically or psychologically intense. The figure of Huang climbs steep mountains and fords rushing rivers (figs. 2.3, 3.4), but he also experiences intensely stressful and mentally overwhelming situations, such as the encounters at the iron-bridge checkpoint at the GuizhouYunnan boundary (fig. 3.9) and with elephant cavalry (fig. 3.6), and the spectacle of the strange, sublime vistas of the southwest (figs. 2.27, 2.28). Huang heightened the action further by lending it a sense of immediacy, depicting himself and his family during the pivotal moments described by the

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Fig. 3.9  Huang Xiangjian, Pan River, detail of a bridge. Leaf from Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents, 1656 (Suzhou Museum).

inscriptions. In Li Peak Station, Huang illustrates how he climbed “up the Guan Suo Mountain Range, on a long, narrow and winding path, a twisting path amidst a thousand peaks,” very “near the point of total exhaustion” (fig. 2.3). Again and again, Huang paints himself and his party midway through a mountain range (figs. 2.10, 2.11, 3.1) or in the center of a river (figs. 2.4, 2.7). When he is not midstride, he is about to begin, as at the first pass through the dangerous Yelang region (fig. 2.9) or the Pan River iron bridge (fig. 3.10). The compositions created by Huang intensify the action of each scene. As exemplified by the torturous path of Li Peak Station (fig. 2.3), one strong diagonal dominates each composition and moves the eye swiftly through the

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Fig. 3.10  Huang Xiangjian, Pan River. Leaf from Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents, 1656 (Suzhou Museum).

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Fig. 3.11  Huang Xiangjian, Guan Suo Mountain Range, detail. Leaf from Journey in Search of My Parents (Collection of Chih Lo Lou).

major elements of the scene. In the Qinglang Military Station Town leaf (fig. 2.4), the viewer reads the inscription, then moves down the wild waterway, past the outcropping of cliff to Huang’s dangerous river crossing in the foreground. After reading both the Jinsha River and Mount Jizu inscriptions, the viewer travels with Huang along the rocky outcropping in the lower right and over the bridge to ascend the steep cliff that dominates the upper left (figs. 2.10, 2.32). The clarity and strength of these diagonals continuously push the eye onward to the next active form within the composition. The animated sections of landscape that form these diagonals also appear to move and shift before the viewer’s eyes, actively twisting and curving. The looming precipice, a particular favorite, occurs in different jagged-edged grotesqueries in a plethora of episodes (figs. 2.2, 2.4, 2.7, 2.12), as does Huang’s other preferred mountain form, round-topped or pointed peaks (also see figs. 2.3, 2.6, 2.8, 2.11). Huang also perfected a style of brushwork that reinforces the sense of action in each scene. He employed dry, overlapping brushstrokes to capture the texture of rounded peaks (fig. 3.11) or the crystalline-shaped mountain forms of the southwest (fig. 3.12). He often used thick black ink to outline mountains, trees,

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Fig. 3.12  Huang Xiangjian, A Stream in Guizhou, detail. Leaf from Journey in Search of My Parents (Collection of Chih Lo Lou).

and architecture (figs. 3.11, 3.12) and dark, wet, black dots and short brushstrokes to render the leaves of trees, vines, and undergrowth (fig. 3.13). His varied, overlapping brushstrokes with which he described various mountains and waters (figs. 2.28, 3.10) not only give texture to their surfaces and lend them a sense of movement, but also suggest their volume in the pictured landscape. Finally, Huang reinforced the heroic aspect of his story with inscriptional and pictorial references to three successful military heroes. In paintings of the Guan Suo Mountain Range, he described a temple to the military man Guan Suo, the fictive third son of the great general Guan Yu. It is visible in Li Peak Station (fig. 2.3) and Guan Suo Mountain Range (fig. 2.15) in the Collection of Chih Lo Lou, and it is discussed in the inscriptions of both Li Peak Station (fig. 2.3) and the Nanjing Museum’s Guan Suo Mountain Range (fig. 2.13). Temples such as this were found throughout Yunnan and Guizhou, and were believed to mark loca-

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Fig. 3.13  Huang Xiangjian, Leaving Qiongshui, detail. Leaf from Journey in Search of My Parents (Collection of Chih Lo Lou).

tions of import associated with Guan Suo when he traveled through the southwest as part of Zhuge Liang’s southwest campaign.99 They became sites for the worship of Guan Suo, who took on a righteous and courageous character similar to that of his father, Guan Yu.100 Huang painted and discussed Zhuge Mountain Range, named for the military strategist Zhuge Liang, who loyally assisted Liu Bei in gaining the throne of Shu and instigated Chinese control of the southwest region known as Nanzhong in 225 ce (fig. 2.34).101 Huang also referred repeatedly to “the time that Fubo stopped here on his southern expedition.” The Fubo general Ma Yuan commanded armies on campaigns from Gansu to Hunan. In the Pan River leaf, Huang discusses a bronze pillar standing in the corner of the city wall beside the river. This was erected by Ma Yuan to demarcate the Han Empire and may be illustrated by Huang as a thin line in the corner of the city wall (fig. 3.10).102 Huang visited numerous monasteries, government buildings,

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and famed sites on his journey, many of which were linked to religious men, civil officials, or literati. Out of all these possible celebrated historical and religious figures, Huang chose to record the monuments and topography associated with these three successful military heroes.

Filial Rewards Filial-piety tales often enumerate the rewards for the selfless actions taken by the hero. Huang emphasizes the same primary reward of his filial acts in his paintings as he and the colophonists do in their writings. The paintings, however, also present a separate and more visual set of secondary rewards. The primary reward of the journey was its success. Huang found his parents and brought them home to Suzhou. This is captured visually in the paintings through the inclusion of the senior Huangs riding sedan chairs through a variety of southwestern landscapes (figs. 2.11, 3.2). Huang reinforces this reward through straightforward statements in his inscriptions, such as “I was fortunate enough to plan the return home with my parents” and “I was able to meet my two parents in Baiyanjing.”103 Huang also relates a succession of interrelated secondary rewards accrued through his filial trek, of which his paintings are the final expression. The secondary rewards form an artistic equation of sorts. Huang’s filial actions resulted in a successful trip to the southwest. As a consequence of his southwest experience, Huang achieved an experiential understanding and ability to paint the sites and geography through which he had traveled. The filial journey required Huang to move through and experience the amazing scenery of the southwest. Huang communicates this pictorially through the strange mountain forms, foreign villages, exotic foliage, and expansive distances that his tiny figures encounter in every scene. In his inscriptions as well, he emphasizes his amazement at the remote foreign landscapes beheld on his journey. “This wild, secluded place had views that were truly beyond description”;104 “The view is very unusual, so I climbed up a hill to gaze at it”;105 “This was an exceptionally fine spot for such a remote region”; “Both the scenery and sound were especially breathtaking, and this was truly a scene to end all scenes”;106 “Few people come to this place. . . . I gazed on it as though it were a play.”107 Huang also asserts in his inscriptions that his experience of these southwestern landscapes deepened his awareness and knowledge. “When I ascended mountain ranges and crossed passes, I gazed at the green waves and vast expanse of Dian Lake and the peaks of Taihua amid a belt of billowing blue and green in the distance. It opens one’s eyes and understanding.”108

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Huang reports in his inscriptions that his experience of the scenery of the southwest remained fixed in his mind. “When I attended my parents on our return home, each ascent and descent made me think back to the ten-thousand li of mountains and streams. Every detail of famous scenery was as if before my eyes.”109 Even sixteen years later he would write, “in Baiyanjing, I served my parents. When I recall our journey home, the beautiful scenery we passed through in those days even now is before my eyes, and so I have sketched its likeness here.”110 The ultimate consequence of the experience and understanding he achieved as secondary rewards of his filial actions was his enhanced ability to paint the southwestern sites through which he had traveled. Although the importance of experience in rendering the spirit of mountains and waters was a long-standing art-historical belief by the seventeenth century, it still resonated with artists and their audience. It may be traced to one of the first extant texts to discuss painting. In his Notes on Brush Methods (Bifaji), Jing Hao relates his theories of painting in the form of a fairy tale in which a farmer, whilst sketching some ancient pines, is educated on how to paint by a mysterious old man.111 All instruction occurs outdoors while examining the scene. Seven centuries later, Ming-dynasty painters, such as Dong Qichang, continued to embrace this conviction. Dong wrote: “painters of the past usually took the old masters as their models, but it is preferable to take Heaven and Earth as teachers . . . break off the practicing after painted mountains and go out for a stroll among the real mountains.”112 Xu Xiake articulated this ideal in relation to written descriptions concerning the southwest in his introduction to the first gazetteer of Mount Jizu. “The outward manifestations of a mountain’s scenes are its peaks and caves. A scene is created when a passer-by chances upon it: once transmitted through his emotions, it is made distinct.”113 Huang Xiangjian discussed the interrelationship of experience and expression when he addressed the difficulty of capturing the southwest’s isolated scenery, particularly that of Guizhou, in several of his album inscriptions. He also presented his filial trek as the answer to the dilemma. In finding a “marvelous region” within Sinan Prefecture, Huang wrote: The proverb says, “the mountains and waters of Guizhou cannot be captured in painting.” How can people who have not seen [Guizhou] arrive at this [conclusion]? Isn’t it the case that its numinous and extraordinary mountains and streams are obscure because [Guizhou] is an uncultivated, distant, remote region? I copied this out in order to make a record of them.114

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語云：黔地山水不入畫圖。豈人所未覩遂致？山川靈異冺滅於荒陬僻壤耶？ 予摹出以識之。

This is one of several inscriptions in which Huang explains that his experience of the southwest both enabled and necessitated his painting of it. On a hanging scroll of the Jianchuan road he writes: there were precipitous cliffs and steep precipices. Winding around them for several tens of li, the path was so narrow it could not accommodate a footstep, so I staggered along. As I rested on a rock in the shade of some pines, I could hear cries of cranes and howls of apes. There was the roaring sound of a stream. Half way up the mountain there was an old Buddhist monastery. In the green coolness a couple of old monks were taking a short rest. The cliffs were astonishing and marvelous; the ravines were dark and deep. Sites such as these are not often seen in Yunnan. So I picked up my brush to record these dangers and inscribe them.115 中巉崖陡壁。盤旋幾十里窄徑不堪跓足躑躅。松陰隙間，時聞鶴唳猿啼。泉 聲淙淙。山半古刹。蒼涼有老僧一二得少憇焉。其巖壑驚奇幽深。滇雲之不 多覯者。援筆誌險且識。

The printed travel records and paintings emphasize that Huang’s filial quest allowed him to capture the strange, marvelous, “barbaric” southwest for the Suzhou citizenry, who believed they lived in the most civilized city in China. Laura Hostetler explains that throughout the late-Ming and Qing dynasties the government and also a variety of interested individuals were developing a complex categorization system for the minority groups of southwest China. There remained, however, the common Han-Chinese prejudice that southwest minority groups were uncivilized and dangerous “barbarians.” These biases are conspicuous in a variety of Chinese media of the time. Such perceptions reinforced the cultural hostilities that already existed between the southwest minorities and Han Chinese.116 In his travel records, Huang describes the unique topography, flora, and fauna of the southwest, calling them “extraordinary” (yi), “otherworldly” (guai), and “strange” or “marvelous” (qi).117 In his preface, Hu Zhouzi emphasizes Huang’s experience of assorted southwest exotica through the questions that friends and neighbors posed to Huang upon his return:

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They grasped the Filial Son’s hand and asked, “Since you went, how many li of mountains did you cross? How many li of water did you cross? How did you go forward through slippery shores and precipices, wide ridges and cliffs and dangerous mountain bends, and how did you cross the strange streams and rivers, foul winds and great billows and dashing waves? From Xinzhou and Liling to Xiangtan and Wuxi, passing through Zigang and Li’e to reach Zangge and the remote mountain paths under greenish yellow of Luodian Frontier Pass, how many places were city suburbs that had returned to wild fields of hemp and pulse? And in how many places were villages, old burial mounds, and human habitations all suddenly deserted? . . . At the frontier guard towers, government stations and public offices, when you could not find the road, who took pity on you to explain clearly, and when you were severely and repeatedly interrogated, who did not spare you? Moreover, when the mountain apes cried in the morning and nursed their young, like people, did you grieve or not? [Seeing] putrid corpses swarming with insects and goat livers bursting into flames, were you afraid or not? [Through] the smoke from the Man [minority habitations], poisonous vapors, freezing rain, and moaning wind, with exhausted hands, you held an umbrella to cover yourself. [With] chapped feet, blistered and rough, and severe muscle failure, you suffered bitterly. We who just live at home do not know anything about the road you traveled. We pray you tell your complete [story], in order that it may enlighten us.118

Huang’s biographer, Gui Zhuang, stated that throughout his southwest journey, Huang saw “marvels such as the heights and depths of numinous and extraordinary mountains and rivers; the ancient traces in famous scenic places; the marvelous trees, rocks, birds and beasts; and the variations in weather and climate and the customs of the peoples,” but finally asserted that “they can hardly be described in full.”119 They could not be described in writing, but they could be painted. “Both the scenery and sound were especially breathtaking, and this was truly a scene to end all scenes. . . . I must record it,” wrote Huang on a painting of the road through Jianfu.120 Again and again, Huang asserts this secondary reward of his filial journey: his experience enabled him to paint what others could only imagine. In his artwork Huang also emphasized his experience of the bizarre mountain forms, treacherous waterways, dangerously humid climate, unusual flora and fauna, and fierce minority tribes believed to be characteristic of the southwest. A select group of his paintings focuses almost as much on the “marvelous” aspects of the southwest as on the dangerous (figs. 2.28, 2.29). His inscriptions

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often accentuate the “otherness” of his experience, and he states repeatedly that he has entered another world altogether, one that is “extraordinary” or “marvelous,” even a land of the immortals. He notes that he has encountered an “extraordinary region” on the Langqiong Road.121 At Zangge, “the cliffs were like stone walls many thousands of feet high, with reds and greens all mixed together. At the river, ingenious stones tinkled like pendants aligned in rows where the silver sand met the jade water. One could call this a marvelous region.”122 Beside Kunming Lake, “the billowing colors of blue and green were so strong they appeared to be competing in splendor and contending in beauty. . . . I gazed at the peaks of Taihua in the distance. The water picked up their reflection . . . enveloped in mist, like the hazy islands of the immortals.”123 Viewers appreciated the “marvelous real” of the southwest as illustrated by Huang and attested by Zhou Danling, who wrote in a colophon to one of Huang’s paintings that Huang’s work was the “ultimate expression of the ‘lonely and desolate’ and ‘strange and extraordinary.’” 124

Filial Commentary Many filial-piety tales end with concluding comments of praise for the noted person. This final characteristic was supplied not by Huang, but by others close to the artist, those who wrote colophons to his paintings. Their commentaries highlight the major themes of the paintings: Huang’s filial nature, his heroic journey, his experience of the southwest, and his heightened ability to paint the southwest because of his filial-journey experience. The family friend Zhou Danling, who was also the grandson of Huang Kongzhao’s teacher, wrote two colophons on works by Huang Kongzhao, both of which begin with a statement concerning Huang’s filial nature and heroic journey. Zhou also employs the title Filial Son, similar to the colophonists of the written records. In his comments on Searching for My Parents Landscapes, Zhou writes, “if you want to know the places of heartache of the Filial Son, all are in his carefully thought-out compositions.”125 In his second painting colophon, on the Nanjing Museum’s A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents, he writes “the Filial Son, amidst the cares and toils of a journey of ten-thousand li, passed over dangers and difficulties to serve his two parents and bring them home.”126 Huang Kongzhao presents a more personal remembrance of the journey in his preface for Yearning for Father and Mother: I remember how, long ago, my son, [Xiang]jian, came all the way on foot to visit me in Dayao, Yunnan. Fortunately, [we] succeeded in returning

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unharmed to our old home district. At that time, I had been confined for many years at the end of the earth. My old home seemed like a place impossibly far away. . . . When I think back about Dayao, Yunnan, I am overcome by feelings of agitation and confusion. Because of the hair-raising hardships of the journey, I scarcely remember any of it, so my son recorded the journey and painted the scenery. I have seen nearly one hundred leaves of them. The two of us [Huang Kongzhao and his wife] in bamboo sedan chairs are painted in every leaf. [Our] son and orphaned nephew Xiangyan struggle along to our left and right. They exhibited the utmost fortitude. How could they be compared to any commonplace esthetes who go out looking for scenery!127

Both men also emphasize Huang’s experience of the southwest and present his painting style as the unique outcome of his filial odyssey. Zhou described the paintings Huang created as “numinous and elegant, truly a rare treasure. Although this scroll is not as grand and imposing as a map, nevertheless it is the ultimate expression of the ‘lonely and desolate’ and ‘strange and extraordinary.’ The excellence of its verisimilitude is also due to the careful compositions of his brush.”128 In his other colophon, Zhou explains: In the places they passed through, [Huang] examined the appearance of mountain peaks and towering mountains, roaring rivers and dashing streams. When something among them struck him, he immediately took down its form with brush and ink. This is similar to Zhang Xu’s skill at cursive script. Seeing the manifestations of things in Heaven and earth, whether joyful or alarming, he immediately had to express them in his cursive script.129 Therefore, all [Huang’s] paintings possess a genuine feel of expansiveness and built-up forms. In this he differs from those famous artists the world considers special for their painting.130 其所歴處，覧其峯巒岝峉河流澎淜之狀。有觸于中輒形之於筆墨。亦猶張旭 善草書。見天地事物之變，可喜可愕，必于草書馬發之。故其所繪圖皆有真氣 磅礴欝積於其間。與世之專以丹青名家者不同也。

Rather than describe his son’s painting style, Huang Kongzhao describes its effect on him. “I ran my hands over the leaves [of this album by my son] and after a while, I could feel every dot and drop of the blood and the tears. The wind and the mist were still there in all their splendor on the paper.”131

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The Outcome of the Campaign In a preface to his son’s painting Yearning for Father and Mother, Huang Kongzhao suggests how the emotionally compelling paintings Huang Xiangjian created as the visual aspect of the filial propaganda campaign were utilized and received. Three years after his son died, in the spring of 1676, Huang Kongzhao attached this preface to the scroll painted by Huang Xiangjian nineteen years earlier in late May and early June of 1657.132 Huang Kongzhao begins with the foremost question of his time: How can one be filial? The Confucian classics say that one should care for oneself in order to protect the family lineage, but they also state that one should seek one’s parents, no matter the distance. The preface begins: “When the ancients instructed their sons, they said: ‘do not ascend the heights, do not approach the depths.’ 133 They also said, ‘[I] climb that bare hill [and look for my mother], [I] climb that wooded hill [and look for my father].’ 134 These are words that, depending on circumstances, should be fulfilled to the utmost.” Who is the person who fulfilled those instructions to the utmost? His son Huang Xiangjian, who heroically “climbed the wooded hills” of the southwest for some ten-thousand li and brought his parents home. Huang Kongzhao continues: “I remember how, long ago, my son, [Xiang]jian, came all the way on foot to visit me in Dayao, Yunnan. Fortunately, [we] succeeded in returning unharmed to our old home district. At that time, I had been confined for many years at the end of the earth. My old home seemed like a place impossibly far away.” Having established that the paintings address the most important question of the Ming-Qing transition and that his son exemplified the selfless fulfillment of the demands of filial piety, Huang Kongzhao then attests to the factual nature of Huang Xiangjian’s paintings: “In a twinkling, twenty-three years have passed since we returned home. When I think back about Dayao, Yunnan, I am overcome by feelings of agitation and confusion. Because of the hair-raising hardships of the journey, I scarcely remember any of it, so my son recorded the journey and painted the scenery. I have seen nearly one hundred leaves of his sketches. The two of us [Huang Kongzhao and his wife] in bamboo sedan chairs are painted in every leaf. Our son and orphaned nephew Xiangyan struggle along to our left and right.135 They exhibited the utmost fortitude. How could they be compared to any commonplace esthetes who go out looking for scenery!” Next, Huang Kongzhao relates how the paintings were circulated and who viewed them. Evidently, Huang Kongzhao gave his son’s pictures to sympathetic friends, who displayed them to their visitors. “Earlier I took over ten pictures

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and offered them to old monk Muchen of Tiantong [Monastery], who loved and treasured them. Whenever worthy and famous men come by, he takes [these pictures] out so they can appreciate them.” Finally, Huang Kongzhao highlights how a person would ideally appreciate the paintings as a factual record of the Huang family’s courageous journey through the southwest: “In my failing years, I just read Buddhist texts, and at times search into fragmentary records to pass the time. But one evening I happened to go into the Qiongzhi Pavilion, and I saw on the shelf an album of the Scenic Frontier of Yunnan [Diannan shengjing]. I asked how it got there, and I was told it was painted several years before. . . . I ran my hands over the leaves [of this album by my son] and after a while, I could feel every dot and drop of the blood and the tears. The wind and the mist were still there in all their splendor on the paper.”136 Huang Kongzhao ends his preface with a rhetorical question: “How will viewers of the future see such emotions in these paintings?” Huang Kongzhao’s statement that he gave his son’s pictures to a monk reveals that one setting for viewings of the paintings was monastic. Huang Kongzhao’s participation in religious societies of this type in Yunnan suggests that he was an active member of these social groups as a retired official in Suzhou, and his son’s paintings would have held a unique appeal for this network of “loyalist” groups that met regularly in local monasteries.137 These men had chosen eremitic retirement and the study of Buddhist and Confucian texts, a familiar path of “remnant” officials. They, as did Huang Kongzhao, “just read Buddhist texts” and searched into “fragmentary records to pass the time.” Suzhou boasted a number of newly formed Buddhist study groups made up of these “recluses.” One such group, headed by the monk Hongchu (act. 17th c.), met on Mount Lingyan just west of Suzhou.138 The traditionalists that populated these groups would have enjoyed examining Huang Xiangjian’s paintings as evidence of his filial nature, just as they had examined “honorific” paintings; and they would have easily recognized the monetary need of the family in the same way that they had read the needs of the establishments illustrated in fund-raising paintings. The Huangs and their friends could have actively circulated the paintings throughout other cultural networks as well. For example, the famous Gui Zhuang had countless contacts in a variety of circles. Li Kaishu may have had connections to former loyal officials both locally and nationally. Wen Zuyao could have introduced paintings amongst local Buddhist societies of which he was a member as a follower of the monk Cangxue. If monk Cangxue had taken up the Huang family cause, he could have introduced their story and the

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paintings to his network of friends, which included nationally known poets and artists such as his close friend Qian Qianyi (1582–1664), as well as Wu Weiye, Dong Qichang, and Chen Jiru. As the visual part of the family’s filial campaign, Huang Xiangjian’s geo-narrative paintings were one form of the symbolic goods that the family introduced into a receptive elite network that continued its aid throughout the Ming-Qing transition to those deemed morally fit.139 This, in turn, seems to have yielded the family long-term financial security. Just as he had in Yunnan, Huang Kongzhao probably continued to teach the Yijing in Suzhou, where the increased fame of his miraculous return home would have brought him more students. Huang Xiangjian also taught, although his subject is unknown. No doubt his wellknown filial devotion and painterly skill attracted a coterie of students interested in classical studies or painting.140 The “expanding public market” of this period discussed by Tamara Bentley may have also afforded Huang another, more commercial means of alternative income, the evidence of which is no longer extant.141 When Huang Xiangjian died at the age of sixty-four in 1673, he was remembered not as a painter, but as a Filial Son. A variety of events indicate the local and national success of the Huang family campaign. Locally, his father, who outlived him, continued to publicize Huang Xiangjian’s filiality and the Huang family story through his son’s paintings, as evinced in the preface he wrote in 1676 (discussed above). Nationally, the Huang family story was dramatized by Li Yu (ca. 1610s–ca. 1680s) in the play Union Over Ten-Thousand Li (Wanli yuan) and was recognized by prominent Qing officials such as Liang Qingbiao (1620–91), a Ming-loyalist sympathizer, who wrote a yuefu poem about its performance.142 Indeed, the modern historian Lu Miaw-fen has called it the most famous “Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents” (Wanli xunqin) story of the Ming-Qing period.143 Imperial recognition of Huang as Filial Son was probably achieved under the Kangxi emperor (r. 1662–1722) during one of his southern tours. The Kangxi emperor spent a total of fifteen days in Suzhou during his 1705 southern tour.144 Zhou Danling reports in a colophon that a Huang Xiangjian painting was presented to the Kangxi emperor at this time as evidence of Huang’s filiality. “This spring the emperor went on a southern tour. When he arrived in Wu jun [Suzhou], Xuefu Shangren presented the handscroll Mount Jizu painted by the Filial Son. I appended two quatrains to the end of the handscroll. In them I said, ‘If you want to know the places of heartache of the Filial Son, all are in his carefully thought-out compositions.’ His paintings

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are numinous and elegant, truly a rare treasure of our time.”145 The success of this petition for imperial recognition of Huang’s Filial Son status resulted in the erection of a monument to Huang soon after his death.146 Hence, throughout the period of the Qing dynasty, a pillar to “Filial Son Huang” stood at the entrance of Liuguozi Lane in Suzhou as tangible evidence of the success of the campaign that established for him a profitable public reputation for filiality.

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Ch a p t er Fou r

Attaining a Grand View from Mount Jizu From the pagoda at the very top, as far as I could see lay the thousand peaks and myriad ravines of the Nanzhao [Kingdom]. The billowing colors of green and blue were indescribable. Then, when I gazed westward, there were the mountains that look like a Jade Dragon stretching forward, unbroken, a thousand li. It was marvelous and extraordinary. —Huang Xiangjian’s inscription at the end of the Mount Jizu handscroll

I

n 1656, Huang Xiangjian pictorialized the vista he describes above, which marks the beginning of the Himalayas, in the form of a geo-narrative handscroll of Mount Jizu (figs. 4.1–4.4). He had painted sections of this Buddhist mountain in southwest Yunnan in several ink albums used in the filial campaign (figs. 2.25, 2.32). The topographical narrative he relates here, however, displays an artistic sophistication and ingenuity unattainable in the small ink album format. The Mount Jizu handscroll (hereafter called Mount Jizu) certainly facilitated the goals of the filial campaign. Yet, along a specific path through carefully detailed and labeled sites rendered in brilliant colors, Huang engages the spatial and temporal implications of the handscroll’s painting-and-colophon format to present a unique, multilayered geo-narrative journey and concluding vista far beyond anything he had produced before. This chapter explores the multilayered experiences afforded by the Mount Jizu handscroll to a variety of contemporaneous viewers by examining its geography, the circumstances of its production, and the geo-narrative implications

A Gr a n d V i ew from Mou n t J i z u

of its style.1 As in other geo-narrative paintings, Huang instilled meaning in this artwork through topographical narrative and inscriptional commentary. The images and text employed create three interrelated, experiential readings of this handscroll, depending on the viewer’s level of knowledge of the geography of the Mount Jizu region. The first and most accessible reading of the painting is as a traditional painted journey-experience of an exotic region. The fullest reading of the second journey-experience, articulated in the inscription at the end of the painting, is dependent on the viewer’s knowledge of the history of the region and the painter’s extraordinary personal story. The third reading was available only to the type of reader who—having fully understood the topography as he viewed the painting and grasped the journey’s personal significance while reading the inscription—employed the ability born of experience and imagination to visualize the comprehensive view of the surrounding region from the mountain’s summit and to associate it with the metaphorical implications of a daguan, or “grand view.” The third reading of this multilayered geo-narrative required an intimate knowledge of seventeenth-century Mount Jizu, as well as a comprehensive historical and philosophical understanding of the mountain and the grand view it afforded within the context of contemporaneous Buddhist and Confucian thought. These would have only been available to the artist’s father, Huang Kongzhao, and perhaps a few close friends. Indeed, the full reading of the experiential journey Huang articulates in Mount Jizu was intended for his father and allowed him to travel from the linear to the limitless; the regional to the universal; and the temporal to the eternal.

Huang Xiangjian and Mount Jizu Mount Jizu was painted in ink and color on paper and is now part of the Beishantang collection in the Art Museum of the Chinese University of Hong Kong (figs. 4.1–4.4).2 The painting proper is 31 centimeters high and 561 centimeters long and depicts the landscape of Mount Jizu, located in northwest Yunnan Province on the Yungui Highlands in modern Binchuan County, Dali Bai Nationality Autonomous Prefecture (fig. 4.5). In addition to the unidentified landforms, caves, pavilions, and overlooks described in the work, it also contains thirty-one constructed and natural landmarks identified in small characters. A lengthy inscription by the artist is included at the end of the scroll.3 The painting opens with a bustling fishing village at the edge of an expansive lake.

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Fig. 4.1  Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), 1656. Handscroll, section 1, ink and color on paper, 561  31 cm. Courtesy of the Art Museum of the Chinese University of Hong Kong.

Fig. 4.2  Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), 1656, handscroll, section 2.

Fig. 4.3  Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), 1656, handscroll, section 3.

Fig. 4.4  Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), 1656, handscroll, section 4.

A Gr a n d V i ew from Mou n t J i z u

Fig. 4.5  Mount Jizu, Buddhist Pagodas in Yunnan, postcard, 2000.

A small spit of land and the route of a crowded sailboat convey viewers to the opposite shore, a heavily cultivated area of quaint villages, fantastic rock formations, roiling mountains, and cloudy waterways (figs. 4.1, 4.2). Three figures prepare to cross a covered bridge and enter a region boasting even higher, more jagged peaks and sheer, rocky outcroppings (fig. 4.3). Here, monasteries and pavilions nestled amidst alpine foliage offer views of spectacular waterfalls and distant multicolored mountain summits that emerge through clouds and mist. A harrowing bridge and vertiginous stairs lead viewers to the culminating point of the picture, the pagoda-topped peak (fig. 4.4). Though the descent down the opposite side of this peak is faintly suggested, the underlying bank of snowy mountains moves the viewer’s eyes from the pagoda directly leftward to Huang’s inscription. Huang Xiangjian does not explain the exact circumstances of his visit to Mount Jizu and his creation of the painting in his inscription, nor does he in

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The Travel Records of Filial Son Huang. In his travel records he says he traveled throughout Yunnan for several months visiting friends and students of his father in order to raise money for the trip home to Suzhou, but he never states that he climbed Mount Jizu at that time. He only mentions that he cut across the northern spur of the mountain at one point on his second fund-raising tour. Yet the use of the first-person voice, plus the lively details and topographic accuracy of his inscription on Mount Jizu suggest that he did make the climb. A second possibility is that Huang combined his visual knowledge of the vicinity with his father’s description of an ascent. Whatever the circumstances, the choices Huang Xiangjian made in painting Mount Jizu and its surroundings were based on personal experience, either his father’s or his own. This is reinforced by the repeated appearance in the painting of two figures that I believe represent Huang and his father. Huang reimagined an experience in which both men were present.

The Pictorial Topographical Narrative Huang Xiangjian utilized the symbolism of “blue-and-green” landscapes, the Suzhou topographical painting tradition, and the temporal experience of the climb to create a pictorial ascent up Mount Jizu that would have provided points of accessibility for a variety of audiences. Depending on their level of geographical knowledge or their direct experience of the mountain, different viewers’ reactions to the scroll would vary in intensity. Those who had never heard of Mount Jizu would approach the painting in one way; those who had read or heard of it would see it in another; and those who had actually traveled to Mount Jizu would have an entirely different understanding. Huang presented a blue-and-green landscape journey of panoramic views for those unfamiliar with the site, a reading of Mount Jizu available to any viewer familiar with the conventions of the painting style. This was a deliberate and uncommon choice for Huang, whose extant body of work was done primarily in ink monochrome, as discussed in chapter 2. By the late Yuan dynasty (1279– 1368), the term “blue-and-green” (qinglü) was well established, and the integration of these colors into Suzhou landscape painting signified a variety of themes concurrently. Most generally it implied escape and eremitism and a paradisiacal island or mountain of the immortals.4 More specifically it was employed by fourteenth-century landscapists to identify remote geographic regions of

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Fig. 4.6  Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of a boat and a village, 1656 (Art Museum of the Chinese University of Hong Kong).

quasi-sacred character, as in the Suzhou painter Chen Ruyan’s (ca. 1331–71) 1366 rendering of the sacred Daoist Mount Luofu.5 Huang further augmented his presentation of Mount Jizu as escape and paradise by employing Ming-dynasty pictorial conventions used to illustrate the poem “Peach Blossom Spring” by Tao Qian (Tao Yuanming, 365–427), in which a solitary fisherman, upon entering a cave amidst a grove of flowering peach trees, finds a utopian farm community that had been separated for centuries from the modern world. Huang alludes to this story at the opening of the handscroll through the cluster of brightly hued blossoming trees that mark the entrance to a fishing village, a moored boat (fig. 4.6), and clumps of foliage rendered as rich red dots (fig. 4.7), which by the lateMing period were all clichéd signifiers of Tao’s classic tale.6 Huang located the exotic geography of Mount Jizu within the Suzhou famoussites painting tradition by labeling its landmarks and codifying its topography.

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Fig. 4.7  Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of Huadian and farming, 1656 (Art Museum of the Chinese University of Hong Kong).

Identifying places by means of frontispieces, inscriptions, and labels had been practiced in Suzhou and other southern painting centers for centuries (discussed in chapter 1). Huang labeled various locations throughout the painting, enabling the unversed to familiarize themselves with some of the Mount Jizu sites and affording those who had read or heard of them with the opportunity to compare their knowledge to his pictorial renderings.7 The thirty-one constructed and natural landmarks identified in small characters on the work designate a specific itinerary of carefully chosen sites through the painted landscape. The labeled sites occur as follows: Brushwood Market (Chai shi); Haoran Pavilion; Er Lake; Lubai Village; Aurora-Soaked Peak (Yi Xia feng); Xiacang; Watermill (Shuideng); Lingxiu Pass; Catalpa Village (Zi cun); Flower Domain (Huadian); All Connections Ferry (Baijie du); Sand Islet Village (Shazhi cun); Jinsha River; White Stone Cave (Baishi dong); White Stone Precipice (Baishi ya); Binchuan;

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Dragon Flower Monastery (Longhuasi); Cleanse the Heart Bridge (Xixin qiao); Pressing the Clouds Cliff (Pixiao yan); Qixian Ravine; Pouring Clouds Spring (Guanyun quan); Mid-Cliff Basin (Zhongdengpan); Vast Assembly Monastery (Haihuisi); Dragon Tarn (Longtan); Immortal Yang Cave (Yang Zhenren dong); Kāśyapa Monastery (Jiayesi); Tus.ita Buddhist Shrine (Doushuai’an); Universally Scenic Bridge (Pusheng qiao); Monkey Stairs (Husun ti); Mount Jizu; and [Jade Dragon] Snowy Mountains or Himālayas (Xueshan). An earlier example of this type of site identification through labels is employed in the well-known handscroll Eight Views of Jiahe associated with Wu Zhen, in which the artist depicts and carefully labels the mountains and ponds, monasteries and bridges of Jiahe, Jiaxing.8 Huang further accentuated this labeled route with a meandering footpath that appears throughout the scroll and swashes of bluish-green color that highlight the landscape forms. Viewers who examined the labels and sites along this designated itinerary could simulate the physical act of travel by stopping to appreciate each identified locality as though literally journeying through it. This would have been a recognizable experience for those viewers acquainted with travel narratives and religio-tourist records. Such texts presented landscape journeys through descriptions of the individual sites encountered along the way, while mountain gazetteers were organized into categorical lists of sites such as monasteries, shrines, waterways, and rock formations, as in Wang Shixing’s Mount Jizu Travel Record (You Jizushan ji) discussed later.9 A modern tourist pamphlet for Mount Jizu describes the mountain in this traditional way, boasting of its “13 wonderful summits, 35 extraordinary cliff walls, 8 caves, over 100 springs and streams, 50 strange stones and 9 straits.”10 Extant records suggest that these labels would have provided enough information to enhance the illustrated journey for educated seventeenth-century Suzhou viewers. Unlike the Huang family, most contemporary viewers of Mount Jizu were restricted from traveling to the site due to the continued Manchu military campaigns in the southwest. Some, however, would have read descriptions of the mountain in writings and publications already in circulation. Mount Jizu had been discussed as a religious marchmount, foreign realm, and scenic site by a number of writers earlier in the Ming dynasty.11 Deng Huoqu (1498–1570?), a preliminary-degree holder, traveled to Yunnan in search of spiritual illumination in 1545. He climbed Mount Jizu in 1547 and documented the journey in his Record of a Quest in the South (Nanxunlu), which enjoyed some popularity around 1600.12 Wang Shixing (1547–98), who served as an official in Yunnan, wrote of his visit to Mount Jizu and other southwestern sites in

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his Drafts of Travels to the Five Sacred Mountains (Wuyue youcao), printed in 1593.13 Xie Zhaozhe (1567–1624; jinshi degree, 1592) traveled to Yunnan to serve as Administration Vice-Commissioner and while there compiled Summary of Dian [Yunnan] (Dianlüe), which described the geography, sites, produce, customs, personages, history, literature, minority groups, and curiosities of the region.14 Other writers, such as Xie Dongshan (jinshi degree, 1541), who served as Vice Education-Intendant Censor in the neighboring province of Guizhou to the east of Yunnan; Zhou Fujun (1496–1573; jinshi degree, 1532), who served as Provincial Administration Commissioner in Yunnan and neighboring Sichuan to the north; and Yunnan native Li Yuanyang (1497–1580; jinshi degree, 1526), also recorded their visits to the mountain in short essays.15 It was the exiled official Yang Shen, however, who created the largest early corpus of material on the area. A Sichuan native, Yang Shen spent over thirty years in the Yunnan region after his banishment there in 1524 and produced a number of studies on Yunnan. His Gazetteer of the Mountains and Rivers of Yunnan (Yunnan shanchuan zhi) discusses the regional scenery, and his Historical Records of Dian [Yunnan] (Dian zaiji) describes its geography. The climate and other oddities are treated in Record of the Climate of Dian (Dian houji); and his journeys there are recounted in Diary of a Journey to Dian (Dian chengji).16 Several of these travelers to Yunnan were nationally prominent figures, and it is likely their writings on Mount Jizu and its environs enjoyed a fair readership. Julian Ward asserts that the most famous southwestern traveler and writer, Xu Xiake (1587– 1641), certainly did read them and supplemented them in his own writings.17 The travel diaries of Xu Xiake represent the most detailed writings of any unofficial traveler to journey to Mount Jizu. Xu also compiled the first gazetteer for the mountain.18 Mount Jizu, listed under its earlier appellation of Mount NineCurve (Jiuqu shan), was also recorded in the 1461 Comprehensive Gazetteer of the Great Ming (Da Ming yitong zhi), a topographical survey of the domains of the Ming dynasty at that time.19 This imperially sponsored compilation, which includes a preface by the Tianshun emperor (Yingzong, r. 1457–64), gathered together a wide range of geographical information, including regional maps, lists of topographical features, and surveys of local customs from all of the country’s provinces and capital regions. Although it was originally printed by the government, at least two commercial editions of the work were published in the sixteenth century due to its popularity.20 Local printers such as Hangzhou’s Yang Erzeng, in his 1609 Strange Views Within the [Four] Seas (Hainei qiguan), included more detailed descriptions of the mountain in their compilations of

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Fig. 4.8  “Mount Jizu,” from Yang Erzeng, Hainei qiguan, 1609. Courtesy of the C. V. Starr East Asian Library, University of California, Berkeley.

the fantastic and scenic sites of the realm.21 Although pictorial renderings of Mount Jizu are hardly attested in the extant paintings or painting catalogs of this period, printed images of the mountain were in circulation at this time. The entry for Mount Jizu in Strange Views Within the [Four] Seas includes a generic image of the mountain proper complete with labels (fig. 4.8), which accompanies an edited and unattributed version of Wang Shixing’s record of climbing the mountain. This evidence suggests that written and pictorial descriptions of Mount Jizu circulated at the national and local levels, creating a general awareness of the mountain in late Ming times. Huang’s inclusion of several well-known spots offered the pleasure of recognition to this knowledgeable audience. Descriptions by writers such as Wang Shixing and Xie Dongshan and depictions of Mount Jizu in books such as Strange Views Within the [Four] Seas include many of the sites labeled in the painting, such as Cleanse the Heart Bridge, Dragon Flower Monastery, and Tus.ita Buddhist Shrine.22 Indeed, several of the sites illustrated by Huang, such as the Monkey Stairs and the summit pagoda (later named Fangguang Pagoda), were among the most acclaimed of the mountain’s many

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Fig. 4.9  Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of the Mount Jizu summit and the Monkey Stairs, 1656 (Art Museum of the Chinese University of Hong Kong).

famed landmarks. Viewers who had read about Mount Jizu might find a landmark with which they were familiar. Identifying individual sites by their labels and comparing the representative topographical characteristics of the sites to their personal understanding of the area would have provided viewers with a pleasurable puzzle and heightened their immersion in the painted journey. The places Huang chose to label were a mixture of celebrated sites and lesserknown spots. Earlier travelers had recorded their visits in glowing terms similar to those used by Yang Shen for the region labeled Er Lake, which opens the handscroll (fig. 4.1). The lake was “a crescent moon-shaped slice of deep blue,” wrote Yang, with “the town, its towers and pavilions rising up above the smoky clouds, its roads filled with fragrant balmy breezes which assailed the passer-by.”23 Similar to most travel records of this time, and Huang Xiangjian’s inscription given below, Ming writers focused on the monasteries, shrines, unique geological formations, scenic views, and religious history of Mount Jizu in accounts of their ascent of the mountain proper. A particularly favorite anecdote was the harrowing final climb to the summit on the steep and treacherous Monkey Stairs (fig. 4.9), which are also labeled in the painting. Wang Shixing described them as “stone teeth biting

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Fig. 4.10  Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of the Dragon Flower Monastery, 1656 (Art Museum of the Chinese University of Hong Kong).

and gnawing, their sharp points coming up and out; their sharpness was similar to a double-edged sword or halberd. . . . Overhead there was a rope you could pull on and drag yourself up like an insect.”24 Li Yuanyang reported: “In the chilly morning hour we ascended the Monkey Stairs with our hands clambering and our feet climbing, and at times we felt the stones move. When our feet drew near our hands our knees drew near our chests. The hats of the people behind often touched the shoes of the people ahead.”25 In addition to this famous natural scenery, Huang also labeled a number of the most well-known man-made structures on the mountain proper, such as the Dragon Flower (fig. 4.10) and Kāśyapa (fig. 4.11) monasteries. Several sites, however, including Qixian Ravine and Immortal Yang Cave, are rarely identified in other contemporary travel writings and gazetteers. The reason for this will be discussed later.

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Fig. 4.11  Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of Kāśyapa Monastery, 1656 (Art Museum of the Chinese University of Hong Kong).

Huang also made the most famous places on the mountain accessible to well-read viewers by drawing from the established artistic menu formulated by Suzhou place-painters. He illustrated many of the labeled locales by accentuating one or two of their most identifiable traits, just as Suzhou famous-sites painters rendered Hushan by means of a foreground pagoda and arch bridge (figs. 1.13, 1.28) and Stone Lake with two arch bridges and a pagoda-topped peak (figs. 1.14, 1.33). Huang presents the exotic geography of Mount Jizu in this same way. He pictures the famously precarious cliffs of Xiacang (fig. 4.12)—whose stones, according to Xie Dongshan, “were formed into lofty arches and looked as though they were about to fall”—as two looming rocks over a miniature passerby.26 With a profusion of red speckles Huang represents the fields of exotic flowers of Flower Domain (fig. 4.7), which had so inspired Li Yuanyang that he devoted an entire essay to his experience of them.27 Similarly, Huang encapsulates the Dragon Flower Monastery (fig. 4.10) by portraying the main temple building and nearby deep forest of “ten thousand pines” that “beautifully filtered sunlight,” according to Wang Shixing.28 Connecting these identifiable sites are areas of generic unidentified fields, tributaries, and mountains.

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Fig. 4.12  Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of Xiacang, 1656 (Art Museum of the Chinese University of Hong Kong).

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Huang also included experiential renderings of other codified sites for a still narrower audience personally familiar with Mount Jizu and Yunnan. This too was a common practice among Suzhou site painters, who organized the codified topography and architectural elements of sites such as Hushan in a way that reinforced the experiential intent of these works. Not only did the codified view of an islet monastery with pagoda and arch bridge bordering a canal indicate Hushan to viewers; but more significantly, these elements were also composed to synopsize the way viewers would remember encountering them during a visit (figs. 1.13, 1.28). Huang integrated in his painting similar subtle references to Mount Jizu’s geographical curiosities and impressive views that would have been understood only by the exclusive coterie of travelers who had personally visited the mountain. Their intimate knowledge of it would allow them to reflect upon the unillustrated implications of certain sites. For example, although Huang capably renders the precipitous Monkey Stairs (fig. 4.9), he obscures behind a wall of rocks the memorably steep steps that visitors ascend to reach the Kāśyapa Monastery (fig. 4.11). These are only alluded to by Wang Shixing, who “clambered up to Kāśyapa Hall to pay my respects to the image of that worthy.”29 Huang presents the ascent of the mountain in the horizontal handscroll format by organizing the labeled and unlabeled sites and journey path to reflect the overarching experience of the climb. The pictorial synopsis of a journey was another common device of seventeenth-century Suzhou painters. In works depicting the famous sites of Suzhou, such as the Stone Lake area (figs. 1.14, 1.33), the distinctive elements in the lower to middle foreground of the arriving boaters and arch bridges signify the beginning of the trip. The midpoint of the experience is captured in the upper middle ground by the most striking natural or architectural object one encountered when moving through the site; here Stone Lake on the left and the pilgrim shops and religious buildings on the right. The culminating moment of the tour is usually symbolized in the upper picture frame by a monastic establishment atop a mountain, such as the Mount Shangfang pagoda of Stone Lake and the revelatory view it provides. Other painters expanded the conceptual presentation of routes from a single site in one painting to an extended journey through a number of Suzhou famous sites (figs. 1.35–1.43). These paintings demanded not only an experiential familiarity with the individual sites depicted, but also a comprehensive knowledge of Suzhou’s geography in order to understand the implications of the illustrated route. Huang employed and pushed these conceptual presentations further still in his rendering of Mount Jizu.

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Climbing Mount Jizu, which rises 3,240 meters, was a long and difficult endeavor, as noted by the majority of the above-mentioned writers.30 Even today, with the help of modern concrete stairs, it takes several hours. For those in the know, Huang cleverly exploited the horizontal handscroll format to relate this arduous vertical climb visually. The first half of the scroll encompasses the approximately 104 kilometers from the Er Lake district to the base of Mount Jizu, represented by Cleanse the Heart Bridge midway through the scroll (figs. 4.1–4.3).31 There is only a gentle rise in elevation over this long distance. The second half of the handscroll illustrates the far steeper vertical ascent of Mount Jizu from Cleanse the Heart Bridge (figs. 4.3, 4.4). The height of the mountain is only about one thirty-second of the distance to the mountain from Er Lake, but the steep climb certainly makes the two distances feel comparable. Hence, Huang divides his illustration of these two distances evenly over the scroll, equating the easier, although lengthier, trek to the base of Mount Jizu with the physical exertion and time required to reach its summit. His formula would have been understood only by an experienced or well-informed few. They alone would have realized Huang’s depiction for what it was: an experiential illustration of the duration of the trip.32 Huang’s color scheme, codified landscape, and experiential renderings of the Mount Jizu itinerary allowed for various readings of the handscroll. To those unfamiliar with the site, he presented an informative landscape journey of panoramic views. This general audience was invited to observe and imagine the expansive views of a mountain journey in an exotic paradise. His codified inclusion of several of the most famous spots on Mount Jizu offered the pleasure of recognition to a knowledgeable audience who had heard or read about the mountain, most often in travel records or gazetteers. With the painting they could enjoy and expand upon what they knew. Finally, the experiential renderings of certain obscure labeled sites and the journey up the mountain would have captured the visual interests of a still narrower audience personally familiar with the Yunnan mountain.

The Textual Topographical Narrative At the end of the pictorial journey viewers are confronted with the artist’s inscription (fig. 4.4). The organization and content of this narrative creates a second reading of the experiential journey represented in the painting.33 The

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inscription presents a succinct, Buddhist version of Mount Jizu’s history and an account of Huang’s journey to the summit that includes a number of the author’s personal thoughts and experiences: details that accentuate and refine the visual information of the first experiential journey through the painted imagery. Each viewer would have brought her or his own particular knowledge and understanding to the inscription’s information. Huang’s inscription begins as follows: Mount Jizu is in Dali prefecture in Yunnan. In ancient times, it was part of the Western Regions where Śākyamuni [Buddha] appeared in the world. In the time of King Zhao of the Zhou dynasty, when Kāśyapa became the principal disciple [of Śākyamuni], there was as yet no contact with China. Therefore, Kāśyapa was able to use Mount Jizu as his place of practice. It is called Mount Jizu [Chickenfoot] because the mountain is formed with three branches in front and one in the back, exactly like the four toes of a chicken’s foot. [The Buddhist doctrine] was transmitted from Kāśyapa through a chain of twenty-eight disciples to Bodhidharma, and it was he who brought the robe and begging bowl of Kāśyapa into China. There were then six transmissions to Luneng [Huineng; 638–713], who lived in the mid-Tang dynasty. 鷄足山隸滇之大理府，迺古西域地，釋迦顯化處也。自周昭王之世而迦葉 爲其大弟子是時未與中國通。故迦葉得以以鷄足爲道場。名鷄足者以山形前 出三支，後出一支，誠若鷄足之四趾然也。及迦葉二十八傳至達摩持迦葉所 傳之衣鉢以入中國。六傳至於盧能，則唐之中葉也。

Up to the late sixteenth century, Mount Jizu in Yunnan was officially known as Mount Nine-Curve and was still listed as such in the Comprehensive Gazetteer of the Great Ming.34 Contemporaneous writers, however, called it Mount Jizu when they discussed its Buddhist traditions, religious institutions, and topography. Some wrote of its historical links to Buddhist legends concerning the first Buddhist Indian ruler, Emperor Aśoka (r. 272–231 bce), who is said to have built a monastery on Kukkutapāda (Mount Chickenfoot) in India. Yang Shen, for example, suggested that the first native ruler of the Mount Jizu area was a third-generation descendant of this ruler.35 Others presented the mountain as the spiritual successor to its Indian counterpart, emphasizing its sacred landscape in which Buddhist monasteries could thrive and monks and pilgrims worship. Huang identifies the painted landscape as Mount Jizu, not Mount Nine-Curve, and deliberately locates it within the history of Buddhism in China. Although

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records state that Buddhist structures existed on the mountain as early as the Three Kingdoms period (220–80) and more were added during the Tang dynasty (618–907), the mountain was not considered part of Buddhist sacred geography in China, nor did it gain the cachet of a pilgrimage site until the Ming-Qing period.36 By the mid-seventeenth century, the Fifth Great Buddhist Mountain, as it was sometimes called, had “seventy-two large temples, three hundred and sixty monasteries and incalculable small shrines.”37 An early Qing observer reported that the five largest monasteries on the mountain boasted between several hundred and a thousand worshipers.38 These religious visitors ranged in status from the hordes of monks and mountain farmers who flocked to the mountain in celebration of the New Year to such educated elites as Wang Shixing, Xie Zhaozhe, and the philosopher Li Zhi (Li Zhuowu, 1527–1602), who retired to Mount Jizu in 1581 to study Buddhism for a time after serving as an official in nearby Yaoan.39 As revealed in Huang’s terse synopsis of Mount Jizu’s role in Buddhist history, the religious lore of the original Mount Chickenfoot in India was superimposed, or relocalized, upon its Yunnan namesake.40 Tang- and Song-dynasty sources, such as the Baolin [Monastery] Record (Baolin juan) compiled in 801, explain the transmission from Buddha Śākyamuni to Mahākāśyapa (Kāśyapa) of not only his dharma (teachings), but also his robe. As in the Baolin Record, most of these early sources do not appear to include a begging bowl. At the end of his life, Mahākāśyapa is reported to have transmitted the dharma to the disciple Ānanda. Mahākāśyapa then took the robe and entered Mount Chickenfoot, which readers might have interpreted as the Indian mountain Kukkutapāda in Magadhā or Mount Jizu in Yunnan. He entered a “trance of extinction” in Mount Chickenfoot, to await the arrival of the future Buddha, Maitreya, billions of years later, when he would present him with the robe of Buddha Śākyamuni.41 Ming-dynasty writers such as Wang Shixing, Xie Dongshan, and Xu Xiake incorporated the transmission story of the original Indian Kukkutapāda into their discussions of Mount Jizu in Yunnan, and some plainly believed Kāśyapa dwelt in Mount Jizu in Yunnan, awaiting the arrival of the future Buddha, Maitreya.42 Huang includes the Yunnan mountain in the “Western Regions,” a geographical term that could denote anything west of China proper, but traditionally referred to Central Asia, India, and Nepal: the birthplace of Śākyamuni. Traditionally but incorrectly, Huang dates the discipleship of Kāśyapa to the reign of King Zhao (trad. r. 1052–1001 bce) of the Zhou dynasty (1046–256 bce)

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in China, when Buddhism had not yet been transmitted to China.43 After a brief description of the topographic accuracy of the Yunnan mountain’s name, perhaps as further evidence of its rightful role as present home of Kāśyapa, he uses Kāśyapa as the starting point in a description of the transmission of Chan Buddhism, as symbolized by the robe and begging bowl of Kāśyapa through a succession of disciples. Chan teachings promoted the idea of an elite lineage of patriarchs, beginning with Buddha Śākyamuni, who was said to have “transmitted his highest teaching or dharma (fa) . . . the formless, ineffable essence of the Buddha’s awakening—the ‘Buddha-mind’ (foxin) itself” to Mahākāśyapa (Kāśyapa).44 Huang describes the transmission from Kāśyapa to Bodhidharma, the Indian patriarch who brought Chan teachings to China. Finally, Huang relates the succession of Chan Buddhism through its Chinese teachers to the sixth Chan patriarch, Luneng (Huineng). Huang next turns to the political history of the place. His inscription continues: “At that time, the Nanzhao [Kingdom] established its own reign periods and designated its own kings, who opposed China, so everyone in the realm knew of the beauty of Mount Jizu, but no one could travel there” 其時南詔尚建 號稱王，與中國抗，天下唯知有鷄足之勝而不得游也. A reference to alien rulers of the past—the Nanzhao—controlling culturally and religiously significant sites, including Mount Jizu, would most likely have reminded Huang’s contemporaries of the newly established foreign Qing regime surrounding them. Early Qing writers were known to voice their opposition to the Manchu rulers by discussing the ill effects of non-Han rulers of previous dynasties, such as the Mongols of the Yuan dynasty (1279–1368).45 At the height of its power in 859, the Nanzhao Kingdom (649–902) had expanded northward to challenge the power of the native Tang dynasty and came to control all of Yunnan, Upper Burma, and sections of Guizhou, Sichuan, Western Hunan, and Guangxi. Almost eight hundred years later, foreign Manchu troops were moving southward to eliminate the last remnants of the native Ming court and its supporters in Yunnan. Mount Jizu, which stood squarely amidst the battle-torn geography of this province, was as inaccessible to the seventeenth-century viewers of Mount Jizu as it had been for their Tang predecessors. In the next section Huang presents his personal connections to Mount Jizu. Huang’s inscription continues: “After my father retired, he regularly traveled here and composed poems, along with two or three Buddhist friends. Then when I found my parents, I obeyed [my father’s] instructions to visit his former students [with letters of introduction]” 家嚴解徂 以來常與二三方外交，得游詠於此里。旣遇親，復賚父命訪諸門賢.

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With his reference to the frequent trips Huang Kongzhao and his Buddhist friends made to the mountain and the literary activities they enjoyed there, Huang Xiangjian indicates he revered Mount Jizu because of its importance to his father. Huang Kongzhao’s travels to this Buddhist mountain were not only for literary gatherings, but also were part of his devotion to Buddhism later in life. Those familiar with the Huang family or who had read Huang’s narrative of the journey published upon the family’s return, knew that Huang Kongzhao had lived a monklike existence in Yunnan. Huang Xiangjian wrote in his travel journal that prior to finding his father he was told by the local Yunnan Circuit Intendant Gu Xin of “all the hardships Father had endured,” but that now he was “delighted to be an official no longer and had put his heart into [the study of] Buddhist scriptures. Peaceful at leisure and untroubled, he was called a true immortal and true Buddha.”46 After Huang found his father in Yunnan, he wrote that his father’s house was “as bare as a monk’s cell. A scroll of [the Buddhist Bodhisattva] Guanyin hung on the wall and only Fuxi’s Book of Changes and some Buddhist texts lay on the table.”47 On a fund-raising tour in the region, Huang visited a friend of his father’s and learned of his father’s formation of a local Buddhist Lotus Society with three other friends to “prepare for the next life.”48 Huang Kongzhao and Mr. Gao had organized this Lotus Society for the Dayao-Yaoan region. It met in the monasteries of the Miaofeng and Longfeng Mountain Ranges that bracketed the two urban centers of Dayao and Yaoan. Societies of this type were usually affiliated with one particular monastery, but it appears that this society met at several complexes throughout these two mountain ranges.49 It may have met on Mount Jizu as well. Indeed, Mount Jizu is the subject of the only literary effort Huang reports that his father attempted on the trip home to Suzhou. During the family’s return journey, they stayed with friends just outside Yunnanfu (modern Kunming), where Huang Kongzhao and a friend exchanged poems commemorating Mount Jizu.50 Huang Kongzhao did not abandon his Buddhist practices when he departed Yunnan. On the journey home, for example, he discussed Chan Buddhist concepts with some traveling monks.51 Huang Xiangjian also links his personal experience of Mount Jizu and its environs with his filial duty. His father sent him there on a mission. Huang does not state that he was traveling in the area to raise funds, but a contemporary reader would have understood the implications of the letters his father prepared for him. Letters of introduction earned instant cachet with strangers and could provide travelers with safety, lodging, food, monetary gifts, and company on the

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road. Though Huang does not fill in the details of why the family needed assistance, he has made his point. Filial devotion occasioned his personal experience of Mount Jizu. Huang’s inscription continues: I followed the foothills of the Diancang Mountains to reach Brushwood Market and climbed Haoran Pavilion, leaning out to gaze over the lakeshore. Though the wind whipped the water into high waves, at times it was an endless expanse of clear, still water. It was truly a boundless view. So I crossed over Er Lake and then went about twenty li to arrive at Lubai Village. Several hundred families were all living in earthen houses beside a cliff. The solitary tall peak [here] is Aurora-Soaked Peak.52 Traveling on I reached Xiacang. Two cliffs faced each other, and the rocks configured in layers looked as though they were about to fall. I heard the sound of flowing water as I walked on two or three li. Off the path were many low houses straddling a stream. This was Watermill. It was mostly level fields near the stream, and for several li the villagers’ houses lined both sides of the road like a market district. A local here pointed out that in the jumble of mountains in the distance was Flower Domain. When spring turns to summer, its profusion of flowers bloom so ravishingly, and with such an intoxicating fragrance, that it is akin to the Isle of the Immortals. As it was late autumn, unfortunately I was unable to see this extravagant display. Reaching the territory of Binchuan, I came to All Connections Ferry. At the ford was White Stone Precipice and cave. Winding through the jumble of rocky hills, we were able to pass through the mountain range with its scenic views.53 I disembarked at Sand Islet Village, and then I crossed Cleanse the Heart Bridge. The Dragon Flower Monastery here is situated deep within a pine forest. Then I ascended Pressing the Clouds Cliff. The cliff was level, as though it had been planed, and overlooked a deep valley of a good eight thousand feet. A waterfall swirled around the rocks here and fell. A mass of peaks was arrayed like a screen. Rocks protruded through the purple and green [foliage], and there were many extraordinary flowers falling. The single log that bridged [the waterfall] was too precarious to cross. So then I sought out the secluded path below the cliff, which led me out to Mid-Cliff Basin, Nine Bends Turn, and Ancient Dragon Tarn, until I reached the Monkey Stairs, with its sharp, uneven stones. Seeing that the

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cracks in the rocks made walking impossible, I crawled on my hands and knees another two to three li to arrive at the Tuzhu Temple on the summit. 爰是由點蒼之麓至柴市，登浩然閣，凭瞰海濱。風浪洶湧，時而萬頃澄渟， 真曠觀也。遂渡洱海，約行二十餘里至艣擺。居民數百家，傍嵓多土屋，一峯 高擁乃挹霞嶺也。迤邐至下倉，兩崕對峙，石勢崚嶒如欲墮狀。聞水聲潺潺 行二三里，道傍多矮屋，跨磵已者乃水磴也。夾澗多平田，又數里，有邨人家 夾道居如市廛之。土人遙指亂山之中有花甸焉。當春夏之交，萬花齊發，㶷爛 非常，香風襲人，不啻仙島。然值秋深，惜未得覩此繁華。旣達賓川之境，抵 百接渡。渡口有白石厓，洞。磊落嵯峨盤折可達巔攬勝。下有沙址村，過洗心 橋。龍華寺，萬松深處。登逼霄嵓。嵓平如削，下臨邃谷，傾欹千仞。奔瀑盤 旋而下。群峯障列。石骨稜稜紫翠，錯落多異花。架獨木爲梁，危不可度。復 覓嵓下奧路，穿出至中磴盤，九灣轉，古龍潭，以至猢孫梯，芒石齟齬。視石 罅投足，匍匐約二三里至土主殿。

The structure of Huang’s written description about trekking up Mount Jizu reinforces his pictorial narrative of the labeled sites of the painting. He writes of the trip as a series of moves between twenty-two historic, religious, and geographic landmarks. In the inscription, Huang identifies a site on his route, the attributes for which it is known, his experience of it, and then lists the next site. Occasionally he estimates the distance between two. Huang does not emphasize the experiences of the road, but the chain of man-made edifices and unique topography one encounters on the way. As in the painting, Huang also invites the reader of his inscription to imagine the act of seeing the landscape. Huang describes the overlook from the Haoran Pavilion as an “endless expanse of clear, still water. It was truly a boundless view” (figs. 4.1, 4.13). At White Stone Precipice, he reports, “when you climb up the rocks you can get to the top and grasp the view” (figs. 4.14, 4.15). The most dramatic sight is the one from the mountain summit. The inscription continues: “From the pagoda at the very top, as far as I could see lay the thousand peaks and myriad ravines of the Nanzhao [Kingdom]. The billowing colors of green and blue were indescribable. Then, when I gazed westward, there were the mountains that look like a Jade Dragon stretching forward, unbroken, a thousand li. It was marvelous and extraordinary” 爲絕頂有浮屠縱目之頃南詔千峰萬 壑。飛青湧翠，不能殫述。而西望有山如玉龍者綿亘千里。尤爲奇絕。 Huang had already related the difficult climb to the top of Mount Jizu pictorially, and the end of the inscription also takes him to the summit. The forty-

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Fig. 4.13  Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of Haoran Pavilion, 1656 (Art Museum of the Chinese University of Hong Kong).

two-meter-high pagoda atop Mount Jizu offers a spectacular panorama of a “thousand peaks and myriad ravines.” Both those in the know and the uninitiated would have seen this section as the apex of both the handscroll and the inscription. The implications of this highest viewing point within the handscroll are examined in detail later. Huang’s inscription ends thus: Oh! My brush cannot describe the marvels beyond marvelous and dangers beyond dangerous I had come through in ten-thousand li. Arriving here, I wondered if I was in another realm altogether. In the bingshen year [1656], during the first ten-day period of late autumn, I completed this painting together with the inscription. The man who returned home over ten-thousand li, Huang Xiangjian 噫！萬里以來，奇外之奇，險外之險，筆所未罄。到此恍然别有天地。 時丙申秋杪，上浣圖成並識。 萬里歸人黃向堅

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Fig. 4.14  Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of the middle of the scroll, 1656 (Art Museum of the Chinese University of Hong Kong).

In emphasizing its far-distant location and the distinctly foreign landscape of “marvels beyond marvelous” and terrain full of “dangers beyond dangerous,” Huang establishes the locale illustrated as an otherworldly place, “another realm altogether,” and further reinforces the initial connotation established in his choice of a blue-and-green palette. Yunnan was considered a faraway, foreign, peripheral land from its earliest mention in Chinese documents. The “Tribute of Yu” (Yu gong) section of the Book of Documents (Shujing), dateable to between 475 and 221 bce, presented the Zhou Empire as the geographical center of the world, encircled by areas ruled by nobles, and finally, at the extreme edge, surrounded by “barbarian” lands. In this geographic schema, the northern part of what is now Yunnan was labeled “Liangzhou” and considered one of the nine provinces of ancient China, whereas its extreme southerly section fell within the barbarian territories, and its inhabitants were labeled the

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Fig. 4.15  Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of the White Stone Precipice, 1656 (Art Museum of the Chinese University of Hong Kong).

Man, or “southern barbarians.”54 Other early works depicted these “peripheral” lands as otherworldly and mystical. The Mountains and Seas Classic (Shanhai jing), the earliest sections of which are now considered to date to around 300 bce, presents the familiar center of China fairly accurately, whereas marvelous and strange creatures are reported to inhabit the unexplored sections surrounding it, such as those in the territory of Yunnan.55 The Chronicle of Emperor Mu (Mu Tianzi zhuan), datable to around 400 bce, tells of the spiritual beings and numinous sites encountered in these peripheral areas by King Mu of the Zhou dynasty (r. 956–918 bce, trad. r. 1001–946 bce) on his journey to the magical Kunlun Mountains in the west.56 The peripheral character of the Yunnan region was only heightened by its later history. When officially affiliated with China during the Han dynasty (206 bce–220 ce), it was ruled by local tribal chiefs, rather than Confucian-educated Han officials who recog-

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nized the emperor. The later independent Nanzhao Kingdom established during the Tang period was a distinctly foreign and hostile presence. The area still remained in foreign hands when the Mongols seized it in 1252, and only in around 1372 did the native-Chinese Ming dynasty gain control of the region. It is to this long-established peripheral status of Yunnan and Mount Jizu that Huang alludes in his inscription.

The Grand View Viewers are guided by pictorial and textual experiential narrations of the topography of Mount Jizu in the first two readings of Huang’s handscroll. These two presentations combine for the third reading to narrate a final, transformative geographic moment. For the third reading of Mount Jizu one returns again to the view from the pagoda at the apex of the handscroll. This third reading of Mount Jizu merged seventeenth-century concepts of the daguan (“grand view”), visualization, and a viewer’s experience of the site to transform the pictorial and literary descriptions of the journey through the landscape into an enlightened comprehension of the entire locale and experience. This third reading depends on a viewer having personal knowledge of the prospect from the highest vantage point atop the summit, as well as the ability to visualize the journey in its entirety. Both the symbolism of an elevated landscape and the practice of visualization necessary to experience it would have been familiar to seventeenth-century viewers. Perhaps the earliest significance of a panoramic landscape seen from a height, which underlies the grand-view experience from the summit of Mount Jizu, was as a statement of political power. As early as the Qin dynasty (221– 206 bce), rulers demonstrated their sovereignty over their realm by traveling through it. An important element of these tours was the ascent of sacred mountains, such as Mount Tai in Shandong, to symbolically assert their authority by their exalted position and extensive observation of their realm.57 A section of a hymn composed in honor of the 219 bce eastern tours of the First Emperor of Qin (r. 221–210 bce) as recorded in the Records of the Historian (Shiji) articulates this belief. [The August Thearch] first unified All under Heaven— There was none who was not respectful and submissive.

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He personally tours to the distant multitudes, Ascends this Grand Mountain And all around surveys the [world at the] eastern extremity.58

An expansive outlook, and hence dominion, of the world was also extended to the soul after death, as related in poems concerning the afterlife in Songs of the South (Chu ci), an anthology of ancient songs of the Chu Kingdom. In “The Summons of the Soul” (Zhao hun), the writer describes the final abode and view of the deceased soul: Hear while I describe for you your quiet and reposeful home. High halls and deep chambers, with railings and tiered balconies; Stepped terraces, storied pavilions, whose tops look on the high mountains.59

These earliest recorded beliefs are further elucidated by the poet Cao Cao (155– 220 ce) in “Song of Qiu Hu” (Qiu Hu xing), in which the view from a mountain peak offers the writer the ability to transcend space and time: Swirling to the eight extremes, I will with immortals fly, I wish to get divine herbs, ten thousand years to abide. I will sing of my resolve, I want to climb the great Hua Mountain.60

By the late fourth century a panoramic outlook had moved beyond a static signifier of authority and the afterlife to an active and essential culminating experience indicative of the personal and spiritual growth of an individual through his attainment of a “total perspective on the world.”61 Mencius (ca. 370–ca. 300 bce) provides an example of such a moment when Confucius (trad. 551–479 bce) climbed East Mountain and saw “how small the State of Lu was. When he climbed to the top of the Supreme Mountain, he thought the empire appeared small.”62 Sun Chuo (ca. 310–97) in his “Poetic Essay on Roaming in the Tiantai Mountains” (You Tiantai shan fu) describes a more Daoistic version of this ascent experience in which “his mystical experience of identity” is revealed through his comprehensive views of the “non-actual reality” embodied in the

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mountains and streams of Mount Tiantai.63 Whereas the realization of an extensive prospect was an important step toward sagehood for Confucius and toward self-realization for Daoist adepts, it was a step toward enlightenment for the Buddhist painter Zong Bing (375–443), who sought out the limitless space and time signified by a prospect from on high to diminish “worldly attachments” and to “establish an image of the divine Way, and respond to stillness to perceive the echo of spiritual intelligence.”64 At the summit of Mount Lu in Jiangxi Province, a group of Zong Bing’s contemporaries explained their viewing experience and subsequent revelation: “leaning against the cliff, we seized the view and clearly saw what was below, experiencing for the first time the beauty of the seven ridges and the gathering of exceptional sights in this spot. . . . From this one could deduce that as in forms there are large and small, so understanding is also proportionate.”65 Liu Zongyuan (773–819), who is credited as one of the first writers of the lyric travel-account (youji) genre, describes this moment of total comprehension more ecumenically in his record of his first excursion to West Mountain (Xishan), Yong Prefecture (modern Lingling, Hunan Province), stating that from the highest point, “The land of several prefectures spread out below our mats. The towering and low-lying formations of spacious mountains and deep lakes resembled anthills and caves. A thousand li appeared as but a few inches. Things appeared crowded together or piled up—nothing below escaped our view. White clouds wound about in the clear blue atmosphere, and the sky extended to the far beyond so that the view was the same in every direction. . . . I felt myself expanding, fusing with the cosmic atmosphere, unable to comprehend its extent; I happily rambled along with the Creator-of-Things, unable to grasp its infinitude.”66 Later poets further enhanced this enlightening moment on high by considering it a form of historical communion with those “highminded” individuals who had experienced it before. The biography of the governor Yang Hu (221–78) recorded in the Jin History (Jinshu) states: Yang Hu delighted in the mountains and rivers. Whenever the atmosphere was particularly fine, he would always go off to Mount Xian, and there he would drink and recite poetry, never tiring the whole day through. But once, overcome with emotion and sighing, he said to Zou Zhan and others, “As long as the universe has been, so long has this mountain been. Many have been the worthy and great men who, just as you and I now, have climbed here to gaze afar. They have all perished and are heard of no more—this is what gives me sorrow. If after my lifetime I still have any

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consciousness, then surely my soul will climb to this spot.” And Zou Zhan said, “Your virtue crowns the whole world; your way continues that of wise men of the past. Such noble reputation and admiration will surely continue on with this mountain.”67

In the Tang dynasty these ideas had been codified to the point that most writers who ascended to an extensive outlook were assumed to be “rising above the here-and-now and looking into the past” as “links in the long chain of history, subject to its eternal laws of succession and disintegration.”68 Hans Frankel explains this as a merging of time and space in which the ascent enabled “the poet to rise above the limitations of his momentary situation and to peer into temporal as well as spatial distance. It follows naturally that the contemplation of the past is frequently coupled with a description of the landscape. The physical scene often contains visible remainders of the past, such as ruins, tombs, or inscriptions.”69 This is just what happened to Meng Haoran (689–740), who, upon seeing a stele erected to Yang Hu, expressed this belief most succinctly: In human affairs there is succession and loss; Men come and go, forming present and past. Rivers and hills keep traces of their glory, And our generation too climbs here for the view.70

Late-imperial travel writers utilized this accretion of abundant symbolism associated with the elevated outlook in their discussions of the “all-encompassing view of reality” afforded from a high mountaintop and to it added the symbolism of a successfully completed personal journey of fulfillment.71 In the final section of his record of a climb up Huangshan, Qian Qianyi (1582–1664) states: “As one proceeds upward from Guanyin’s Cliff, old trees choke the path and venerable vines spread over the rocks. Green bamboo and verdant grasses envelop as they intertwine. The sun’s rays suddenly pierce through. A waterfall unexpectedly splashes. The shady darkness deepens—it no longer seems to be in the human world. . . . When one ascends Old Man Peak, the sky appears vast: clouds and all things are below it. The Thirty-six Peaks reveal themselves all woven together. In a daze, I felt I had experienced an entire lifetime. It was only from this point on that I understood Yellow Emperor Mountain.”72 Indeed, the view from a height was often the culminating moment of Ming-dynasty autobiographical writing in which “life as journey” was a common literary trope.

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As Pei-yi Wu explains in his study of the autobiographical texts of Deng Huoqu and Gao Panlong (1562–1626), writers would “tell their life stories more or less as travel accounts. . . . Each reports his quest for the absolute truth as a double journey: strenuous upward locomotion accompanying spiritual progress. The hazardous ascent brought each to a salient point, where a sudden illumination struck the seeker.”73 By the seventeenth century the perception engendered by an elevated outlook had been popularized to the point of satire, as evinced in the vulgarized description of the view atop Mount Tai by a female pilgrim in the novel A Tale of Marriage Destinies That Will Bring Society to Its Senses (Xingshi yinyuan zhuan). “The laywoman said: ‘My dear—could there be another Tai Shan in the world? From the top you get a perfect view of all the lands on earth, the dragons’ palaces, ocean treasuries, Buddhas’ halls, and immortals’ palaces. If such benefits were not to be had, why would men and women come thousands of miles from their homes in Yunnan, Guizhou, Sichuan, Huguang, Guangdong, Guangxi, just to burn incense there?’” 74 From ancient times the term daguan (grand view) was utilized by writers as a condensed expression of all that a panoramic view from an elevated place implied. Beginning with The Book of Changes and spanning late-imperial travel records, daguan was developed as a metaphor for the comprehensive understanding achieved by certain unique individuals.75 The earliest extant usage of daguan is found in The Book of Changes under hexagram twenty: guan. Generally, the accompanying commentaries concerning the meaning of guan accord with the earliest correlation of a high prospect with the overarching political sovereignty afforded a sage ruler. The form of the trigram guan resembles a tower. Pronounced in the first tone, guan is a verb (“to see,” as from a tower), whereas pronounced in the fourth tone, guan is a noun (a “tower”), so it embodies the meanings of looking at something from a height and looking up at an elevated landmark. Richard Wilhelm relates this to the role of the ruler who “contemplates the law of heaven above him and the ways of the people below, and who, by means of good government, sets a lofty example to the masses.”76 These ideas are stated in the canonical “Tuan Commentary” (Tuan zhuan) to The Book of Changes, as follows: A grand view (daguan) is above. Devoted and gentle. Central and correct, he is something for the world to view. Contemplation. “The ablution has been made, but not yet the offering. Full of trust they look up to him.” Those

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below look toward him and are transformed. He affords them a view of the divine way of heaven, and the four seasons do not deviate from their rule. Thus the holy man uses the divine way to give instruction, and the whole world submits to him.77

The term daguan also occurs in “An Overview of the Essentials” (Yao lüe) chapter of Huainanzi. This compendium of knowledge was written by numerous scholar-retainers at the court of Liu An (179?–122 bce), the king of Huainan (modern Anhui Province), as a political treatise and model for governance intended for Emperor Wu of the Han (r. 140–87 bce).78 Daguan occurs in the first section of the final chapter of Huainanzi as part of the explication of the overarching thesis of the entire work, which maintains that Huainanzi presents all the knowledge and techniques necessary to govern an empire long and well, and that success in mastering its truths relies on the basic understanding of the “critical link between cosmic and political order.”79 Daguan is used to describe the comprehensive understanding of this symbiotic relationship toward which the reader should strive: “Originating in the Way” [begins with] the six coordinates contracted and compressed and the myriad things chaotic and confused. [It then] diagrams the features of the Grand One and fathoms the depths of the Dark Unseen, thereby soaring beyond the frame of Empty Nothingness. By relying on the small, it embraces the great; by guarding the contracted, it orders the expansive. It enables you to understand the bad or good fortune of taking the lead or following behind and the benefit or harm of taking action or remaining still. If you sincerely comprehend its import, floodlike, you can achieve a grand vision [daguan].80

“The Owl” (Funiao fu), written around 174 bce, is considered the earliest statement of a life philosophy in poetic fu form.81 Jia Yi (200–168 bce) extends daguan from the grand view afforded a sage ruler to one available to an educated man. He wrote, “A merely clever man is partial to self, despising other, vaunting ego; The man of understanding takes the grand view [daguan]: nothing exists to

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take exception to.”82 Later writers combined detailed descriptions of the natural scenery of a daguan with its historical associations and their personal experience of it. The famous commemorative essay on the Yueyang Tower written by the Suzhou native Fan Zhongyan in 1046 exemplifies this development and seems to have set the standard for later authors. He wrote: “I have observed the magnificent scenery of Baling at this lake named ‘Grotto,’ which bites the distant mountains and swallows up the Long River, surging restlessly as it extends beyond the horizon. Between the radiant mornings and the shadowy twilight, its atmosphere undergoes myriad transformations. This is the grand view [daguan] from the Pavilion of Yueyang, which ancient writers have described in detail. Because the water routes lead north to Shaman’s Gorge and stretch south all the way to the Xiao and Xiang rivers, exiled officials and tragic poets have always gathered here. Did they not have various feelings upon viewing this scene?”83 Fan continues by describing the various feelings elicited by this outlook according to the change of seasons and concludes by explaining how “those ancient paragons of humaneness” experienced this daguan. The Ming Prime Minister Zhang Juzheng (1525–82) composed a longer prose description of a daguan in his account of a trip to Hengyue, the sacred mountain of the south in Hunan Province. He stated his goal at the outset: “I declared, ‘I will ascend Transverse Mountain to obtain a grand view [daguan] of the world.’ ” 84 Having done so, he described in detail the panorama far below, often hinting at the newfound understanding it afforded him. He wrote, “I encompassed the six directions, where nothing escaped my wide-open eyes,” and “I was completely unaware of affairs below and told myself that I no longer resembled a man of this world.”85 By the seventeenth century this idea was succinctly synopsized by Jiao Hong (1540–1620) in his commentary on Zhuangzi in which he explains that “enlightenment comes from a grand view [daguan] of the world.”86 In sum, the daguan described by later writers occurs at the climactic zenith of a terrestrial journey as physical evidence of the writer having achieved his internal goal of enlightened understanding in his lifelong quest for sagehood.87 Indeed, this idea was so integrated into the cultural seventeenth-century psyche that few writers felt the need to cite, discuss, or explain it in any detail. It should also be noted that although the ideas surrounding a daguan represent broad cultural patterns developed over a long time span—some of which are admittedly quite separate from the creation of the seventeenth-century painting under discussion—they speak to the historical weight and currency of the term by Huang’s time. In addition, many of the early texts discussed above would have

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been well known to both Huang and his father, as they were common preparation for the civil-service examinations, and Huang Kongzhao specialized in the Yijing. Most importantly, the development and assimilation of daguan in literature did not dictate its inclusion in painting. Rather, it appears to have been pictorialized at discrete points throughout history and is representative of a separate art-historical tradition. Huang Xiangjian’s complex, nuanced visual interpretation of the concept took form only after daguan had been completely assimilated within seventeenth-century literary culture. The extensive views from the extreme heights of Yunnan’s topography were legendary in Huang Xiangjian’s day. In his discussion of the scenery around Dali, Wang Shixing noted, “in this locale the mountains are like dragons and elephants, pagodas [rise] one thousand chi, vapors occur [in the] summer and winter months . . . grasses and trees grow luxuriantly, nothing is superior to the expanses of this region.”88 Xu Xiake also sought out the highest mountains of the area to experience the grand views they afforded, as at Mount Jinhua in western Yunnan, where he felt “like a Heavenly immortal looking down at the nine regions [of China].”89 Huang Xiangjian himself utilizes the term daguan in his travel records to describe an expansive view of Yunnan from a height, one so far-reaching that it seems to stretch into the historical past. Describing his experience of Mount Taihua, on the western edge of Dian Lake, just south of modern Kunming, he wrote, “As I rested at Biji Pass, I gazed across Dian Lake and all the peaks of Mount Taihua. The water picked up the reflection of the mountains and in the distant mist they became indistinct. This was a singular grand view [daguan] of [what had been] the Nanzhao Kingdom.”90 Likewise, Mount Jizu offered one of the most impressive daguan of the region. Indeed, the “marvelous and extraordinary” view, as Huang describes it in his inscription, of the “thousand peaks and myriad ravines” available from its vertiginous summit serves as the climactic end of both the pictorial and inscribed journey of the Mount Jizu handscroll.

Painting the Grand View In light of the literary use of the grand view as a comprehensive, supramundane outlook, illustrating a daguan seems converse to the very concept it represents. Perhaps that is why it took so long for artists to arrive at it. No such concept is articulated in the early texts on landscape painting, nor do the few early extant

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Chinese landscape paintings suggest that artists sought to capture all that a daguan implied. The monumental views of mountainscapes produced in the Northern Song dynasty (960–1127) did portray large expanses of mountain ranges for ritual, political, and philosophical purposes.91 These monumental paintings, however, present the constantly changing views available to travelers through such mountainscapes rather than illustrating or suggesting the single summit view of a daguan.92 Their painters sought to capture views of and within impressive marchmounts rather than views of landscape from their peaks. Neither does daguan occur in the texts on landscape; rather the terminology reinforces the notion of the viewer’s movement through the painting. In The Lofty Truth of Forests and Streams (Linquan gaozhi), the eleventh-century Northern Song landscapist Guo Xi is recorded discussing the “Three Distances” of landscape painting: “Mountains have three distances: Looking up to the mountain’s peak from its base is called ‘high distance’ [gaoyuan]. From in front of the mountain, spying past it to what is behind is called ‘deep distance’ [shenyuan]. Gazing from a nearby mountain at those distant is called ‘level distance’ [pingyuan].”93 None of these captures the essence of a daguan. Certain later place-paintings, ranging in date from the Southern Song dynasty (1127–1279) up to the seventeenth century, employ expansive views from mountaintops and present viewers with the correct position and possible view of a daguan, which suggests the artists might have been creating a daguan intentionally. These paintings include a handscroll of the West Lake area of Qiantang (modern Hangzhou) attributed to Li Song (act. ca. 1190–1230) and several Mingdynasty works, such as two album leaves by Wang Lü of Mount Hua, a view of Mount Hua from the Heavenly Stairs by Song Xu (1525–1605), and mountaintop views of Suzhou and its environs associated with the style of Shen Zhou, such as that from the top of Tiger Hill.94 Although these paintings present the overarching view from a mountain necessary to invoke the term daguan, many of them lack the documentation necessary to ascertain whether or not the symbolism of such a reference was intended. Some could be literal descriptions of impressive views. Others may allude to specific political, philosophical, religious, or personal ideas connected to distant views. Certain paintings that capture an expansive vista from a great height may represent a tradition of illustrating daguan. Such geo-narrative paintings do not conform to a specific style or composition. Daguan paintings express the contemporaneous stylistic trends of their artists and patrons. Hence, for these paintings no stylistic development may be traced over time because they present

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distinctive experiential landscape views representative of specific viewers’ understandings. The several Yuan-dynasty representations of Yueyang Tower might be considered daguan works. The Yueyang Tower on Dongting Lake in Hunan Province was a site from which countless scholars began and completed official journeys and banishments. Paintings of the site typically present the tower on one side of the composition with the Song-dynasty text of Fan Zhongyan’s essay, which discusses a daguan, written in tiny characters above a distant landscape on the other side. These works might be read as presenting a Confucian visitor’s daguan of the people of the past and historic moments symbolized by the tower view. Viewers could situate themselves atop the tall, carefully rendered architecture of the Yueyang Tower to visualize the past. The past is evoked textually, in the form of Fan Zhongyan’s famous essay. The characters of the text also visually merge with the landscape in the misty distance. Rare Views of Xiao-Xiang by Mi Youren (1074–1151), as interpreted by Peter Sturman, serves as a very different type of possible daguan painting. Sturman suggests that this handscroll captures an extremely personalized perspective of landscape from the Mi family studio, located at the end of the scroll. The possible daguan would be a view over the geography of the Zhenjiang, Jiangsu Province area, which is illustrated in the beginning and middle of the scroll and is rendered in his father’s characteristic style. This reading is reinforced by the artist’s inscription at the end of the handscroll.95 In very different ways, both paintings use image and text to capture the summit vista from a specific location. Both types of paintings also demand viewers’ experiential knowledge of the daguan represented: Yuan-dynasty Yueyang Tower paintings demand a topographical familiarity in relation to the historical implications of its poem, whereas Rare Views of Xiao-Xiang expects an awareness of painting style and its affiliation with the geography of the area. Huang’s daguan of Mount Jizu relied on a comprehension of the prospect from the summit that could not be gained from literary descriptions or printed renderings of the site, which were inaccurate or clichéd, for example, the four directional views—the “eastern sun,” “western sea,” “southern clouds,” and “northern snow”—noted in the writings of Ming travelers such as Wang Shixing and Xu Xiake.96 Pictorial representations of Mount Jizu in illustrated texts, such as Strange Views Within the [Four] Seas, simply clumped Er Lake, the Diancang Mountains, and the Jade Dragon Snowy Mountains together in the upper left corner of the illustration (fig. 4.8). More detailed travel records and gazetteer descriptions of the mountain’s topmost view existed, but these were often not geographically specific and were usually buried in the middle of the work

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with little to differentiate the description of the summit’s vista from any other outlook available on the mountain. The most widely read report of this kind may have been that by Wang Shixing, because after its initial publication in the sixteenth century it was recopied and reprinted in the seventeenth century as the entry for Mount Jizu in Strange Views Within the [Four] Seas. Wang wrote, “Looking to the northwest I then saw, amid the clouds, Lijiang and the Snowy Mountains [Himalayas]. I had gazed at the great Snowy Mountains from Mount Emei. They are in India more than ten-thousand li away. . . . From here to the Li River it is less than a thousand li, but it was dark and colorless. Some say that this white color [of the Himalayas] consists of piled rocks, and I come close to agreeing with this. To the west are the nineteen peaks of Diancang majestically arrayed . . . the vast waves of Er Lake in front of them.”97 Less famous accounts of this summit view also existed, such as that by Li Yuanyang, who wrote, “In the misty distance were the Diancang [mountains], Er [Lake], pagodas and shrines. Over five hundred li of mountains and rivers were all beneath our feet.”98 Zhou Fujun states that he saw “the bare peaks of the Snowy Mountains [Himalayas]. The Jinsha [River] was a horizontal belt. The Diancang [mountains] and Er [Lake], the [former] reflected and surrounded [by the latter].”99 Xie Dongshan succinctly captures the possible confusion as to what one could see from the summit. He reports: Looking to the west there are the Diancang. . . . Looking to the northwest there is one mountain. It is pure white and shaped like a folding screen. It was so high it touched the heavens, and it ran horizontally for tens of li. I pointed to it and said to a monk: “Is this not the Snowy Mountains?” The monk said: “It is a thousand li away in the territory of Lijiang. The mountain is pure rock, and the color of the rock is pure white. It is not a snowy mountain.” However, I took up my Ancient Dian Gazetteer and in northwest Lijiang is the Jade Dragon Mountain. One of its names is Snowy Mountains. . . . Why was I certain this was called the Snowy Mountains and the monk did not even know?100

Huang was no help for readers relying on the Mount Jizu painting proper either, saying only that when he gazed “westward, there were the mountains that look like a Jade Dragon stretching forward, unbroken, a thousand li,” despite the fact that two of the writers above who note the directional position of the geography they discuss state that a snowy stretch of mountains lay to the northwest. I offer

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Fig.4.16  Er Lake, Dali, Yunnan. Courtesy of the author.

my own experience of the mountain as further evidence. With the large number of textual materials and maps available to the modern researcher, I commanded a far more extensive knowledge of the mountain’s geography before my climb than the average seventeenth-century viewer. Yet the magnitude of the summit daguan did not become clear to me until I experienced it for myself. In sum, only those who had climbed Mount Jizu would be cued by the pagoda at the end of the Mount Jizu painting to remember and contemplate the position and appearance of the geography visible from its peak. Few viewers had stood atop Mount Jizu and marveled at this outlook. This select group of climbers would have had a clear conception of the two geographical entities visible from the top of Mount Jizu: Er Lake to the southwest and the Jade Dragon Snowy Mountains to the northwest. Huang incorporated these two features into his painted handscroll. The impressive expanse of Er Lake to the southwest of Mount Jizu begins the handscroll, and the jagged, white terrain of the Jade Dragon Snowy Mountains concludes it. Er Lake measures 40 kilometers from north to south, with an average width of 7 to 8 kilometers from east to west, and covers an area of 246 square kilometers (fig. 4.16).101 The Jade Dragon Snowy Mountains cover an area of approximately 10 kilometers, and the highest peak rises 5,596 meters above sea level.102 While the size of these two massive geographical formations makes them visible throughout their

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Fig. 4.17  View of Er Lake, Dali, Yunnan, from the Mount Jizu summit pagoda, Binchuan County, Dali Bai Nationality Autonomous Prefecture. Courtesy of the author.

respective regions, it also prevents them from being viewed in their entirety from the ground. Though the ear-shape of Er Lake is evident from the Diancang Mountains that border its western shore and a large portion of the Jade Dragon Snowy Mountains towers over Lijiang, only the summit of Mount Jizu offered traditional travelers a complete view of their forms. From here one can take in a daguan of them. Even more significant to the pictorialization of the Mount Jizu daguan is that only from atop Mount Jizu can one obtain complete views of both (fig. 4.17).103 To relate the total comprehension and sagehood a daguan implied, Huang composed a scroll that combined an experiential knowledge of an ascent of Mount Jizu with the visualization of this topography in full from its summit view. The act of visualization necessary to comprehend this layout served as the animating key of the summit daguan. Only those who have climbed to the top of Mount Jizu have seen both the Jade Dragon Snowy Mountains and Er Lake simultaneously. These experienced few were cognizant that the view from the summit incorporated not only Jade Dragon Snowy Mountains, which were illustrated just beyond the pagoda and below the inscription at the end of the handscroll, but also Er Lake, which was depicted at the beginning of the handscroll. Only they would realize the implications of Huang’s composition: the vista from

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the pagoda at the end of the handscroll implies the view of the place at Er Lake with which the handscroll began and, by extension, all that lies in between. The topographical layout of the handscroll also subtly suggests the complete views of Er Lake and Jade Dragon Snowy Mountains visible from the pagoda at the summit of Mount Jizu. The handscroll begins with a section of Er Lake and ends with the slightest white outline of Jade Dragon Snowy Mountains. Huang pre­sents disparate sections of them and places them in their geographically separate locales, approximating the way one would experience them en route. The memory of their entire vistas from the top of Mount Jizu, and the proximity one feels to both lake and faraway mountains at its summit, however, is left to the experienced viewer’s comprehensive understanding of the daguan implied by the geography of the handscroll.

Visualization The visualization required for a revelation of the Mount Jizu daguan would have been a familiar and pleasurable activity for the small group of experienced viewers for which it was intended. Visualization exercises and activities keyed to specific material objects surrounded the elite of seventeenth-century China. Texts such as the Sutra on the Sea of the Samādhi of Buddha Visualization (Guanfo sanmei hai jing), in wide circulation since the fifth century, contained “a class of visualization exercises in which the practitioner mentally constructs an eidetic image of some specific object or scene.”104 Sculpted and painted representations of Buddhist deities are believed to have been used in a form of religious worship called guanxiang (“contemplating holy icons”), explained in several Mahāyāna sutras as an exercise in which one seeks to visualize the true image of a deity.105 Edward Conze asserts that they were a “kind of prop which should be dispensed with in due course, when what we would call the ‘hallucination’ of the deity takes its place.”106 Wall paintings, such as the eighth-century Sixteen Visualizations of Queen Vaidehī in Cave 45 of the Mogao Grottoes, which is based upon a commentary by Shandao (613–81) discussing the Sutra on the Visualization of the Buddha Amitāyus (Guan Wuliangshou jing), illustrated and guided viewers to a “deeper understanding and mastery of the spiritual path set out in the sutra.”107 Painted mountain landscapes in particular required viewers to take an active role in this visualization process. Both Eugene Wang and Wei-Cheng Lin argue that practitioners had to physically experience and move

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through a site to evoke the vision they sought. Wang considers the “peripatetic vision” experience in relation to a variety of medieval painting and sculpture.108 Lin examines this “visionary experience, as if traveling through the sacred site,” as required of viewers moving through the mid-tenth-century mural painting of Mount Wutai in Cave 61 of the Mogao Grottoes.109 These readings suggest the necessity of viewer experience of a site in relation to a successful visualization experience. Daoist practitioners such as those of the Shangqing school utilized meditational practices that required visualization of sectors of the body, deities, and landscape.110 These techniques would have been particularly accessible to elite Ming-dynasty readers due to the 1442 issuance of the Daoist canon.111 The Yellow Court Scriptures (Huangting nei/wai jing) were composed to be recited while the practitioner visualized the bodily gods in order to ensure the “peace and stability of the souls, youthfulness, and the flourishing of the five viscera.”112 In another particularly relevant meditative technique, the “Supreme Method for Summoning the Void and Profoundly Contemplating Heaven” or the “Meditation on the Four Directions,” the adept begins by envisioning the mountains, rivers, plants, animals, barbarians, etc., that inhabit the peripheral regions of the four directions as though they were directly before him.113 Gentlemen involved in Daoist meditative visualization exercises of this sort were depicted in painting, such as the 1552 Cloudy Mountain and Wooded Ravine by Lu Zhi.114 The depiction of the visualization itself is also illustrated in The Pavilion of Dreaming of an Immortal (Mengxian caotang tu) by the mid-Ming artist Tang Yin, in which the recipient of the picture is shown seeing in a dream an immortal hovering above a misty valley.115 By the Ming dynasty, the educated elite and religious adherents also practiced various forms of visualization in an ecumenical search for enlightenment.116 Meditation was often linked with the method of quiet-sitting (jingzuo) by seventeenth-century practitioners. Wu Jiang, in his examination of seventeenth-century Chan Buddhism, maintains that the majority of those who followed the teachings of the eminent philosopher, statesman, and soldier Wang Shouren (Wang Yangming), of whom Huang Xiangjian’s father was one, were also interested in Chan Buddhism, so much so that it was often referred to as “Yangming Chan” in late-Ming-dynasty writings.117 In turn, many of these scholars, including Huang Kongzhao’s other idol, Li Zhi, did not distinguish between Chan and Confucianism.118 Yuan Hongdao, another follower of Li Zhi, suggests the merging of these thought systems and teachings in his

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reference to “Confucian Chan Buddhism.”119 The spiritual experiences of this group, as might be guessed from the activities of Huang Kongzhao, focused on the reading, writing, and discussion of various texts; but quiet-sitting was another component of their practice. Quiet-sitting was practiced by Wang Shouren and his followers in order to recover their original nature, which was believed to be perfectly good. This understanding of one’s original nature would then naturally reveal to the adherent the principles of sagehood and virtue.120 The devoted Confucian Gao Panlong visited Buddhist monasteries in order to practice quiet-sitting, whereas the writer Yuan Hongdao practiced more distinctly Buddhist visualization methods under the tutelage of priests, such as the famous monk Yunqi Zhuhong (1535–1615), another figure at the forefront of the lay Buddhist movement of this period.121 Classical education and entertainment activities involved visualization as well. Memory techniques that we might label visualization were utilized by candidates preparing for the civil service examinations.122 Popular printed books portrayed the most accomplished of these candidates experiencing dream visions of their examination success and thus incorporated image-text devices such as homologous characters and rebus imagery to encapsulate the candidate’s career. A typical example is the daydream of Shang Lu (1414–86), in which a man presents him with three heads, symbolic of the three “firsts” Shang would receive in the local, prefectural, and national examinations.123 This image-text visualization matrix was commonly used in illustrated printed books of fiction as well. In his review of illustrated fiction, Robert Hegel has found several characteristics that seem “specifically designed to stimulate the reader’s imagination: the frequent use of . . . imagery, coupled with the narrator’s invitations to visualize, the commentator’s instructions on how to do so, and the visual hints offered by the illustrations.”124 Both students and mature scholars also studied historical texts and treatises and enjoyed written and performed versions of plays and novels in which the concluding chapter summarized the overall message and meaning of the text in its entirety. This is true of the Huainanzi text discussed earlier, in which the term daguan is employed, as well as later works such as the concluding commentaries of Sima Qian (ca. 145–ca. 86 bce) in the Han-dynasty Records of the Historian. The Chinese historian was expected to conclude by interpreting the historical narrative for his readers. An understanding of these conclusions demanded a detailed knowledge and total comprehension (visualization) of all that had come before. Some pictorial objects related to historical narratives of this type

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demanded a similar comprehensive visualization experience. As discussed above, works of instruction, such as the Admonitions of the Instructress to the Court Ladies, and works of reportage, among them Night Revels of Han Xizai, presented the pictorial equivalent of such concluding chapters in the form of human figures whose activities and poses directed their audiences to review the entirety of the painted scroll, presumably with their now comprehensive knowledge of its content, as it was rerolled.

The Grand View of Huang Kongzhao Although different readers could comprehend the pictorial and written geonarrative of the Mount Jizu handscroll, the only person who could experientially interpret every aspect of it was the artist’s father. Indeed, every element of the handscroll bespeaks Huang Kongzhao. We know that he viewed, appreciated, and owned some of his son Huang Xiangjian’s work from reading a colophon he wrote for one of his son’s paintings.125 In the Mount Jizu inscription, Huang Xiangjian first identifies the role of the mountain within the Buddhist teachings favored by his father and then accentuates his father’s personal experience and love of the mountain as evinced by his father’s many journeys there with Buddhist friends and by his commemorative writings. Huang Xiangjian also emphasizes that it was in obedience to his father’s instructions to visit his students living in the vicinity of Mount Jizu that Huang came to journey through the region. Even the description of travel along a specific route at a specific time reflects the interests and experiences of Huang Kongzhao. The pictorial image of the mountain also represents Huang Kongzhao: his status as a former official, his Confucian training and perspectives, his Buddhist study, and his relationship with his son. Mount Jizu as a whole illustrates the most symbolic and beautiful scenery within the area Huang Kongzhao had governed as district magistrate of Dayao. It is an elevated and individuated view of a mountain, painted in a nostalgic color scheme, in which refined gentry and peaceful peasants coexist in their correct spheres. The artwork’s markedly high perspective and personalized journey would have been particularly appropriate for Huang Kongzhao because, in their display of the basic characteristics of Suzhou honorific paintings, both highlighted his status as a retired official (figs. 1.4, 1.5). The high horizon lines and detailed topography place the viewer in a literal and symbolic position of elevated authority over the mountain.

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Fig. 4.18  Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of a fishing village, 1656 (Art Museum of the Chinese University of Hong Kong).

The inhabitants, architecture, and color scheme of the painting reinforce this interpretation. The elongated tripartite composition of the painting elucidates a Confucian vision of the correct social structure in which peasants work the land, an elite coterie of officials watches over it, and leading figures such as the emperor, national officials, and spiritual guides govern it. Symbolism of this type had been utilized in imperially sponsored works from the tenth century onward. In the opening half of the handscroll, the rural idyll of villages, boats, farmers, and wood-gatherers symbolizes this first social group and the good government that allows it to exist peacefully (figs. 4.18, 4.19). The rustic country people of the lake area are then replaced by gentlemen and vacationing officials in the higher elevations of the mountain proper. These travelers in scholar’s robes converse among themselves, examine and meditate on the beauty

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Fig. 4.19  Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of farming activities in a village, 1656 (Art Museum of the Chinese University of Hong Kong).

of the natural sites, and gaze in wonder at the transcendent views available from such a height (figs. 4.15, 4.20–4.22). The final section of the handscroll presents the uninhabited mountain peak and summit pagoda, its supreme import demarcated by its isolation in the heavens amidst swirling clouds (fig. 4.9). Peace, prosperity, and propriety reign amidst each social group at every elevation in Huang Kongzhao’s sphere of influence. Midway through the scroll, Huang Xiangjian’s depiction of a water mill (fig. 4.23), which by the Northern Song had come to represent “the ideal Confucian government— efficient and benevolent” and the “steady moral virtue” of the scholar-official himself, also attests to this reading.126 Huang Xiangjian provides a personalized route through thirty-one constructed and natural landmarks to the top of Mount Jizu. The sites represent the taste of a Confucian gentleman interested in Buddhism, such as Huang

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Fig. 4.20  Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of Cleanse the Heart Bridge, 1656 (Art Museum of the Chinese University of Hong Kong).

Kongzhao. Eleven of the man-made sites, such as villages, pavilions, bridges, and stairs, are labeled.127 Four religious complexes, all Buddhist, are labeled on the mountain proper.128 The remaining labels identify sixteen natural sites, often equipped with buildings or pavilions for better viewing.129 The man-made sites of Mount Jizu are positioned in the first third of the handscroll and account for thirty-five percent of the labeled journey, while fifty-two percent of the labels identifying specific natural scenery occur in the final two-thirds, interspersed with four Buddhist monasteries. Huang’s emphasis on the Buddhist sites of the mountain reflects the general trend of late-Ming scholars and clergy to reenvision the mountain as a Buddhist marchmount. Part of this effort was its newly adopted name, borrowed from a sacred Buddhist mountain in India, the relocation and renaming of its prominent local and Daoist sites, and the Buddhist writings produced in its honor. The great success of

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Fig. 4.21  Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of the Dragon Tarn, 1656 (Art Museum of the Chinese University of Hong Kong).

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Fig. 4.22  Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of Pressing the Clouds Cliff, 1656 (Art Museum of the Chinese University of Hong Kong).

this restructuring is found in travelers’ reports of the masses of predominantly Buddhist pilgrims who flocked to the site. With the exception of Immortal Yang Cave, Huang does not illustrate or label any of the mountain’s many local-deity or Daoist sites. He had surely heard of the Tianchang Pavilion, one of the newer Daoist shrines built on Mount Jizu in 1627, and in his inscription he mentions encountering the Tuzhu Temple, which had been moved from the mountain’s summit to the left of the Kāśyapa Buddhist Monastery sometime after 1637.130 Neither is depicted in the handscroll. Even the connotations of the mid-scroll water mill augment the Buddhist persona of the mountain (fig. 4.23). By the Northern Song the movement of the water mill was sometimes utilized as “a metaphor for the eternal turning of the Wheel of Dharma,” and it became “a visual pun to transform the mechanical movement of the waterwheel into the spiritual power of the Buddha.”131

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Fig. 4.23  Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of a waterwheel, 1656 (Art Museum of the Chinese University of Hong Kong).

Huang does not include or mention any of the area’s many non-Han-Chinese structures either, even those that were Buddhist. This was a common choice of seventeenth-century Confucian writers and painters for whom regional non-Han art and architecture were usually reserved for ethnic studies and essays. The famed triple pagodas of the Chongsheng Monastery, with their sparkling white façades and impressive height, were discussed and illustrated in printed reproductions of the region in works such as Strange Views Within the [Four] Seas and were admired in the writings of Yang Shen.132 Built during the period of rule by the Nanzhao Kingdom near Dali, they still stand just inland from the Haoran Pavilion, which is illustrated at the beginning of the scroll (figs. 4.1, 4.13). The central pagoda, at just over sixty-nine meters high, and the two smaller flanking pagodas, which stand just over forty-two meters high, would have been a far more dramatic beginning to the painting than the small

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Fig. 4.24  Chongsheng Monastery pagodas, Dali, Yunnan. Courtesy of the author.

pavilion (fig. 4.24). The large central pagoda was constructed between 824 and 859, and the two flanking pagodas were built between 937 and 1253, yet they, too, are not included, although Huang may have climbed them to view the region he would paint.133 One is no longer allowed to climb any of the three pagodas. The view of Er Lake from their base, however, is similar to Huang’s rendering of the area at the beginning of the scroll. Huang Xiangjian presents an idyllic mountain district within the area of his father’s former official duties and traces a route through the sites of most interest to his father’s cultural group. He personalized the journey further by joining his father in painted form on the climb. Throughout the scroll several figures are shown appreciating the environs of Mount Jizu. Garbed in light-colored scholars’ robes, they gaze about and point appreciatively. Embedding observers within imaginary or site-specific landscape paintings was a well-established device by Huang Xiangjian’s time, particularly in place painting. With their servant trailing behind them, the two robed figures preparing to cross Cleanse the Heart Bridge, however, are more distinctively attired (fig. 4.20). One is dressed in a light blue robe, the other in a bright red robe. These two figures are the primary visitors to the mountain proper. In contrast to the two or three other travelers seen beyond the bridge, these two appear at five different locations on the mountain. They sit atop Pressing the Clouds Cliff and look off into the distance (fig. 4.22); they scurry

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beside the waterfall at Qixian Ravine (fig. 4.25); they gaze into the Dragon Tarn outside Vast Assembly Monastery (fig. 4.21); and they admire the impressive view of the summit pagoda from below (fig. 4.26).134 Every extant painting produced by Huang Xiangjian incorporates a small representative figure of himself holding an umbrella and/or dressed in blue robes, struggling through the terrain of southwest China. It is only in Mount Jizu, however, that Huang allows both himself and his father to actively appreciate the natural surroundings within the painting. From the base of Mount Jizu at Cleanse the Heart Bridge, Huang, clad in blue, and his father in the red robes of a degree holder, climb the mountain together. Mingdynasty degree-holders were frequently illustrated wearing red robes in casual company. Xiang Shengmo (1597–1658) and Zhang Qi (act. mid-17th c.) painted Dong Qichang in red robes in their 1652 group portrait Venerable Friends; nor was this the first time that an artist had incorporated his father and himself into a journey painting. Xu Xilie (active ca. 1572–1606) illustrated his father, Xu Bao, and himself several times on their journey from Zijing Pass to Xuanzhen in his handscroll Journey beyond the Zi[jing] Pass, whose last scene is dated 1586. Like Huang, Xu Xilie depicts his father in red robes and himself in blue.135 Huang Xiangjian depicted a journey that many could enjoy, but one that only his father could have fully understood and appreciated, by directing the viewer to filter his experience of Mount Jizu through the identifiable personages of his father and himself and by recreating a specific path up the mountain. Every element of the Mount Jizu handscroll invited Huang Kongzhao to enjoy the re-creation in memory of a complex and meaningful ascent of an idyllic Buddhist mountain in the southwest. Huang Kongzhao alone held the combined geographic, personal, and spiritual knowledge necessary to fully understand and participate in the painted journey. Only he held all the facts necessary to travel with his son in imagination, as many times as he pleased, through the paradisiacal blue-and-green landscape, along the ever-increasing altitude of the path, past Buddhist monasteries and unique topography to the daguan offered from the pagoda at the summit. His participation in Chan discussions and his role in the formation of a local Lotus Society suggest that he was well acquainted with the visualization techniques promoted by joint practitioners of Chan and Pure Land Buddhism necessary for such an elevated view of the world.136 The occasion on which Huang may have presented the painting to his father is suggested in the closing line of its inscription: “In the bingshen year [1656], during the first ten-day period of late autumn, I completed this painting

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Fig. 4.25  Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of Qixian Ravine, 1656 (Art Museum of the Chinese University of Hong Kong).

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Fig. 4.26  Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu), detail of figures below the summit of Mount Jizu, 1656 (Art Museum of the Chinese University of Hong Kong).

together with the inscription.” The Double Ninth Day (Chongyang) festival of late autumn occurs on the ninth day of the ninth lunar month. It was celebrated with elaborate displays of chrysanthemums, which bloom in this season and were considered a symbol of longevity; the eating of special cakes; and the ascent of a height.137 Ancient and modern writings record this last holiday activity. In “On the Double Ninth: Remembering My Brothers East of the Mountains,” the Tang-dynasty poet Wang Wei states that “Each time this holiday comes I long doubly for my kin,/And know that brothers far away are climbing someplace high.”138 In the Ming dynasty it was the custom of southern gentlemen to ascend a hill or mountain and enjoy a drinking party.139 Indeed, the Ming emperors would personally ascend to a height and celebrate the holiday.140 For a son who had traveled so far to find his father and a father who had endured so much without his son, what better holiday to present and receive a personalized daguan?

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Ch a p t er Fi v e

Topographies of Yunnan Who says we cannot search for the Peach Blossom Spring [here]? —Huang Xiangjian, Diannan album, leaf 1

I

n 1658, Huang Kongzhao turned seventy years old. Over the summer of the same year, Huang Xiangjian painted a large, eight-leaf landscape album in ink and color on paper, which now bears a later frontispiece by the Suzhou native He Zhuo (1661–1722) that reads “Diannan shengjing” (“Scenic Frontier of Yunnan”).1 “Diannan shengjing” was the name of a region on the YunnanGuizhou border. Although the frontispiece is inaccurate—the album does not illustrate this area—the general regional implications of the name are not. Since the original title of the album is unknown, it is referred to here as the Diannan album, which is an abbreviation of the frontispiece. The Diannan album is Huang’s most technically innovative and compellingly beautiful work. It also signals the end of his short, prodigious period of artistic production.2 The leaves of this album present carefully delineated journeys through the exotic countryside and limitless vistas of southwest China. Six leaves depict sites in Yunnan, one captures a region of Guizhou, and another describes the scenery of the Guizhou-Huguang border. Both as individual leaves and as eight leaves read together, their geo-narratives explicate the life of Huang Kongzhao as a journey through the southwest. Viewers are immediately enveloped within the dramatic topography and move through the built and geographic signifiers that constitute the framework of a life journey. Landscape iconographies of specific sites and occasions, remembered feelings and views, and personal relationships share the path with more universal

Top o gr a ph i e s of Y u n na n

symbols of the southwest, officialdom, Confucian precepts, Buddhist beliefs, and Ming-loyalist sentiments. This album was not made to serve the Filial Son campaign, but was more likely a gift in honor of his father’s seventieth birthday. This chapter examines the three most accessible layers of narrative topography in the Diannan album. The physical journey, cultural topography, and “loci of remembrance” of the album might be read and processed by various viewers. The linked elements of each layer, however, merge to narrate the life journey of Huang Kongzhao. Therefore, they are introduced and interpreted here within the historically rich social context of a man of Huang Kongzhao’s background and status: the seventeenth-century local elite Suzhou gentleman. The Diannan album geo-narrative is not easily characterized. It is not a political statement, as Kathlyn Liscomb suggests was the case with the fifteenthcentury topographical handscroll the Eight Views of Beijing by Wang Fu (1362– 1416), yet it expresses political sentiment.3 It shares many of the characteristics of sixteenth-century hao or biehao (chosen name) paintings, as identified by Anne Clapp, in that it represents, quite literally at times, the recipient.4 It personalizes a site similar to “landscape-of-property” paintings discussed by Richard Vinograd in relation to The Bian Mountains painting by the fourteenth-century artist Wang Meng.5 The Diannan album would also qualify as an administrative portrait of Huang Kongzhao in the tradition of Suzhou honorific paintings and perhaps even as a fund-raising appeal. Yet each of these categories represents only one aspect of the album. Rather than delineating one facet of a person, such as belief system, gender, social status, or political stance, the Diannan album represents the maturation of each of these elements over the course of a life to form a complete “self.” The complexity of the route and multidimensional symbolism of the sites encountered along the way demand the division of Huang Xiangjian’s construction of the Diannan album geo-narrative into three different analytical dimensions: the physical topography and the attendant experience of journeying through it; the cultural topography as manifested in historically established symbols representative of generalized principles as well as specific condensation symbols of persona, social group, and class; and the personal topography infused with the personality, beliefs, and experiences of a single self.6 One must also factor in the act of remembrance over these three readings. The people, sites, and activities of the Diannan album existed in a world at least six years past the time the family had returned home. However, they could also represent

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much earlier memories for Huang Kongzhao, those from the beginning of his time in Yunnan some fourteen years before. The Diannan album geo-narrative linked Huang Kongzhao to both his past in Yunnan and to the distant ChineseYunnanese past he chose to acknowledge. The historical ideas and people that Huang Kongzhao admired in Yunnan could be recalled and communed with through their traces in the landscape. In his discussion of poetry, Stephen Owen finds these shengji (traces of their glory, or traces on the glorious landscape) everywhere.7 We have seen how they surrounded the Huangs and informed the site paintings produced in Suzhou. Huang Xiangjian’s diaries show that Huang Kongzhao found them in Yunnan as well. Here too, he communed with the traces of those like-minded men who had come before him. He found them in texts, and on steles and monuments, and in the natural landscape they had marveled at and traversed. The sites within the Diannan album offered Huang Kongzhao the opportunity to revisit and continue his historical dialogue with these personalities; hence, one must also examine the Diannan album as the “loci of remembrance” of one seventeenth-century individual.8

Southwest Topography Eight topographically distinctive regions of landscape are presented in the Diannan album’s eight leaves. Their inscriptions, compositions, inhabitants, and scenic outlooks invite viewers to immerse themselves in the journey experience. Each leaf presents a type of the distinctive topography for which southwest China was famous. The leaves are discussed here in the order in which they now appear, mounted as a handscroll in the collection of the Nanjing Museum. The viewer encounters a countryside with field upon field of flowers in Huadian on the Li River (fig. 5.1) and invigorating medicinal hot springs and a cliffside monastery in Hot Springs of Qiong County (fig. 5.2). Stone Cliffs of Jianchuan shows a wooden walkway clinging to a sheer precipice (fig. 5.3), and a mountaintop cave overlooks a picturesquely formed peak in Stone Cave and Indented Peak (fig. 5.4). A summit road sheltered by pines and surrounded by a sparkling lake is seen in The Pine Trees and Stone Steps of Taihua (fig. 5.5). The sun rises high above a blanket of clouds in Dawn on Lotus Peak (fig. 5.6), and a mountain waterfall cascades into a mist-enshrouded pool in Numinous Peaks and Billowing Clouds (fig. 5.7). Finally, a rustic temple stands deep within a dense forest in The Ancient Buddhist Monastery of the Brahman (fig. 5.8).

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Fig. 5.1  Huang Xiangjian, Huadian on the Li River. Leaf 1 from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Diannan album), 1658. Eight-leaf album, ink and color on paper, 30.3  69 cm. Courtesy of the Nanjing Museum.

This pictorial lexicon of southwest landscape types would have been familiar to many seventeenth-century viewers. As seen in the previous chapters, the extraordinary geographic formations, verdant flora and exotic fauna, and ancient shrines and monasteries of the southwest, as well as the amazing atmospheric effects and climatic extremes of the region, had been feared and lauded for centuries. Ming-dynasty travel writers such as Wang Shixing (1547–98) characterized the landscapes of the southwest in poetry and prose that corresponds with the image types that Huang presents. All of these types are found in Wang Shixing’s record of travel to the Diancang Mountains, Er Lake, and the lake-

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side town of Dali. He presents his account in the context of a discussion with a friend, and the following extracts emphasize the scenic southwestern types and climatic effects he describes: In this locale the mountains are like dragons and elephants, pagodas [rise] a thousand feet, vapors occur [in the] summer and winter months, laymen and women throng in crowds, [at monasteries, where the icons of] gold and jade sparkle and dazzle, and grasses and trees grow luxuriantly. Nothing is superior to the expanses of this region. It was the height of

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Fig. 5.2  Huang Xiangjian, Hot Springs of Qiong County. Leaf 2 from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Diannan album), 1658 (Nanjing Museum).

autumn with wind and rain. The stone steps we struggled up were in mist, the mountain peaks appeared and disappeared, the water and sky were the same color. . . . Peaks wind and soar. Streams freeze into jade pools. Ascending the heights and gazing into the distance, one looks [out] over a hundred li. Looking down there were ferries and the fires of fishermen, drifting fireflies flying at night, misty villages and daytime vapors, white clouds for companions. Nothing is superior to the delightful distances of this region. On the nineteen peaks [of Diancang], a spring emerges from each peak, and the springs flow down the valleys. Flying foam descends the slopes in the motions of dragons and snakes. There is not an inch of soil that is not moist. . . . In the spring breeze, the fairy palace peach and plum trees are like brocade . . . the grasses and trees are all fragrant. It would seem that these extraordinary plants and marvelous flowers bloom in all four seasons.9

Wang Shixing emphasizes the magical illusions created through the interaction of the weather and geological formations of the area in the second half of his essay: At the foothills of the [Dian]cang Mountains, there is what is called Elm River [Yuhe], the crescent moon enfolds [the Er Lake like] an ear ornament, and a multitude of rainbows swallow the waves. With bridges for turtles

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and water lizards and dwellings for flood-dragons, the [Er] Lake extends to the horizon, an endless expanse of blue. When the spring breezes make for rough sailing, waves swell [as high] as a house. . . . Malong Peak has a crevice through which shines a beam of light. When one sees a pair of mandarin ducks bathed in this light, this is called “Mandarin Ducks in Western Glow.” At the gorge at Xiaguan, the moon [seems to] rise from the water, and when the moon has already set behind the mountain, it is still visible on the water. This is called “Full Moon Illuminates the Gorge.” In the summer and fall there are white clouds that mark the midsection of the mountains. They do not drift or roll away, but the tips of the trees appear and disappear. This is called “Summer Mountains Girdled in Clouds.” These are all clever effects of day and night on these mountains and the transforming shapes of the clouds and mist . . . when I regard these magical forms and the movements they make, these are unsurpassed scenes in nature. . . . In autumn and winter there is a drizzling rain, and the villages and fields are all in clouds. [When] everything below the midpoint of the mountains is covered in snow, the beautiful towers and fine buildings take on a myriad of shapes. Often the sun rises brilliantly and the reflections off the snow are dazzling. Also, at times the weather is windy and it blows the flowers, so that they scatter on the lake. Even though people dwell beneath this snowy mountain range, the climate is always warm, not cold. The vegetation and trees planted amidst the snowy peaks always wear jade powder when they open. In the fifth and sixth months of summertime, in the bright moonlight on the shaded cliffs, pure and white, [the snow] is still there. . . . These are unsurpassed views under heaven.10

Other writers such as Yang Shen, Xie Dongshan, Zhou Fujun, Li Yuanyang, Xie Zhaozhe, and Xu Xiake wrote of similar natural marvels of the southwest.11 Huang Xiangjian offered parallel descriptions of the southwest topography and climate in his journey texts. Viewers familiar with any of these or with Huang’s earlier paintings of the territory, even general histories or plays connected with the area, such as those associated with Guan Suo and Zhuge Liang, would have recognized the distinctive geography of this region. Having grasped the general theme of the album, most traditional viewers would begin a careful study of the four-character titles and inscriptions found on each leaf. Huang places seven of the eight inscriptions in the far right, at the beginning of each composition, signaling that this was his intention. Each title records the general location of the site or region illustrated, such as Huadian on the Li River, or the Hot Springs of Qiong County. Huang then describes one or

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Fig. 5.3  Huang Xiangjian, Stone Cliffs of Jianchuan. Leaf 3 from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Diannan album), 1658 (Nanjing Museum).

more of the unique landforms, scenic sites, or climatic curiosities of the area. The first album leaf serves as a good example (fig. 5.1). The inscription reads: Huadian on the Li River. Below the Diancang Mountains there is countryside along the river for about a thousand li. All kinds of flowers and fruits grow. Not only in spring and summer is it luxuriant and flourishing, but even in the fall and winter, red and purple flowers mingle there. Most people live in thatched cottages with bamboo fences, and they all plow, fish, weave and herd animals. It is indeed a country villa paradise! Who says we cannot search for the Peach Blossom Spring [here]? Xiangjian.

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麗江花甸。點蒼山之下，原野沿江幾千里。俱產花果。不特春夏時繁華穠 郁，即秋冬亦紅紫交加。民居多茆舍竹籬而耕漁織牧靡不有之。洵是別墅洞 天！孰謂桃源不可尋耶？向堅

He often concludes the inscriptions by contemplating the overall view of the region or its scenery. A good example is found on the fourth leaf (fig. 5.4): Stone Cave and Indented Peak. There is a large cave beneath a mountain peak in Tianzhu County. Its depth is unfathomable. [The area] outside [its entrance] is covered with twisted pines, and wisteria winds around their

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Fig. 5.4  Huang Xiangjian, Stone Cave and Indented Peak. Leaf 4 from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Diannan album), 1658 (Nanjing Museum).

[branches]. [These] fragrant purple and green flowers hang down like a thousand strands of fringe on [a hat], concealing and revealing the cave entrance. There is also a steep mountain peak that stands alone like a screen, with an indentation at its apex. When the sun or moon rises, it looks just as though it was being disgorged from inside [the hollow part of the peak]. This spectacular scene is visible from the cave entrance. Xiangjian. 矼硐凹峰。天柱縣之山巗下有巨穴。深可測。外覆虬松，藤蘿蟠結其上。紫 翠芬霏，垂垂如纓絡千條，掩拂硐門。更有陡峯卓立如屏，凹其頂。日升月上 時，恰當吞吐于中。此又硐前之勝觀。向堅

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The structure of the Diannan album inscriptions cues viewers to the site, route, and experience of the upcoming pictorial trek, in contrast to the Mount Jizu inscription, which appears at the end of the painting and transforms the journey. In the second leaf, Hot Springs of Qiong County (fig. 5.2), the inscriptional journey begins at the hot springs and, after a careful consideration of the springs and their magical surroundings, continues up the road to a splendid mountain monastery. It reads: Hot Springs of Qiong County. The spring is midway up the mountain, and there are two pools. The narrow one is extremely warm and is located inside a stone enclosure. The wide one is cooler, and it is on the outside. It

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is clear to the bottom. Whenever tree leaves fall into it, birds immediately pick them up in their beaks and fly away. Whenever one bathes here, not only is one covered in fragrance and one’s body invigorated, but it can also cure diseases. The many ancient cypresses, gnarled pines, rue grass, and a fairyland of flowers that grow beside [the pools] screen them like a curtain. Among these mountains a famous Buddhist monastery and pagoda have a splendid and imposing air. Truly [this place] has the air of a Land of Joy. [Painted] and recorded by Xiangjian. 穹縣溫泉。泉在半山間，池有二。其窄者甚暖，在石板䲧之內。其寬者稍凉在 外， 澄清徹底。或有木葉脫落其中有鳥輒啣去。凡於此澡浴者，不特香氣襲 人肢體輊健，且能愈疾。傍多古栢狞松芸草琪花覆蔭如幕。其嶺間名刹浮圖 氣象莊嚴，更有樂土之風。向堅并識

Similarly, the inscription of the third leaf, the Stone Cliffs of Jianchuan (fig. 5.3), describes the circuit pictured to its left, beginning with a sheer cliff overlooking a deep abyss, then moving along an extremely narrow and harrowing winding path, and concluding with an impressive view of a distant plateau and marsh. It states: Stone Cliffs of Jianchuan. The cliffs are so precipitous and sheer and the abyss below is so deep that apes and birds cannot perch here. When Marquis Wu [Zhuge Liang] of the Later [Shu] Han was campaigning in the south, he was the first to chisel a roadway along the cliff in order to go through. It winds for several li, but at one place the road is so narrow one can hardly spy a sliver of sky. It is about as narrow as Qutang [gorge on the Yangzi]. Only when you reach the prefectural city can you see the flat plateau and wide marsh. [Painted] and recorded by Xiangjian. 劍川石壁。壁峭而削，下臨深淵，猿鳥不能棲。後漢武侯征南時，始鑿棧，以 通往來。逶迤數里，有夾道處僅窺天一綫。險不特如瞿塘也。及達州城，乃見 平原廣澤。向堅并誌

The inscriptions not only structure and rehearse the upcoming pictorial journey, but they also participate in it. Huang assigns many of the inscriptions a dynamic role within their respective compositions. All eight inscriptions both reinforce the dominant diagonals present in each leaf and balance a pictorial element. The inscription of Huadian on the Li River balances the diagonal running from the top right to the lower left of the composition and serves as a

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Fig. 5.5  Huang Xiangjian, The Pine Trees and Stone Steps of Taihua. Leaf 5 from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Diannan album), 1658 (Nanjing Museum).

counterpoint to the flat precipice on the left side of the main peak. The diagonal of Dawn on Lotus Peak begins with the inscription in the upper right and travels to the lower left (fig. 5.6). The inscription balances the summit of Lotus Peak in the upper left as well. The full text of this sixth inscription reads: Dawn on Lotus Peak. In the Weiqing region there is a mountain that looks like a lotus flower, with layers of rocks like a green onion. Seen from a distance, it is not unlike several clusters of flowers crowded together. In the center of its summit there was built a thatched Buddhist retreat, which looks exactly like a lotus seedpod as it begins to open. Just now, as the morning sun is about to rise, the rosy light makes visible myriad wisps of fleecy white clouds, and dazzling with a glowing crimson, the top of the peak is resplendent, looking all the more like a blooming lotus emerging from the water. There are also one or two needle-shaped peaks, sticking at angles up through the clouds, which are strangely sharp-pointed and thin and look as though they are about to topple over. The twisted pines clinging precariously to their summits are also something rarely seen. [Painted] and recorded by Xiangjian. 蓮峰旭日。威清境內有山若蓮菙，叠石青蔥。望之不異幾朶攢簇。其頂心結 茆庵一撮，宛如初放蓮房。惟是曉日將升，明霞現萬片兜羅錦，絳輝炫耀， 峯頭燦然，尤似出水芙蕖也。更有筆峰一二，斜插雲表，離奇銳瘦，勢欲傾 倒。其虬松蟠踞頂上亦為罕覯者。向堅幷誌

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Fig. 5.6  Huang Xiangjian, Dawn on Lotus Peak. Leaf 6 from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Diannan album), 1658 (Nanjing Museum).

The position of each inscription also highlights some aspect of the illustrated journey, usually its beginning or end. The road on which the viewer embarks into Huadian on the Li River occurs just below its inscription, whereas the road into the Numinous Peaks and Billowing Clouds of the Heqing region appears just above (fig. 5.7). The full inscription of this seventh leaf states: Numinous Peaks and Billowing Clouds. The views on the Heqing Road are quite beautiful. Such sights as the trails of mist in the mountain forests and the deep darkness of the ravines are entirely worth being painted, while a cascade that is a hundred chi high makes a constant roar as it billows into clouds. It is a particularly uncommon region. Xiangjian.

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靈岫雲濤。鶴慶道中，風景殊佳。若林嵐之翹，岩壑之幽深，儘堪人画而懸 泉百尺，每作濤声于雲際。尤非凡境。向堅

Many of the inscriptions reinforce a climactic view at the end of the journey. In The Pine Trees and Stone Steps of Mount Taihua, the inscription floats above the distant water, rolling hills, and far peaks visible from the mountain (fig. 5.5). The inscription reads: The Pine Trees and Stone Steps of Taihua. This mountain is at the midpoint of Kunming Lake, rearing up a thousand xun, in layer upon layer of mountain pinnacles all jutting up weirdly, each one different. It has long been extolled

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Fig. 5.7  Huang Xiangjian, Numinous Peaks and Billowing Clouds. Leaf 7 from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Diannan album), 1658 (Nanjing Museum).

as one of the scenic highlights of Yunnan. It has many Buddhist monasteries on it, in ranks on both sides of the road. As you wind around the stone steps, you can leave the dusty world behind. Halfway up the mountain there is a view of the mountain reflected in the water, which truly makes “one’s heart open and one’s spirit delight.”12 [Painted] and recorded by Xiangjian. 太菙松磴。山在昆明池中，高湧千尋而層巒叠巘，奇突不一。古称滇雲名勝 也。上多梵宮藍宇，層於翼道。磴級盤旋振衣。半嶺間，俛仰山光水色，令人 心曠神怡。向堅并誌

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Similarly, the sun that rises over the rosy mountains of Dawn on Lotus Peak is highlighted still further by the literary description that frames it (fig. 5.6). The most dramatic example of this text-and-image interaction is found in the final album leaf, The Ancient Buddhist Monastery of the Brahman (fig. 5.8). Huang radically changes the location of the inscription here from the right side to the left so that it not only hovers above the impressive distant view, but also presents viewers with both the verbal and visual equivalent of that extensive view as the final image of the album. This last inscription reads as follows:

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Fig. 5.8  Huang Xiangjian, The Ancient Buddhist Monastery of the Brahman. Leaf 8 from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Diannan album), 1658 (Nanjing Museum).

The Ancient Monastery of the Brahman. On the bank of the Lancang River, where it winds through the mountains, there is an old Buddhist monastery and pagoda. In the Liang dynasty an Indian monk stopped here and built it. A stone tablet that is still here says whenever the monk got up to dance, the trees and stones danced along with him. Later, after the monk died, cranes and deer would circumambulate the pagoda, and his relics emitted light in front of the pagoda. Even today, the woods are dense. The myriad mountains standing in ranks below are actually the many peaks of India. Laymen also call it the Little Western Paradise. I sketched this in the hostel on Gaoli in the sixth month of the wuxu year [1658]. Huang Xiangjian. 羅民古刹。山綿亙於籣滄江之滸上。有古刹浮圖。梁時有天竺僧跓錫于此而 建者。存碣有云：僧或時起舞，則木石亦皆舞。洎後脫化去，鶴鹿時繞，塔 前舍利生光。迢今叢林鬱然。其下萬山森立，即天竺群峰也。俗又稱為小西 天。戊戌長夏寫於臯里館中。黃向堅

Huang employs his inscriptions to further creative effect as performative pictorial components of the compositions. The shape and position of the Stone Cliffs of Jianchuan inscription mimic the scenery it describes (fig. 5.3). Whereas the other inscriptions are typically eight to sixteen lines of characters, here just three elongated lines echo the tall, sheer cliffs. Huang suggests its interaction with the precipice by placing it in the extreme lower-right corner of the composition, as though it has slid down the steep cliff face upon which it is written. He

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creates a similar effect with the inscription on Numinous Peaks and Billowing Clouds by presenting the three long lines of text in the lower right as though they are clinging to a steep outcropping above an abyss (fig. 5.7). The inscription on Stone Cave and Indented Peak also actively demonstrates the natural phenomena that it describes. From the entrance of a cave in Tianzhu County one may view a “steep mountain peak that stands alone like a screen, with an indentation at its apex. When the sun or moon rises, it looks just as though it was being disgorged from inside [the hollow part of the peak].” Neither the sun nor moon is delineated. Instead, one views the inscription itself through the indentation (fig. 5.4). The Diannan album inscriptions and paintings were created as interdependent and interactive components of its geo-narrative. Indeed, the integral relationship of word and image in these painted journey-experiences is a characteristic of geo-narratives. A discussion of the subject matter and composition of each leaf follows, with the foreknowledge that many of these pictorial elements were perceived in correlation with a reading of the inscription. The formal structural elements of each of the Diannan album leaves immediately envelop viewers in eight distinctive and complete, yet interrelated, journey experiences. Huang arranged the individual elements of each album leaf into dynamic compositions whose shapes roughly resemble the capital Roman letters “A,” “X,” and “V.” Each of these compositional forms contains one principal diagonal. After or while reading the opening inscription, the viewer moves along the dominant diagonal of each composition on the first stage of the journey. At the end of this diagonal the route continues along the subtler subsidiary remainder of the compositional path; thus, the route of Huadian on the Li River takes a curved “A” form (fig. 5.1). The journey commences at the strong diagonal path below the inscription in the lower right. This path is accentuated by blossoming pink trees and moves diagonally along the riverbank into the upper left. Boats here sail downriver, redirecting the viewer’s gaze below to the pointed peaks, whose stair-step progression descends to the monastery at the summit beneath them. This monastery and the peaks behind it create a diagonal ascent to the stone steps on the central peak and its precariously slanted viewing precipice. The journey ends on this precipitous bluff atop the highest peak, where the viewer may gaze upon the entirety of the region just traveled. The pink flowers that adorn the bluff signal the end of the excursion. They also act as a pictorial bracketing device in correlation with the matching blossoming trees along the riverbanks and together serve to highlight both the beginning and ending points of the journey.

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The “X” composition of Hot Springs of Qiong County also begins on a path in the lower right below the inscription (fig. 5.2). The viewer moves along the path through a grove of trees to the hot springs at the center, then over the stone bridge and up the winding path to the monastery in the upper left. The waterfall beneath the monastery directs the eye to the nearer cliff below. The opposite subsidiary diagonal up the picture frame begins here with the rightward curve of the foreground cliff face. The pines growing from its side point the viewer in the same direction. The path travels over the stone bridge and invites contemplation of the hot springs a second time, then it climbs the stairs up the precipice to the pavilion and monastery that overlook the inscription-framed valley in the upper right. As a final example, the dominant diagonal in the “V” composition of Dawn on Lotus Peak is formed by the mountain range that begins just beneath the inscription in the upper right (fig. 5.6). The cloudy peaks extend downward to the tiny, stepped path in the lower midsection of the leaf. The viewer is redirected up the path along the left slope, past a wood gatherer to the small thatched hut in the center of the mountain. A cliffside roadway and village continue the diagonal beyond the picture frame. Huang Xiangjian embedded an image of himself in each of these compositions. He travels through every leaf, identifying the direction and trail and serving as a minuscule foil to the vast southwestern geography. As in his other works, Huang distinguishes himself with a blue robe and an umbrella as he walks along the lower riverbank in Huadian on the Li River (fig. 5.9); arrives at a Buddhist monastery in Hot Springs of Qiong County (fig. 5.10); crosses a precarious bridge in the Stone Cliffs of Jianchuan (fig. 5.11); climbs above the clouds and toward the cave in Stone Cave and Indented Peak (fig. 5.12); rounds a steep bend amidst The Pine Trees and Stone Steps of Mount Taihua (fig. 5.13); navigates the stairs below the needle-shaped peaks to admire Dawn on Lotus Peak (fig. 5.6); and watches his footing above the hundred-chi-high waterfall of Numinous Peaks and Billowing Clouds (fig. 5.14). Only in the final leaf, The Ancient Buddhist Monastery of the Brahman, does he sit quietly, contemplating the view from a height (fig. 5.15). Seventeenth-century viewers were preconditioned to experience a painted landscape through the pictorial cues of the people who inhabited it. Focalizers ushered viewers through every type of landscape painting, from those that were principally exercises in style to the most specific renderings of real places. Huang utilizes his painted form to similar effect in the Diannan album. This bodily role, however, will take on more dimensions as the experiential nature of the Diannan album geo-narrative is analyzed below.

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Fig. 5.9  Huang Xiangjian, Huadian on the Li River, detail. Leaf 1 from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Diannan album), 1658 (Nanjing Museum).

Huang emphasizes the famed geographic and climatic attributes of the southwest that surround his painted self to further intensify the physical journey experience. As in his ink albums, he radically enlarges the size of mountains, rocks, and trees as he reduces the size of buildings and people to suggest the immense dimensions of the southwest and the great distances the sojourner must travel within its terrain. The Stone Cliffs of Jianchuan offers a particularly dramatic example of this (fig. 5.3). A massive rock wall fills the frame of this leaf at far right to indicate its extreme proximity to the viewer. The towering cliffs to its left are too colossal for a viewer from this position to see their bases or extreme summits. Huang further accentuates their height, as well as the vastness of the region, by continuously diminishing the size of each element in the distance from the cliffs to the tiny travelers crossing a bridge to the miniaturized town and farther still to a monastery and island surrounded by sailboats. Huang uses the region’s famed climate and waterways to similar effect. In several leaves, such as Stone Cave and Indented Peak, he emphasizes the

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Fig. 5.10  Huang Xiangjian, Hot Springs of Qiong County, detail. Leaf 2 from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Diannan album), 1658 (Nanjing Museum).

extreme elevation by picturing the sources of highland waterfalls as opposed to their pools below (fig. 5.4). He conceals the distant lowlands in clouds and mist, sprinkling them with the tiniest, haziest of details, such as the sailboat floating along the indistinct banks of Kunming Lake in The Pine Trees and Stone Steps of Mount Taihua (fig. 5.5). Huang also captured the experience of moving through the treacherous, unfamiliar terrain and climate of these vast regions by defining navigable segments of vertiginous cliff paths and misty trails, only to obscure them behind fantastic natural formations or amidst clouds. The techniques he employs here move beyond his ink albums in that they force viewers to imagine not just the terrain, but also the act of moving through it spatially. In Numinous Peaks and Billowing Clouds, the road to Heqing is delineated at the far right just above the inscription (fig. 5.7). The viewer’s eye passes a wood gatherer only to find that the road recedes and disappears behind a massive cliff boulder that juts out toward the viewer. The path reappears briefly at a higher elevation and greater distance, above an abyss framed by vines and trees in the middle right. It then disappears behind an even more massive rock formation. When it rematerializes at the far left, it is unclear whether the trail has curved behind the cloudy cliff summit or dropped down to the path that emerges beside a waterfall. A final view of road is seen in the far distance above the waterfall, only to disappear again behind another mountain wall. It is on this last bit of road that one spies a tiny version of Huang, who has

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just navigated the entire circuitous route. The inscriptions evoke this same effect with language that both reveals and obscures the intimate surroundings, such as roadside vegetation, flora around a spring, and the entrance to a cave: “All kinds of flowers and fruits grow . . . red and purple flowers mingle. . . . Most people live in thatched cottages with bamboo fences [my italics in all three quotes]”; “The many ancient cypresses, gnarled pines, rue grass, and a fairyland of flowers that grow beside [the pools] screen them like a curtain”; “[It] is covered with twisted pines, and wisteria winds around their [branches]. [These] fragrant purple and green flowers hang down like a thousand strands of fringe on [a hat], concealing and revealing the cave entrance.” Huang further enhances his visual renderings of the geography and climate of the southwest with written descriptions of its sounds and aromas. The treacherous landscape at one point prevented what must have been a typical din of animal sounds. He wrote, “Apes and birds cannot perch here . . . a roadway . . . winds for several li, but at one place the road is so narrow one can hardly spy a sliver of sky.” For him to comment on it in this way indicates the silence was unusual, but cues the viewer to remember the sounds of apes and birds, a familiar auditory trope for wilderness. He also describes the delicate scent and medicinal sensation of the hot springs: “Whenever one bathes here, not only is one covered in fragrance and one’s body feels invigorated, but it can also cure diseases.” The repetition of the inscriptional and pictorial elements that define each journey stage prepared traditional viewers for the final climactic view at the Diannan album’s end. Six of the eight compositions culminate in an extensive outlook. This vista is prefigured in the inscriptions. Huang opens the Huadian on the Li River inscription by describing an expanse of countryside surrounding the Diancang Mountains and running along the river “for about a thousand li.” He concludes the Stone Cliffs of Jianchuan inscription by informing viewers that only from the city walls can they “see a flat plateau and wide marsh.” Much of the inscription of Dawn on Lotus Peak relates what is visible of this peak as “seen from a distance,” and the position atop the mountain of Stone Cave and Indented Peak presents the “spectacular scene” visible from the cave entrance. I suggest that these vistas represent illustrated versions of the daguan, or “grand view,” discussed in chapter 4. Huang’s conclusion to The Pine Trees and Stone Steps of Mount Taihua highlights this reading because the artist equates the painted vista with the internal development of the viewer. He communicates this by describing the view of the lake from the mountain, which is reflected in the water, as one that “truly makes ‘one’s heart open and one’s spirit delight.’ ”

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Fig. 5.11  Huang Xiangjian, Stone Cliffs of Jianchuan, detail. Leaf 3 from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Diannan album), 1658 (Nanjing Museum).

His use of the same words as those chosen by the Suzhou native Fan Zhongyan in Fan’s immortal essay commemorating the daguan he achieved upon climbing the Yueyang Tower reinforces this interpretation.13 Huang used the same pictorial strategy to render a daguan as he did in his written inscriptions. He placed the expansive vista at the end of the illustrated route, amidst the extreme altitude and isolation of the sites pictured. He did sometimes make them available at other points along the journey as well. Huang uses the strong diagonals of each composition to direct viewers to the impressive outlook and accentuates it with the surrounding landscape. In the “V” compositional format of Stone Cave and Indented Peak, the viewer begins the journey along a narrow mountaintop road some distance away at far right (fig. 5.4). The path draws nearer, only to disappear around a bend behind the indented

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Fig. 5.12  Huang Xiangjian, Stone Cave and Indented Peak, detail. Leaf 4 from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Diannan album), 1658 (Nanjing Museum).

peak. The diminutive Huang, umbrella raised, emerges from the mists at the other side, climbing up some stone steps to a higher, nearer ridge (fig. 5.12). As the viewer travels on ahead, the landscape grows closer still. One passes through the grove of yellow-hued trees, winds behind a mass of boulders, and crosses a stone bridge to the hut at the cave entrance in the far-left foreground (fig. 5.16). Low-hanging mists, indicative of the high altitude, float around the cave and trees. A waterfall begins its ascent down the mountain beneath the stone bridge. A thick layer of clouds signifies the dramatic drop in elevation of the landscape surrounding the indented peak. From this lofty position at the cave, the trees’ angle and the waterfall’s course, as well as the hut, bridge, and indented peak, all direct the viewer to look back into the mountainous, mist-shrouded distance at right (fig. 5.4). Huang further accentuates the long vistas by framing them

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Fig. 5.13  Huang Xiangjian, The Pine Trees and Stone Steps of Taihua, detail. Leaf 5 from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Diannan album), 1658 (Nanjing Museum).

within the nearby topography. The two large mountain masses that begin and conclude Huang’s route in The Pine Trees and Stone Steps of Mount Taihua also enclose and direct viewers’ attention to the final panoramic view (fig. 5.5). Huang signals the beginning of the journey as he rounds a ridge upon Mount Taihua at right (fig. 5.13). Soon he will pass a distant hut whose front entrance overlooks a deep ravine, and then he will move along a road thick with pines that leads up the distant mountain peak at left toward a monastic complex. The smaller, opening ridge at right curls pointedly to the left, as the high mountain summit that concludes the leaf curves in to the right. When connected with the pine-tree path below and inscription above, the two peaks frame the distant view of Kunming Lake at the center of the composition. Similarly, the viewer might envision the faraway island, plateau, and marsh of the Stone Cliffs of Jianchuan between the “V”-shaped indentations of mountain peaks at the center of the

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Fig. 5.14  Huang Xiangjian, Numinous Peaks and Billowing Clouds, detail. Leaf 7 from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Diannan album), 1658 (Nanjing Museum).

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Fig. 5.15  Huang Xiangjian, The Ancient Buddhist Monastery of the Brahman, detail. Leaf 8 from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Diannan album), 1658 (Nanjing Museum).

composition (fig. 5.3). The opening precipice and concave peak of Stone Cave and Indented Peak literally frame the distant mountains of Tianzhu County, and the shape of the indented peak does so figuratively (fig. 5.4). The high-altitude sunrise over a sea of clouds in Dawn on Lotus Peak is centered between the mountain range at right and a needle peak at left (fig. 5.6), while the inscription above and hillocks beneath highlight the endless progression of mountains into the horizon of The Ancient Buddhist Monastery of the Brahman (fig. 5.8). Huang presents viewers with large album leaves, the physicality of which heightens the impact of each journey experience and the momentous view at its conclusion. The Diannan album leaves measure 30.3 centimeters high and 69 centimeters wide, which is over three times the width of the larger of the two ink albums discussed in chapter 2. This makes the leaves too large to hold and examine at close range as one could with a smaller album. Consequently, they would probably have been placed upon a table for viewing. Seeing each large, framed panorama of distant topography is similar to gazing at the countryside

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Fig. 5.16  Huang Xiangjian, Stone Cave and Indented Peak, detail. Leaf 4 from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Diannan album), 1658 (Nanjing Museum).

through the window frame of a rural monastery or lodge or from the transom of a palanquin as it moves through varied terrain. There is no clear stylistic precedent for the extensive views Huang illustrates in the Diannan album. Even Huang had not illustrated such comprehensive vistas before. In his ink albums, he had described views beyond the focal sites, such as the distant mountains past Sandu Pass and the Guan Suo Mountain Range. He had also implied such a view in the Mount Jizu handscroll without actually illustrating it, nor was this type of view utilized by other painters in late-Ming Suzhou. This may be attributed in some part to the topography of the Suzhou area. Whereas Huang was painting the mountainous Yunnan-Guizhou countryside, in which the Guizhou ranges can reach 2,900 meters and the peaks of the Jade Dragon Snowy Mountains of Yunnan top out at 5,596 meters, Suzhou painters were rendering 34-meter-high Tiger Hill and 221-meter-high Mount Tianping amidst the southern lowlands.14 Primarily, however, immense views of unfamiliar landscape did not fill a need for the Suzhou clientele. Distant views of unnamed countryside had no place within functional site paintings of Suzhou. One technique of Suzhou place painting, however, was useful for the vast landscapes of the southwest: recession into background space. The expansive perspectives and high horizon lines of honorific and fund-raising appeal

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paintings required that artists convincingly delineate the general surroundings of certain geographical districts. Similarly, painters of famous sites, such as Yuan Shangtong, suggested horizons for their miniaturized versions of Hushan (fig. 1.13) and Stone Lake (fig. 1.14). Some individual artists who produced a variety of site paintings, among them Zhang Hong and Qian Gong, also sought to depict spatial recession as though viewed from a single perspective. Zhang Hong painted higher, more expansive renderings of Suzhou sites as they extended back into the distance from a single vantage point, as in his rendering of Xukou (fig. 1.19).15 He also created paintings in which the interior spatial depth of a mountain valley was emphasized, as in Mount Qixia and Wind in the Pines at Mount Gouqu.16 Others, including Qian Gong, presented a close view of a site with a suggestion of the distant views it afforded, as in Fuyuan Monastery at Dongting West Mountain (figs. 1.44, 1.45). Zhang Fengyi also juxtaposed remote Lake Tai with a closer composite sketch of the back of Tiger Hill and its flanking canal (fig. 5.17). Suzhou topographical painters of the late Ming were interested in implying the overall view, height, and depth of the sites they illustrated, but none suggested a site-specific landscape as high, deep, or expansive as Huang’s pictures of southwest China. It would have been inaccurate and unsuitable for them to do so. Viewers who carefully read and studied the eight distinctive journeys of the Diannan album leaves would recognize them as stages within the comprehensive geo-narrative experience of the album, similar to Zhang Hong’s 1648 handscroll tour of Suzhou sites in A Thousand Mountains and Distant Water (figs. 1.35–1.43).17 The Diannan album journey is signaled in the beginning of the first leaf by the representative figure of Huang at far right along the banks of the Li River (fig. 5.9), the lowest geographical elevation represented in the album. Slowly and steadily he travels ever higher through the distinctive regions of the southwest (figs. 5.10– 5.14). His lengthy trek draws to a close in the second half of the last leaf. His stance signifies its conclusion. He is seated on a high precipice above the Lancang River contemplating a vast, mountainous view and misty clouds (fig. 5.15). Huang Xiangjian’s ability to capture the marvelous southwestern geography in his unique brush style; his extreme emphasis on three-dimensionality and clever representation of space in the region’s routes, distances, and topography; his comparatively naturalistic palette; and the lively, dynamic inscriptions and life-size format presented traditional viewers with a travel experience the intensity of which could be compared to modern-day cinema. The question remains: what was the narrative of such a production?

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Fig. 5.17  Zhang Fengyi, Tiger Hill. Leaf from Paintings for Suzhou Prefect Kou Shen’s Resignation from Office, 1626 (Suzhou Museum).

Cultural Topography The physical journey of the Diannan album is populated with historically established landscape signifiers of generalized principles and specific condensation symbols of persona, social group, and class. Huang Xiangjian superimposes the traditional iconography of the idyllic retreat of a retired official over the southwestern geography and fills it with the traces of historic Han colonizers with whom an upright gentleman might identify and commune. These ideas are presaged in the inscriptions and actively accentuated in the pictorial journey. Collectively, this cultural topography presents the southwest as the perfect loyalist retreat for a seventeenth-century Han-Chinese gentleman like Huang Kongzhao.

Iconic Landscape Themes As in the Mount Jizu scroll, Huang re-envisions the Diannan-album sites within the conventions of the blue-and-green landscape-painting tradition. The subtle blues and greens he applied to the mountains and waterways of each leaf not only imply the general concepts of escape, eremitism, and the legendary paradisal islands and mountains of the immortals, but also identify them as remote

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geographic regions of quasi-sacred character.18 The blue-and-green color palette of the Diannan album also reconstitutes its southwestern geography as the utopian world of the “Peach Blossom Spring.” In this well-known fifth-century poem by Tao Yuanming, a solitary fisherman passes through a cave amidst a grove of flowering peach trees to find a utopian farm community that had been separated for centuries from the modern world.19 This theme of a lost idyllic world had been popular for centuries and was no less so amongst seventeenth-century writers and painters. The pictorial iconography of the theme had been simplified over the years to such an extant that by Huang Xiangjian’s time it could be conjured by the mere mention or pictorial suggestion of a riverbank and grove of flowering pink trees.20 It had also become a nostalgic, genericized point of comparison in descriptions of other particularly splendid landscapes, as in a fan painting by Lu Zhi in which he refers to the theme in relation to a trip to the Nanping hills of Hangzhou.21 Some elites expressed the ideals of the Peach Blossom Spring as a lifestyle. Chen Jiru notes that a friend had always wished to acquire land overlooking the Cha River to live a life similar to that described in the Peach Blossom Spring paintings in his collection.22 Tang Yin did just that by retiring late in life to his Jiangsu Peach Blossom Retreat (Taohua’an).23 The theme had been utilized in writings on the southwest as well, most notably in the work of Yang Shen. He alludes to the story in his “Songs of Dian Lake” (Dianhai qu), a “miniature gazetteer” poem of twelve seven-character quatrains that tours the reader through a variety of Yunnan sites, and in which he mentions fishermen, woodcutters going about honest labor, the mild climate, and blossoming trees.24 Huang Xiangjian deliberately alludes to the Peach Blossom Spring theme in both the inscription and image of the first Diannan album leaf (fig. 5.1, discussed earlier). His description of the site in his inscription is as follows: “Below the Diancang Mountains there is countryside along the river for about a thousand li. All kinds of flowers and fruits grow. Not only in spring and summer is it luxuriant and flourishing, but even in the fall and winter, red and purple flowers mingle there. Most people live in thatched cottages with bamboo fences, and they all plow, fish, weave and herd animals. It is indeed a country villa in paradise! Who says we cannot search for the Peach Blossom Spring [here]?” This description of the site is strikingly similar to these lines from Tao Yuanming’s “Peach Blossom Spring” poem: “For several hundred paces on both banks of the stream there was no other kind of tree. The wild flowers growing under them [the peach trees] were fresh and lovely . . . well-built houses were surrounded by rich fields and pretty ponds. Mulberry, bamboo and other trees and plants grew

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there, and criss-cross paths skirted the fields. . . . Men and women were coming and going about their work in the fields. . . . The old and young were joyous in their ample happiness.”25 In the picture the small figure of Huang, umbrella in hand, walks along a riverbank scattered with peach trees toward a dramatic rock precipice (fig. 5.9). This rendering corresponds with other seventeenth-century representations of the Peach Blossom Spring. The 1646 Peach Blossom Spring album leaf painted by Fan Qi (1616–after 1694), now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, contains these same basic elements: a figure with a staff rather than an umbrella, a riverbank, peach trees, and a large mountain mass. The Diannan album leaf inscription and its query, “Who says we cannot search for the Peach Blossom Spring here?” as well as the transposition of Huang as the fisherman preparing to enter the cave, invite viewers to search out and find the Peach Blossom Spring in the following leaves. The pink trees of this first leaf also highlight the central precipice and present it as a viewing platform from which one may do just that. Huang continues this conceit through a variety of topographical features and players in the following album leaves. The precipitous, mistladen peaks and deep chasms of southwest China may be read as the cloudy mountains and valleys of the land of the Peach Blossom Spring as described by Tang-dynasty poets. Han Yu (768–824) writes of its “built-up ranges and deepcut valleys”; Liu Yuxi (772–842) discusses the “range upon range of mountains”; Meng Haoran the “blue precipices”; and Zhang Jie (fl. ca. 877) the “inaccessible cliffs.” These ideas continued into the Song dynasty, according to Susan Nelson. In a poem for a painting of the same topic, Wang Shipeng (1112–71) described the Peach Blossom Spring as an area of “blue mountains and bluetinted mists, flying waterfalls three thousand feet high, and towering peaks and precipices.”26 Several leaves of the Diannan album also incorporate imagery integral to the story. The flowing spring and cave entrance of the second and fourth leaves suggest the grotto the fisherman enters to find the utopia on the other side (figs. 5.2, 5.4). Quaint, secluded communities reminiscent of the village beyond the cave found by the fisherman may be seen amidst the valleys of the first, third, and fifth leaves (figs. 5.5, 5.18, 5.9); along the cliff in the far left of the sixth leaf (fig. 5.19); and at the opening of the eighth leaf (fig. 5.8). The noble rustics with whom the fisherman communed in this ideal land also inhabit the Diannan album leaves in the form of the bathers in leaf two; the locals crossing the bridge in leaf three (fig. 5.18); the recluse at the cave entrance of leaf four (fig. 5.16); and the solitary mountain woodcutters of leaves three and

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six. Similar figures populate other Ming-Qing paintings of the Peach Blossom Spring, such as the wood gatherer descending from the mountains in a Peach Blossom Spring handscroll credited to Qiu Ying (ca. 1500–ca. 1552) in the Art Institute of Chicago, and in one of a set of ten hanging scrolls on the theme by Shen Shichong (fl. ca. 1607–after 1640).27 Even the waterfalls incorporated by Huang into the Diannan album are present in a number of mid- to late-Ming versions of the Peach Blossom Spring, such as the Peach Blossom Valley of 1533 by Zhou Chen (ca. 1450–after 1535).28 Locating the Diannan album sites within the landscape tradition of the Peach Blossom Spring allows two readings of the imagery. The legendary setting conjures the safe, traditional, elitist trope of eremitism, but it also creates an incendiary contemporary Ming-loyalist statement. Almost from the poem’s inception in the fourth century, literary and pictorial allusions to the Peach Blossom Spring theme and its creator Tao Yuanming implied a physical and mental state of scholarly retreat into the countryside to cultivate the mind and body through study and contemplation of nature. Susan Nelson has termed paintings that communicate this withdrawal fantasy “iconographies of escape.”29 The subject matter of such paintings varied widely, from unidentifiable landscapes cast in blue-and-green hues to solitary scholars reminiscent of Tao Yuanming contemplating a distant sight. A traditional reading of the Peach Blossom Spring imagery of the Diannan album then casts Huang Kongzhao’s removal from office and subsequent hiding in the southwest as a retreat from his societal and official obligations similar to countless upright officials before him. It also suggests that he was of the type of reclusive gentleman able to cultivate himself in such a setting. Huang Kongzhao retired into the role of yimin (“remnant citizen”) following the collapse of the Ming dynasty, as did many men who survived the Ming-Qing cataclysm. Huang Xiangjian’s record of his father’s simple dwelling, his concerted study of Buddhist and Confucian texts, and a friend’s description of him as “peaceful at leisure and untroubled . . . a true immortal and true Buddha” all suggest that Huang Kongzhao did lead a relatively eremitic life of self-cultivation in both Yunnan and Suzhou. This reading of the Peach Blossom Spring imagery presents Huang Kongzhao as he was when his son found him in Yunnan. A contemporaneous interpretation of the Peach Blossom Spring imagery involves Huang Kongzhao’s active identification as a Ming loyalist. Whereas the eremitic implications of the Peach Blossom Spring imagery place Huang Kongzhao in the lineage of legendary virtuous men of the past, a second read-

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Fig. 5.18  Huang Xiangjian, Stone Cliffs of Jianchuan, detail. Leaf 3 from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Diannan album), 1658 (Nanjing Museum).

ing of the imagery created by his son presents his true story as a contemporary loyalist who nearly died for his allegiance. Huang Xiangjian subtly communicates this political stance in his diary description of his father’s response—“overcome with nostalgia for the former [Ming] dynasty”—as they pass Mount Zhong in the area of modern Nanjing. This is the burial place of the Hongwu emperor, Zhu

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Fig. 5.19  Huang Xiangjian, Dawn on Lotus Peak, detail. Leaf 6 from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Diannan album), 1658 (Nanjing Museum).

Yuanzhang (r. 1368–98), founder of the Ming dynasty.30 Ming loyalism is conveyed in the Diannan album by identifying the southwest as the utopian community of the poem due to the political presence of the Yongli emperor there. In 1658, when the album was painted, the last remnant of the Ming dynasty was located in Yunnanfu (Kunming) in the form of the Yongli court.31 Six of the Diannan album leaves present the general region inhabited by the court, and leaf five captures a scenic site within the temporary capital proper. The peaceful utopian communities of the Diannan album are a testament to the presence of a Ming sovereign. Chen Chen employed the far southwest to similar effect only six years later in his 1664 novel The Water Margin: A Sequel (Shuihu hou zhuan). Ellen Widmer suggests that even at this late date the very mention of Myanmar, where the Yongli court fled in 1659, might have raised hopes of a Ming resurgence.32 Other pictorial elements of the Diannan album support this loyalist reading. The limitless vistas that conclude six of its journeys present comprehensive views of a reimagined utopian southwest that could easily represent the loyalist gaze toward the sole remaining Ming emperor in isolated Yunnan.

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This could be related to distant vistas with a view of Mount Zhong as symbols of the former Ming dynasty employed by loyalist writers such as Chen Chen in his aforementioned novel: one of his characters climbs the Yuhuatai near Nanjing to gain a view of Xiaoling, the tomb complex of Zhu Yuanzhang on Mount Zhong. In viewing this same place from a distance, Huang Kongzhao was overcome with nostalgia. Visiting the tomb of the Ming-dynasty founder was a popular loyalist activity for many years following that dynasty’s fall.33 The later painter Shitao captures his own experience of viewing this site in Yuhuatai, the sixth leaf in his album Eight Views of the South.34 From his high vantage point Chen Chen’s character gains “a grand perspective on an endless succession of cliffs and valleys. . . . In the distance was [Mount Zhong], where the air of kings was burgeoning.”35 Ellen Widmer suggests that this view of the Ming founder’s tomb, which may be read as representative of the Ming emperors and hence the dynasty itself, lifts the character’s spirits and implies his desire for a Ming resurgence.36 Huang also communicates the loyalist desire for a revival of the Ming royal house through his allusion to sun imagery on the fourth and fifth leaves. In the concluding section of the inscription for Stone Cave and Indented Peak, Huang describes the moment “when the sun or moon rises” (risheng yueshang shi 日升月上時). Viewers could easily join the first and third characters of this phrase, “sun” 日 and “moon” 月, to read “Ming” 明, and could read sheng 升 and shang 上, both meaning “to rise,” as “to rise again,” to communicate the meaning “time for the re-emergence of the Ming.” They might then visualize it in the painted imagery (fig. 5.4). Similar word play is found in the sunrise on Lotus Peak pictured in the sixth leaf (figs. 5.6, 5.20). The words one would use to describe this scene are either a synonym or rebus for the Ming royal house. The sun (太陽 taiyang, “great brightness”) is synonymous with the title of the ruling house, Great Ming (大 明 Da Ming, “great brightness”). Loyalists believed the dynasty, like the sun, should rise again, its glowing crimson hue (zhu 朱) covering the land. Zhu 朱, the character for crimson, was also the surname of the Ming imperial family.37 This Diannan album leaf may also represent an early pictorial representation of the “Birthday of the Sun,” which was celebrated on the nineteenth day of the third month in the south and the first day of the second month in the north. Traditional activities of this holiday include mounting year-end candles at the front door of each household, recitation of the name of the Buddha, and an overnight stay in a hilltop temple in honor of the birth of the sun. Zhao Shiyu and Du Zhengzhen propose that written records, primarily from the

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mid-nineteenth century, suggest this holiday represents an earlier “collective countermemory” of the southeastern elite survivors of the Ming-Qing transition who “created a story and a popular observance in order to perpetuate a historical memory.”38 They date the invention of the Birthday of the Sun to the end of the Shunzhi reign (1644–61) in the southeastern coastal region of China. They propose that after large-scale resistance to the Qing failed, the original intent of this date was to offer sacrifices to the last Ming emperor to reside in Beijing. This intent was hidden in the guise of various crimson deities and performed on the nineteenth day of the third lunar month, the date when the last Ming emperor hanged himself on Coal Hill north of his palace.39 In one of the earliest accounts of this practice, Xu Shidong (1814–73) explains the development of this religious holiday under Qing rule. Even though he was writing two hundred years after the fall of the Ming, he takes care not to arouse Qing censors. Below are several sections of it: This matter began during the Shunzhi and Kangxi reigns of our dynasty and has been passed along to the present. Since [its inception] was over two hundred years ago, aspects that elders did not explain, that books did not record, that were regarded as taboo, or that were lost to sheer distance were not transmitted by later generations. . . . Today, [the nineteenth day of the third month], is none other than the day when Emperor Zhuanglie [Chongzhen] died for his state. . . . The sun sank out of sight in the north, and the land was plunged into darkness; [the sunlight] dispersed and did not return. . . . At that time, our Yin was the most outstanding region for loyalists. There were hereditary aristocrats, degree holders of the previous dynasty, elders in long-established communities, and stubborn rustic people who did not wish to change their allegiance . . . their feelings of loss were very sensitive. Lacking a means to express their pent-up emotions, each year they used this day to mourn their former ruler. . . . At first they just prayed quietly with heads bowed, but as time went on people in rural areas openly recited [prayers]. If they had stolidly used the undisguised name of the defeated dynasty to refer to the spirit of this rite, would it not have raised alarm? So they explained it in terms of a deity in order to fool others; they changed the name [of the subject] and concealed the true [nature of the rite]. Shrewdly, they vaunted it among the people, saying that this day is the Birthday of the Sun. The sun represented the ruler. The deceased ruler could not be referred to openly, so they changed a person’s ghost into a heavenly spirit; heavenly spirits could not have death days,

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Fig. 5.20  Huang Xiangjian, Dawn on Lotus Peak, detail. Leaf 6 from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Diannan album), 1658 (Nanjing Museum).

so they changed a day of national consolation to a birthday. This truly is [the legacy] of our local forebears feeling constrained in their bitterness and concealed rage. . . . Back then, they could understand one another by exchanging gazes, but if they tried to explain the meaning they would become choked with emotion and be unable to do so.40

Seventeenth-century reclusion and loyalism allowed for a fair amount of socializing. Huang Kongzhao took on students in both Yunnan and Suzhou, was an active member of a Yunnan Lotus Society, and no doubt joined one or several such religio-social groups upon returning home to Suzhou. Many if not all of the members of these educational networks and organizations identified

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themselves as recluse Ming loyalists. The Diannan album would have allowed Huang Kongzhao a safe loyalist statement over which he and his friends could “exchange glances.”

Constituent Components of a Gentleman Huang Xiangjian presents the constituent elements of his father’s gentlemanly self as separate activities in the southwest. Figures engaged in classic gentlemanly activities imbued with the age-old symbolism of intellect, principle, and cultivated self-awareness are a focal point of each leaf of the Diannan album. In Hot Springs of Qiong County, a figure in red admires the feeder spring pouring into the hot-spring pools (fig. 5.21). This activity is clearly related to the theme of gentlemen admiring waterfalls. A Poet Contemplating a Waterfall by Zhang Lu (1464–1538) is a fine example of the many Ming-dynasty renderings of the activity.41 This action generally associated gentlemen with past sages who had withdrawn into the countryside and refused to attend unworthy emperors, such as the legendary hermit Xu Yu, who would not serve the court of Emperor Yao. Gentlemen pictured beside waterfalls also exemplified the internal quality of wisdom discussed by Mencius in his explanation of Confucius admiring flowing water as a symbol of boundless virtue.42 The man and donkey crossing a bridge in the far distance of the Stone Cliffs of Jianchuan suggest the individual and collective personas of famous donkey riders of the past and the arduous and lengthy travel required of officials (fig. 5.18). Peter Sturman has compiled a long list of philosophers, poets, and statesmen depicted as donkey riders, including one of the Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove, Ruan Ji (210–63); the Tang-dynasty poets Meng Haoran, Du Fu (712–70), Jia Dao (779–849), and Li He (790–816); and the Song-dynasty poets Lin Bu (967–1028), Pan Lang (d. 1009), Wang Anshi (1021–86), and Su Shi (1037–1101).43 Sturman also identifies the individual traits that make up the collective persona of the donkey rider. He is usually indifferent to official service, but obsessed with landscape, a lover of wine and philosophy, a poet, and an impoverished eccentric.44 The opening lines of Dong You’s (fl. 1126) description of one such painting allude to many of these qualities, as well as to the second theme associated with donkey travel: “Master Meng was an extraordinary man of the world, and it thus is appropriate that he did not accord with his times. He huddles amidst his thick coarse clothes while carrying a bamboo basket on his back. His sleeves fall down as he straddles the donkey. He braves the wind and snow traversing the mountain slope.”45 The long, arduous travel required of bureaucrats was a constant

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Fig. 5.21  Huang Xiangjian, Hot Springs of Qiong County, detail. Leaf 2 from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Diannan album), 1658 (Nanjing Museum).

complaint in the casual writings of such gentleman from the eighth century onward. “From youth to old age, I have gone back and forth in the dust and noisy tumult of cart traffic and horses’ hooves,” a provincial official observed in 1614.46 The difficulties of travel along the southwestern roads were infamous. Yang Shen lists them in his two-hundred-line poem recounting his journey from Beijing to Yongchang, Yunnan, entitled “Song of Gratitude Recording my Punishment of Banishment to Dian” (En qianshu Dian jixing).47 The travel difficulties itemized in this work, which has been extensively analyzed by Ihor Pidhainy, could serve as a synopsis of the travel diaries of Huang Xiangjian: cold, sleet, inaccessibility, savages, tigers, criminals, poor routes, miserable food, and loneliness.48 In Stone Cave and Indented Peak, a figure sits quietly in a small hut built into the entrance of a cave (fig. 5.16). The meditative calm of the moment is implied by a deer curled up asleep in front of the cave. The sitter may be practicing any number of Buddhist or Daoist meditation techniques or the Confucian quietsitting practiced by seventeenth-century gentlemen. Meditational techniques of this sort are captured in a variety of Ming-dynasty paintings. Night Vigil by the Suzhou painter Shen Zhou represents the artist himself in just this posture.49 The presence of the deer in Huang’s painting also suggests the Confucian White

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Deer Grotto Academy (Bailudong Shuyuan) on Mount Lu where the two reclusive brothers Li Bo and Li She lived with their pet white deer during the eighth century.50 The brothers called this pavilion a grotto. A school was established at the site in the Southern Tang dynasty (937–76), and it soon attracted hundreds of students.51 The philosopher Zhu Xi (1130–1200) revived it in the late twelfth century, and it was enlarged further during the Ming dynasty.52 John W. Chaffee suggests that the significance of the White Deer Grotto Academy rests on the fame of its reviver Zhu Xi, who had been a frequent recluse, conscientious official, and devoted scholar and teacher. For later scholars, the academy represented Zhu Xi and his elevated philosophical-political ideals regarding the Confucian system. The government patronage received by the revived academy and its location on Mount Lu also contributed to its later reception as a vision of “past imperial greatness and Confucian rusticity” as well as “cultural wholeness.”53 Evidence of this may be found in the fact that the school rules established by Zhu Xi were the most famous and widely used from their inception into the nineteenth century.54 Two gentlemen converse beneath the pines of Mount Taihua in the fifth leaf of the Diannan album (fig. 5.22). Men of note had long been illustrated listening to the wind in the pines, from the Southern-Song emperor Lizong (r. 1224–64), pictured by Ma Lin (ca. 1180–after 1256) in the 1246 Listening to the Wind in the Pines, to the scholarly gentlemen out on a countryside stroll in Tang Yin’s The Sound of Pines on a Mountain Path of around 1517 or his Wind in the Pines and Flowing Streams of 1521.55 Liu Ji (1311–75), in his 1355 essay “The Wind-inThe-Pines Pavilion I” (Songfengge ji), explains the restorative effects of such an activity. Now, the pine as a species has a stiff trunk and curled branches, its leaves are thin, and its twigs are long. It is gnarled yet noble, unconstrained and overspreading, entangled and intricate. So when wind passes through it, it is neither obstructed nor agitated. Wind flows through smoothly with a natural sound. Listening to it can relieve anxiety and humiliation, wash away confusion and impurity, expand the spirit and lighten the heart, make one feel peaceful and contemplative, cause one to wander free and easy through the skies and travel along with the force of Creation. It is well suited to gentlemen who seek pleasure in mountains and forests, delighting in them and unable to abandon them.56

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Fig. 5.22  Huang Xiangjian, The Pine Trees and Stone Steps of Taihua, detail. Leaf 5 from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Diannan album), 1658 (Nanjing Museum).

Pines themselves were also equated with the principled gentleman who remained constant no matter the circumstances. This symbolism is suggested by Liu Ji’s description of the pine as “gnarled yet noble.” The correlation of the constancy of a principled man with the evergreen pine tree was established much earlier by Confucius with the well-known line in the Analects: “Only when the cold season comes is the point brought home that the pine and the cypress are the last to lose their leaves.”57 In Numinous Peaks and Billowing Clouds, two figures stand beside a waterfall discussing some natural formation or cliff inscription on the rock face beside them (fig. 5.14). Philosophically, an appreciation of unique rock formations evinced a gentleman’s knowledge of the principles of the natural cosmos. Scholars sought understanding, communion, and unity with the dao, the internal and omnipresent natural element of the universe, which was felt to be available only in the mountains and waterways of the countryside. Practically, gentlemen sought out such natural attractions as a relaxing amusement. “Landscape poets” such as Xie Lingyun (385–433) wrote of their explorations of the countryside as

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early as the fifth century, and by the late Ming dynasty, gentlemen such as Feng Mengzhen (1546–1605) mundanely scheduled it into their calendars. Feng lists country idylls as one of four of his regular routines in the third section of his Assignments at the Studio of the True Reality (Zhenshizhai changke ji), stating: “Once every few days, four items: visiting scenic spots for [the pleasures from] mountains and waters; visiting monks and old friends; searching for flowers when in bloom; seeing mother-in-law, inquiring about her health.”58 The appreciation of particularly interesting and strangely shaped rocks may be seen as a subcategory of these wanderings. The famous eccentric painter and calligrapher Mi Fu (1052–1107) was said to have sought out the finest specimens and collected them to the point of obsession.59 Socially, gentlemen who professed a “craving” or “obsession” (pi) for rocks and landscapes positioned themselves within the most elite circles of the time by this reported enthusiasm, which allowed them to differentiate themselves from the ever-increasing educated class. The gentlemen in Numinous Peaks and Billowing Clouds may be examining an interesting rock formation that would have appealed to Mi Fu, or they could be reading an inscription carved into the rock. Early open-air inscriptions usually fulfilled bureaucratic, mortuary, or religious purposes. Large-scale landscape inscriptions date to the Han dynasty, although the term used to describe them, moya or moya shike, is found much later in the writings of the Northern-Song-dynasty scholar Ouyang Xiu (1007–72). By the Northern Song dynasty, inscriptions were carved at sites to identify or emphasize the view.60 The ubiquity of rock inscriptions in the seventeenth century and their function in landscape appreciation made them points of communion for gentlemen who visited their sites. Such rock writings were scattered throughout the mountains of seventeenth-century China, including those of the southwest. Xu Xiake records and contemplates the production of the large characters “Heaven-Sent Lofty Mountain” (Tian zuo gao shan) written on a steep rock face around Jianchuan.61 Richard Strassburg explains that writers engraved characters and texts upon the “original sites of their inspiration” in order to “participate enduringly in the totality of the scene.”62 Visitors altered the physical landscape, and in so doing the future experience of all later viewers, in order to translate their momentary experience and expression of self into a continuous shared activity.63 A solitary red-robed pilgrim travels up a path toward a mountain monastery in The Ancient Buddhist Monastery of the Brahman, the last leaf of the Diannan album (fig. 5.23). Buddhist and local elite cultures were intertwined

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Fig. 5.23  Huang Xiangjian, The Ancient Buddhist Monastery of the Brahman, detail. Leaf 8 from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Diannan album), 1658 (Nanjing Museum).

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in the seventeenth century. Buddhist monasteries were used communally as libraries, meeting and lecture halls, and hostels.64 Buildings on their grounds served as facilities for festival celebration days, food pantries for the poor, and religious exercises ranging from sutra recitation to funerals. The secluded location of many monasteries also made them pleasant vacation spots in which one could enjoy educated discussions with abbots, examine the monastery’s art collection of paintings and calligraphy, and admire magnificent prospects of the surrounding countryside.65 In the late seventeenth century, they also served as loyalist retreats. Many gentlemen fled to these monasteries when the Ming dynasty fell, becoming monks or tonsured laymen in order to avoid cutting their hair in the Manchu style and serving the government in any official capacity.66 Lay societies, some defiantly loyalist, met in the secluded locations offered by these sites.67 The red-robed figure of the Diannan album enters an establishment that served the needs of the seventeenth-century gentleman in every social arena. Finally, the image of a lone figure approaching a monastery had been associated with reclusion or exile amid political upheaval since at least the Tang dynasty. Alfreda Murck translates several poems by famous solitary travelers such as Han Yu and Du Fu who documented their trips to Buddhist temples amidst such circumstances.68 This imagery would have resonated deeply with former officials such as Huang Kongzhao during the Ming-Qing cataclysm. The iconic landscape elements that compose and inhabit the physical topography of the Diannan album represent numerous themes, subthemes, and personalities, but those examined here are the most constant and familiar interpretations, as well as the most relevant and available to seventeenth-century viewers. Each embodies one facet of the personality of an ideal seventeenth-century gentleman such as Huang Kongzhao: recluse, loyalist, landscape devotee, traveler, philosopher, exemplar, and official. Collectively, they capture the essential beliefs by which the life of a gentleman was defined.

Loci of Remembrance Huang Xiangjian presents another, more privileged layer of cultural topography along the Diannan-album route in his depiction of two famous geographical regions of Yunnan: Mount Taihua and the Diancang Mountain Range. Huang integrated a variety of what Stephen Owen has called “loci of remembrance” into the two album leaves that depict these areas, The Pine Trees and Stone Steps of Taihua and Huadian on the Li River. For Owen, loci of remembrance, such as a stele or a mountain, are “bounded spaces in which a plenitude of human history,

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the complexity of human nature, and human experience are concentrated,” and they permit “rereading, revisiting, and repetition as times do not.”69 Huang’s renderings, however, not only pictorialize the loci of remembrance described by previous Ming exiles and officials of these two regions; they also move viewers through the sensory journey experience surrounding each locus. The visual experience Huang created in this layer of cultural topography was essential to the viewing practice of the more erudite members of his Suzhou audience. There was no pictorial precedent for paintings of the southwest in 1658. Indeed, prior to the Diannan album, illustrations of the Diancang region did not even attempt to capture its luminance. Extant pictorial renderings of the area fall into the two categories of printed maps and paintings. The Diancang environs are located in the center of illustrations of the Ming-dynasty governmental district of Dali fu, as in the 1577 Yunnan tongzhi by Li Yuanyang, produced to accompany Yunnan provincial gazetteers (fig. 5.24).70 Slightly closer views of the area were also included in geographical surveys of the extraordinary scenic sites of the empire, such as Strange Views Within the [Four] Seas of 1609 (fig. 5.25).71 In both of these printed maps, the viewer is positioned in the east and looks over Er Lake to the Diancang Mountain Range on the opposite western shore. The

Fig. 5.24  “Dali fu ditu,” from Yunnan tongzhi, 1577. Courtesy of the C. V. Starr East Asian Library, University of California, Berkeley.

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Fig. 5.25  “Diancang shan tu,” from Yang Erzeng, Hainei qiguan. 1609. Courtesy of the C. V. Starr East Asian Library, University of California, Berkeley.

gazetteer map gives the viewer a bird’s-eye view from this direction, whereas the geographical survey places him firmly on the lakeshore looking up at the mountains. The composition of both prints is also similar. The nineteen peaks are portrayed as a stepped pyramid in the center of the composition with the half-moon sliver of Er Lake stretched out before them. The designers may have been attempting to capture descriptions of the Diancang Mountains such as that of Xu Xiake, in which he wrote, “the Nineteen Peaks look like the five peaks of Mount Lu, standing shoulder to shoulder, with a mountain valley descending between each one.”72 Political units and major topographical regions are labeled in the gazetteer, whereas famous local sites such as the triple pagodas (fig. 4.24), Tiansheng Bridge, Dian Lake, the town of Xiaguan, and Maer peak, are identified in the geographical text. The Diancang area is not listed as a common subject matter in records of Ming-dynasty painting collections. The only extant painted version of the region was produced well before the Ming dynasty, in the Long Scroll of Buddhist Images produced by Zhang Shengwen (act. 1163– 89) during the 1170s.73 Although the mountains illustrated in the painting are believed to be the Diancang Range, they are given no identifying topographical

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Fig. 5.26  Diancang Mountain Range, Dali, Yunnan. Courtesy of the author.

features. The rounded ink forms that define them are interchangeable with the distant mountains in countless paintings of the period.74 Huang merged his own experiences of Yunnan with those of earlier Ming writers to present decipherable experiential journeys through the historically established cultural topography of its two most famous areas. The Diancang Mountain Range (fig. 5.26) and Mount Taihua had been described in the writings of Yang Shen, Wang Shixing, Li Yuanyang, and Xu Xiake, among others. The poetry and prose accounts of these regions identified and constructed both their loci of remembrance and how they were to be experienced for later seventeenth-century visitors. This was accomplished by documentation of the traces of historic Han officials, tourists, and colonizers of the southwest contained within their geography; the establishment of their natural scenic beauty; and the formalization of later visitors’ experience of the regions by reporting specific routes, appropriate sites, and accompanying activities within each region. James Robson has termed the ways a site was imagined and represented in historical and literary sources

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as its “mythical topography.”75 The history of the Han people in these areas is exaggerated in the casual writings of Han visitors and gazetteer entries. A reader of such texts would presume Zhuge Liang had tread every other mountain and road throughout Yunnan and Guizhou since several peaks bear his name, a stele, a shrine in his honor, or a story associated with his exploits. The Jianchuan zhou Gazetteer (Jianchuan zhou zhi) of 1713, for example, reports that on his southern expedition through the Jianchuan region in western Yunnan, Zhuge Liang captured the local chieftain of Yizhou.76 Huang, too, mentions Zhuge Liang in the Stone Cliffs of Jianchuan inscription (discussed earlier). Later visitors incorporated early- and mid-Ming-dynasty exiles into this tradition. Ihor Pidhainy believes the fame of several southwestern sites amongst the educated elite may be linked to Yang Shen and his corpus of writings. Pidhainy points out that both Xu Xiake and Wang Shizhen (1634–1711) visited spots associated with Yang Shen.77 Both of these men visited the Diancang and Mount Taihua regions. Previous writers established the reputation for beauty of the two areas through ecstatic descriptions of their experiences of the sites. Cai Shaoke (late 15th–early 16th c.) explains how the splendor of the Diancang region caused him to finance woodblock prints of the area’s most striking scenes for dissemination: The rivers and mountains of Dali are the most famous in western Dian. Having a free moment, I climbed the district city tower . . . and took a look all around. . . . This fluctuating vista provides ten different scenes, possessing such marvelous sights and landscapes that no words can do justice to them. Here faintly nature has painted a picture in the South, seemingly impossible for a human to design—what beautiful scenery! If it were moved among Wu, Yue, Min and Chu, it could hold its own with the famous districts there. Therefore, I ordered engravers to cut a picture of it onto blocks so that gentlemen all over the world can enjoy it together and so this magic district with its spectacular scenery would not remain buried in this desolate corner of the empire. Therefore, its enhanced value would become known from this day hence.78

Cai’s order of “ten different scenes” also serves as an example of later writers’ development of specific, prescribed southwestern sites, and their attendant experience. Gazetteer compilers aided these efforts by presenting formally labeled views of specific southwestern regions as though they had been established for centuries. These entries were often based on earlier prose and poetic accounts of the areas.

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One of the earliest extant discussions of the views of Kunming is ascribed to the Yuan-dynasty Assistant Commissioner Wang Sheng, whose eight views of the area included Mount Taihua.79 Later, Wang Shixing recorded in detail four such views of the Diancang Mountain Range, as explained to him by a friend. Of the scenic views of the Cang Mountains, as the ancients recorded them, I will give you four of them here: creeks divide the fields every ten paces. It rains and then it clears. When it rains there is happiness [because] it nourishes the crops; when it is clear there is happiness [because] they reap the wheat. This is called “Fields and Streams under Clearing Skies and Rain.” Malong peak has a crevice, through which shines a beam of light, and when one sees a pair of mandarin ducks bathed in this light, it is called “Mandarin Ducks in Western Glow.” At the gorge at Xiaguan, the moon rises from the water, but when the moon has already sunk behind the mountain, it is still visible on the water. This is called “Full Moon Illuminates the Gorge.” In the summer and fall there are white clouds that mark the midsection of the mountains. They do not drift nor do they roll away, yet the tips of the trees appear and disappear. This is called “Summer Mountains Girdled in Clouds.” These are all clever effects of day and night on these mountains and the transforming shapes of the clouds and mist.80

The association of these regions with historic personalities; the praise of the beauty of the areas; the textual identification of scenic sites; and the structuring of later visitors’ experience of them is in no way unique to the southwest. Rather, these characteristics indicate Han writers’ desire to locate southwestern geography within the confines of their traditional historiography. Despite these efforts, the writings of seventeenth-century visitors do not suggest that a specific grand tour of the southwest coalesced, as Li-tsui Flora Fu posits for Ming-Qing gentlemen who sought to visit the famous marchmounts of China.81 Although exploring scenic Yunnan districts in this early phase of its “site evolution” was a far less structured and more adventurous experience than visiting the well-known sacred geography of urban areas such as Suzhou, certain regions do appear to have been sanctioned as unsurpassed experiences for gentlemen such as Huang Kongzhao, who sought to commune with both nature and Han histories of the southwest. Two of the regions illustrated by Huang Xiangjian were among those most frequently recorded in personal writings and gazetteers. Seventeenth-century visitors to Yunnan were surrounded by impressive scenery throughout the province, but written records herald the Diancang Mountain

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Range (fig. 5.26) and Er Lake (fig. 4.16), and Mount Taihua and Dian Lake outside modern Kunming as among the most sublime. Huang Xiangjian himself in his inscription for the Diannan leaf said of Mount Taihua that “it has long been extolled as one of the scenic highlights of Yunnan.” Yang Shen frequently praised these areas in his poetry and prose works, such as Record of Roaming upon Diancang Mountain (You Diancang shan ji), the Preface to [Poetry of] Dian Lake (Dianchi xu), Record of a Journey to Dian (Diancheng ji), and Songs of Lake Dian (Dianhai qu).82 The Diancang and Taihua Mountain regions are also the subject of several other lesser-known Ming-dynasty visitors’ travel records, including Zhang Jiayin’s Dian Taihua Mountain Travel Record (You Dian Taihua shan ji) and He Tang’s Diancang Mountains Travel Record (You Diancangshan ji).83 Of course the inveterate scenery enthusiasts Wang Shixing, Li Yuanyang, and Xu Xiake visited them as well. Both are still popular destinations today with tour groups and backpackers on their way to Tibet, and they are also prominently listed and described in contemporary books and gazetteers.84 Mount Taihua is located about fifteen kilometers south of modern Kunming and is one of the five summits that make up the Mount Xi Mountain Range, which runs north to south along the western edge of Dian Lake. The few schematic printed representations of Mount Taihua that exist represent this line of peaks as small, undifferentiated bumps on the western shore of the lake. No extant paintings prior to the Diannan album describe this site, nor is it recorded in the painting catalogs I have examined. Its fame amongst tourists is evident, however, in Ming-dynasty written records. Southwest officials, exiles, and tourists recorded visits to its five peaks, which also include Biji, Huating, Taiping, and the tallest, Luohan, at over 2,600 meters above sea level.85 Mounts Biji and Taihua were the favored leisure spots. Later visitors appear to have associated the range, and particularly Mount Biji, most closely with Yang Shen. For many years Yang lived at Gaoya, which was located at the foot of Mount Biji.86 A shrine to Yang, erected in the Wanli era, was already in place when Xu Xiake visited.87 The fifth leaf of the Diannan album, The Pine Trees and Stone Steps of Taihua, could represent any number of paths and distant monasteries on the mountain (fig. 5.5). I would suggest, however, that it should be taken literally as a journey up Mount Taihua to one of its oldest and most famous religious sites, the Taihua Monastery. Mountain monasteries were traditionally named after the peak on which they were built, and Huang Xiangjian does not designate mountain or monastery in his inscription, because he is depicting both. The Taihua Monastery was a favored spot amongst visitors who sought out the lush vegetation of its envi-

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rons and beautiful vistas of Dian Lake. Yang Shen wrote: “On a leisurely day I once went [with friends] . . . to visit Taihua Mountain. We climbed up to Yibiwanqing [Endless Expanse of Blue] Pavilion, and I leaned against the banister and peered at Dian Lake. All of them said to me: ‘The best place to get a view from the Taihua Monastery is this pavilion, and the best view from the pavilion is the lake. If this pavilion and this lake were not here, it would only be a place for wood gatherers and pig-tailed monkeys to stay.’”88 Endless Expanse of Blue (Yibiwanqing) was the most famous outlook atop Mount Taihua and is still marked with a plaque on the grounds of the Taihua Monastery today.89 Here, again, Fan Zhongyan’s 1046 commemorative essay on the Yueyang Tower is evoked. Fan used the phrase to describe the all-inclusive view in which sky and water merged when seen from the tower in spring.90 The phrase “endless expanse of blue” is the second half of a sentence in the essay, which states “the sky above and its reflection below form a single, endless expanse of blue.”91 Wang Shixing presents a more detailed record of his experiences of the Taihua Monastery and lake view in this way. I switched to a bamboo sedan chair to ascend, the sky gradually cleared, we circled upward for several li, [then] I reached the gates of Taihua Monastery. [Lotus]-bud halls and jeweled eaves, sparkling and glittering gold and jade, rose up along the mountain, and settled amidst the purple mist and jade clouds. I [turned] right to a high stone precipice, and I passed over a dragon lair, [then] Qianning Shrine stood below to the east, and I could see its ancestral icons. I came out in front of some ornamented stairs. In a double courtyard were eight wild camellia trees, three zhang high, with a myriad flowers rosy and brilliant, light red like a cushion, embroidered in rows like a canopy. Tired, I longed to sit down beneath them, but my spirit was afraid I would never return [home]. . . . A corridor to the right wound around and came out at Piaomiao tower, [which offered] a view of the lake and a single mast. The water appeared calm to the horizon. The inscription “Endless Expanse of Blue” is so! Since Taihua is situated facing east, as the afternoon sun set in the west, it was half immersed in shadow. After sunset, when the brilliant moon shone overhead, and the shadow of the mountain was caught by the water grasses, it was even more spectacular.92

Huang made this frequently recorded collective memory accessible to seventeenth-century viewers by illustrating several of the most commonly reported experiences at the site, as explained in travel records such as those of Yang Shen and Wang Shixing: a monastery complex, winding pathways, and an impressive

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view of the lake. Huang even provides a lone sailboat in the distance (fig. 5.27), similar to the single mast reported by Wang Shixing on his visit. Huang repeats this literary itinerary in his inscription: “[Taihua] has many Buddhist monasteries on it, in ranks on both sides of the road. As you wind around the stone steps, you can leave the dusty world behind. Halfway up the mountain there is a view of the mountain reflected in the water.” The Diancang Mountains pictured in Huadian on the Li River are a range of nineteen peaks at the western edge of Er Lake in northwest Yunnan (fig. 5.1). The highest of the group is Malong peak at 4,122 meters, but the other peaks were all named individually, and traditional writers carefully listed the names of the peaks and the waterways that flowed from each into the lake.93 Even the most experienced southwest explorers—Yang Shen spent over thirty years in Yunnan—were struck at first glimpse by the extraordinary beauty of the Diancang region. Yang wrote of his initial impressions: As to mountains and streams, my ears have heard their fill and my eyes have been sated with their sights. However, arriving in the district of Yeyu and first gazing upon the Diancang Mountains, my spirit took flight. Entering Longwei [Dragon Tail] Pass, I mixed traveling with enjoyment. The mountains were a black dragon in layers of greenish blue; the lake was a half-moon covered in blue; the city gates [of Dali] were fixed between mountain and lake; towers and pavilions jutted out above mist and clouds; a fragrant air filled the road, its perfumed essence attacked us. It was as if I were drunk yet sober; in a dream, yet awake; as if I had been long lying down and now suddenly starting to act. Finally I realized that never before had I seen mountains and streams—and only from this day on was I beginning to see them.94

Guo Songnian (act. 13th–14th c.), in his description of the area, focuses on the pure and numinous natural elements manifest in the high mountains, unusual weather, and crystalline water: “Now the Diancang Mountains, whose range runs north-south for more than one hundred li, has peaks, cliffs and caverns that are encircled by clouds and topped with snow that through the four seasons never melts . . . the sources of streams burst forth, the water is crystal clear like a mirror, containing not the slightest flaw. Ancient wood and rare plants are reflected in the water, while the wind blows evaporating clouds. This is the habitation of dragons and spirits.”95

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Fig. 5.27  Huang Xiangjian, The Pine Trees and Stone Steps of Taihua, detail. Leaf 5 from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Diannan album), 1658 (Nanjing Museum).

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In his Huadian on the Li River, Huang chose a cinematic composition and unique foci to capture the experience of this famous district. He emphasizes the extreme heights and distances of the area by illustrating the dramatic spatial relationship of peaks to plateau as he conveys the viewer through them. One begins high above the peaks of the Diancang Mountain Range only to swoop down over 4,000 meters to the lakeshore, there to begin the journey up the picture frame with the small figure of Huang at lower right (fig. 5.9). This trajectory begins high in the west and moves to the northeast lowlands. The focal landscape in the leaf is the crests of a few peaks of the Diancang Mountains jutting eccentrically up into the picture frame (figs. 5.1, 5.28). These are framed by the swift currents of a feeder stream, now called Xihe (West River), below the northernmost peaks and the blossoming flowers of Flower Domain (Huadian). Flower Domain is what its name suggests, a plain of flowers that stands north of Yunnong peak behind Langcang peak. It sits at 2,900 meters above sea level and covers an area of approximately 12,000 square meters. The moist, fertile soil of the area, which was churned up during the “Dali Ice Age” some 60,000 or more years ago, is covered with brightly colored flowers and low alpine grasses.96 Azaleas, bamboo thickets, and maying (Horse Tassel, Lantana camara) flowers cover the area.97 “We entered at Wanhua [Myriad Flowers] stream,” states Li Yuanyang in his record of a trip to Huadian. “There were extraordinary plants and marvelous flowers here and I did not know their names. . . . We went five or six li curving northward. Suddenly there was the level plain of Pingdian, twenty li of pure green as though it had been dusted.”98 Jubilant amidst the beauty and expanse of the plateau, he and his friends gallop through the plain singing and whistling. Today, this plateau is a designated scenic district to which visitors climb and then trek about. Huang Xiangjian presents viewers with three interrelated, accessible layers of narrative topography in the Diannan album. He lays out a physical journey through eight topographically distinctive regions of landscape representative of the types of topography for which southwest China was famous. The inscriptions, compositions, inhabitants, and scenic outlooks of each region invite viewers to immerse themselves in this sensory journey experience. Using cultural topography, Huang describes the southwest as the perfect loyalist retreat of the seventeenth-century Suzhou gentleman. Huang achieves this by superimposing traditional iconographies of idyllic withdrawal, such as the blue-and-green color palette and signifiers of the Peach Blossom Spring, onto the southwest geography and populating them with characters representative of historic Han cultural

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Fig. 5.28  Huang Xiangjian, Huadian on the Li River, detail. Leaf 1 from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Diannan album), 1658 (Nanjing Museum).

heroes engaged in gentlemanly pursuits, such as meditation in caves, conversation amidst pines, and admiration of waterfalls and landscape inscriptions. Huang also provides a more privileged layer of cultural topography intended for a select group of viewers by illustrating the loci of remembrance associated with two famous geographical regions of Yunnan: Mount Taihua and the Diancang Mountain Range. Huang not only incorporates the loci of remembrance described by previous Ming exiles and officials into the album leaf for each, but he also captures the sensorial journey experience that accompanies each locus. The visual experiences he captured in this layer of cultural topography were an essential element of viewing practice amongst certain members of his Suzhou audience. The final layer of personal topography that Huang Xiangjian integrated into the Diannan album is discussed in the next chapter. This most

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Top o gr a ph i e s of Y u n na n

intimate reading explores how the personal topography of the album reveals the personality, beliefs, and experiences of Huang’s father, Huang Kongzhao. It then interprets how Huang Xiangjian utilized the collective narrative structure of the topographies of Yunnan to pictorialize Huang Kongzhao’s journey toward sagehood.

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Ch a p t er Si x

Picturing the Quest toward Sagehood Peaceful at leisure and untroubled, he was revered as a true immortal and true Buddha. —Huang Xiangjian, A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents

T

he personal topography of the Diannan album narrates the specific character, beliefs, and experiences of Huang Kongzhao. Huang Xiangjian combined this final layer of topography with the physical journey, cultural topography, and loci of remembrance discussed in the previous chapter to form an episodic whole that narrated a life journey toward sagehood.1 The importance of the self in all its dimensions was quite prominent in Huang’s time. Indeed, William Theodore de Bary has described the seventeenth century as a time of lively controversy and intellectual diversity in which the “individual was probably valued more highly than at any other time during the long history of imperial China.”2 Wu Pei-yi has attributed the flourishing of autobiography in this period to the late Ming obsession with the individual. Huang Xiangjian created the Diannan album at the height of this “golden age of Chinese autobiography.”3 His geo-narrative presents the elements of his father’s life as multifaceted motifs along the journey route, and the active movement and trajectory of the journey path unifies them to depict the unique, very individual, experience of one life.

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Personal Topography Huang Xiangjian integrated a final layer of topography infused with the experiences, beliefs, and memories of a single person into the Diannan album geo-narrative. This pictorial representation of self in distinct, separate parts aligns with traditional Chinese conceptions of the self as expressed in ancient belief, philosophy, and literature. Robert Hegel has pointed out the very early division in Chinese philosophy and religion of the composite elements of a single identity into separate parts, as in yin-yang dualism, and the later appearance of two souls, the hun and the po, that were believed to divide at death. He maintains that these ideas “represent a deeper level of understanding about the nature of self, that it is visible in, even created by, one’s social function,” among other things, in Chinese society.4 C. T. Hsia suggests this idea is also discernible in classic Chinese novels in which simple paired characters or groups of characters together constitute a single personality. He considers Li Gui and Song Jiang of The Water Margin to be a pair, the pilgrims of Journey to the West to represent the various aspects of an individual self, and the heroic trio of Romance of the Three Kingdoms to denote a composite personality.5 Although some elements of the personal topography in the Diannan album are rendered decipherable by the detailed travel accounts that Huang Xiangjian wrote and by the Suzhou topographical painting tradition out of which his work grew, the unexplained nature of other illustrated incidents, sites, and activities emphasizes that their privileged content was prepared for Huang Kongzhao alone. In their study of the self in literature, Robert Hegel and Richard Hessney suggest two primary variants of the Chinese literary self: the created self and the revealed self. The created self is a fabrication that embodies what the creator believed to be essential to a particular self when presented in writing. The revealed self inadvertently or consciously incorporates individual elements through the writer’s self-expression in his/her work.6 Both categories of self exist in the Diannan album. Its physical and cultural topography locate the geo-cultural and social elements of Huang Kongzhao’s created self (as depicted by his son), while its personal topography presents his consciously revealed self. The advantage of picturing the self through geo-narrative instead of pure text is that imagery can be selectively acknowledged, allowing Huang Kongzhao’s memories to focus on and distinguish aspects of either self.

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Official The Diannan album presents Huang Kongzhao’s realm of governance just as do the honorific albums created for dignitaries throughout the Jiangnan region, but with a significant difference. The Diannan album seems to present the topography of his official service in the strange and otherworldly scenes of the southwest: elysian fields of flowers, mysterious caves, steep roads along precipices, rejuvenating hot springs, gushing waterfalls, immense lakes, hidden monasteries, and layer upon layer of cloudy mountain peaks. Yet Huang Kongzhao’s realm of governance was not “the southwest.” He served as the district magistrate of Yaoan for four years and resided in the same area as a retired official for another five years. Huang Xiangjian did not illustrate the sites of the Yaoan District, such as Bai Pagoda, for although they would have been well known to his father, they did not offer the opportunity for collective remembrance and historical communion that the more established sites of the southwest did. The Stone Cliffs of Jianchuan presents a particularly resonant example of how Huang united his father’s official career with the topography of the southwest (fig. 5.3). The inscription reads: “The cliffs are so precipitous and sheer and the abyss below is so deep. . . . When Marquis Wu [Zhuge Liang] of the Later [Shu] Han was campaigning in the south, he was the first to chisel a roadway along the cliff in order to go through. It winds for several li, but at one place the road is so narrow one can hardly spy a sliver of sky. . . . Only when you reach the prefectural city can you see the flat plateau and wide marsh.” Here Huang merges the final chapters of his father’s official duties with the synoptic journey outlined in the inscription and painting by means of one reference: Zhuge Liang. This Han-dynasty strategist was famed not only for his loyalty and intelligence, but also as one of the earliest and most heroic officials sent to the southwest. Huang’s inscription cites a moment in which the famous marquis conquers the topography of the southwest by being “the first to chisel a roadway along the cliff in order to go through.” The inscription then outlines the pictorial journey to follow. A personalized reading of this inscription equates the bravery and acumen of Zhuge Liang with that of Huang Kongzhao. An even more individualized reading moves viewers through the official topography of Huang Kongzhao’s final years in Yunnan. Huang Kongzhao’s path through the political unrest of the Ming cataclysm became narrower, and the chasm into which he could fall deeper, as he fought to maintain the official position he had been awarded by the Ming emperor. When forced to abandon his post, he served as an army inspector. He narrowly escaped death by going

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into hiding and eventually made his way by “wandering through mountains” to a place of refuge. After another plan to mobilize troops almost ended in his execution, Huang Kongzhao extricated himself from these “worldly affairs” and immersed himself in Buddhism. This trajectory is clearly mapped in the album leaf, which moves viewers along a narrow path over several bridges spanning a sheer cliff, representative of his officialdom and near-death experiences; through a crowd of sharp peaks, signifying his wanderings; and down to a distant plateau and marsh, punctuated by a Buddhist pagoda, which capture his final years of isolated retirement and religious study. The Diannan album sites represent official activities, specific outings, and site/sight-specific moments of import to Huang Kongzhao because they signify his personal engagement with the historical like-minded Han visitors who preceded him. If one accepts James J. Y. Liu’s discussion of space and time in relation to the poetic self—he asserts that the poetic self can not only confront time, but also “perceive time as being behind or moving in the same direction”—traveling through the Diannan album sites allowed Huang Kongzhao to confront time as the historical events and his own personal experiences of each area streamed toward him from the past, as well as to concur with time as he followed the flow of historical events after his time there into the future. It might be argued that his participatory yet static viewing position within this spacetime continuum placed him at its center, in which case his experience would be timeless. As Liu states, “I assume that in the case of circular time one would be at the circumference; if one were at the center, one would no longer be in time.”7

Philosopher A second aspect of the personal topography the son created for his father focused on philosophers admired by Huang Kongzhao. Huang Kongzhao associates himself with two iconic Ming-dynasty philosophers during his time in the southwest, as recorded by Huang Xiangjian in his travel diaries: Wang Yangming and Li Zhi. On March 7, 1653, during the return journey, Huang Xiangjian reports, “we passed Longchang Post Station. The city walls were in ruins, and I felt extremely depressed. Father composed an elegy for Wang Yangming.”8 The Diannan album visualizes Huang Konghzao’s devotion to Wang Yangming. The eminent philosopher and statesman Wang Shouren, later known as Wang Yangming, was banished to Longchang, Guizhou, following his 1506 memorial to Emperor Wuzong (r. 1506–21) concerning the unjust imprisonment of two

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officials, Dai Xian (jinshi degree, 1496) and Bo Yanhui (jinshi degree, 1496).9 Wang served as the head of the Longchang Post Station from 1508 to 1510.10 It was in Guizhou that he experienced his first major philosophical breakthrough. The ramifications of his enlightened understanding have been discussed by many historical and contemporary scholars of philosophy and religious studies.11 Suffice it to say here that Wang’s conception of sagehood and how to achieve it were considered so revolutionary that a new school of thought was born. Leaves four and six of the Diannan album allude to this philosopher, whom Huang Kongzhao held in high esteem and who had preceded him in official service in the southwest. Huang Xiangjian intertwines the life experiences of Huang Kongzhao with his revered predecessor in Stone Cave and Indented Peak (fig. 5.4). These natural features are found in Tianzhu County, Guizhou Province. The Huang family passed through this area on April 18, 1653, when they made their last stop in Guizhou on their journey home. In his diary of the return to Suzhou, Huang Xiangjian wrote: “We passed Gexi and Laidong, and avoiding the Tianzhu County road, stopped at Gangdong. This area was encircled by mountains and girded by streams. There were abundant fields with rich soil, and no battles had been fought here. It could have been called a paradise.” The exact site of the cave paradise depicted is unclear because its description is comparable to a number of places in Guizhou, such as the “Ancient Cave of Ziyang” (Ziyang gudong) view from a set of sixteen famous views identified in Comprehensive Guizhou Gazetteer of the Wanli [Reign] (Wanli Guizhou tongzhi).12 Its cryptic nature, however, reinforces its role as personal topography. Although its full significance to Huang Kongzhao cannot be known, one can decipher its allusions to the life and teaching of Wang Shouren. The most well-known and often-discussed event of Wang Shouren’s life was his moment of enlightenment in a cave in Guizhou. Wang moved into Yangming xiao dongtian, translated variously as “Little Yangming Cave” or “the Small Cave Heavens of Yangming,” soon after he arrived in Longchang.13 It was here that Wang practiced quiet-sitting (jingzuo), studied, and came to the sudden realization that “My own nature is, of course, sufficient for me to attain sagehood. And I have been mistaken in searching for the principle in external things and affairs.”14 It was here too that Wang wrote his famous text Personal Explanations, in which he said, “As I have not been able to bring books with me [to Longchang] I have been sitting daily in the mountain cave, noting down what I remember by heart of the books which I studied in the past. I have given explanations on those points which have impressed me. After

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seven months I have virtually covered the ideas of the Five Classics. I call [this work] ‘Personal Explanations’ because [the ideas I offer] are not necessarily in accordance with those of the worthy [scholars] of the past.”15 The seated figure pictured in the Guizhou cave of Stone Cave and Indented Peak simultaneously signifies Wang Shouren the man, his thought, his moment of enlightenment, even the works he composed, and maps them onto the path of Huang Kongzhao (fig. 5.16). Whereas the cave alludes to the man, the indented peak makes reference to a key point in Wang’s philosophy. Wang taught that xin, the mind-andheart, is the “source of all goodness as well as the principle of all conscious and moral activity, possessing within itself the power of conducting the human person to the highest goals of sagehood.”16 He often compared xin to the sun, “which is naturally bright, and becomes obscure only when hidden from view by some obstacle,” and the earth as that which, “at the sun’s setting, blocks from view what is of itself total brightness.” Wang described xin in three states: “the perfect xin of pristine purity, the actual xin obscured by selfishness, and the restored, acquired xin of the gentleman who attains wisdom and sagehood.” Xiangjian illustrates Wang Shouren’s theorem pictorially in Stone Cave and Indented Peak (fig. 5.4). A personal reading for Huang Kongzhao would begin with the inscription: “There is a large cave beneath a mountain peak in Tianzhu County. Its depth is unfathomable. [The area] outside [its entrance] is covered with twisted pines, and wisteria winds around their [branches]. [These] fragrant purple and green flowers hang down like a thousand strands of fringe on [a hat], concealing and revealing the cave entrance.” Huang Xiangjian’s description of the deep cave and its surroundings in the first half of the inscription suggest Wang’s meditative quiet-sitting and moment of enlightenment in the Guizhou cave. A still more personal reading might equate Huang Kongzhao’s successful personal growth with his distance from court. In this instance, the pines and flowers outside the cave denote the interaction of court officials with their emperor. The twisted pines symbolize scholar-officials and the hanging flowers suggest the pearl-fringed crown of the emperor, a synecdoche for the ruler. The flora mixes together to conceal the cave entrance, just as the embroilments of official service were believed to deter gentlemen in their attainment of enlightenment, which is symbolized by the cave (fig. 5.16). The second half of the inscription states: “There is also a steep mountain peak that stands alone like a screen, with an indentation at its apex. When the sun or moon rises, it looks just as though it was being disgorged from inside [the hollow part of the peak]. This spectacular scene is visible from the cave entrance.” Huang’s discussion of how the sun and moon are

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obscured and revealed by the mountain peak is analogous to Wang’s comparison of xin to the sun as naturally bright yet hidden from view. He concludes the inscription by emphasizing that the natural display he describes is observable from the cave entrance, which in turn suggests that the teaching represented by the heavenly bodies can only be grasped in the meditative state implied by the cave. The composition and pictorial rendering of Stone Cave and Indented Peak build on the inscription. The “unfathomable” cave again indicates the initial site and the depth of Wang’s teachings. The meditative calm of its inhabitant suggests the quiet-sitting practiced by Wang and his followers in order to recover their original nature, which they believed to be perfectly good. This understanding of one’s original nature reveals to the adherent the principles of sagehood and virtue.17 The seated figure looks past the world, that is, the pine trees and wisteria fringe that symbolize the systems of official power and obligations. The vantage point of the seated figure and the position of the inscription direct the viewer to gaze at the indented mountain peak. Although this “screen” blocks the ascendant sun or moon mentioned in the inscription, it is only a temporary obstacle, and at one point in their climb these orbs will be perfectly visible at the peak’s apex as though emerging through the crevice (fig. 5.12). In addition, the position of the inscription within the picture frame suggests that it would be visible through the crevice. As an allusion to Wang’s teachings, the inscription becomes the focus of the seated figure. In this interpretation, the seeker in the cave looks beyond the “dusty world” and his duties within it toward the moment of unobstructed enlightenment when the sun of sagehood will rise. Herein are pictured Wang Shouren’s Guizhou enlightenment and one aspect of his subsequent teachings. Wang Shouren is also suggested in Dawn on Lotus Peak, the sixth leaf of the album, which depicts a sunrise in the Weiqing area of Guizhou Province (fig. 5.6). Toward dawn on March 6, 1653, Huang Xiangjian and his family “searched for a deserted byway to avoid the main road to Weiqing that I took coming this way earlier.” The next day, the family passes Longchang, where Huang Kongzhao writes his elegy for Wang Shouren. One is not told what happened in Weiqing, nor of Huang Kongzhao’s other experiences in the area during his tenure in the southwest. There is also no formally named Lotus Peak (Lianfeng) listed as being in the Weiqing region in any of the “Mountains and Rivers” sections of contemporary gazetteers such as Comprehensive Guizhou Gazetteer of the Wanli [Reign].18 Although it is not possible to recreate specific textual connections between this locale and Huang Kongzhao’s identification with Wang Shouren, it is evoked in the painted imagery.

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In this leaf, Huang Xiangjian summons Wang Shouren by name, utilizing the conventions of the type of picture known as hao painting. As identified by Anne de Coursey Clapp, in a hao painting, the elements of the picture illustrate “the literal meaning of the characters” of the hao (chosen name) of a person.19 Wang Shouren had built a retreat in the Yangming Grotto in 1502 prior to his time in Guizhou. Tu Wei-ming suggests the cave was located on Siming Mountain near Wang’s family home. Although some scholars question the existence of this grotto, it came to represent an important landmark in Wang’s spiritual development, so much so that he took the name Yangming, which means “sunlight,” or “sunlike brilliance,” as his hao. This became the name by which he was known: his disciples and admirers called him Yangming, and the Yangming Academy was named accordingly. Wang Shouren even favored the name himself, referring to himself as Yangming zi (Yangming the Philosopher) and Yangming shanren (Mountain Man Yangming).20 Using the image of the sunrise to evoke Yangming’s name, Huang Xiangjian presents his father with a type of hao painting in which Huang Kongzhao travels in a landscape colored by the rosy glow of his idol (fig. 5.20). Huang Kongzhao could also interpret the scene as a visual elucidation of Wang Shouren’s teachings. A section of the inscription reads, “Just now, as the morning sun is about to rise, the rosy light makes visible myriad wisps of fleecy white clouds, and dazzling with a glowing crimson, the top of the peak is resplendent.” Here, as in Stone Cave and Indented Peak, the sun may be seen to represent the xin principle. In this case the unimpeded dawn serves as an analogy for the individual adherent’s cultivation of xin. Wang Yangming taught: “There is nothing of the virtue of xin that is not originally bright. That is why we speak of ‘clear virtue.’ . . . Just as the sun rises of its own accord from under the earth, without relying on the help of heaven, so too the gentleman of his own accord makes clear virtue manifest, without requiring the help of another.”21 For someone familiar with the writings of Wang Yangming, such as Huang Kongzhao, the sun might also manifest the principle of liangzhi, moral knowledge. Wang often compared this principle to the sun in statements such as this: “The knowledge [or wisdom] of the sage can be compared to the sun in a clear sky, that of the worthy man to the sun in a sky that is partly clouded, and that of the fool to the sun on a dark and dismal day. These three kinds of knowledge seem to differ in clarity, but have all the power of discerning between black and white, although with unequal efficacy. . . . The work of learning through assiduous study or effort begins with the light [one has] as a starting point, in examining things carefully.”22 Thus interpreted, Huang Xiangjian again merges

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his father’s personal experiences with the life and teachings of Wang Shouren. The philosophical implications of dawn in Guizhou capture the principles and progress of both men in their moral development.

Buddhist Huang Xiangjian discusses his father’s study of Chan Buddhism several times in his travel diaries, describing him as a founding member of a regional Lotus Society and a Buddhist scholar who “put his heart into [the study of] the Buddhist scriptures. Peaceful at leisure and untroubled, he was revered as a true immortal and true Buddha.” Many retired officials caught amidst the turmoil of the Ming-Qing cataclysm retreated to Buddhist monasteries for their physical safety or to extricate themselves from the dangerous political atmosphere.23 Huang Kongzhao, however, is presented as a true Buddhist devotee. He studied Buddhist texts in the family’s Yunnan house, which was “as bare as a monk’s cell,” and discussed “various Chan concepts” with the monk Cihang on one of the boats the family boarded on their return to Suzhou. Wu Jiang, in his examination of seventeenth-century Chan Buddhism, maintains that the majority of those who followed the teachings of Wang Shouren, particularly those members of what is called the later Taizhou school, were also interested in Chan Buddhism, so much so that it was often referred to as “Yangming Chan” in late Ming-dynasty writings.24 In turn, many of these Taizhou scholars, including Huang Kongzhao’s other idol, Li Zhi, did not distinguish between Chan and Confucianism.25 Yuan Hongdao, another of Li Zhi’s followers, suggests the merging of these thought systems and teachings in his reference to “Confucian Chan Buddhism.”26 The spiritual experiences of this group, as might be guessed from the activities of Huang Kongzhao, focused on the reading, writing, and discussion of various texts. Wu Jiang labels this “textual spirituality,” in contrast to “a more devotion-based religious experience.”27 The examination of Buddhist topography in paintings such as the Diannan album might be added to this list of activities. Huang Xiangjian makes reference to Buddhist architectural structures in four of the eight Diannan album leaves. For example, he cites “the famous Buddhist monastery and pagoda” that are “splendid and imposing” in leaf two and the Mount Taihua Buddhist monasteries situated “in ranks on both sides of the road” in leaf five. Some of his imagery could be interpreted in a Buddhist context with regard to Buddhist practice, belief, and mythology, as in the seated figure in leaf four (fig. 5.16). Previously (in chapter 5), this figure was examined

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with regard to his engagement in the Confucian practice of quiet-sitting. A separate reading suggests the figure may be practicing Chan meditation, and the deer asleep in front of him could recall the Deer Park at Benares, India, where the historical Buddha Śākyamuni (d. ca. 400 bce) preached his first sermon.28 In leaf two, Huang compares the region and local monastery to that of a “Land of Joy” (letu), terminology often applied to descriptions of Buddhist Pure Lands.29 Huang Kongzhao could note and contemplate each of these references as he journeyed through the various topographical layers of the album. The personal topography Huang Xiangjian painted in Diannan album leaves six and eight, however, does more than make reference to his father’s interest in Buddhism. It presents Buddhism as a focal element in his life. Dawn on Lotus Peak highlights the importance of the Lotus Society to which Huang Xiangjian’s father belonged and visualizes the process of enlightenment that was a goal of many such societies (fig. 5.6). Huang’s inscription reads: In the Weiqing region there is a mountain that looks like a lotus flower, with layers of rocks like a green onion. Seen from a distance, it is not unlike several clusters of flowers crowded together. In the center of its summit there was built a thatched Buddhist retreat, which looks exactly like a lotus seedpod as it begins to open. Just now, as the morning sun is about to rise, the rosy light makes visible a myriad wisps of fleecy white clouds, and dazzling with a glowing crimson, the top of the peak is resplendent, looking all the more like a blooming lotus emerging from the water. There are also one or two needle-shaped peaks, sticking at angles up through the clouds, which are strangely sharp-pointed and thin and look as though they are about to topple over. The twisted pines clinging precariously to their summits are also something rarely seen.

Huang Xiangjian alludes to the Lotus Society his father helped found by stating that in the center of the lotuslike mountain stands a Buddhist retreat that “looks exactly like a lotus seedpod as it begins to open.” In the left half of the picture, a small building sits amidst distinctively curved rock forms that appear to blossom around it (fig. 6.1). Here is a literal representation of Huang Kongzhao’s Lotus Society. Devotional societies were commonplace in the late Ming, and many took the name Lotus Society in imitation of the Lotus Societies of the Song dynasty (960–1279), which were themselves based on a famous fifth-century group organized by the Eastern-Jin-dynasty monk Huiyuan (334–416). This

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Fig. 6.1  Huang Xiangjian, Dawn on Lotus Peak, detail. Leaf 6 from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Diannan album), 1658 (Nanjing Museum).

group met atop Mount Lu and practiced a visualization technique that Huiyuan advocated. Adherents were to meditate upon the landscape or the shadow of the Buddha, or to visualize Amitābha, the Buddha of the Pure Land in the West, in their quest for enlightenment.30 Huiyuan was later designated the first patriarch of several Buddhist schools that modern scholars organize under the designation Pure Land Buddhism, such as Huayan, Tiantai, Chan, and Lu.31 Later Ming-dynasty societies of this type coordinated both secular activities, such as poetry composition and public works, and devotional endeavors, among them chanting the Buddha’s name and releasing living creatures.32 The Lotus Society that Huang Kongzhao and Mr. Gao organized for the Dayao-Yaoan region met in the monasteries of the Miaofeng and Longfeng Mountain Ranges.33 Huang Xiangjian signals the evocation of his father’s society in the inscription. He then presents it visually in what might be called a hao painting of an organization rather than a person. Dawn on Lotus Peak may also be read as the journey to the sudden enlightenment experience of “landscape Buddhism” taught by certain disciples of Huiyuan. His early adherents, such as the fifth-century poet Xie Lingyun and the painter Zong Bing, believed that the “experience of nature promoted a detachment from worldly concerns and reinforced the purification of the

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karmic spirit or immortal soul.”34 It was here that the “individual spirit could be developed by mind-expanding exercises, and the sense of self be undercut through the direct experience of the universe in meditation.”35 When Zong Bing was too infirm to travel into these landscapes physically, he painted them and traveled into them mentally through meditation. In her study of Zong Bing and landscape Buddhism, Susan Bush maintains that for these landscape Buddhists the disinterested study of the wilderness in natural or painted form “could stimulate the spirit and set it on the path toward enlightenment.”36 A similar idea would serve as a foundational element in the development of later Mingdynasty Yangming-Chan adherents’ equation of their introspective search for and attainment of “the innate knowledge of goodness” (liangzhi) with Chan concepts of nonduality and sudden enlightenment.37 Huang again cues readers to the spiritual goal and journey in the inscription to Dawn on Lotus Peak. He compares the appearance of the mountain to the preeminent symbol of Buddhism, a lotus flower, in the opening line and near the end. His concluding description of the topmost peak as a “blooming lotus emerging from the water” places the ultimate goal of Buddhist enlightenment at the end of a journey up the mountain (fig. 5.19). Huang also indicates the type of enlightenment pictured in his account of the predawn moment in which the peak is viewed. Similar to the flash of sudden enlightenment sought by many Buddhist believers, every detail of the mountaintop scene is revealed to the viewer in an instant before the sun rises. Indeed, Huang Xiangjian’s description of the sunrise in the inscription contains shades of the language used to describe the enlightenment experience of the landscape Buddhists in An Introduction to Poetry on Wandering at the Stone Gate by the Laymen of Mount Lu. Susan Bush outlines the foci of their narrative, which revolves around their efforts to gain an extensive view of landscape; their description of the layout of the mountain and its rock formations; the illusory qualities of the travel experience captured in the shapes created by shifting light and atmospheric effects; the spatial disorientation that blurs the groups’ sensory impressions; and the view of the sun as it sets, which stimulates thoughts of eternal time and the Buddha. These individual essay elements merge to pre­sent the climb as a “stage in a spiritual ascent that leads through meditation to Nirvana.”38 Zong Bing transferred these ideas to landscape painting, as he explains in his Introduction to Painting Landscape: “As I unroll paintings and face them in solitude, while seated I plumb the ends of the earth. . . . I simply respond to the uninhabited wilderness, where grottoed peaks tower on high and cloudy forests mass in depth. The sages and virtuous men shed

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reflected light from the distant past, and a myriad delights are fused into their spirits and thoughts. What then should I do? Freely expand my spirit, that is all. What could be placed above that which expands the spirit?”39 In accordance with this tradition, a small figure below the peak in Dawn on Lotus Peak makes his way up the mountain toward Huang Xiangjian’s sublime rendering of the moment before the morning sun rises. The traveler walks toward the rosy light that makes “visible a myriad wisps of fleecy white clouds . . . dazzling with a glowing crimson,” its summit “resplendent, looking all the more like a blooming lotus emerging from the water,” symbolic of the enlightenment experience. Although the Buddhist focus is evident in The Ancient Buddhist Monastery of the Brahman of leaf eight (fig. 5.8), its personal implications for Huang Kongzhao are not elucidated in Huang Xiangjian’s inscription: “On the bank of the Lancang River, where it winds through the mountains, there is an old Buddhist monastery and pagoda. In the Liang dynasty an Indian monk stopped here and built it. A stone tablet that is still here says whenever the monk got up to dance, the trees and stones danced along with him. Later, after the monk died, cranes and deer would circumambulate the pagoda, and his relics emitted light in front of the pagoda. Even today, the woods are dense. The myriad mountains standing in ranks below are actually the many peaks of India. Laymen also call it the Little Western Paradise.” The painting presents a monastery and pagoda amidst dense forest in the center of the composition. A small fishing village sits at the edge of a river to the right, and a cluster of distant mountain peaks ends the composition at left. The importance of the Buddhist monastery is indicated by its prominent position both pictorially and in the inscription. Further, Huang Xiangjian’s inscription identifies a particular, lesser-known geographic site and the monastic history of a specific institution. Mount Luomin (Brahman) is located in western Yunnan, near the banks of the Lancang River.40 It was several mountainous kilometers west of the Diancang Mountain Range and quite likely the farthest west that Huang Xiangjian or Huang Kongzhao ever traveled. The remote location and treacherous terrain of this mountain did little to promote it as one of the scenic sites of Yunnan, and it is discussed only by the most devout of southwest travelers: Yang Shen and Xu Xiake. Both men describe the miraculous founder of its ancient monastery just as Huang Xiangjian does in his inscription. There is some question as to whether Yang Shen actually saw the mountain, but Xu Xiake reports his rushed trip through this region in his travel diaries. He hurries over an iron-link bridge and past a temple dedicated to Zhuge Liang, but the impressive view of Mount Luomin

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he gains from a pavilion near the bridge begs description and slows his narrative. He estimates it to be over a thousand zhang high and relates its history. The monastery was founded under the Nanzhao Kingdom (649–902) by a monk from India called “Brahman,” likely a misunderstanding of the monk’s priestly title for his name. Like Huang Xiangjian, Xu Xiake reports that whenever the monk rose and playfully danced, the mountain stones would follow him dancing. After the monk died, a shrine was erected for him beneath the peak.41 Yang Shen presents these same facts in his discussion of Mount Luomin as one of the twenty-seven mountains and rivers in his Gazetteer of the Mountains and Streams of Yunnan (Yunnan shanchuan zhi).42 Huang Xiangjian never mentions this site in his travel writings, so one cannot connect it with a specific time or episode in the life of Huang Kongzhao. Perhaps Huang Kongzhao simply admired the beauty and religious lore associated with Mount Luomin, or he may have had a personal epiphany or pleasant group gathering at the site. He may have valued the western location of the Lancang area, which was called the “Southwest Silk Road” in stories about the Han-dynasty imperial envoy Zhang Qian (2nd c. bce), Emperor Wu of the Han (141–87 bce), and the trade routes they developed between Yunnan, Myanmar, and India.43 Huang Kongzhao may also have seen the ancient Luomin Monastery as particularly linked to India, the holy land of Buddhism. This correlation was made by other local Buddhists who sought out material for monks’ staffs and robe cloth from the Lancang region.44 The Lancang River did indeed provide a direct connection to India, for its upper tributary flows into Yunnan from India, while its lower tributary (the Mekong River) flows on into Myanmar. This was the closest Huang Kongzhao would ever come to “the peaks of India.” There are countless circumstantial, religious, historic, and scenic reasons why Huang Kongzhao may have favored the Luomin Monastery, but his son does not identify a single one. In the end, it remains a privileged memory available to Huang Kongzhao alone.

Privileged Content Several of the sites and events of the Diannan album remain unidentified, suggesting that they represent privileged content known only to Huang Kongzhao and his son. What Buddhist monastery is depicted in leaf two? Where exactly are the cave and peak in leaf four? What are the gentlemen admiring

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opposite the waterfall in leaf seven? Huang Xiangjian could have noted these sites and activities in the inscriptions or drawn upon techniques utilized by Suzhou painters of codified famous views to render them more visually recognizable. The Stone Cliffs of Jianchuan and Hot Springs of Qiong County present two examples of this privileged content. In his inscription for the Stone Cliffs of Jianchuan Huang suggests, but does not name, the site shown (fig. 5.3). Rather, he describes cliffs so precipitous and a road so narrow that “one can hardly spy a sliver of sky . . . only when you reach the prefectural city can you see the flat plateau and wide marsh.” Maps and written descriptions of the Jianchuan area portray Jianchuan Lake and a flat plateau and marsh ringed by mountains. Most writers regarded Mount Jinhua as the most impressive mountain of the Jianchuan region. Its location, twisting roads, and purple and gold appearance are heralded by Li Yuanyang in more detail than any other mountain discussed in his 1577 gazetteer of the region.45 Xu Xiake also cites Mount Jinhua as the tallest mountain west of the city.46 Huang integrates the basic elements of these written discussions of Jianchuan into the Diannan album leaf. There is a high cliff face, a marsh, and a distant body of water. If the leaf illustrates the more remote cliff roads toward Jianchuan, Huang might have hinted at the general location if he had included the most “famous traces” along this passageway. In 1577, Li Yuanyang listed in his gazetteer the Buddhist scriptures and Buddha figures carved into the Zhongshan cliffs along this route.47 The seventeen Buddhist caves amidst the heights of Mount Shibao in Jianchuan would have been a dramatic and recognizable landmark for viewers. Designated the Mount Shizhong Grottoes (or the Jianchuan Grottoes) today, they contain 139 images created under the sponsorship of the Nanzhao rulers. Sculpted icons had been used to great effect by the late-Ming artists Zhang Hong and Zhong Xing (1574– 1624) in their paintings of the Qixia Monastery and its sculpted cave-shrines in Nanjing, but Huang continues his strictly Han reading of the southwest by leaving the Jianchuan Grottoes unremarked and unillustrated.48 The only possible topographical identifier within this leaf is its directional position in relation to the lake, and if Huang presents geography according to the cardinal directions, the cliffs he illustrates stand to its southeast, rather than to the west where Mount Jinhua was located. Hence, the specific stretch of road, exact location, and circumstances shown in this leaf would have been known only to Huang Kongzhao and his son. The Hot Springs of Qiong County offers another intriguing vignette in which the location and meaning were known only to the Huangs (fig. 5.2). In the

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painting, a figure in red stands between two springs, admiring the interior pool as several sketchily drawn figures bathe in the exterior pool (fig. 5.21). Although bathing was believed to offer physical, mental, and spiritual cleansing, there are few painted examples of men bathing in a large landscape setting.49 Bathing played a role in the traditions of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism. Belief in purification through bathing in hot water may be traced back to the founder of the Shang dynasty (ca. 1500–ca. 1050 bce), posthumously called “Hot-Water” (Tang) and “Perfected by Hot-Water” or “Perfector of Thermae” (Chengtang), and so named, according to Book of Documents (Shujing) commentators, “because he was cleansed of evil and a cleanser of evil.”50 Bathing in rivers had been sanctioned for young men by Confucius (551–479 bce) in connection with the purification ceremonies of springtime and had been prescribed as appropriate preparation for certain ceremonies in the ancient Confucian texts The Book of Rites (Liji) and The Ceremonies and Rites (Yili). Bath halls had also been attached to Buddhist monasteries since the Tang and Song dynasties.51 The medicinal benefits of bathing in a hot spring in southwest China were believed to be curative, as Xu Xiake reports. “The water in this hot spring was deep and simmering with medicinal herbs, so I soaked and steamed myself for a long time. The sweat poured off me like rain. This was an excellent way of curing [my malady]. . . . I knew there was a good chance of clearing up my illness.”52 The curative powers of hot springs rendered them holy sites with which Buddhist and Daoist adepts and goddesses were associated. Later authors equated the physical cleansing of a hot bath in the bathing pools and bath halls attached to Buddhist monasteries with the washing of the spirit in Buddhist confession, penitence, and immersion in the scriptures. “Lotus thermae bathe the body’s filth; Repentant confession cleans the heart’s holiness.”53 These ideas were expanded upon in paintings depicting elephants being bathed (saoxiang), which are believed to illustrate the rebus saoxiang for the “sweeping away of illusions,” necessary in “realizing the illusory nature of phenomena.”54 The hot springs of Yunnan were famous and rightfully so. Today the province boasts over eleven thousand such pools, around half of which range in temperature from 40 to 100 degrees Celsius. Some have been turned into tourist attractions or more exclusive spas. Most Ming-dynasty visitors to the region record an outing to a hot spring, replete with allusions to its purity, curative powers, and beauty. The Anning hot springs appear to have been the most famous, perhaps due to their close proximity to Kunming. Yang Shen lists the fine qualities of these hot springs in a preface to a group of poems:

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The Dian River is called the “Black River,” for even where it is only less than a foot deep, one cannot see the bottom. Yet this spring is clear as a mirror down to close to one hundred feet. One, all minute details completely appear; two, around it mountains on all four sides rise up like walls—the centre making a stone hollow—no trouble to make a brick-lined well out of it; three, dirt from it automatically runs off and so there is no need to wipe it away; four, moss leaves no trace, so no need to wash it away; five, the temperature is mild, so one can bath anytime; six, one can scoop up the water with one’s two hands and drink it, and it greatly enhances the color of the tea; seven, mixing it into wine, it adds flavor, while using it for cooking, it saves on firewood. How can the dew from the Three Dangers Mountain of the immortals or the Eight Virtues Water of the land of the Buddhas be any better! If one were to call it the best hot spring water in the whole world, it would be appropriate to do so.55

Huang Xiangjian describes many of these same virtues in his inscription on Hot Springs of Qiong County. “The spring is mid-way up the mountain, and there are two pools. The narrow one is extremely warm and is located inside a stone enclosure. The wide one is cooler, and it is on the outside. It is clear to the bottom. Whenever tree leaves fall into it, birds immediately pick them up in their beaks and fly away. Whenever one bathes here, not only is one covered in fragrance and one’s body invigorated, but it can also cure diseases. The many ancient cypresses, gnarled pines, rue grass, and a fairyland of flowers that grow beside [the pools] screen them like a curtain. Among these mountains are a famous Buddhist monastery and pagoda that have a splendid and imposing air. Truly [this place] has the air of a Land of Joy.” According to contemporaneous gazetteers, there was no Qiong County in seventeenth-century Yunnan Province. Perhaps Huang Xiangjian meant Langqiong County, which lay between Erhai Lake and Jianchuan.56 This information, however, only narrows the number of possible hot springs to around forty. The seemingly detailed information Huang provides about the area, its multiple pools, cleanliness, and idyllic setting actually echoes a similar description by Li Yuanyang of one of the streams in the Diancang Mountain Range, down to the strange behavior of the birds: “It is so clear that you could not hide even a needle in it. Small rocks cover the bottom, lined up like eggs or pearls, a combination of greens, whites and blacks, more beautiful than jade, intricately interconnected like variegated brocade. As soon as leaves fall on the surface of the pool, birds then pick them out with their beaks and take them away. On three sides the pool is walled by cliffs, so clean they seem

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scoured—without the tiniest scrap of dust.”57 The most intriguing element of leaf two, however, is the bathers. Who are they? Why are they there? Huang Xiangjian does not mention them and gives no clue. One must assume they represent Huang Kongzhao’s personal experience of a favorite spot or a memorable visit. Neither does Huang identify the “famous” Buddhist monastery and pagoda. In the end, despite all the detailed verbal and pictorial description, Huang does not inform viewers of the location or situation of leaf two because it was a memory of Huang Kongzhao that needed no identification or explanation.

Picturing the Quest toward Sagehood Huang Xiangjian created the landscape of the Diannan album geo-narrative by merging contemporary, traditional, and remembered conceptions of the physical topography of the southwest with the cultural topography of seventeenthcentury Suzhou-educated gentlemen and the personal topography of his father’s life. Viewers might appreciate any number of geographic, historical, religio-touristic, or stylistic interpretations of the individual elements represented along the journey path of each leaf; however, Huang Xiangjian envisioned far more for his father than isolated commemorative treks amidst the well-worn signifiers of the seventeenth-century landscape tradition or private escapes into his favorite southwest sites. Rather, Huang presented his father with eight independent trips that, when read together, combine to form a complex pictorial narrative of Huang Kongzhao’s journey toward sagehood.

Sagehood The goal of adulthood for a seventeenth-century gentleman such as Huang Kongzhao was the continual process of self-realization toward “becoming a person” (chengren). The self was believed to have virtually unlimited potential for development, and maturation was considered a lifelong process.58 This concept of adulthood is present in some of the earliest Confucian writings, among them those of Zeng Shen (505–436 bce), one of Confucius’ most respected disciples, who described the task of becoming a person as a lifelong journey encumbered by a heavy load. “The true Knight of the Way [shih] must perforce be both broad-shouldered and stout of heart; his burden is heavy and he has far to go. For Humanity [jen] is the burden he has taken upon himself; and must we not grant that it is a heavy one to bear? Only with death does this

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journey end; then must we not grant that he has far to go?”59 Scholars such as Tu Wei-ming and Rodney Taylor argue that this basic belief underpins what they term “Confucian religiousness,” as promulgated in texts such as Doctrine of the Mean (Zhongyong), one of the Four Books that were memorized by scholars preparing for the civil-service examinations between 1313 and 1905.60 The process of the attainment of selfhood or adulthood, however, was not considered the personal internal struggle of an individual. As P. J. Ivanhoe states, this “transformation of the self fulfilled a larger design, inherent in the universe itself, which the cultivated person could come to discern, and . . . a peaceful and flourishing society could only arise and be sustained by realizing this grand design. Cultivating the self in order to take one’s place in this universal scheme describes the central task of life.”61 Selfhood or adulthood, although sought by the individual person, was perceived as part of the larger scheme of humanity. Thomas Berry explains this as the “remarkable sense not of individualism but of humanity having both a microphase and a macrophase. The microphase is the limited particularity of the individual in oneself; the macrophase is the same individual as present to the entire order or reality.” 62 Tu Wei-ming describes the relationship of these two aspects of man within nature in his discussion of the “anthropocosmic worldview”: “To fully express our humanity, we must engage in a dialogue with Heaven because human nature, as conferred by Heaven, realizes itself not by departing from its source but by returning to it.” 63 Tu continues, “Reciprocity is not only the human way of harmonizing social relationships but also the human way of entering into communication with nature and establishing a dialogical connection with Heaven. It is both a cardinal ethic defining rules of conduct in society and a meta-ethical principle underlying the anthropocosmic worldview. Through reciprocity, humanity becomes interfused with the cosmic transformation and thus, as a co-creator, forms a trinity with Heaven and Earth. Humanity, in this perspective, stands as the filial son and daughter of the cosmos. By implication, in the Confucian social ethic, filial piety is a meta-ethical principle underlying the anthropocosmic worldview.” 64 Huang Kongzhao’s text of specialization in the Confucian canon, the Book of Changes, is especially clear on the role of the individual in relation to the universal order of things. In Berry’s words, “Each particular moment or situation must be interpreted by the larger context. To understand this context is to have a fathomless source of wisdom in dealing with all possible earthly situations.” 65 The Book of Changes says: “There is a similarity between him and heaven and earth, and hence there is no contrariety in him to them. . . . He comprehends as in a mold

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or enclosure the transformations of heaven and earth without any error; by an ever-varying adaptation he completes all things without exception. . . . It is thus that his operation is spirit-like unconditioned by place, while the changes which he produces are not restricted to any form.”66 The “ultimate self-transformation” of Confucian religiousness incorporated both critical moments of enlightenment in a person’s life as well as his or her continuous progress toward the spiritual cultivation of this wisdom.67 Those deemed successful were called “sages.” Many seventeenth-century gentlemen sought sagehood by reading biographical treatments of previously acknowledged sages whom they could emulate. They were aided in these endeavors by texts such as Reflections on Things at Hand (Jinsi lu) by Zhu Xi (1130–1200) and Lu Zuqian (1137–81), which contained the authors’ thoughts on the development of sagehood, as well as a final chapter called “On the Dispositions of Sages and Worthies” that presents biographies of those who partially or fully realized sagehood.68 Rodney Taylor writes, “It is not the state of sagehood that seems to be of concern, but rather the life of the sage, and it is this life that is the telling comment upon realization of the goal.”69 Biography was an important element of Confucian spiritual development, and de Bary has pointed out that the majority of characteristics associated with a sage are fundamentally personality traits.70 The information provided in sagely biographies such as those in “On the Dispositions of Sages and Worthies” was quite brief and usually focused on insights into the personality of the sage being discussed.71 Their lives and work served as comparative models for future seekers. Taylor explains further, “The Confucian sage lives his life within the framework of the Way of Heaven or the Principle of Heaven. The sage is he who is aware of the relation of his own nature with that of Heaven, and it is the concreteness of the life lived that serves as the exemplification of the sage’s understanding and religious depth. Such a figure serves as a model or exemplar and his life itself is the measure of his understanding.”72 Ming-dynasty writers, Taylor points out, were particularly interested in examining their progress in matters of self-cultivation and recorded their pursuits in works such as the autobiographical essay of Hu Zhi (1517–85), Recollections of the Toils of Learning (Kunxue ji), and that of Gao Panlong (1562– 1626) of the same title.73 In the words of Taylor, “The goal of sagehood is the daily subject matter of his life. Such writings explore the self fully, not as a tabloid of accomplishments but as a record of the pertinacity of searching and examining. The Ming autobiographical experience may be close to Stendhal’s understanding of autobiography:  ‘To note down my memories in order to guess what sort of man I have been.’ ” 74

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Spiritual Autobiography Huang Xiangjian painted the Diannan album during a period that Wu Pei-yi has labeled the “Golden Age of Chinese Autobiography.”75 Between 1565 and 1680, a number of educated persons chose to present the story of lifelong progress toward sagehood in the form of a travel narrative. Wu has labeled this genre “spiritual autobiography.” Ming-dynasty autobiography and travel literature already shared many common attributes. They were both usually written in the first person and dealt with factual events. The autobiographer or traveler was the protagonist. The texts were concerned with spatial movement, and they implied a temporal scheme.76 The metaphor of sagehood as quest was also well established from ancient times. The pursuit of ultimate truth in Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism was signified by the word dao, which translates as both “way” and “road.” This term was utilized allegorically by early teachers such as Xunzi (ca. 340–245 bce), who stated: “Though the road is short, if you do not step along you will never get to the end.” Into this analogy, sixteenth-century commentators integrated the term xue (“to learn,” “to study,” and more broadly “to imitate” or “to emulate,” as in “to imitate the sages”). Chen Jiamou (1520– 1603) wrote that “when engaged in xue one must keep on pursuing and searching until one arrives at a spot completely roadless and blocked from all four directions; only in such a place can one gradually find the true beginning of the road. This road has to be found by oneself.” Deng Yizan (1542–99) believed that “One must pursue and search for xue in one’s own body and mind. Even though one may make a thousand false starts and ten thousand wrong moves, as long as one keeps on walking one will eventually find the right road at the end of the river and the foot of the mountain.” Zhou Rudeng (1547–1629?) admonished that “those who climb mountains do not begrudge the toils of walking; those who cross rivers must depend on the facilities of boats; those who are committed to the Way must exhaust all the efforts of cultivation and action.”77 Spiritual autobiographers such as Deng Huoqu (1498–1570?) and Gao Panlong expanded on these ideas by merging their life stories with personal travel narratives. Writers usually record the specific incidents of a journey, often within a certain period of time in their lives. Most spiritual autobiographies include a significant initial experience, visits to sites associated with sages and worthies, periods of physical danger and extreme hardship, ascents to great heights, and breakthroughs to unsurpassed topographical views. Most importantly, as Wu says, “each reports his quest for the absolute truth as a double journey: strenuous upward locomotion accompanying spiritual progress. The hazardous ascent brought each to a

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salient point, where a sudden illumination struck the seeker.”78 Gao Panlong begins his spiritual autobiography in his twenties after hearing Li Yuanchong (1551–1608) and Gu Xiancheng (1550–1612) discuss learning (xue). He states, “at age twenty-five, when I heard Magistrate Li Yuanchong and Gu Jingyang discuss learning, I resolved to pursue the quest of sagehood. I considered that there must be a way of becoming a sage, though I was yet unacquainted with the methods.”79 Taylor explains that this experience serves as the initiating experience and standpoint, “the direction and order around which Gao can see his life develop, the resolve to pursue the goal of sagehood.” 80 Tu Wei-ming calls this the “existential decision.”81 Once this point is established, the spiritual autobiographer proceeds with his travel narrative. Gao relates a number of select incidents, difficulties, and crises upon his road of discovery. He practices quiet-sitting in the Zhaotian Temple. He is banished from government service for speaking out in defense of friends.82 He journeys by boat and on land to Guangdong, noting various sites and incidents along the way. His enlightenment experience occurs after he has ascended, literally, to a higher elevation. Gao wrote: I passed by Tingzhou [Fujian] and traveled on by land until I reached an inn. The inn had a small tower: to the front were mountains, to the rear a nearby rushing stream. I climbed the tower and was very much at ease. In my hand I held a book of the two Cheng brothers. Quite by chance I saw a saying by [Cheng] Mingdao, “In the midst of the ten-thousand affairs and the hundred-thousand weapons ‘joy still exists though water is my drink and a bent arm [my pillow]. The myriad changes all exist within the person; in reality there is not a single thing.’ ” Suddenly I realized this and said, “It really is like this, in reality there is not a single thing!” With this single thought all entanglements were broken off. Suddenly it was as if a load of a hundred pounds had fallen to the ground in an instant. It was as if a flash of lightning had penetrated the body and pierced the intelligence. Subsequently I was merged with the Great Transformation until there was no differentiation between Heaven and humanity, exterior and interior.83

Grand Views In the Diannan album Huang Xiangjian presents a pictorial spiritual biography for his father. As it was with his idol, Wang Shouren, Huang Kongzhao’s tenure in Yunnan serves as the standpoint from which his pursuit of sagehood is addressed. In the Diannan album leaves, Huang Xiangjian pictured for his

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father what Xu Ai (1487–1518), a disciple of Wang Shouren, wrote of his master: “[his] exile among the barbarians, and his efforts to keep [his mind] at peace while in the midst of difficulties, had brought him a degree of discernment and of single-mindedness that indicates his penetration into the state of sagehood, and his attainment of supreme harmony and truth.”84 Huang then moves the viewer through the significant historical, cultural, and personal topography of Huang Kongzhao’s lifelong quest for sagehood as he travels through the physical geography of eight distinct southwestern journeys. The path of each expedition mirrors the “strenuous upward locomotion accompanying spiritual progress,”85 and six of the eight leaves suggest or illustrate the view available from a great height, indicative of the significant moment following a dangerous ascent in which a sudden illumination strikes the seeker. These views also signify the accumulated historical, religious, and literary symbolism of the grand view that Huang implied in the Mount Jizu handscroll. Unlike in Mount Jizu, however, the extensive views of the Diannan album actually materialize before the viewer’s eyes. The Diannan album grand views represent a new development in Huang Xiangjian’s artistic vision of the southwest. The paintings produced by Huang prior to the Diannan album illustrate his consistent interest in spatial recession and depth, through the use of strong diagonals, clouds and mist, and the diminution of background elements. Yet it is only in the Diannan album that the totality of the comprehensive views from a height is manifest. Six of the Diannan album journeys culminate in a grand view. Each is highlighted either in the accompanying inscription or by the placement of the inscription within the picture frame. Most striking is Huang’s conclusion to the leaf-five inscription, which is a quotation of the line in Fan Zhongyan’s essay on the Yueyang Tower indicating his moment of insight at its top. Of the view from halfway up Mount Taihua, which is reflected in the water, Huang writes, “this truly makes ‘one’s heart open and one’s spirit delight’” (fig. 5.5). Huang locates these impressive views at the end of the illustrated route, as seen from the highest, most remote site that he pictured, and accentuates them by framing the vistas within the surrounding landscape and inscription.

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Narrator/Biographer/Autobiographer Huang Xiangjian pictorially narrates the life of his father by combining elements of both historiographical biography and spiritual autobiography. Seventeenth-century conceptions of biography and autobiography were quite fluid, yet they still relied on the structures and rhetorical devices of the biographies in the Records of the Historian (Shiji) of Sima Qian (ca. 145–ca. 86 bce).86 In his biographies, Sima Qian identified the person’s home district, family, and status, and presented select incidents from that person’s life to illustrate his most significant personality traits. Sima Qian related this information as an omniscient and detached observer. However, he also broke with past traditions and set a new precedent that would be followed by future historical biographers in periodically offering his own opinion introduced with the phrase “the Lord Grand Historian says.” His reactions were expressive and subjective, such as, “Alas, how could he have been a sage of such a vast vision of all things?”87 William Nienhauser describes these comments as “essentially emotional and, thereby, highly personal reactions to the characters and events of the past.”88 No author before had drawn attention to himself as a character in his own text. This convention was used liberally by writers in the seventeenth century. Chen Jiru, Wang Shizhen (1526–90), and Chen Zilong (1608–47), among others, integrated personal commentary into their biographical writings, and they also offered their opinions in the third person, stating: “Master Chen Comments” or “Master Wang Comments.”89 Another mode involving the author’s fluid identity was to write one’s own autobiography as though written by someone else. Li Zhi provides a fine example in his autobiography, A Brief Comment on Zhuowu (Zhuowu lunlüe), written during the author’s early fifties. In this work, which relates his life up to 1577, when he was posted to Yunnan, he presents his autobiography as a biography, ostensibly written by a “friend” of his, one Kong Ruogu. The opening sentence of the biography reads, “Kong Ruogu remarks, I was old enough to have met the Retired Gentleman Zhuowu, so I am able to make a general comment on him.”90 The fact that these seventeenth-century writers inserted themselves as characters demands that they be considered in relation to the narrative structures of these texts, and this brings one back to the Diannan album and Huang Xiangjian. Huang Xiangjian links the eight journey stages of the Diannan album narrative into a life journey by integrating himself into each leaf.91 A pictorial Huang travels through every site in his usual blue robe, carrying his umbrella. His

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painted self identifies the path, experiences the natural geography, observes the human activities, and signals the gradual upward trajectory of the journey as a whole. He begins along the Li River bank in leaf one; arrives at a Buddhist monastery in leaf two; crosses a precarious bridge in leaf three; makes his way toward the sleeping deer and hut in leaf four; rounds a steep bend on Mount Taihua in leaf five; enjoys the high-altitude sunrise in leaf six; travels along the Heqing cliff roads of leaf seven; and admires the distant view in leaf eight. His general trajectory begins in the far right of the first leaf, at the lowest geographical elevation represented in the album, and finishes at the far left of the last leaf, on a high precipice. Huang’s painted self acts as observer and narrator, biographer and autobiographer, historian and commentator, while he actively journeys through the life landscape of his father. Huang proceeds toward two gentlemen who stand chatting or listening to the wind in the pines (fig. 5.22). He has passed gentlemen bathing in a hot spring (fig. 5.21). He will emerge from the cliffs of Jianchuan to look out onto distant travelers making their way toward the city. He passes above two gentlemen admiring some aspect of the cliffs of Heqing (fig. 5.14). As a central character in his own painting, Huang is present as these figures reenact the life events and beliefs of his father. I have suggested that one of the figures (who often wears a red robe indicating his official status) in each of the human groups represents his father. Yet Huang Xiangjian does not interact with these figures. Indeed, he could not, for they exist in another time and place. None of the Diannan album sites feature significantly in Huang’s writings, and some are not mentioned at all, suggesting that he was never there. The inscriptions reinforce this interpretation. Nowhere in them does Huang relate a specific incident in his own life or personalize an emotion as he does in Mount Jizu or the ink monochrome paintings; rather, the inscriptions and paintings of the Diannan album emphasize the interests, beliefs, and personal experiences of his father. Huang Xiangjian depicts himself as witness and commentator to the events pictured. His narrator embodies and filters the life of his father through the very emotional nature of his own filial journey and his eyewitness account of his father’s life in Yunnan. In this way, the image of Huang moving through the life landscape of his father serves as a familiar biographical conceit that adds a self-reflexive layer of interpretation to the Diannan album that would have emphasized the emotional narrative for viewers. Using the creative confusion of personae adopted by Li Zhi and the spiritual autobiographers of his day, Huang Xiangjian creates a comprehensive

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life journey in the Diannan album. The formal biographical history of Huang Kongzhao is captured in the eight topographically layered journeys of the album, which present the different stages and aspects of his loyalist-official, Yangmingphilosophical, Suzhou-cultural, religio-touristic, Chan Buddhist life in Yunnan. The informal vignettes of his life are illustrated in the privileged content of the unidentified activities of figures and site-specific landscapes. Huang’s narration of all of these elements weaves together history, biography, and autobiography. The painted Huang Xiangjian is present as the narrator who travels through each biographical landscape viewing the activities and commenting on the sites. Huang also employs the final leaf to present both the autobiographical moment of spiritual enlightenment and the final stage of sagehood for his father, as well as a biographical commentary to the entire album. In this last leaf the painted figure of Huang Xiangjian sits on a high precipice admiring an endless chain of mountains that progresses into the horizon, while a red-robed figure enters a monastery below (fig. 5.8). Huang Kongzhao, the figure in red, may be seen to attain the moment of sagehood in the furthest reaches of a territory still loyal to the Ming dynasty as he retreats into Chan Buddhism within the confines of a site both literally and spiritually connected to India (fig. 5.23). The figure of Huang Xiangjian sits on the plateau above the monastery, contemplating the grand view that concludes the album (fig. 5.15). This final pictorial comment expresses the multiplicity of interpretations that the grand view affords. Having narrated and journeyed through his father’s life and accomplishments in Yunnan, Huang reaches this enlightened vantage point and now views them in their entirety as his father’s achievement of sagehood. This depiction of sagehood acquired was produced in the year 1658, when Huang Kongzhao turned seventy, attaining the traditional age of sagehood. The Diannan album was surely the perfect gift to celebrate this achievement.

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Epilogue

I

n 2009, an audience member in his seventies stood up to speak in the auditorium of the new Suzhou Museum designed by Suzhou scion I. M. Pei. I had just finished delivering a talk entitled “The Filial Son of Suzhou: Huang Xiangjian.” Instead of asking a question, however, he began a long soliloquy in which he chided the Chinese audience and himself for their lack of knowledge of this native Filial Son and his fine painting, and he emphasized the importance of understanding Huang and his time. For this Suzhou man, Huang Xiangjian still mattered. I would, of course, agree. Huang’s extraordinary filial actions during and after his journey to southwest China make him a paragon among the many celebrated citizens that Suzhou produced. His travel records and paintings present eloquent examples of the fundamental beliefs of the late-imperial educated elite. Finally, his artworks, when examined in their cultural, historical, political, and art-historical context, present a far more nuanced visual vocabulary in the tradition of landscape paintings of particular places than was previously understood. The works Huang Xiangjian created operate within a specific, mature tradition of Chinese site painting, discussed here as “geo-narrative.” Many seventeenth-century artists working in this tradition were based or trained in Huang’s hometown of Suzhou. This group displays an extensive site-painting lexicon that was employed to represent the unique somatic and visual experiences of the topography, architecture, and views of famous and lesser-known sites. The multifaceted implications of the geography pictured in these paintings allowed this group of artists to achieve greater depth of meaning and subtler purpose in their creations. The specific paths, landmarks, and views they chose to illustrate served to position viewers culturally, historically, and spiritually by locating them within a very specific landscape.

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As may be seen in the work of Huang Xiangjian, geo-narrative paintings are distinguished from other place paintings through the experiential and dynamic role of their individuated landscapes. Geo-narratives were most often lauded for their naturalistic immediacy, their ability to place viewers within the geography pictured, and the active re-experiencing of the topographic narrative that viewers might enjoy amidst the painted landscape. Their topographically activated landscapes narrate carefully defined journeys and ultimately create their meaning. The focal persona around whom a geo-narrative is constructed, such as Huang Kongzhao, father of Huang Xiangjian, remains an important element in their creation and picturing. These landscapes narrated various elements of personhood through layered, individualized constructions of physical and experiential topography, cultural and historical topography, and personal topography. Viewers journeyed through these layers of landscape meaning and were affected and transformed. Geo-narratives were produced for a variety of purposes, from luxurious farewell gifts to fundraising appeals. Artists such as Huang Xiangjian used the pictorial-textual devices and social strategies of this tradition in new and personal ways to formulate complex geo-narrative routes animated by the multidimensional symbolism of famous and obscure sites, such as he found in southwest China. The personalized experiences depicted in these types of paintings and the functions they served present an alternate lineage of artistic expression in which place and person merge. Within the visual culture of seventeenth-century China, geo-narrative represents a distinct and identifiable category of painting. The careful selection and manipulation of the topographical elements in these works indicate that the genre was fully established by this late date. The exceptional quality and ubiquity of these paintings also suggest that in this period they became valued luxury goods utilized by the growing educated class to communicate identity and personal meaning. As the Suzhou native who attended my talk reminded us all, the relationships of place to purpose and of identity to experience matter.

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Editions and Transmission of Huang Xiangjian’s Texts

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his appendix is a translation of A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Xunqin jicheng 尋親紀程) and Diary of the Return from Yunnan (Dianhuan riji 滇還日記), both written by Huang Xiangjian. The first section is a translation of A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents, which was inscribed by Shilin Zhenji (act. ca. 1696) as a colophon following the album A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Xunqin jicheng tu 尋親紀 程圖) by Huang Xiangjian now held in the Nanjing Museum (and referred to as the Diannan album in chapters 5 and 6). Huang Xiangjian’s chronicle of the Huang family’s return to Suzhou is recorded in Diary of the Return from Yunnan, which is discussed and translated as the second section of this appendix. Four printed versions of A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents and the Diary of the Return from Yunnan are also extant.1 After comparing the Diannan album colophon to the printed versions, and the printed versions to one another, I would suggest that two or perhaps more, very similar textual traditions of Huang’s story, one represented by the colophon and the other by the printed versions, existed in his time or soon after. The differences between these two traditions are slight, but I have chosen to translate the colophon. It includes several phrases found in inscriptions on Huang’s paintings that are not found in the printed versions, whereas in the printed versions these omissions occasionally result in a text that does not entirely make sense. Sometimes a homophonous character in one version replaces that in another. At other times

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the same basic idea is expressed in a few different characters, or the same characters are rearranged. Occasionally a phrase or two has been inserted in one version. None of these changes bespeaks a different, or later, author because neither version alters later, taboo characters, and neither tradition appears dramatically simpler than the other, which would suggest a more modern, explanatory text. Both are written in Huang’s voice in that they both contain phrases found in his painting inscriptions. I have footnoted those sections of the colophon that differ from the printed texts by five characters or more. The small differences between these two traditions, as well as the nature of these changes, suggest that Huang may have written several versions of his story that varied only slightly in word choice and the occasional extra fact. That Huang retold his story at least twice, and perhaps more, agrees with the repetition of subject matter and composition in his oeuvre discussed in chapter 2.

A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents In 1643 my father was appointed district magistrate of Dayao 大姚 in Yunnan.2 He took my mother and cousin with him to his official position.3 After they reached his post, the dynasty was overthrown. The passes and mountains were completely blocked, and warfare filled the roads. As I thought about my parents’ return, and how vague and unpredictable it was, I worried day and night. Pain and suffering were constantly before my eyes. Furthermore, the foreign invasions had created such chaos that there was almost no safe place for my family. In bitter straits and circumstances, we lived on very little. My brush and inkstone were covered in dust, and even such things as safety or a decent meal were unthinkable. When I did obeisance at my ancestors’ graves, I told them of how I had dishonored my parents. My father and mother were in an inaccessible land, and I had not thought of them. Was I worthy of being anyone’s descendant? Bitterly distressed, I wiped my tears and thought quietly. Though the mountain ranges and waters were long, there was nowhere I would not travel.4 But, though I asked everyone, I could not figure out how to get there. After some time the warfare subsided. My spirit was disquieted as though my parents were calling me to make this journey. My family quickly chose a few clothes for me to take. Everyone was full of sadness, but they were encouraging and did not say one word to stop me. As I said goodbye to my friends and relatives that day, they

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were only partly convinced that I was doing the right thing. Unable to deter me, they gave me farewell gifts, poured some wine, and bestowed some parting words upon me. Feeling apprehensive, I bowed in appreciation. And so I left. On January 11, 1652, I offered obeisance at my ancestors’ graves and said goodbye to my family. As I was going, I took a look at myself, examining my body as I would the sloughed-off skin of an insect. I did not let my sons and daughters cry or clutch at my clothes and could not bear to look back or say anything to them. Five or six of my closest relatives accompanied me to my boat. In no time at all I had sailed off into the horizon. The boat set out for Jiangcheng 江城. At the home of Wang Yumin 王雨民, I inquired [if] a letter [had arrived].5 But [they] had not received any correspondence. After five days of travel we arrived at Hangzhou. When we reached the mouth of the river, I searched around for a boat. Looking southward I saw clouds and layered mountain ranges. The vast river flowed by, and I sat down on one of the mats, unconscious of the hot tears that flowed.6 We stopped over one day, then sailed on through places such as Fuyang 富陽, Tonglu 桐廬, Lanxi 籣 溪, Yan 嚴, Qu 衢, and so forth.7 We went up through several big rapids. We reached Changshan 常山 in ten days. A great deal of rain and snow fell on the boat, and the extreme cold was miserable to endure. We traveled by land and rested in shelters along the grassy banks. At dawn we would rise to a frosty day and slippery roads. The northern wind chilled me to the bone. After we made it through Yushan County 玉山縣, we reboarded the boat, sailed down to Guangxin Prefecture 廣信府 and anchored at the mouth of the Yanshan 沿山 River. Everyone onboard got drunk on wine and, what with my slipping about, I almost got myself into real trouble. We passed through Guixi 貴溪 and Yiyang 弋陽. I looked off toward the scenic Longhu 龍虎 Mountain Range. It was a splendid view. Yet, its extreme beauty was no consolation to me at all. For eight to nine days we went up through a number of big rapids, then reboarded and went on to reach Dengjiafu 鄧家埠. Here, a band of robbers had burned and looted the area and the flames from the fires they had set were still smoldering.8 We did not dare bring the boat to shore. So we anchored in the middle of the river. We set sail after sunrise. There were many bandits and tigers on the roads, but from this point onward I would have to rely on my straw sandals [and travel on foot]. The mountains and waters were beautiful, yet in my complete unhappiness it was all one bitter vista.

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I stopped at a guesthouse in Xuwan 許灣 and found I was the only person there. Again I thought of my hometown. Every day that passed was a day that took me farther away from home. I had no idea when I would be able to return home with my two parents. There would be difficult scrapes before that date, and my only protection would be the dark azure sky. Early in 1652, I prepared incense, gazed south, and prayed a heartfelt prayer. I cried and cried. The innkeeper set a place and urged me to drink and drink till I was drunk. That evening there was thunder and lightning. It rained and snowed and was damp for the next ten days. On the ninth day of the month I slogged on through the mud and ice. From Liufang 流坊 I went through Fuzhou 撫州. I then advanced over Zhuangyuan 狀元 Pass to reach Zhanping 戰坪 and came out on the boundary between Fengcheng 豊城 and Linjiang 臨江. It being the Lantern Festival, I stopped at the Li 李 residence in Aofang 鰲坊, for they were good friends. People on the road in this season encountered rain and snow. 9 Everyone’s heels and toes were cracked and incessantly painful. I fell and completely covered myself in mud. I took a look at myself, and it was beyond pitiful. In this state, I wept repeatedly. I learned that there were a number of forks in the road ahead. I entered Shuinan 水南 and stopped at a farmhouse to search out some companions. I met up with two men who were going the same way. Seeing that I was alone, weak, and afraid, and that travel on foot was difficult for me, they gave me some advice. They told me that the fighting continued on the road ahead and that through traffic had been cut off for a long time. There was also the risk of tigers and wolves on the roadways, as well as a danger of disease.10 They firmly refused to accompany me and urged me to return home quickly. [But] I had no intention of going back and, showing no fear, I insisted on going with them. On the night of the nineteenth [February 27], we took advantage of the moonlight and left, [but] nearly fell into a mountain torrent. At dawn we arrived at Zhangshuzhen 樟樹鎮 and crossed a large river. We asked directions in a remote mountain valley and were told that the villages of Jinlou 金樓, Shuibai 水白, Cihua 慈化, Qingshan 青山, Huanggang 黃岡, and Tongshui 桐水 were all between Fenyi 分宜, Yuanzhou 袁州, and Liling 醴陵. All of them were situated near mountains beside the water. Though [the houses there had] reed roofs and earthen walls, they were safe stopovers. But the mountain paths were rugged, and there were many bridges that had been destroyed or severed from their banks. One’s thighs would tremble upon drawing near. Smoke still curled from

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the smoldering centers of those areas that had been destroyed, [but] some settlements remained amidst the desolation. We would need to pack provisions. We stumbled ahead for something like thirteen days. On March 19, 1652, we were able to cross the Xiang River 湘江 and lodge outside the walls of the Xiangtan county seat 湘潭縣. The blood blister on my left foot was swollen and red. Unable to bear the pain any longer, I pierced it with a magnetic needle and let it bleed. Distressed and downcast I propped myself up and rested. Eating and sleeping, I was nearly spent. My fellow travelers were extremely concerned about my lamentable state and again, with words of doubt and fear, they encouraged me to stop pushing ahead. Thanking them, I quickly replied, “When I left home I put thoughts like those aside. Though it will be difficult and dangerous, I must try.” Sealing a letter to my family with tears, I entrusted it to my fellow travelers to deliver when they returned home. I doctored my foot for five days. From Xiangxiang 湘鄉, I crossed the river and went west. Above Baoqing Prefecture 寶慶府 I gazed at the wild mountains that surrounded me. Most of the fields were full of weeds. Human skulls lay exposed everywhere over the countryside. There were tiger tracks as large as bowls. Then, I accidentally met a herd of deer blocking the path and [when] I shooed them, they stopped and formed ranks. It was frightening. Every day I would get information at my lodging place about the road ahead, whether it was open or blocked. As I climbed the steep cliffs, my back would become completely soaked with sweat. As I waded through the deep streams, the cold pierced me to the bone. Fortunately my foot gradually healed, so I was able to walk well and my appetite was good. I was sore from having to hold up my umbrella every day, [but] after some time I forgot about it. [Amidst] intermittent storms, I reached Gaosha City 高沙巿 after just fifteen days of travel. It was sixty li to Wugang Subprefecture 武岡州. I raised my head and looked to the southern skies. The layers of mountains sealed off by clouds were arrayed like the Great Wall in a long belt. This area, in which the wild, aboriginal tribes dwell together, has been known from Early Han times as Wulingxi 五 陵溪. From here I found a byway through many high mountains and winding streams. Although my feet had been healed for several days, on this [stretch of the route] they felt cold enough to break. I rested in a destroyed house beside a branching stream. There was wind, rain, thunder, and ice. It was too uncomfortable to sleep, [so] I leaned [against] my umbrella and sat beneath it till sunrise. Northern troops guarded the narrow pass through Hongjiang Pass 洪江關. I made a detour so as not to confront them. Having gotten through that, I came

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to a stretch of countryside that was nearly uninhabited. At times there were deep valleys and wild bamboo groves, at other times mountain peaks with torrents at their bases. It was extraordinarily difficult going, with scarcely any place for me to rest safely. At dawn I climbed Taoziyan 桃子巖. In this territory the Miao 苗 and Liao 獠 come and go.11 They are a dangerous people. The Chinese who farmed in these mountains had organized themselves into groups and carried spears and crossbows while they plowed. When I entered the village that hugged Dalong 大龍 cliff, I hired a dugout canoe and crossed three large streams. As we approached the rugged bank amidst great billowing waves, I stood agitated and uncertain, for both the height of the bank and the depth of the current frightened me. Thick groves of bamboo and ancient trees grew deep in the mountains, and this dark canopy hid the sun as I searched about for a road where there was none. There were extraordinary reddish-purple flowers blooming and the sad, uninterrupted songs of strange birds. Decaying leaves were piled up over a foot high, and flowers had fallen like layers of comforters. Glimpsing a deserted village grave that had been swept and offered sacrifices, I was troubled that my [family] tombs were not [in this same state]. I realized at this point that I was still on the border between Yuan [Subprefecture] 沅州 and Jing [County 靖縣 in Huguang] and Yuexi 粤 西 [Guangxi]. I sought a guide and proceeded on to Xixi 西溪 and Liuzhai 柳寨. All of this land belonged to the Miao. The Miao people wear their hair in buns and have dangling earrings. Their language sounds like the shrike’s song. Some are able to understand and speak Chinese. They also know how to entertain guests. They make implements and prepare fermented wine that is like honey and grind their rice till it is like snow. The cliffs and pools here are so secluded and deep, with their strange springs and rocks, that for the most part they have never been seen by outsiders. Leaving Jiuzhai 舊寨, I took advantage of the imperial boat station on the southern bank. This area had not been under any political control for a long time. There were jumbled mountains everywhere and grass thick enough to get lost in as far as the eye could see. Much of the land was submerged beneath sand and water, or flooded from heavy rains. There were many wild animal tracks, and I hesitated. I was looking for Huangzhou 晃州 [when] I reached Nianyupo 鮎魚坡. Many times I came upon places with no road on which to travel. Suddenly I

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heard people talking from amidst some luxuriant foliage and craggy rocks. Investigating these sounds, I discovered a place to stay. It was a newly built grass house. It still lacked a rammed earth wall. Reeds and brambles had been used to fence it. [That night] I hugged my knees, not daring to sleep. When day came, the grass on the bank hid me and shielded my head. My eyes wandered, but I could not take a step. I heard the sound of a cannon. Looking into the distance I saw beacon fires. I knew Qinguan 秦關 was not far away. Moreover, up ahead I could see double-edged swords and two-pointed lances, and a stockade of closely fitted logs similar to a city wall. A big bell hung in an open area. The soldiers and officers stood divided into ranks and demanded in strong voices that I identify myself. As I came closer to them, they yammered at me angrily, for they thought I was a spy. With an angry look, the commander issued orders that the stockade be opened, and I was put inside. To his left and right were soldiers holding two-pointed lances. The commander stared at me angrily and interrogated me. He wanted to know my hometown, surname, personal name, and business. He wanted to know what places I had come from and where I was going. Weeping, I knelt and told him how, alone and oblivious to the danger, I had come only because my father and mother were in Yunnan, how for several years I had received no news of them, and that I did not know if they were dead or alive. I had come specifically in search of them, and I truly had no other purpose. Having found out what he wanted to know, he looked at his lieutenants and said: “It is still a long road ahead, and he looks so emaciated and weak. How can he travel on?” I was given lodging for the night and a complete mounted escort delivered me to Pingxi 平溪 to see Regional Commander Gao 高. Again, I stated my circumstances. He listened carefully and said sympathetically, “Since your search for your parents is the truth of the matter, I will give you documents that will enable you to proceed ahead.” The next afternoon I crossed a river and stopped at Qinglang 清浪. The day after that I made [another] river crossing and rested at Jiaoxi 焦溪. For two days the riverbanks were wild and uninhabited. Then I looked up, startled by the yells of some postal relay station soldiers. They warned me not to go on because there were tigers in the mountains ahead, and that I should at least be careful. I was frightened, and as I went on, I did indeed see the distinct tracks of a tiger. I went over Jiming Pass 雞鳴關. There were many layers of cliffs and sheer rock walls. I went through pass after narrow pass and reached Zhenyuan Prefecture 鎮遠府. This prefecture did not have a regular city wall, [but] high mountains stood at its four corners like screens, and a large stream flowed through their

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midst. It was as though I were standing atop a city wall a myriad zhang 丈 high looking down into a bottomless abyss. The troops posted here had strictly forbidden anyone but local residents from coming up here. Surreptitiously, I sought out news of Dayao. Military personnel I met told me they had seen evidence of total massacres on every road to Yaoan 姚安.12 From the moment I heard this, how many times did I ache inwardly and how many times did I weep? There was no consoling me.13 Secretly, I met up with a man from Chuhuang 楚黃 [Hubei] by the name of Yang 楊 who guided me into Guizhou via the Zigang 紫岡 and Youzuo 油 柞 Passes. As we crossed them I could see the slopes of countless other mountains whose peaks appeared to hold up the sky, and for a number of days the clouds were extraordinary colors. A large stream flowed into a grotto [here] and I followed it for about a half day’s journey through the belly of the mountain to where it gushed out the other side. Wonderfully strange and strangely wonderful! Truly, who could imagine such a thing? We stopped at Pianqiao Military Station 偏橋衛 school. Then I went up above Xintian 新添, Longli 龍里, and Qingping 清平. High mountains were arrayed all along this road and pestilential vapors hung about even during the daytime. It was distressing enough to make me suspect I had walked into a hideout of ghosts. Truss bridges crossed deep streams. It was cold and desolate, and I was frightened. As I descended the steep mountain ranges, for every hundred steps there were nine bends in the road. I passed Mahege 蔴哈葛, Jingqiao 鏡橋, and Gelaozhai 犵狫寨. On the opposite bank was a sheer cliff. On a steep, planed [section] were carved four large characters reading “Universe Where the Gods Remain 神畱宇宙.” I reached Pingyue Prefecture 平越府. The mountains were high and majestic, and the road twisted and turned like sheep intestines. Miao tribes people dwelt in caves on either side of the road.14 In years past both officials and merchants had suffered under the destructive Miao, so outposts to sound warnings had been set up on a select number of tall, jagged mountains. There were postal relay stations set up every ten li, [but] at this point the station soldiers had been dragged off by tigers. Human skeletons lay piled one upon another at ridge tops and slope bases. This shocking spectacle terrified me. Only then did I see mounted riders coming and going [between] clashes. I also saw people whose ears and noses had been hacked off. Some were missing both hands as well. Though the refugees were able to carry heavy loads on their backs as they traveled along, they were entirely helpless. So saddened was I to see this that I felt as though my heart would break.15

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I lodged one night at a mountain monastery and one night at a postal relay station. Though I had steamed rice and dried off at the fire, I could not fall asleep. It had taken me a little over a month to get from Gaosha City [in Huguang] to Guiyang Prefecture 貴陽府. Leaving a valley, I went through a series of passes. My documents were examined, and I entered [Guiyang 貴陽] City. [Once] inside, I repeatedly came upon scenes of slaughter and massacre. There were few inhabitants. Whenever I happened upon roadside shrines I always went in to worship and pray. As I was visiting a Guandi 關帝 shrine to divine news of my parents, someone noticed my short hair and tried to detain me.16 At that moment I ran into a Mr. Cheng 程 and told him how far I had come in search of my parents. Amazed and puzzled, he listened respectfully, took a good look at me, and said, “I am a Xin’an 新安 [Anhui] native and I used to reside in Luzhou 廬州 [Anhui]. I was kidnapped in my youth and taken to Shu 蜀 [Sichuan]. Twenty years have now come and gone, and I have no idea where my family lives.” He was choked with sorrow for a long while. Then he said, “I will go to the government office and look up your father’s record. Then you will know his whereabouts.” At dawn he put a sheet of paper in his sleeve [and set out]. He copied out the notice of my father’s resignation in the winter of 1647. Father was already retired. I was elated. If I could just find him, we could plan on starting home any day. But I still had no idea where he was living. [Mr. Cheng] told me to send a petition to the main commander. Papers issued from him would allow me to continue my search. Holding back tears, I took up a brush to relate my ten-thousand-li undertaking in search of my parents. After composing several lines worth, I put the statement in my sleeve and set out into the cold, rainy dawn. But before I reached the prefectural office, the road was blocked by regiments of guards with elephants and horses.17 I retreated but got caught up amidst them and was unable to turn in my petition. This was May 8, 1652. I managed to present my petition the next day. An endorsement of it was issued at once. It said, “Whereas he is not a spy and is verifiably searching for his parents, I order that papers be given to him permitting him to depart.” Though I received this notice on May 10, 1652, they interrogated me several more times. Then I was finally given papers to travel on. My money had run out, [but] I was given some parting gifts by three or four friendly people from other regions. A Mr. Xiong 熊 personally escorted me to the city limit. Weeping, he cheered me, saying, “Although you have no companions, you do

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have the [necessary] documents, so you need not worry as you travel along.” We bowed to one another and parted. I looked back at him on the distant horizon. There he was, still at the corner of the city wall, wiping away tears. I had not gone far when cavalrymen carrying lances held up their weapons and blocked the road. Unable to proceed, I stood at the foot of a slope while they asked me a number of questions and examined my documents. A man up ahead of the standard bearers yelled out the order that I should be allowed to proceed. I had gone several li further when I suddenly happened upon a soldier who grabbed my umbrella, smashed and broke it, and sped away on his horse. Still in a frightened and suspicious frame of mind, I entered Weiqing City 威 清城. There were several thatched houses inside. As all of them were empty, I sat on the bare ground. Then I spotted a cavalryman holding a small, red cudgel. He galloped over on his horse with an official dispatch that said, “The ruler commands you to appear.” So, I stood up quickly. Upon inquiry [I learned] the soldier who had broken my umbrella was acting on this ruler’s orders. The following evening I reached the military camp at Muzhen 沐鎮 in Pingba Military Station 平壩衞. I [then] proceeded double time, and rested at Wanlongpu 萬隆鋪. I slept on the grass there and was stiff in [all] four limbs the next day. When I reached Anshun Prefecture 安順府, I visited the prefect Li Chunkun 李春鵾. He sympathized with me and gave me some gifts.18 I passed through Anzhuang Military Station 安庄衛 and Baishui Post Station 白水驛. Here, a waterfall cascaded from a thousand xun 尋 high precipice, making white clouds rise from the deep pool [below].19 As I crossed mountain peaks and stood on ridges I was surrounded by mountains. I had to rest several times before I made it through [this area]. Heavy rains, soldiers, and horses had trampled the path into mud. I jumped from one sandbar to another, but kept falling up to my knees. It was like sinking into a bottomless pit and there were several times when I had trouble getting up. I stopped at Guan Mountain Range 關嶺. Its connecting mountain peaks form a barrier, and it is where the Han-dynasty general Guan Suo 關索 stationed his troops.20 He is famous to this day as the strong general whose strategic occupation of this high pass made him difficult to defeat. Almost halfway up the mountain range I was tired and panting for breath, so I lay down beside the mountain path. An old monk there offered me some tea to sip, which revived me. So I got up, and using my umbrella as a staff and taking short strides, I reached the top of the range. From here I could see tents spread out all over the

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mountains and herds of horses pasturing throughout the wilderness. Banners and flags filled the air, and the sound of cannon was like thunder. I had stopped for a brief rest below a ridge [when] all of a sudden a mounted rider seized me and took me to his encampment. Soldiers interrogated me and examined my papers. [Observing] my fatigue they asked me about my difficulties on the road and called a servant to prepare food for me. But I was not feeling well and could not eat it. Then they offered me a large cup of congee, and all of the leaders and petty officers stood around me in a circle encouraging me to eat. They told me that it was peaceful under the western troops. I stayed on two nights, then hurried on.21 Again I saw groups of mounted soldiers winding down the mountain ranges below. Some were riding elephants, some were on horseback. Their banners and flags dazzled the eyes and the mountains and valleys shook [with activity]. My straw sandals had worn out. Barefoot, I hurried on.22 Then I saw a rear encampment that had been directed to prepare food below a ridge. Mounted riders were milling around in much the same fashion as I had seen already. My papers were examined and I walked on. Upon seeing a herd of elephants blocking the road, I stopped at Baikoupo 白口坡.23 Ever since I had entered the [Guizhou] Pass, every prefecture, county, and military camp I passed through had wide-open roads. Postal relay stations were set up every ten li and my papers were examined at every one. Those without papers were taken to be spies, so travelers stayed put. When I arrived at the Pan River 盤江, it was a raging torrent of crashing whitecaps. Two sheer cliffs rose on either side of the chasm. The iron-link bridge [that spans them] is well known for being dangerous and difficult to cross.24 I was rigorously questioned here, for this was the most strategic point of entry into Dian 滇 [Yunnan]. One of the soldiers at this pass, surnamed Pan 潘, was from Taizhou 泰州, and after he checked my papers, we chatted a while before I proceeded on. One oppressive day, as the sun broiled my body, a bank of clouds suddenly gathered, and it began to thunder and there was lightning. The violent wind dragged at my umbrella, and it was no protection against the soaking rain. From the old city wall I ran on to a Miao walled village where I could just make out one or two old Miao women who gaped and jabbered away at me while their cows and pigs wallowed about in filth. With the rain at my back I rushed on. As I climbed higher up the mountain range the rivulet of rains became a flood. There was the angry sound of rushing water plunging downward and, [just] before this

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rushing water hit me sidelong, I pulled my knees together and drew up my legs beneath me. It nearly knocked me off my feet and to the ground. Yet, the more it rained, the more determined I became. I rested at Haimazhuang 海馬庄. I was short on rice, so I had a skimpy meal. Then I spent half the night drying my clothes by the fire instead of sleeping. Since leaving home I had come through severe frosts, freezing snow, cold winds, and bitter rain. But with my head dripping wet as I rubbed my legs, [it seemed] there had never been a day as miserable as this one. There was a heavy fog as I walked the next morning. I entered Annan Military Station 安南衛 and went through Laoya Pass 老鴉關. Spectacular mountain peaks surrounded me and gushing springs splashed my clothes. There was a continuous path along the cliffs that was like a wooden-trestle mountain road. I climbed up Jiangxipo 江西坡 and passed Pu’an Subprefecture 普安州. Atop Yunnanpo 雲南坡 [I could see] twisting mountain layers, steep cliffs, and a vast sea of clouds as I stood shivering in the piercing cold. When I arrived at Yizikong 亦資孔, signs of war damage were everywhere, and signs of normality were scarcely to be seen. The road ended, so I walked on by following some tracks. Sometimes I would happen upon organized companies of Miao boys transporting army rations. I went through the Scenic Frontier of Yunnan [Diannan shengjing] 滇南勝 境. In this area of forested mountain peaks the climate was palpably better and there was good visibility. When I stopped at Pingyi Military Station 平夷衞, I met with Mr. Qian Shisu 錢士驌 from eastern Zhejiang. He had been dismissed as magistrate of Yangzong County 陽宗縣 in Yunnan and now served as an education official. I wore my straw sandals for my audience with him, and he gazed fixedly at them, with his hands in his sleeves and a haughty look, as I told my story. When I said, “I have come from Suzhou in search of my father, Huang of Dayao,” he scrutinized me, examining me carefully. Then he bowed and grasped my hands, deeply moved. We sat down together, and I cautiously inquired if he had any news of my father. He told me in detail what he knew. “Troops seized and plundered the area. Everyone suffered. Your father and you are the only people who have been able to travel amidst this conflict.” Then [Mr. Qian] asked me about the situation in Shanyin 山陰. His shock [upon hearing] stirred up a mixture of emotions. He boiled two eggs and pressed a pot [of wine] on me, which he poured himself. We talked on till it was dark and we were weary. This was the day I learned my mother and father were safe and the moment I knew with certainty they were living at Baiyanjing 白鹽井 in Dayao.

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I rose at dawn with a clear mind and determined step. Flooding mountain streams flowed onto the road, so I picked up my robe to walk the next twenty li, but it was no trouble. When I stopped at Jiaoshui 交水 in Zhanyi 霑益, I met a traveler from Jiangyou 江右 by the name of Mr. Sang 桑 in the center of the city. I will never forget how kind he was to me. Unfortunately, I cannot go into all that here.25 As I approached the outskirts of Qujing Prefecture 曲靖府, the destroyed city wall stood in ruins and only the remnants of Zhuge 諸葛 Ward remained. When I went to register, all of the officials were in a local temple praying for good weather. So the doorkeeper took my papers in for examination. Startled, they huddled together talking among themselves. Then an officer was ordered to bring me in to them. I was wearing a short coat and straw sandals for this interview, so I was extremely polite. Then I began to tear up, and I did not dare look at them. Seeing that I was having eye trouble and that it was difficult for me to open my eyes, they cried out in surprise and concern and tried to console me. But I was choked with sorrow and unable to reply. At my next lodging place, a circuit intendant by the name of Gu Xin 古心 invited me to his office. [As] I rested on his couch, he told me of all the hardships Father had endured. He was delighted to be an official no longer and had put his heart into [the study of] the Buddhist scriptures. Peaceful at leisure and untroubled, he was revered as a true immortal and true Buddha. [Mr. Gu] then inquired about the situation back in China proper. I told him confidentially, and he made no reply. When he heard I wanted to join my parents and take them home, he did not speak for a long while. Then he said, “As [your father] is no longer an acting official, he would be allowed to return home. And there is nothing else keeping him here.” [Mr. Gu] went on to calculate the high cost of the return trip for me and to worry about the dangerous passes and fords we would have to cross. Every time he recited a fact, he would frown. Wine cups in hand, we chatted on pleasantly till after the night watch. At the end of the evening he gave me a gift as we parted. The next morning Prefect Liu Wenzhi 劉文治 gave me a meal and sped me on my way with a mounted escort. He accompanied me several li outside the city and gave me a parting gift. Both official Gu and official Liu were from Shu [Sichuan]. Since they had served together with my father as officials in Dayao and knew him quite well, they were very kind to me. I passed through the Xiaoguan 小關 Mountain Range, took the streamstrewn road to Yilong 易隆, and ferried over to Yanglin 楊林 on the Haizilong

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海子龍.26 It began to rain and the wind blew wildly, dragging at the boat and nearly overturning it. Braving the rain, we landed. I rested at Yanglin Post Station 楊林驛 and planned the next three or four stages of the trip. From Poqiao 坡橋 I went by Guihua Monastery 歸化寺. The barracks here were packed tightly together like fish scales and I was closely interrogated. After a few li, I entered Yunnan Province [sic]. When I reached Baita Pass 白塔關 the soldiers on guard removed my hat and questioned me sternly. There was a great deal of shouting as they examined my papers and released me. When I stopped at an inn in Xiangboliang 項伯亮, military men and civilians surrounded me and pointed me out as a foreigner.27 The innkeeper took me to the Pingman [Barbarian Pacifying] headquarters to report. It had taken me a total of twenty-six days and twenty stops to travel from Guiyang [mid-Guizhou] to my present location [just east of Kunming 昆明, Yunnan].28 There were Yunnanese officials who had served in China proper, and Suzhou and Hangzhou [officials] cut off in Yunnan. Everyone had worked with my father or knew him, and they all came to my lodgings where we raucously exchanged news nonstop. In Yunnan in October and November of 1645, the ethnic minority leader Wu Bikui 吾必奎 rebelled. The Lin’an 臨安 ethnic minority leader Sha Dingzhou 沙 定洲 was sent to help suppress this [rebellion], but his troops mutinied. The Mu 沐 garrison was lost, and [Wu Bikui’s troops] escaped west to Yongchang 永昌.29 The rebel Sha [Dingzhou] hunkered down in the provincial capital [Yunnanfu/ Kunming]. His troops joined with those at Chuxiong 楚雄. The Jin-Cang 金滄 Circuit Intendant Yang Weizhi 楊畏知 stood them off for over a year.30 In the spring of 1647, the Sichuan army [the rebel pro-Ming troops of Sun Kewang] marched from Guizhou into Yunnan. They broke through at Qujing. Sha Dingzhou fled in defeat, abandoning the provincial capital and returning east. Since the people of the provincial capital welcomed [Sun Kewang and his rebel pro-Ming troops], and [offered them] their allegiance, no blood was shed in the city proper.31 [They then] advanced and attacked Lin’an and defeated every minority walled village. When they continued on to Haizhou 海州 District they encountered resistance, but they completely slaughtered the enemy. [Sha] Dingzhou escaped a fair distance away, [but Sun’s army] captured many of his troops and they surrendered. Then [Sun Kewang’s] troops returned and attacked Chuxiong. Yang [Weizhi] fought zealously. He was humane and just with those captured and exhorted [his troops] not to kill or plunder. Consequently, [he was known as a] trustworthy man in western Yunnan. Though [those who held the] Mu garrison did not surrender initially, it was eventually seized and restored to

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provincial control. Then a secret plan was employed to capture [Sha] Dingzhou and his wife, of the Wan 萬 family. They were both dismembered in the marketplace. This subdued the minority leaders, and they complied with all orders given them.32 [Sun Kewang’s] military strength continued to grow and [his troops] re-entered Guizhou to capture the minority tribes there. Then in 1649 the ethnic minority leaders to the west joined forces, elected a woman commander, raised volunteer [troops], and revolted.33 Their plan came to naught and all the prefectures suffered slaughter much as in the east. Even places as remote as Lijiang 麗 江 were plundered. The appearance of the present-day provincial city [Kunming] had been altered [by all this]. Inside its [newly] constructed double city walls was a large palace with bright green eaves and forbidding gates. The common people dared not wantonly look in.34 Outside the city a large area had been cleared for use as an [army] drilling ground, and many people’s houses had been torn down in order to build more army barracks. Only the Jinma 金馬 and Biji 碧雞 wards remained intact. The Yunnanese custom of using cowrie shells as currency had been completely done away with by now, but the coins in use were all of unorthodox mintage. In the spring of 1651 Yang [Weizhi] went to Anlong 安隆 to receive an official title [for Sun Kewang].35 Yang was then returned to Guizhou Province and put to death. The citizens of Yunnan were grateful for [Yang’s] protection, so everyone made images of him and offered prayers to them.36 All the news I heard was of this sort. Assuredly there is more [to be told], but I cannot record all the details here. I thought of home. Although it was far away, I was glad my parents’ gate was getting closer. Yet, as I watched a dragon boat race, I could not help getting wretchedly homesick. On June 8, 1652, I left Kunming Post Station and went through Shibi 石壁 Village. The home of the Kunshan 崑山 District Magistrate Yang Yongyan 楊永言 happened to be located here, so I sent [his family] word [of what had happened there] recently. As I rested at Biji Pass 碧雞關, I gazed at Dian Lake 滇海 and all the peaks of Mount Taihua 太華. The water picked up the reflection of the mountains and in the distant mist they became indistinct. This was the foremost “grand view” (daguan) 大觀 of [what had been] the Nanzhao 南詔 Kingdom.37 I reached Anning Subprefecture 安寧州 early and, having heard that Zhang Yaonian 張堯年 of Suzhou was an Anning native, I sent a message to his residence when I neared the city.38 There were many soldiers and horses here. Seeing that my hair hung down my back, they surrounded and interrogated me.

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The next morning I visited the former magistrate of Anning, Chen Zhenqi 陳振奇 of Huangyan 黃巖. Unfortunately, he had lost his official position. We composed poetry to amuse ourselves. [As we] were reminiscing about the Stone Bridge at Tiantai 天台, he began to weep, his tears moistening his robe.39 “I have three sons at home, why do they not come?” he said in anguish. He wanted to entertain me through the Dragon Boat Festival (June 22, 1652), but I firmly refused. So he gave me a parting gift and a tearful send-off west of the city. From Luli County 祿豊縣 I entered Heiyanjing 黑鹽井. It was a three-day trip on a road that ran between ridges and peaks. When I visited the home of a family friend, Wang Yongbin 王用賔, I startled him, and then we both burst into tears of joy. I asked him in detail about Father’s activities. He said, “After your father left office, warfare broke out. The roads were blocked to the west, so he crossed Dian Lake. He avoided Jinning 晉寕 and returned home a month later, at the end of the year to [find his house] had been cruelly plundered. Not a stitch of clothing or a shoe remained. In 1646 he was recommended in a temporary capacity to assist the three counties of Yaoan. Troops assembled in Chu City 楚 城, and he was made army inspector for Wuding 武定 and Yuanmou 元謀. But then the report arrived that Yue 粤 [Guangdong] had been taken and [he and the troops] did not get to start out. Soon things in Yunnan completely deteriorated. Then [your father] left office and hid himself away in outer Pola 拍喇. The western troops put their regiments in order and swung back toward the south. These troops came out in force, vowing to fight to the death. But having declined to serve, [your father] wandered through the mountains to Tiesuo [Iron Rope] Camp 鐵索營, where he took refuge from the war. Then in early June of 1649, [your father and] camp commander Zhang Ru 張儒 mobilized troops, but their plan was leaked, and [the commander] and his entire family were killed. [Your father] narrowly escaped a similar fate. After this, [your father] decided to extricate himself from these worldly affairs. I never expected that today would bring this extraordinary meeting [between you and me].” [Wang] extended his best wishes to Father and me. Then he gave me a generous parting gift and sent me off with a mounted escort that accompanied me through Langjing 琅井. They settled me at the government headquarters there for the night. The next morning I passed through Dapo 大坡 and Houshan 後山. Once again I had to climb up through several layers [of mountains] and follow the stones [that jutted up out of the water] to cross the mountain streams. Trees covered [everything] in dense shade, and the roads grew narrow this deep in

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the mountains. I passed through Dingyuan County 定遠縣 and over Zhuge 諸 葛 Mountain Range. At sunset I arrived in Yaoanfu. All of its walls and houses had been destroyed. There was desolation everywhere I looked. I happened into Shi Qipeng 史起鵬, who had been a subofficial functionary in years past.40 Pained, he told me of the cruelties troops inflicted upon the three counties of Yaoan and how fortunate my father had been to have left officialdom prior [to those events]. I visited Prefect Ren Xi 任熙 and Subprefect Yan Shilong 嚴士龍, both of whom had been in the same examination group as my father. Each of them gave me [some help] with my travel expenses, and I thanked them. They arranged a banquet for me at Qinglian Monastery 青蓮寺, where we all discussed the continuous upheavals of the past years. We rejoiced that Father had avoided disaster and stayed in one piece. Separated by a vast distance, Father and I could now reunite. We could talk of nothing else. They sent a servant with me a fair distance, and I spent the night at Manhaichang 滿海塲. At dawn I climbed Liwu 梨武 slope and passed Yidi Buddhist Chapel 一滴 菴. Pine and cypress trees sheltered the path I traveled [through] huge, towering mountains. My eyes were focused and my legs limber. I felt completely light and free as I went along, as happy as though I were returning to my hometown. Descending a slope, I passed Liu Pond 柳塘. Stuck to the face of a cluster of mountain peaks, the edges of houses were enveloped in mist. At last I had arrived at Baiyanjing. Hastily I inquired where my father lived. The passersby on the road stared at me and asked where I was visiting from. I replied, “I have come from Suzhou in search of my father Huang of Dayao.” In their surprise, everyone spoke at once as they pointed out [my parent’s house] in the distance. Tears flowed down my face as I hurried there with Yumin running after me, shouting. It was a blur as though I were dreaming as, clinging to one another, [Yumin and I arrived] at Father’s house. When I entered the gate, all was quiet. Our old maidservant was the only [person] in sight. [What with] my disheveled hair, for a minute she sat as we stared fixedly at each other [until] she recognized me. Then she cried out loudly in astonishment, “Our young gentleman has come!” In disbelief, my mother said, “It can’t be!” By then, I had come up to the hall where I dropped my knapsack and shouted, “Father! Mother!” Father was taking an afternoon nap and had not yet woken up. Startled, he jumped up hastily, asking who it was. Again and again my mother shouted back, “Our son has come!” Father, too, could not believe it, and as I rushed into his bedroom, he mumbled something from his

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dream and rubbed his eyes, unsure of what to do. Suddenly our eyes met, and I threw myself onto the ground in front of his bed. We embraced and wept so uncontrollably that we could not stand. We finally got up by leaning against one another, sobbing the whole time. Together my parents and I offered obeisance in thanks to heaven and earth. Then we sat for a while, and I asked them how they had been. They also commiserated with me, asking how I had managed to get there. They observed that with my overgrown hair, the tufts of hair around my temples, my sun-blackened face and swollen eyes, the white hairs in my beard, worn-out clothes and straw sandals, I did not look like my old self. Concerned, they looked me over again and again as they commiserated with me, their sighs never ceasing. I asked after our servants of years past. They had all scattered like the stars. Just then my younger cousin, who had gone out for firewood, returned and was standing outside the gate looking in on all this. Father called him in, and we bowed to one another, crying. [In the meantime] Yumin had learned his own father had died and, having no news of what had happened to [the rest of] his family, had cried till he could cry no more.41 All [my father’s] students and old friends crowded in to offer congratulations. [There were so many people] on the steps of our reception hall that no one could sit down. There was nothing of value in the house, which was as bare as a monk’s cell. A scroll of Guanyin hung on the wall and only Fuxi’s Book of Changes and some Buddhist texts lay on the table. Mother prepared wine and set out fruit and snacks. I poured the wine and toasted them, wishing them long lives. Father smiled and said to Mother, “Being cut off from home, we [thought] we would never see our flesh and blood again. At best we hoped a letter might get through. How could we have expected to have a day like today!” We sat under lamplight discussing the successive military campaigns in our respective regions and our good fortune to be alive. The [conversation] turned to all our neighbors and relatives, and how their children had fared. They rejoiced at the good news and grieved at the bad. I then got around to telling them that, since they had left for [father’s] official position and had not returned, their things had been registered and confiscated. [This] and other factors had made for several difficult years, so we had relied on the unobtrusive help of elder cousin Shangzhi 上枝. When I finished, [my parents] were deeply moved. But when they heard the [family] tombs were unscathed, and that in 1646 they had received a new grandson, they were completely delighted.42 We chatted on and on, and, before we realized it, the cock crowed. This was the evening of June 20, 1652.

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From Suzhou to [my parents’ home], calculating via courier routes, I estimate it was over ten-thousand li, but since many of these routes had been blocked, and I had to make numerous circuitous detours, the entire journey had taken six and a half months.43 Yet now that I was face to face with my parents, I was no longer aware of my exhausted legs, and the perils of the road were forgotten. It was just this side of heaven! I recalled how Buddhist Master Chengying 澄影, who lived on the Tiao 苕 River, came to consult with my brother-in-law Xuanzai 玄宰 about the distant journey I was about to take. Master [Chengying] had said, “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” This day proved it. Father replied, “In early spring when I was at Langjing, I picked up Li Zhuowu’s 李卓吾 (Li Zhi) Xu Cangshu 續藏書, which contains an account of Wang Yuan’s 王原 search for his parents. [Wang Yuan’s] father Xun 珣 was sixty-four at the time, the same age as myself.44 I was [so] touched by this, I made a note of it and said with a sigh, ‘Never in the world would that happen again.’ I had no idea you, too, would be able to do it. Yet [reading that biography] was an omen.” The next morning, we dressed formally, visited all of the local temples, and called upon all of my father’s friends. I took it easy for around ten days, for finding my parents had given me a hearty appetite and an inner contentment. But when I began planning the return home, it was difficult to fix a departure date [because] I was out of money. Thinking about how far we were from home gave me such bad dreams that I tossed and turned and did not get a single night’s sleep. Both friends and strangers alike said that although I had made it here, I would never make it back. At wit’s end, I wrote a petition requesting permission to return home and left it at the prefectural postal relay station to be forwarded on to Guizhou. Over a month passed, and I received no response. Father consoled himself by seeing it all as a matter of fate. Every day he would discuss the Book of Changes with his students at the Wuye Buddhist Chapel 五葉菴.45 I urged Yumin to plan on returning home, but he was silent and unresponsive. Then one day [when] I mentioned to Father that we should leave soon, he said, “It has been several years since I unlocked the thatched hut beside my parents’ grave, and it troubles me day and night. I am so happy that you were able to come to us. Yet, with two grandsons at home who are all by themselves with no one to turn to, of course I, too, wish to hurry home. But I was apprehensive about the dangerous road ahead and our inadequate travel funds. So I went back and forth about it. I do have many friends in the area, and I will prepare letters for you to take to them. Despite the difficulty of [travel in this region] you will have to go [visit them to raise the money].”

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I left from Yao City 姚城 and passed the Bai Pagoda 白塔 to visit the home of Territorial Official Gao 髙.46 Over his gate were inscribed the words, “Forever serving as an outer screen 永爲外藩.” As I entered his official residence, a number of Buddhist monks wound through the corridor as solemnly as though they were in an ancient monastery. [Mr. Gao] was burning incense and attentively copying religious texts in his meditation room. Though young, [Mr. Gao] had been a vegetarian for a long time due to his devotion to Buddhism. Whenever servants brought tea to his table, they would kowtow ceremoniously as though [Mr. Gao] were a king. He and my father had been friends for a long time. “All of Yunnan seethes with insurrection and warfare,” he said. “Everyone without official position has suffered miserably. Your father and mother are the only people who have left office and survived intact. For some years [your father] and I, together with Wuzhu 無住 [Hongru 洪如], Bukong 不空 [Baikong 白空 or Huankong 幻空], and other elders, formed a Lotus Society at the Buddhist temples on Miaofeng 妙峰 [Mountain] and Long 龍 [Mountain] to prepare for the next life.47 That your father and you have been able to reunite is certainly no accident.” Upon learning of our plan to return home, he said sadly, “You have been separated several years, why the sudden rush?” I bowed my head and did not reply. I took my leave and went on to cross Sanke Pass 三窠關 and rest at Shuijing Village 水井屯. I went through Zhennan Subprefecture 鎮南州, stopped to rest at Dashi 大石 and passed Chuxiong. Then I traveled south for over forty li along a desolate mountain path. There was not a drop of water to be found, and the summer heat was so extreme that I nearly died of thirst along the side of the road. When I reached Nan’an Subprefecture 南安州, an area that is occupied by the Hei Bo Man 黑僰蠻 nationality and is collectively controlled by the fierce generals [of its various tribes], I called upon my father’s friend Bao Yikun 鮑一鯤.48 I was having trouble with my eyes, so I stayed on with [Mr. Bao] for a while. He made me a gift of two horses. Then I headed back [to my parents’ home]. As I was passing beneath Chu City, there was an earthquake. All the mountains swayed and shook, and the noise was like the sound of thunder. Bricks and stones rained down wildly as the city battlement walls collapsed. I barely avoided getting hit. This occurred on July 24, 1652. It was estimated that one thousand people were crushed to death in the Meidu 眉渡 area [south of Chengdu, Sichuan]. There were still more quakes periodically after this. By early winter, things quieted down, and I returned to Bai[yan]jing to treat my eyes.

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When [my eyes] had improved a bit, I headed up to Heqing Prefecture 鶴 慶府. It was raining heavily as I came out of the gate [of my parents’ house] and [though] I tread carefully on the steep mountain ranges, my feet slipped. I forced myself to go on. I came out of Sancha Camp 三岔營 and rested at Rentou Pass 人頭關. Then I crossed Kongxian Bridge 孔仙橋 and went up along the shoreline of the Yibao 一泡 River. The sound of the torrent was deafening as I groped along the cliffs, slipping and falling. Walking on, I came upon a thousand cliffs and ten-thousand ravines. I had never seen a place as extraordinary or as dangerous as this. Upon arriving at Midian 米甸, I put up at the Xishan Monastery 棲山寺 and asked the monks how the visibility was on the road ahead. By way of a covered walkway, I then passed through every peak of this mountain range. It was cloaked in fog at this point, which made it as dangerous as [hiking] the peaks. I rested west of Binchuan Subprefecture 賔川州 in a postal relay station at the pass. I found a detour around Mount Jizu 雞足山 at its northern foot that passed through a secluded area deep in the mountain. That whole day I spied only one or two people gathering wood and tending flocks. The yellow leaves and red maple trees were illuminated by the bright sunlight that struck them from above. At the summits of tall bare hills, flocks of sheep [grazed] at the edge of the clouds. In an instant, the greens and golds shimmered. I continued to follow the southern Jinsha 金沙 River. Its crimson cliffs were as deeply folded as [Mount] Chicheng 赤城 [near Mount Tiantai in Zhejiang], and its water flowed along like rose-red clouds.49 I passed through Baiya 白厓 Plateau and traveled along three or four more stages to reach Helin 鶴麐. The scenery of this district was incomparably beautiful and many official-gentry families [lived here]. I visited the home of father’s friend Sun Shijing 孫士勍. He put me up in his garden summerhouse for several days and had a bed arranged for me. The contribution he prepared was quite generous. Every day he invited his relatives and friends over for pleasant get-togethers, at which we had excellent feasts. The wine was not of high quality. He had written some words and gave them to me in parting. Next, in the rain I went up and over to Jianchuan Subprefecture 劍川州 through several layers of steep mountain ranges. It was extremely hard, for it was a narrow road in a wild, secluded region. Chinese and minority peoples lived intermixed here, and Luoluo 玀玀 wearing swords walked about, making a fearsome sight.50 I paid my respects to the Subprefectural Magistrate Yan Peizu 嚴珮祖 and stayed on a day. He gave me a gift on parting.

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I left Dengchuan Subprefecture 鄧川州, and as I passed over the ridge of a hill I was blocked by a mountain torrent and a suspended overhang of cliff that was about ready to fall. It had been carved out by the deep water of the mountain torrent, which was as strong as ten-thousand runaway horses.51 It made me dizzy, and my heart beat fast. I crossed the boundary into Langqiong County 浪穹縣. Here there were hot springs in which one could bathe. When I reached the Subprefectural Magistrate Zhao Xun 趙珣, he entertained me at his office. He had his young son with him and [the young man] waited upon us as we sat laughing merrily and drinking. He gave me a gift as we said goodbye. Setting out on the Dali 大理 road, I gazed at the Diancang 點蒼 Mountains. Their nineteen high peaks stood like a screen along the shore of the [Er] Lake. Snow had accumulated at their summits, and white clouds encircled their midsections. The water of the [Er] Lake was as green as willow tree sap. This is the most beautiful scenery of the western region. Rain had flooded the path I trod as I walked on the eastern side of the lake. So for several li along the shore, flowing water came up to my knees. I stayed with a Luoluo family in Wucun 烏 村. In the treetops along the road I spied green pears, yellow oranges, and red persimmons, lush and lovely.52 I proceeded on for two days. Then, as I came out of Midian, I heard some violent troops had gone on a brutal robbing spree. As night closed in, I followed some locals into a bamboo grove to hide. We stayed there till daybreak and only then did we risk coming out. I was finally able to return to Bai[yan]jing in mid-October.53 [After] formally greeting Father and Mother in the reception hall, I brought out the salutations and presents sent by all of Father’s friends and filled in the details of how kindly they had cared for me. Father said to me, “You came to us with the help of relatives and friends. Your return to us today was made possible by my fellow examination candidates, who were passed by Regional Inspector Wu 吳.” “We are running out of time and short on money for the trip. What shall we do?” I replied. [Father] told me not to worry, for we could count on all of his examination classmates out there on the road ahead. We would have to impose ourselves on them. Then he and Mother, together with cousin Xian, put their affairs in order and packed a bag.54 We thought it all through and rested up. Soon we would be on our way. We took the precaution of having one of us go through Qingling 青蛉 and three leave through Yao City, meet up, and then go down to Weichu 威楚. Then we would go up and over the prefectures of Hechuan 鶴川.55

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Out and back, I went over three thousand li and was obliged to trouble [Father’s] old friends for all of our travel expenses. After I found my parents, the terrain and weather delighted me more than they frightened me. Certainly I longed for home. But then, as I forced myself to realize my parents were getting older and that I would be caring for them as we traveled from sunup to sundown, traversing dangers on land and water and enduring every sort of hardship, my fear once again outweighed my happiness. If I was able to get us home, it would certainly be a feat of superhuman strength!56

Diary of the Return from Yunnan Huang Xiangjian chronicled the Huang family’s return to Suzhou in Diary of the Return from Yunnan. The following is my annotated translation, based on the text reproduced in ZBZ, pt. 5, vol. 7 (cum. vol. 39), 1–31, collated with the version in Xiaofanghu zhai yudi congchao, vol. 41, 245a–48b. Because the document was written and printed in diary form, I have chosen to break the text into paragraphs at the dates. Particularly long entries are also divided into paragraphs.

In the tenth month of the renchen year [November 1652], we paid our respects at the Imperial Temple. Our friends gave us wine and parting words, and since they did not want us to make a hasty departure, they detained us for a long while. The fourth day of the second month [December 4]: We set out early from Bai[yan]jing. I helped my father and mother into their bamboo sedan chairs. Unfortunately, there were no bond servants [to do that sort of thing]. Cousin Xian and I followed [on foot] on either side of them. We carried only one bag, in view of dangers such as an [encounter] with minority tribes. We met all [my father’s] colleagues and the elders, [who] stood weeping by the side of the road in the frost and dew as they lit torches and handed us goblets [of wine] to send us off. They were utterly devoted to [my father]. My father consoled them, saying, “During these years of decay, wherever I have wandered, I have not been lonely, thanks to the presence of all of you. Today as I leave, of course I am sad. But, although the journey ahead is difficult and dangerous, and the money bag completely empty, I anticipate a safe return home, so by all means do not worry about me.”

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Yumin 雨民 and [my father’s] student Wang Eryu 王爾玉 said goodbye. Only Wang Xingyi 王性一 and his son continued to escort us [as though] they could not bear to part from us. [One of them] took a string of betel nuts out of his sleeve. Weeping as he bowed in front of the sedan chairs and repeatedly raising a horn cup in blessing, he said, “The only thing I could desire for you as you go is this, that your journey be safe and peaceful and that you soon return to your old home district.” He looked after us with kindly tears, as [they] followed us slowly on horseback. When we passed Liutang 柳塘, [they] turned around and went back. We climbed Liwu slope and had a short rest at Yidi Buddhist Chapel. Father gazed back at the thatched cottage [they had] occupied as though he was leaving his old family home. He was sad about it for some time. We rested early at Maojia Bend 毛家灣. The conditions of the travel lodge’s upper story were inadequate. But, happily, Father and Mother were as peaceful as ever. I sent them a container of unstrained wine, and we slept so deeply [that night] we almost forgot that we were on the road. The fifth day [December 5]: We said goodbye to the minority leader, Mr. Gao Songyun 高松筠, at his lodgings. Because his close friend was leaving for good, [Mr. Gao] never ceased in his care and attention. As we were leaving, he gave us some felt clothing to ward off the cold on the road. When we entered Yaoan, we were disappointed that Mr. Ren 任 had already removed to Duyun 都勻. We were delayed over a fortnight, compelled to wait for some essential travel supplies that were slow in arriving. Daily in our lodgings we offered libations to our far-distant ancestors. Then the horseman Mr. Gao had sent [arrived] with meat dumplings, glutinous rice cakes, honey, and chicken strips. At this same time, we searched about for the Fotuoshan 佛陀山 inscription. We had expected Yumin to travel with us, [but] he merely delivered a letter from home and then left. The twenty-fifth day [December 25]: We hired [sedan chair] bearers and left the city. We visited the Shrine of Master Zhuowu (Li Zhi) 卓吾先生祠, ate on Zhuge Mountain Range, and stopped at Wangchaoli 王朝里. The twenty-sixth day [December 26]: We rested at Yangguan Village 楊關屯. In the height of winter, we saw peach and willow trees that rivaled [one another] in beauty, further illuminating the unique climate here. The twenty-seventh day [December 27]: We arrived at Langjing 琅井. Mr. Yin 尹 gave us all sorts of parting gifts [when] we took our leave. The twenty-eighth day [December 28]: We reached my father’s colleague Wang Yongbin 王用賓 in Heiyanjing.57 That day he had wine laid out and

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invited us to join him. He then tried by every means he could think of to detain us, saying, “Now you are reunited with your family, so you can consider this your hometown. What if you run into trouble on the road ahead? What will happen?” Streams of tears fell down his face. But he saw that my father and I were determined to go, so that evening he busied himself in preparing a feast to bid us farewell. Plays and music were performed. The voices and facial expressions [of the players] were very pleasant. Father took a cup of wine and happily reassured [Wang] that nothing would hinder this trip. [Wang] Yongbin acquiesced to us and presented us with a gift so generous that it covered half the cost of our journey. The eleventh day of the twelfth month [January 10]: We set off. [Wang] Yongbin sacrificed at the roadside and wept earnestly as we parted. We stopped at Ganhaizi 乾海子, where [Wang] had arranged a dinner for us in a rustic inn, and he had a servant accompany us a great distance further. His was an extraordinarily generous friendship. The twelfth day [January 11]: We stopped in Baizigou Village 稗子溝屯 and came out of Lufeng County 祿豐縣 on the thirteenth. The road went through the neighborhood of my father’s teacher, Master Wang Kunhua 王崑華. In days gone by, my father had taken civil service examinations under him [Master Wang]. Now [we learned that Master Wang] had been killed in an uprising. We were overcome with sadness. The fourteenth day [January 13]: We passed through Lianxiang Pass 練象關 and on the fifteenth through Shizikou 獅子口. Father said, “This is where Circuit Intendant Yang 楊 fought a bloody battle. It was entirely due to his efforts that I was able to leave office. And I am extremely grateful that whereas he was killed, I am able to return home alive.”58 When we arrived at Anning, Mr. Chen of Huangyan detained us with a meal. He also presented us with a poem about Mount Jizu. Father then wrote a poem in response, on our departure. The sixteenth day [January 15]: We went through Biji Pass and traveled on for twenty li to reach Dianyang Post Station 滇陽驛. Father noticed how changed the scene was from the past and sighed deeply. After our papers were examined and we settled our accounts, we stopped at an old lodge to inquire after news from Guizhou and Huguang. When we heard the locations of battles lost and won, we were all alarmed. I was also warned about the direction in which we were headed: “There are consecutive beacon fires set up on the road ahead. All travel has long been cut off. If you insist on going ahead despite all the hazards, then go, but the authorities are not going to let you. Plus there are your family

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members. When they interrogate you at the border passes, even if you had wings, you would not be able to fly away.” For several days we sat in the lodge worrying about what to do. Father worried that his resources would soon dwindle, and that it had been such a long time since he had left office, so we drew up plans over and over again. We entered the city five or six times on our way to the military headquarters to get documents [allowing us] to go on to Guiyang. On [one of these] visits, the chief commander spoke with us personally. He had current information on friends who were detained in the province. When he saw how Father [planned to] return home in one piece, he looked on him as an immortal. He gave Father a poem and we parted sadly. We visited Wu Zhaoyuan 吳兆元, the former governor, who was dispirited when we told him we were returning home. East of the [Yunnan] provincial capital is a county named Chenggong 呈貢, which is the home place of the Taicang 太倉 county instructor Wen Zuyao 文祖 堯. His son Kunzhong 昆仲 found out I had arrived, and he came to our lodgings to inquire after his father. I told him I had met [Wen Zuyao] frequently in Suzhou and that he was still in good health. I added that our fathers were exactly the same age. Listening to this, Kunzhong was both extremely distressed and gratified. The magistrate of Chengyi 呈邑, Xia Zuxun 夏祖訓 of Jiaxing 嘉興, had set up troops to resist the enemy, but the city fell, and he died in action, refusing to surrender. How cruel! Everyone in the entire city had been slaughtered. It was extraordinary that the only survivors were the Wen family. New Year’s Eve I attended to my parents, and as I knelt before them I recalled the two-year journey [that had taken me] from my home to this place. In the guiyi 癸已 year [January 29, 1653, New Year’s Day]: This morning I opened the gates to divine an omen and saw two women [nüzi] riding toward me on a horse. Nü 女 and zi 子 [together] form the character hao 好 [good]. From the character ma 馬 [horse] I got the hexagram kun 坤, which signifies “good fortune for a journey.” I concluded from this that we would have no obstacles on our return trip nor would we have trouble with [sedan-chair] bearers.59 The eleventh day of the first month of the year [February 8, 1653]: We started out on foot. Our host entertained us prior to our leaving. Soldiers and horses filled the road [as] we passed the Guihua Monastery. Our documents were examined, and we were released. This was the first pass we crossed on leaving Yunnan. We rested at Poqiao Post Station. Our maidservant who had been with us a long time was not able to keep up [with us] on foot. [So] we left her at our host’s home. This quite depressed my mother.

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The twelfth day [February 9]: We stopped at Yanglin Post Station. The thirteenth day [February 10]: The wind rushed against us as we pushed on in the cold. We met a petty officer on the road. He stopped me, then, as we walked on slowly, he said that in Guizhou the sun had not shone from early winter until now. It had snowed for over forty days, and the snow was as high as a horse’s belly. The treetops were [like] double-edged swords and lances. Hearing this made my teeth chatter. We arrived at Yilong and rested. The fourteenth day [February 11]: We ascended Xiaoguan Mountain Range 小關嶺. Its strange peaks surrounded us, verdant green in the bright sunlight. Father and Mother climbed up to a temple hall to pray and worship. Once again we had no trouble coming out of the pass, and I felt a bit more at ease in my mind. We stopped at Huangtupo 黃土坡. The fifteenth day [February 12]: We passed Malong Subprefecture 馬龍州 and rested at Xiangshui Pass 響水關. Although we were on a secluded road in the mountainous wilderness we saw hill people transporting gunpowder and military supplies. These people, too, looked weary and troubled. The sixteenth day [February 13]: We traveled twenty li. Father entered Qujingfu to search out the old Nanyou 南郵 poems he had written with Mr. Gu 古. I accompanied Mother in crossing the Sanpen River 三坌河, and we rested at Jiaoshui. Father returned to our lodgings and told us that Mr. Gu had been promoted to an official position in Guizhou and that the poems he had left behind had regrettably been lost. Not only that, but he was grieved [to have learned] that Liu [Wenzhi] had died in Baoqing.60 The seventeenth day [February 14]: We stopped at Baishui Post Station. The eighteenth day [February 15]: The cold was severe, and frozen clouds blocked the sky. We rested at Pingyi Military Station, and there was a big snow that night. The twentieth day [February 17]: We started out, risking the snow to cross Diannan shengjing [Scenic Frontier of Yunnan], which is where the boundaries of Yunnan and Guizhou meet. The day was cold and the travel nerve-racking, so we stopped early to dry ourselves by the fire. Our host’s family brought out wine to ward off the chill and to congratulate us on escaping Yunnan. The twenty-first day [February 18]: A dense fog blocked the sun and the mountain winds stung us through our clothes as we passed Luoluo Lake. We rested at Haizipu 海子鋪. When I passed through here before, I had very nearly been swept away and drowned in a severe flood. Now there was not a drop of water there.

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The twenty-second day [February 19]: We went through Ma’an 馬鞍 Mountain. Rain from the night before made the road slippery, and it was difficult to walk. We descended Yunnanpo and stopped at Puan Subprefecture 普安 州. The subprefectural magistrate, Mr. Fan 范, sent us a gift. The twenty-third day [February 20]: We climbed down to Ruanqiaopo 輭橋 坡. With its stepped layers and thousand twists [in the road] it was the equal of the Sichuan cliff paths. We were permitted to cross Ruanqiao [Weak Bridge]. Then, as we climbed Daling 大嶺, I felt weak [ruan 輭] in the knees. It was not just the bridge that was weak. The twenty-fourth day [February 21]: We left Banqiao City 板橋城 and ascended Xinxingpo 新興坡. For several days running, we had walked along in the mud, but the mud was now over a foot deep, and it hurt our feet. Unable to continue, we made an early stop at Bajiao Pass 芭蕉關. The twenty-fifth day [February 22]: We descended to Jiangxipo. The slope was on the west side of a large expanse of river, hence its name. From Yunnanpo onwards, it was like coming down from the sky. I recalled coming through here before, how high the mountains were and how long the road, and crossing here again now, I felt especially how tired my legs were. We stopped at Wuyunpu 烏雲鋪. That night the rain came down in torrents. By dawn it still had not stopped. The rain followed us past Annan Military Station and turbulent clouds blocked the road [so that] we were unable to discern our elevation. We stopped at Haima Village that evening. The old lodge we took was disgustingly filthy and so unbearable that Mother heaved a big sigh. The twenty-seventh day [February 24]: We went through Daomakan 倒馬 坎 and passed an old city. We then descended to the Pan River and made a thorough inquiry before proceeding further. This was the first pass one takes in leaving Guizhou. Then we passed through Dapo 大坡 and rested on a mountain summit. Ever since we had climbed up above the Pan River, we had been pelted all day by rain and snow, and pestilential vapors confused our eyes as though we were in the middle of a steaming rice pot. As they say [of Guizhou], “The sky is never clear three days in a row, and the land is never flat three li in a row.”61 Truly this is a ghostly land! Compared with the climate of Yunnan, [that of Guizhou] is completely different. The twenty-ninth day [February 26]: In the morning we rested at Guanlingkou 關嶺口, and then descended to Jianfu 薦福. The entirety of this road ran along steep layers of high mountain peaks that wound into the sky. They obstructed the sun and joined the clouds. We could not see a break between them. But when

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we arrived here the clouds parted and the mountain peaks suddenly [appeared]. Each one was more splendid than the next. Although I could count them all, I could hardly describe them. The thirtieth day [February 27]: In the morning we climbed Guan Mountain Range, worshiping at a temple hall on the way up. When we reached the crest, I pointed out the place where I had collapsed in exhaustion on my earlier journey. Father said, “So now it would be appropriate for us to have a short rest here again.” We descended the Pan Mountain Range 盤嶺 and reached the banks of the river, where we had to catch our breath before we could continue. We had gazed at all the distant mountain peaks rising into the heavens for a long while when Father said to me, “This reminds me of when, years ago, I accompanied my teacher Zhou Zhongjie 周忠介 into Fujian, and we passed over the Xianxia Mountain Range 仙霞嶺.62 Its rocky summits were just like this. That was over forty years ago, but I can still see it like it was yesterday. At Xianxia, the level road and abundant old pines made it feel a bit like a stroll. But this mountain range is steep and dangerous, with no place to stop amidst its twisting layers. We could even say it is the most dangerous place on the Guan Mountain Range.” Next we passed over the three or four layers of large slopes of what is called the “Rooster’s Back” [Jigongbei 雞公背]. There was a snake dangling [from a tree here] so we kept back. And [since] our feet were weary, we stopped briefly. When we were able, we traveled on to our halting place, Anzhuang Military Station. The subprefectural magistrate, Mr. Yang 楊, presented us with a gift. The first day of the second month [February 28]: We reached Puding Military Station 普定衞. By my estimate, we had gone over three thousand li. While worrying about whether further travel might be possible, I heard that the chief commander had already entered Huguang [Hunan] and that the whole Guiyang road was blocked by troops, making travel extremely difficult. [So] we visited Prefect Li 李 to change our documents and switch our course toward Sinan 思 南. We followed a side road to go visit that commander. The fifth day [March 4]: Our documents were verified, and we left the city. After passing Pingba Military Station, we lodged at Wanlongpu for the night. On the road we met a constant stream of young married women and girls. Some said they were from Guangxi 廣西. Some said they were from Yuanzhou 沅州. Some limped along, while others used walking sticks.63 I thought about how they had been driven from their homes, and my own anxieties increased, now that I was helping my parents on a long and dangerous journey. The sixth day [March 5]: We stopped at Luodishao 羅底哨.

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The seventh day [March 6]: Traveling in the morning, we ran into some soldiers returning from Sichuan. They were in a tight formation around an elephant and fast approaching. Fearful for my parents, we yielded the path, and the soldiers and elephant rushed by unobstructed. Toward dawn we searched for a deserted byway to avoid the main road to Weiqing which I had taken coming this way earlier. From the city we went north, passing through Laishipo 癩石坡. We stopped at Huangguanshao 黃官哨. The perilous peaks of the pass were like a doorway to the deep forests, isolated and lonely. Awake or asleep, we trembled inside. The eighth day [March 7]: The road became quite wild and secluded. The mountains reared up like towers, piercing the clouds and pushing against the sky. Although we were traveling in daylight, much of our route was in deep shade. We passed Longchang Post Station 龍場驛. The city walls were in ruins, and I felt extremely depressed. Father composed an elegy for Wang Yangming. We stopped at Luoguidian 羅鬼甸. The ninth day [March 8]: We rested at Luobang 落邦. The tenth day [March 9]: We stopped at Xifengsuo 息烽所, which is at the boundary of Shizhou 施州. Frequently, deep grasses covered the road, so we set fire to them and burned them all. The sound was like rumbling thunder, and the flames pressed in around us. The eleventh day [March 10]: We arrived at Yanglongsi 養龍司. It had eight or nine dragon pools of unfathomable depth. The twelfth day [March 11]: We crossed the Wu River 烏江 and entered Sichuan 四川 in the Zunyi 遵義 border region. In antiquity this territory was known as Zangge 牂牁 and Yelang 夜郞. Avoiding Laozi Pass 老子關, we followed the river south along rock-cut cliffside roads, which were clogged with rushes. We stopped at Gejieshui 个界水 and got mixed up with some fierce soldiers at our lodging whose nonstop talk of tigers terrified everyone. The thirteenth day [March 12]: As we traveled along the road we were quite frightened. We stopped early at Longpingchang 龍坪場 and rested our feet for a day. The fifteenth day [March 14]: We stopped at Sandu Pass 三度關. This was the strategic place that Yang Yinglong 楊應龍 occupied. The sixteenth day [March 15]: We arrived at the Meitan county seat 湄潭縣 and stayed in a wine shop outside the city. County Magistrate Ma 馬 invited us in for a drink and sent us off with a gift. The nineteenth day [March 18]: The mountains were dangerous, and the streams

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were foul. Natives cautioned me that we should stop early at Yongdingchang 永定 場 and not keep on the road. The twentieth day [March 19]: The deserted road was covered with rushes and dry bones. We entered the Longquan county seat 龍泉縣. The outer wall of the city had collapsed and everything was still, without even a wisp of smoke. At night we heard the sound of ghosts wailing. The twenty-first day [March 20]: A dark, deserted forest blocked our way. Thick brambles grabbed and slashed at us as we forced our way through. Every step was a struggle. All day, Father and Mother were reluctant to go on. When we arrived at Shoushui 壽水, there was hardly any place to stay. The twenty-second day [March 21]: We rested at Jianchaxi 煎茶溪 and then entered Xiyang 西陽, which was not far away. The twenty-third day [March 22]: The road became even more wild and deserted. We entered Dongbuxi 東部溪 and looked for a place to stay. The twenty-fourth day [March 23]: We passed Parrot Creek 鸚鵡溪. The mountain peaks had precipitous cliffs, and the cave pools ran with swift currents. It was beyond bizarre, and our souls were seized with a spirit of terror. We stopped at Wanshuiba 碗水壩. From Weiqing to our present location, not only were there wild mountains, lonely paths, and rugged mountain roads, but from time to time we also saw tiger tracks. We were frightened and in constant fear that we would be unable to preserve ourselves. When we came to winding creeks and racing mountain torrents, I was sometimes afraid we would be carried off and drowned. Food and lodging were hard to find. Several times we scarcely had a fire. The twenty-fifth day [March 24]: We reached Sinan Prefecture early. The natural scenery of this prefecture was quite wonderful. A ring of high mountain peaks encircled it, apparently cutting it off completely [from the rest of the world]. The jade-green waters flowed clear here, and the river fish were plump. A colleague of my father’s, Duan Hunran 段渾然, was the prefect here. He wanted us to stay with him for a long time in hopes of repaying my father’s kindness. But Father firmly declined, saying, “We are escaping danger, and it would be best to keep our obligations to a minimum. We wish for nothing further than help with travel expenses.” We stayed a few days. Then, insisting he not see us off, we had a tearful farewell at his office. His help with our travel expenses midway through our journey took care of what we lacked. We changed our documents at the office of Circuit Intendant Sun 孫. The seventh day of the third month [April 4, 1653]: We waited to cross the river in the early dawn. The mist on the river cut off the cliff peaks. It was not

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at all the same scenery as on the trip to find my parents. We climbed Wusheng Pass 武勝關, a high, rugged precipice with a winding path. We stayed the night at Shaojiapu 邵家鋪. The eighth day [April 5]: We cut across a deserted bank, crossed the river, and stopped at Banqiao. In this region, human footprints were scarce. Local villagers repeatedly cautioned us to take care. The ninth day [April 6]: We came upon a village where the bamboo fences had collapsed. Peach and plum trees were in full bloom, but there was not a person in sight. We could not figure out which way to go. Then we happened upon a woodcutter who pointed us in the right direction. As we climbed up the next mountain range it began to rain, and all of a sudden the dense fog accumulating above us rolled in and surrounded us. We rested on some level ground. Although we were freezing, we took a look around, for this was the Tong River 銅江 and Shiqian 石阡 border. The tenth day [April 7]: We entered Yangliuwan 楊柳灣 and stopped early. The eleventh day [April 8]: We arrived at Kailouzhai 凱樓寨. The land was being developed and houses built by the newly relocated populace. The lodge they sent us to was quite adequate, and we settled in to rest for the night. The twelfth day [April 9]: As we climbed down to Kailoupo 凱樓坡, we had to wade through some fifty watercourses that submerged our knees and covered our stomachs. Sitting in their sedan chairs, Father and Mother would often look back at me, unable to contain their sympathy and love. The natives have the saying, “Forty-eight watercourses get your feet wet; fifty-two watercourses and to the mountain [tops] you get.” We stopped at Makousi 馬口司. The place we took there was quite cramped and just barely protected us. That night a tiger suddenly appeared, making the oxen pant with fright. The thirteenth day [April 10]: It rained heavily, and the river rose. We hired a dugout boat, caught the current, and sped across. We rested at Yunpanzhai 雲盤 寨, where they had woven together bamboo to make screens [for their gateways] to keep out the tigers and wolves. It rained that night, and the riverbanks disappeared beneath the water, making it impossible to travel on. The fifteenth day [April 12]: We braved the rain and, by using staffs to test the water [depth], walked three or four li. As we passed through a dense wood, thorns stabbed at my thighs, and they would not stop bleeding. When we ascended to the banks of the river, we heard that up ahead at Muzhai 慕 寨 it was dangerous and difficult to cross. So we searched about and got a boat that took us the twenty-plus li necessary for the crossing. The mountain stream

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had a series of turns and the road, though level, was overgrown. By sunset we were quite exhausted as we worked out our accommodations for the night. We entered Sizhou Prefecture 思州府. The prefecture was lonely and desolate. We did not hear a cock crow or a dog bark. The next day the prefectural official Liu 劉 invited my father to come to his official residence and talk.64 He turned out to be the father of official Liu at Qujing. The seventeenth day [April 14]: It began to rain at sunrise. We waded through water several times on the road. As we passed through three or four layers of a steep mountain range, we were sheltered and protected by turbulent clouds. All through the mountains we saw tiger tracks and human heads. People looked really afraid. Once again I found myself following the northern road through Qinglang. We stopped over in the city. The next morning we crossed the river. I also decided against taking the old Pingxi road, and this is how we entered Angshuisi 卬水司 from the southeast.65 Its high mountain range coiled around like a snake, and streams and valleys wound through it. There was a newly constructed covered road here that we took to Zhenyuan. We then descended to reach Yuanjing 沅靖, where we asked directions. There were many fertile fields here, and the place looked happy and prosperous. We came upon soldiers who were milling around, so we found accommodations at a rural shrine. The nineteenth day [April 16]: We entered Wazhai 瓦寨. The scenery was extraordinarily wonderful. A shallow stream had become a torrent and was overflowing its banks, and a tree had been placed over it for people to cross. It was exceedingly dangerous. As we crossed, ghosts confused and plucked at us. When we came out and traveled on in the sunshine, we still felt gloomy. When we reached Dengxi 等溪, there was no place to stay. An old man pointed us toward a distant bend in the mountains. We followed along a narrow pass to a hastily built house on a slope so precipitous that it was like a bird’s nest. There was scarcely enough room to stand outside its threshold. We clambered up to it [like] monkeys climbing a tree. The Miao people within took fright and shut their gates. They were extremely reluctant to let us stay. Next day, rain hindered us, so we sat about feeling quite depressed. The twenty-first day [April 18]: We passed Gexi 隔溪 and Laidong 賴峒, and avoiding the Tianzhu County 天柱縣 road, stopped at Gangdong 矼峒. This area was encircled by mountains and girded by streams. There were abundant fields with rich soil, and no battles had been fought here. It could have been called a paradise, but now its land feeds the troops, and its people suffer with no hope of escape.

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The twenty-second day [April 19]: Changing direction, we entered Disuo 地 鎖 and arrived at Wengdong 甕峒. Tall mountain peaks supported the sky, and a long bank flanked the river. The mountain shapes were reflected in the water. The landscape was truly extraordinary. As I investigated how to make the crossing, Father pointed things out and looked around in delight, almost forgetting he was stuck at an inn. The twenty-third day [April 20]: The sharp-pointed stones on the riverbank bit at our feet. It was like crossing over spring ice. We passed Shaduizhai 沙堆寨 and Jinzizhai 金子寨, crossed a large river, and rested at Dong City 東城. The twenty-fourth day [April 21]: We passed through all the mountain ranges of Jinkeng 金坑 and Zaoxi 早溪. The night rain had not subsided, and we slipped at every step. We rested atop a cliff at Longjia 龍家, and it was here at the QianyangHuitong 黔陽會同 border we heard that Yunnanese troops had recently been defeated at Wugang 武岡. The soldiers had run amok, and the mountain people had fled. At dawn it rained. The sedan-chair bearers, hearing of the turmoil, were afraid to continue on, and they all gave notice and left. That day I was at a loss as to what to do, proceed or go back. So, helping Father and Mother along, I urged them to follow the local people. We passed over a steep mountain range into a deep valley where people from a walled village escorted us to the Xiangmu Buddhist Temple 像木庵. The temple stood on a mountain summit, and we ascended up toward it along a spiral path. Clouds encircled the mountain and truly enabled us to forget the world below. But I was quite worried, because, according to my calculations, our funds were nearly exhausted, and we were still very far from home. The fourth day [April 30]: When this day came, we summoned up our courage and descended the mountain. We asked the way of a local who told us about a side road we could take. The fifth day [May 1]: We left the home of our old [friend] and host. His son-inlaw guided us, so we made quick time through this secluded region. At this point we heard the road ahead was blocked by soldiers. I was ill from the summer heat and in my delirium waded through a stream. We passed Jiudongkou 九洞口. Here, there was a precipitous stone cliff, and we made no progress. I carried cousin Xian on my back as we walked along and, consequently, got so shortwinded that I had to lie down. Father needed a long rest as well, so we sent the sedan-chair bearers on ahead to wait for us at Baishipo 白石坡. The sixth day [May 2]: We emerged from a Miao shortcut and summoned a ferry. We had to change direction to get out of the gloomy areas and back into the light. We stopped at Matangzhai 麻塘寨.

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The seventh day [May 3]: We crossed a mountain range and forded a stream, then sat for a while amidst some ancient trees and enormous rocks. When we lodged at Daokou 道口, we met a friend from our hometown who was in the salt business and received information of the road ahead from him. We were extremely pleased. The eighth day [May 4]: In the depths of the forest, we saw refugees stumbling and scurrying toward us. Apprehensive and uncertain, we did not want to go ahead to search out lodging, but we were suffering and did not want to remain there. We were standing in the rain, unable to decide, when a man suddenly emerged from the trees. He led us to a thatched hut, and we chatted together like old friends. He said that some troops had rebelled, and he was afraid they were pressing into [the area], so early the next morning we should hurry away by a roundabout route. The ninth day [May 5]: We left Mingxi 鳴溪. Our host, Deng Linchu 鄧林楚, guided us along mountain paths over a steep gorge. We had a hard time climbing up and clambering down. That night we lodged at Luolanzhai 羅藍寨, but having heard the warnings of the local people, none of us dared sleep soundly, so at midnight we departed secretly. Just before dawn we ran into a tiger. It rushed in front of Mother’s sedan chair and almost knocked down the sedanchair bearers. Screaming in fright, they jumped up and ran off. The mountain people remained hidden away at a distance. At our next stop there was no place to lodge. The eleventh day [May 7]: We neared Gaosha City, but to avoid the troops, we stopped at Niulanshanzhai 牛欄山寨. The ruined house we stayed in was as gloomy and stuffy as a neglected tomb. The people here were no good, but they observed our sad state, and we managed to avoid trouble. The twelfth day [May 8]: We made it to Xiaolaogui 蕭老桂, where we hired a mountain farmer to accompany us to the Lantian Water Station 藍田水次. We heard there were northern [Qing] troops up at Wugang Subprefecture and that the western [rebel] troops had been pushed back to Fengmu 楓木 Mountain Range. So we proceeded on by a side road. As we passed Dongkou 洞口, we ran into some bandits. They hastily searched us. Fortunately we had little in our baggage so we suffered no loss. After we crossed the river, runaway troops followed after us, but when we reached Yanshan 巖山, they scattered. We rested at Shuikou 水口. Our host Yang Qingtian 楊擎天, who was a first degree graduate [of the civil service examinations], treated us very kindly at a time when things were quite chaotic. Father gave him some of our felt clothing.

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The fourteenth day [May 10]: Some mutinous soldiers went on a sudden killing spree. The country folk, leading the old and carrying the young on their backs, fled to the east or escaped to the west like ants moving to a new ant hole. Meanwhile, it was raining and muddy and our sedan-chair bearers were on the verge of absconding. So we lodged temporarily at Wangshuangzhai 王雙寨, but I did not sleep all night. The fifteenth day [May 11]: It rained again. We climbed up and down slopes, and forded streams with driving waves. We passed Shaluotian 沙羅田 and reached Shuixi 水西 in a downpour. The villagers we met here told us to be careful. Indeed, a short time later we saw refugees sobbing as they rushed by. Late that night, flames lit up, as we joined all the men and women of the stockade and fled in the rain. We came to a standstill at the foot of a slope and waited for the sun to rise. In the panic, cousin Xian had lost our rice rations. So we backtracked to Shaluozhai 沙羅寨 and, together with all the refugees, spent a chaotic night in a mountain monastery there. The seventeenth day [May 13]: In the morning we hired an old Buddhist monk to guide us into Xiaojiadong 蕭家洞. Step by step we tread amidst clouds. Peak after peak was enveloped in rain. The sleeves of our clothes were soaked through and dripping wet. When we reached Huangbaishan 黃柏山 and entered a dormitory for Buddhist monks, a wicked monk yelled at us and would not let us stay. So we climbed back down to the riverbank and were forced to beg for lodging. Firewood and rice were difficult to find. Of all the bitter days of this difficult journey, this one was the worst. The eighteenth day [May 14]: We effected an escape from a host of dangers by stopping at Tangchong 塘沖 in order for Father to change his costume. Then we sneaked out of Baoqing, at the Shaoyang-Xinhua 邵陽新化 border.66 The nineteenth day [May 15]: We went through Miaotianguan 苗田觀 and rested at Banshanzhen 半山鎮. The twentieth day [May 16]: We again hired a local to guide us through Yangxi 楊溪. As we passed Jiulongzhai 九龍寨 we ran into troops, but they did not give us any trouble. Before coming to Jinkeng we had heard talk of tigers every day. After Jinkeng we heard talk of troops every day. As the saying goes, “It is better to happen upon an evil tiger than to happen upon good soldiers. For you never know which [soldiers] are evil and which are good.” The twenty-first day [May 17]: We stopped at Maoerpu 貓兒鋪. The twenty-second day [May 18]: We arrived at Lantianzhen 蘭田鎮 and stopped over here for two days while the plank boat was drained. I took up my

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straw sandals and threw them away the moment I was able to get my parents aboard a boat. Although this was easier on my feet, I was still afraid of the possibility of storms. The twenty-fifth day [May 21]: We descended through rapids and anchored on the river below the Foquan Monastery 佛泉寺 to await an escort. The twenty-seventh day [May 23]: We moored at Loudi 婁底. The twenty-eighth day [May 24]: We put down at Tanshizhen 檀市鎮. The twenty-ninth day [May 25]: We moored west of Xiangxiang. The green mountains on the two banks and river of blue-green jade made us more cheerful. The thirtieth day [May 26]: We came out of the Xiang River and continued on the water because we wanted to follow it eastward to return home. We anchored in the river at Xiazhisi 下執司. That night we had a scare. The first day of the fifth month [May 27]: As we entered Lukou 鹿口, we gazed southward. Mount Heng 衡山 touched the sky above the clouds and mist. The second day [May 28]: We moored at Shenfu River 神福江. The third day [May 29]: We passed through Liling County and sailed over five or six large rapids to anchor at Shuangjiangkou 雙江口. Although the boat was empty and there was nothing to fear, we were unable to sleep soundly. The next morning we heard local robbers were blocking the way ahead. Our boatmen would not risk going on, so we anchored between a sandbar and a fishing islet. After noon we sailed back below Liling to take the Yangzi east to return home. We visited the county magistrate, Mr. Yang Yuanxun 楊元勳, who was a native of Jurong 句容 and had passed the exams of 1649. He had sent us money for our travels and all sorts of generous gifts. Furthermore, we opened a letter from him inviting us to his official residence where we sipped wine in the study and said goodbye. I had no idea a chance acquaintance could display this much kindness, and to express our gratitude, Father composed a poem. The sixth day [June 1]: We sailed with the current below the Xiangtan county seat 湘潭縣. The seventh day [June 2]: We went ashore, but since this area had been repeatedly ravaged and burned by soldiers there was no place to search out lodging. So we slept on the boat, extremely uncomfortable in the heat and humidity. The ninth day [June 4]: We boarded the galley of a boat. Sitting or reclining, it was narrow and confined. The entire day cousin Xian and I broiled beside the fire as we manned the tiller. Again I thought of how much happier we had been traveling on foot. A group of eighteen monks from Mount Heng shared the boat

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with us. There was one called Cihang 慈航 with whom Father discussed various Chan concepts. The tenth day [June 5]: We anchored at Shazhou 沙洲, Zhaoshan 招山. The eleventh day [June 6]: We moored below Changshafu City. The twelfth day [June 7]: We passed the Xiangyin county seat 湘陰縣. The wind was sharp, so we took advantage of the moonlight and sailed on another thirty li to anchor at Tangpu 塘鋪. The thirteenth day [June 8]: We unfurled the sails and flew across Dongting 洞庭 [Lake]. Midcurrent, the rudder suddenly split apart, and the large foresail rope snapped. Huge waves rocked the boat, and it nearly capsized several times. We were all terrified. The monks pressed their palms together and chanted. The wind rose still more, the waves grew even larger, and the boat was carried along by billowing waves below Yuezhou City. We had entrusted ourselves to the spirits, and heaven had protected and helped us. Happy to be alive, I hurried to soothe Father and Mother, and as we stood looking at one another, we all had a good cry. The rudder was repaired, and we traveled another hundred and twenty li to anchor at Xinti 新隄. Unfortunately, we did not climb the Yueyang Tower 岳陽樓 and enjoy the scenic views it affords, because we had sailed past it when the sails were full and we were still quite frightened. The next day it rained heavily, and we did not sail on. The fifteenth day [June 10]: We passed the Jiayu county seat 嘉魚縣. As we turned toward Wuhou we took advantage of the wind. Terraced mountain peaks stood at the riverbanks. We anchored in a bend of the river. The sixteenth day [June 11]: In the evening we moored at Wuchang Prefecture 武昌府. It was a wide river current, and we had glided along quickly as though we were riding a chariot. The Huanghe Tower 黃鶴樓 came into view. But since the sun was setting, we were unable to climb this tower either. The seventeenth day [June 12]: We left early and reached Hanyangjiangkou 漢 陽江口, where we took passage on a cargo ship. The eighteenth day [June 13]: After we had sailed a few li, a storm came up and did not stop until the next morning. Waves crashed into the boat and pushed it around, so we returned to the Han[yang] estuary. The twentieth day [June 15]: A cross breeze took us by Huangzhou Prefecture 黃州府. We then turned to Feng Jetty 風磯 and anchored off the southern shore of Wuchang County 武昌縣. Father pointed out that this is the place of which the “Red Cliff 赤壁 [Rhapsody]” says, “to the east lies Wuchang . . . how dense the viridian growth! 東望武昌 . . . 鬱乎蒼蒼.”67

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The twenty-first day [June 16]: There was a headwind, so we anchored early at the mouth of the Ba River 巴河. The twenty-second day [June 17]: The waves were high when we reached Lanxi 蘭溪, and the ship stopped here to wait for the wind to die down. As we passed Daoshifu 道士洑, the rocks that jutted up out of the water near the shoreline swirled and agitated the water, creating a number of whirlpools. Even without the wind, it was turbulent. It was a truly dangerous place. We anchored at the Wangshijiangkou 王市江口. It was humid on the ship, and the cargo was steaming in the heat. My parents could not rest comfortably day or night, and I never relaxed my guard for a minute. The twenty-third day [June 18]: We passed Qizhou 蘄州 and the mouth of the Ma River 馬河. The mountains were high and the water treacherous. Then we went by Tianjiazhen 田家鎮 and moored at Wuwangmiaojiangkou 吳王廟江口. The twenty-fourth day [June 19]: The wind was adverse, so we put down at Wujiaxue 伍家穴. The twenty-fifth day [June 20]: We arrived at Jiujiang Prefecture and the imposing peaks of Mount Lu 廬山. Large breakers pounded the ship so mercilessly that we could not stay moored long. On the shore we saw a toll-levy station. The official in charge was a native of our province and did not inspect the passengers or ship, but smiled and waved us on through the toll barrier. A favorable wind blew us onward. [Later] we anxiously called out to [the boatmen] to moor the ship to the bank, for it had been dashing through the waves for [the past] twenty li, and we had nearly capsized. So we anchored in a gorge. The twenty-sixth day [June 21]: The river was enveloped in a misty rain. We passed the Hukou county seat 湖口縣 on Poyang [Lake] 鄱陽 and moored at Xinyuzui 鱘魚觜. It was on this day that we finally reached the boundary of Jiangnan. The twenty-seventh day [June 22]: We passed the Pengze county seat 彭澤縣 and Mount Xiaogu 小孤山, which stands in the middle of the river like a bluegreen conch shell. We passed Madang 馬當. Its mountains and waters were quite dangerous for a solitary vessel. We moored on the shore opposite the Dongliu county seat 東流縣. The twenty-eighth day [June 23]: We had passed Wangjiang County 望江縣 and Anqing Prefecture 安慶府, when suddenly a typhoon came up. We moored in the Qingxi Gorge 清溪峽 as enormous waves crashed up to the sky. We remained in these straits for four days. I bought a couple of shi 鰣 fish.68 My parents had not enjoyed this taste for several years, and it made them smile.

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The fourth day of the sixth month [June 28]: We passed Chizhou 池州 and put down at Datongzhen 大同鎮. The fifth day [June 29]: The wind was adverse as we sailed through a strait and moored in Digang 荻港. The sixth day [June 30]: The ship set sail, but after it had gone a li or so the wind died, so we anchored at the foot of a mountain. The seventh day [July 1]: We passed Pozi Jetty 坡子磯, the site of a former county seat. We managed to reach Wuhu 蕪湖 through a gorge, where the ship moored for three days. We went ashore, and I accompanied Father on foot to the Jixiang Monastery 吉祥寺. The eleventh day [July 5]: We were allowed through the pass and sailed by Mount Liang 梁山 to reach Caishi Jetty 采石磯. Father gazed into the distance at Mount Zhong 鍾山.69 He was overcome with nostalgia for the former [Ming] dynasty. The wind was brisk, and we sailed gently on. I did not notice when we passed Yanzi Jetty 燕子磯 for I had been thinking back to when Father had been unjustly relieved of his position in [Yunnan] Province and did not return home in the spring of 1649, there had been an adverse wind [that day] and my fellow sufferers and I had climbed up on to this very jetty. Thinking of distant Yunnan, I was intensely sad and anxious. Now, as I passed this same place with my parents I was truly thankful. We moored amidst wind and rain at the Old River Port of Yizheng 儀徵 and stopped again for two days. The fifteenth day [July 9]: We passed [the island of] Jinshan and entered Jingkou 京口, where I bought a small skiff. We stayed in the western section of the city. That night I sat beneath the moon, unable to sleep, thinking back to the never-ending layers of misty mountains and the rushing sound of flowing rivers. It was a bittersweet feeling. The sixteenth day [July 10]: We moored at Piling 毘陵. The seventeenth day [July 11]: We hoisted the sails and passed Mount Hui 惠山. As we beheld the views of our hometown, we took in every detail. We anchored at Hushu Pass 滸墅關. The eighteenth day [July 12]: We took advantage of the moonlight and pushed off early, which brought us to Fengjiang 楓江 by first light. We arrived home at noon. According to my calculations, I traveled over 25,000 li round trip. In the twinkling of an eye, nearly two years had gone by. For now, this record of mine summarizes all the densely layered mountains and treacherous waters that my feet traversed and my eyes beheld. I do not dare put the difficulties of the trip

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into verse. Because of Father’s early departure from office, he was free and unencumbered, and able to be like a bird flying from a cage or a fish escaping from a net. Although we passed through every sort of extreme hardship, I have no regrets, because we made it back. The day we arrived home, we offered obeisance at the tombs of our ancestors. As we were returning, we kept running into friends, relatives, and neighbors who would grasp our hands and look us over. We had prayed sincerely and had been blessed by heaven. Yet, only the walls of our house were left standing, and not one grain remained in the storage jars.70 That my parents have no way to enjoy their old age causes me, their son, the greatest shame.

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Finding Lists for Huang Xiangjian’s Paintings

List of Extant and Recorded Paintings by Huang Xiangjian Cited in the Text The paintings examined for this study are listed below in two formats. The first listing is arranged alphabetically according to the museum in which the painting is currently held. Works which are no longer extant are cited under the heading “Recorded Paintings” at the end of the first list. The second listing rearranges the same group according to their production dates. Undated and recorded paintings are noted at the end. The majority of paintings associated with Huang Xiangjian are titled some variation of Searching for My Parents. His extant works appear to have been given this title by modern museums. For the recorded paintings, there is no indication of whether it was Huang or later collectors who were responsible for assigning the title. I would suggest that, in the majority of cases, these titles were added by later collectors and museums based on Huang’s travel record.

Extant Paintings in Museums and Private Collections Art Museum of the Chinese University of Hong Kong Searching for My Parents (Xunqin tu 尋親圖) (Mount Jizu 鷄足山). 1656. Handscroll, ink and color on paper, 31  561 cm. The British Museum, London Mountain Village in the Evening. Label reading “Searching for My Parents in

F i n di ng L ists for t h e Pa i n t i ngs

Yunnan by Huang Duanmu” (Huang Duanmu Diannan xunqin tu 黃端木 滇南尋親圖), by Li Guosong 李国松 (1878–ca. 1949). 1656. Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper, 68.6  30.5 cm. Guizhou Provincial Museum Landscapes (Shanshui 山水). Eight-leaf album, ink on paper, 26.4  20.2 cm. Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 18: 1–15. Pan River Bridge (Panjiang qiao tu 盤江橋圖). Hanging scroll, ink on paper, 97  49 cm. Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 18: 1–16. Jilin Provincial Museum Jianchuan (Jianchuan tu 劍川圖). Hanging scroll, ink on paper, 139  53.6 cm. Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 16: 1–130. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York Copy of A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Xunqin jixing tu 尋親 紀行圖). Fourteen-leaf album, ink on paper, 39.4  28.8 cm. Reproduced in Suzuki, Comprehensive Illustrated Catalog of Chinese Paintings, vol. 1: A1–118. Nanjing Museum A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Xunqin jicheng tu 尋親 紀程圖). Nine-leaf album, ink on paper, 26.4  20.4 cm. Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 7: 24–474. A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Xunqin jicheng tu 尋親紀 程圖) (Diannan album). 1658. Eight-leaf album, ink and color on paper, 30.3  69 cm. Frontispiece by the Suzhou native He Zhuo (1661–1722) reads “Diannan shengjing” 滇南勝境. Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 7: 24–0473; and Riboud, Montagnes Célestes, 180–83. National Museum of China Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents (Wanli xunqin tu 萬里尋親圖). 1656. Eight-leaf album, ink and color on paper, 25.7  31.3 cm. Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 1: 2–335. Palace Museum, Beijing Pina Gorge, Jianchuan (Jianchuan Pina xia tu 劍川毘那峽圖). Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper. Palace Museum, Beijing. Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 22: 1–3805. Jinsha River (Jinsha tu 金沙圖). Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper. Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 22: 1–3803. Precipitous Cliffs and Steep Precipices (Chanya doubi tu 巉崖陡壁圖). Hanging scroll, ink on paper. Palace Museum, Beijing. Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 22: 1–3806.

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Scenic Frontier of Yunnan (Diannan shengjing tu 滇南勝景圖). 1658. Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper. Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 22: 1–3802. Searching for My Parents (Xunqin tu 尋親圖). Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper, 63.8  31 cm. Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 22: 1–3804. Private collections Filial Son Searching for His Parents. Frontispiece reads “Traces of Utmost Filial Piety” (Zhixiao yizong 至孝遺蹤). 1656. Ten-leaf album, ink and color on paper, 21.3  25.7 cm. Journey in Search of My Parents (Xunqin jili shanshui tu 尋親紀歷山水圖). Undated. Twelve-leaf album, ink on paper, 26  37 cm. Collection of Chih Lo Lou. Landscapes (Shanshui 山水). Twelve-leaf album, ink on paper, 23.8  15.6 cm. Scenery of Yunnan and Guizhou Provinces (The title in Chinese is given as Wanli xunqin tu 萬里尋親圖). 1656. Handscroll, ink and color on silk, 36.5  554 cm. Reproduced in Fine Chinese Paintings and Calligraphy. New York: Christie’s, Wednesday, June 3, 1987, no. 100, 98–99. Watching a Waterfall. 1641. Fan, mounted as an album leaf, ink on golddusted paper, 18.7 x. 51.5 cm. Shanghai Antique Store (formerly) Copy of The Road to Shu (Shudao tu 蜀道圖). 1657. Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper, 133.8  61.8 cm. Citation from Tao Yuzhi. “Lidai zhandao tu kaoshu.” Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 12: 11–145. Shanghai Museum Color on the Diancang Mountains (Diancang shanse tu 點蒼山色圖). Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper, 127.7  42.5 cm. Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 4: 1–2396. Searching for My Parents (Xunqin tu 尋親圖). 1668. Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper. Cited in Liu Jiuan, ed. Song Yuan Ming Qing shuhuajia zhuanshi zuopin nianbiao, 451. Suzhou Museum Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents (Wanli xunqin tu 萬里尋親圖). 1656. Twelve-leaf album, ink on paper, 24.4  14.7 cm. Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 6: 1–256. Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents (Wanli xunqin tu 萬里尋親圖). Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper, 128.5  42.5 cm. Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 6: 1–257.

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Tianjin Art Museum (formerly Tianjin Municipal Art Museum) Clustered Mountains of Nan’an (Nan’an qunshan tu 南安群山圖). Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper, 128.5  43 cm. Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 9: 7–0639. Mount Taihua (Taihuashan tu 太華山圖). Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper, 129  43 cm. Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 7: 0638.

Recorded Paintings Layered Verdure at Juyong (Juyong diecui 居庸㬪翠). Hanging scroll, ink on paper, 2.87 chi high  1.04 chi wide. Recorded in Pang Yuanji, Xuzhai minghualu, juan 10, 4a. Precipitous Cliffs and Steep Precipices (Chanya doubi tu 巉崖陡壁). Hanging scroll, ink and light color on paper, 2.69 chi high  1.17 chi wide. Recorded in Pang Yuanji, Xuzhai minghualu, juan 3, 1. Searching for My Parents in Yunnan (Diannan xunqin 滇南尋親). Ten-leaf album, ink on paper? 8.5 cun high  1.1 chi wide. Recorded in ZBZ pt. 5, fasc. 7 (cum. fasc. 39), 9–11. Searching for My Parents Landscapes (Xunqin shanshui 尋親山水). Twelveleaf album and one preface leaf, ink on paper. Recorded in Chen Kuilin, Baoyuge shuhualu, juan 2, 44. Searching for My Parents, Self-Written (Zixie xunqin 自寫尋親). 1668. Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper, 3.8 chi high  1.82 chi wide. Recorded in Pang Yuanji, Xuzhai minghualu, juan 10, 1a–3b. Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents (Wanli xunqin tu 萬里尋親圖). 1656. Twelve-leaf album, ink on paper. Gu Wenbin, Guoyunlou shuhuaji, vol. 5, 32.1 Yearning for Father and Mother (Huqi 岵屺). Dated late May–early June of 1657. Twelve-leaf album, ink on paper. Preface by Huang Kongzhao, age 88, dated last month of spring 1676. ZBZ pt. 5, fasc. 7 (cum. fasc. 39), 11a–18a.

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Chronological List of Extant and Recorded Paintings by Huang Xiangjian 1641 Watching a Waterfall. Fan, mounted as an album leaf, ink on gold-dusted paper, 18.7 x. 51.5 cm. Private collection.

1656 Filial Son Searching for His Parents. Frontispiece reads “Traces of Utmost Filial Piety” (Zhixiao yizong 至孝遺蹤). Ten-leaf album, ink and color on paper, 21.3  25.7 cm. Private collection. Mountain Village in the Evening. Label reading “Searching for My Parents in Yunnan by Huang Duanmu” (Huang Duanmu Diannan xunqin tu 黃端 木滇南尋親圖), by Li Guosong 李国松 (1878–ca. 1949). Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper, 27.0  12.0 in. The British Museum, London. Scenery of Yunnan and Guizhou Provinces (The title in Chinese is given as Wanli xunqin tu 萬里尋親圖). Handscroll, ink and color on silk, 36.5  554 cm. Private collection. Reproduced in Fine Chinese Paintings and Calligraphy, New York: Christie’s, Wednesday, June 3, 1987, no. 100, 98–99. Searching for My Parents (Xunqin tu 尋親圖) (Mount Jizu 鷄足山). Handscroll, ink and color on paper, 31  561 cm. Art Museum of the Chinese University of Hong Kong. Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents (Wanli xunqin tu 萬里尋親圖). Eight-leaf album, ink and color on paper, 25.7  31.3 cm. National Museum of China. Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 1: 2–335. Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents (Wanli xunqin tu 萬里尋親 圖).Twelve-leaf album, ink on paper. Gu Wenbin, Guoyunlou shuhuaji, vol. 5, 32.2 Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents (Wanli xunqin tu 萬里尋親 圖). Twelve-leaf album, ink on paper, 24.4  14.7 cm. Suzhou Museum. Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 6: 1–256.

1657 The Road to Shu (Shudao tu 蜀道圖). Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper, 133.8  61.8 cm. Shanghai Antique Store (formerly). Citation from Tao Yuzhi. “Lidai zhandao tu kaoshu.” Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 12: 11–145.

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Judging from the reproduction of the painting in ZGGDSHTM, it is a copy of a work by Huang. Yearning for Father and Mother (Huqi 岵屺). Dated late May–early June of 1657. Twelve-leaf album, ink on paper. Preface by Huang Kongzhao, age 88, dated last month of spring 1676. ZBZ pt. 5, fasc. 7 (cum. fasc. 39), 11a–18a.

1658 A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Xunqin jicheng tu 尋親紀程 圖) (Diannan album). Eight-leaf album, ink and color on paper, 30.3  69 cm. Nanjing Museum. Frontispiece by the Suzhou native He Zhuo (1661– 1722) reads “Diannan shengjing” 滇南勝境. Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 7: 24–0473; and Riboud, Montagnes Célestes, 180–83. Scenic Frontier of Yunnan (Diannan shengjing tu 滇南勝景圖). Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper. Palace Museum, Beijing. Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 22: 1–3802.

1668 Searching for My Parents (Xunqin tu 尋親圖). Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper. Shanghai Museum. Cited in Liu Jiuan, ed. Song Yuan Ming Qing shuhuajia zhuanshi zuopin nianbiao, 451. Searching for My Parents, Self-Written (Zixie xunqin 自寫尋親). Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper, 3.8 chi high  1.82 chi wide. Recorded in Pang Yuanji, Xuzhai minghualu, juan 10, 1a–3b.

Undated Works Clustered Mountains of Nan’an (Nan’an qunshan tu 南安群山圖). Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper, 128.5  43 cm. Tianjin Art Museum (formerly Tianjin Municipal Art Museum). Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 9: 7–0639. Color on the Diancang Mountains (Diancang shance tu 點蒼山色圖). Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper, 127.7  42.5 cm. Shanghai Museum. Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 4: 1–2396. Pina Gorge, Jianchuan (Jianchuan Pina xia tu 劍川毘那峽圖). Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper. Palace Museum, Beijing. Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 22: 1–3805. Jianchuan (Jianchuan tu 劍川圖). Hanging scroll, ink on paper, 139  53.6 cm. Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 16: 1–130.

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Jinsha River (Jinsha tu 金沙圖). Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper. Palace Museum, Beijing. Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 22: 1–3803. Journey in Search of My Parents (Xunqin jili shanshui tu 尋親紀歷山水圖). Undated. Twelve-leaf album, ink on paper, 26  37 cm. Collection of Chih Lo Lou. Landscapes (Shanshui 山水). Twelve-leaf album, ink on paper, 23.8  15.6 cm. Private collection. Landscapes (Shanshui 山水). Eight-leaf album, ink on paper, 26.4  20.2 cm. Guizhou Provincial Museum. Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 18: 1–15. Layered Verdure at Juyong (Juyong diecui 居庸㬪翠). Hanging scroll, ink on paper, 2.87 chi high  1.04 chi wide. Recorded in Pang Yuanji, Xuzhai minghualu, juan 10, 4a. Mount Taihua (Taihuashan tu 太華山圖). Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper, 129  43 cm. Tianjin Art Museum (formerly Tianjin Municipal Art Museum). Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 7: 0638. Pan River Bridge (Panjiang qiao tu 盤江橋圖). Hanging scroll, ink on paper, 97  49 cm. Guizhou Provincial Museum. Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 18: 1–16. Precipitous Cliffs and Steep Precipices (Chanya doubi tu 巉崖陡壁圖). Hanging scroll, ink on paper. Palace Museum, Beijing. Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 22: 1-3806. Precipitous Cliffs and Steep Precipices (Chanya doubi 巉崖陡壁). Hanging scroll, ink and light color on paper, 2.69 chi high  1.17 chi wide. Recorded in Pang Yuanji, Xuzhai minghualu, juan 3, 1. A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Xunqin jicheng tu 尋親紀 程圖). Nine-leaf album, ink on paper, 26.4  20.4 cm. Nanjing Museum. Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 7: 24–474. Searching for My Parents (Xunqin tu 尋親圖). Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper, 63.8  31 cm. Palace Museum, Beijing. Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 22: 1–3804. Searching for My Parents Landscapes (Xunqin shanshui 尋親山水). Twelveleaf album and one preface leaf, ink on paper. Recorded in Chen Kuilin, Baoyuge shuhualu, juan 2, 44. Searching for My Parents in Yunnan (Diannan xunqin 滇南尋親). Ten-leaf album, ink on paper? 8.5 cun high  1.1 chi wide. Recorded in ZBZ pt. 5, fasc. 7 (cum. fasc. 39), 9–11.

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Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents (Wanli xunqin tu 萬里尋親圖). Hanging scroll, ink and color on paper, 128.5  42.5 cm. Suzhou Museum. Reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 6: 1–257.

Undated Copies Copy of A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Xunqin jixing tu 尋 親紀行圖). Fourteen-leaf album, ink on paper, 39.4  28.8 cm. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Reproduced in Suzuki, Comprehensive Illustrated Catalog of Chinese Paintings, vol. 1: A1–118.

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not e s Introduction 1 The text consists of two parts: A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Xunqin jicheng) and the Diary of the Return from Yunnan (Dianhuan riji). It is reprinted in several collectanea, including ZBZ, 1–31; Congshu jicheng chubian, vol. 2686, Lunli xiaoshuo (Stories of Moral Principle) section; Xiaofanghu zhai yudi congchao, 240a–48b; and Biji xiaoshuo daguan, 5211–17. 2 All paintings by Huang Xiangjian examined for this study are listed in app. 2. The reader may find individual works through the glossary-index. 3 I first presented the definition and attendant characteristics of geo-narrative painting in a paper delivered at the conference “The Itineraries of Art: Topographies of Artistic Mobility in Europe and Asia, 1500–1900,” at the Freie Universität Berlin, May 23–25, 2013. I am grateful to Juliane Noth for her helpful comments on this paper. 4 See, for example, Cahill, “Huang Shan Paintings as Pilgrimage Pictures,” 246–92; Liscomb, Learning from Mount Hua; and Murck, Poetry and Painting in Song China. 5 Fu, Framing Famous Mountains. 6 Purtle, “The Production of Painting, Place, and Identity in Song-Yuan (960–1368) Fujian”; Orell, “Picturing the Yangzi River in Southern Song China (1127–1279)”; and Stuer, “Dimensions of Place: Map, Itinerary, and Trace in Images of Nanjing.” 7 See app. 2 for a list of works by Huang Xiangjian. 8 For one study of how and why the landscape and architectural elements of a site change over time, see Eugene Y. Wang, “West Lake as Contested Site/Sight in the Wake of the 1911 Revolution,” 73–122. 9 Edwards, The World Around the Chinese Artist, 47, 75, 83–85; Cahill, Shadows of Mt. Huang, 46–49. 10 By experiential I mean the process of making meaning from direct experience or knowledge of that experience from another source, such as a gazetteer or picture. 11 Hargett makes this statement concerning the plethora of symbolism associated with mountains in Stairway to Heaven, 2. 12 I use the term “anthropocosmic,” as defined by Tu Wei-ming in his discussion of Confucian perception, to imply the concept amongst a variety of belief systems at this time “that human beings are earthbound yet strive to transcend themselves to join with Heaven . . . to fully express our humanity, we must engage in a dialogue with Heaven because human nature, as conferred by Heaven, realizes itself not by departing from its source but by returning to it” (Tu, Centrality and Commonality, 102).

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13 Ganza, “The Artist as Traveler,” 12, n. 9. 14 Wang, “Tope and Topos,” 488. 15 Cahill, “Huang Shan Paintings as Pilgrimage Pictures,” 253. Also see Cahill, The Compelling Image, 5–13. Others who define the term similarly include Clapp, The Painting of T’ang Yin, 36; Yuhas, “Wang Shih-chen as Patron,” 144. 16 Vinograd, “Family Properties,” 11. 17 Liscomb, “The Eight Views of Beijing,” 127–52; and McDermott, “The Making of a Chinese Mountain, Huangshan,” 145–76. 18 This approach falls within the framework of exploration laid out for the study of European and American landscapes by Mitchell on p. 1 in Landscape and Power, wherein scholars asked “not just what landscape ‘is’ or ‘means’ but what it does, how it works as a cultural practice.” 19 I have borrowed and adapted the term “geo-narrative” from geographic information science, where it is used for studies that analyze and interpret narrative materials such as oral histories, life histories, and biographies to produce quantitative data about specific geographic regions. See, for example, Kwan and Ding, “Geo-Narrative: Extending Geographic Information Systems,” 443–65. 20 Quoted in March, “An Appreciation of Chinese Geomancy,” 256. 21 Bush, “Tsung Ping’s Essay on Painting Landscape.” 22 Törmä, Landscape Experience as Visual Narrative, 77. 23 Zong Bing, Hua shanshui xu, cited in Zhang, Lidai minghua ji, 130–34. For a translation see Bush and Shih, Early Chinese Texts on Painting, 36–38. 24 Shen Yue, Songshu 93: 1925. See also Soper, Textual Evidence for the Secular Arts of China, 16. 25 Fu, Framing Famous Mountains, 28. 26 Bush and Shih, Early Chinese Texts on Painting, 151. 27 Trans. from Harrist, Painting and Private Life in Eleventh-Century China, 72, and nn. 23, 130. 28 Liscomb, Learning from Mount Hua. The late-Ming vogue for travel and the experiences that accompanied it are discussed in detail by Fu, Framing Famous Mountains. 29 Lee, “Forgeries Signed as Mei Qing,” 46. 30 Trans. in Cahill, The Compelling Image, 16. 31 Bush and Shih, Early Chinese Texts on Painting, 163, with Wade-Giles romanization changed to pinyin. 32 Trans. in Liscomb, Learning from Mount Hua, 28. 33 Chu and Wu, eds., Xu Xiake youji, 1141; trans. in Ward, Xu Xiake, 119. 34 Trans. in Liscomb, Learning from Mount Hua, 59. 35 Trans. in ibid., 62. 36 Cahill, The Compelling Image, 157. 37 Cahill, “Wu Chen,” 257, Wade-Giles romanization changed to pinyin. 38 Lutz and Qi, Chinesische Szenen, 18. 39 Trans. modified from Bush, “Tsung Ping’s Essay on Painting Landscape,” 145–46. 40 Yearning for Father and Mother, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 11a–12a; see also app. 2. 41 Herman, “The Kingdoms of Nanzhong,” 249, n. 12. 42 His complete works are collected in Fang, Fang Guoyu wenji. 43 Rock, The Ancient Na-Khi Kingdom.

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44 Herold J. Wiens, China’s March Toward the Tropics; Backus, The Nan-Chao Kingdom; Fitzgerald, The Southern Expansion; Struve, The Southern Ming; Herman, Amid the Clouds and Mist; and Yang, Between Winds and Clouds. 45 Hostetler, Qing Colonial Enterprise; and Giersch, Asian Borderlands. 46 Ward, Xu Xiake; and Pidhainy, “Yang Shen and the Nature of Travel Writing”; Pidhainy, “A Mid-Ming Account of the Road into Exile”; Pidhainy, “Lives and Legends of Yang Shen.” 47 My theoretical framework was inspired by the ideas of Henri Lefebvre and David Harvey as discussed in Robson, Power of Place, 7. Chapter 1 1 See Marmé, “Population and Possibility in Ming (1368–1644) Suzhou,” 29–64; Marmé, “The Rise of Suzhou, 1127–1550,” 17–45; Marmé, Suzhou; Mote, “Form, Time, and Space Concepts in Soochow,” 35–65; and Xu Yinong, The Chinese City in Space and Time, 9–28. 2 Wang Qi, Yupu zaji 5, 42. 3 For detailed examinations of this mingling of social groups, see Timothy Brook’s examination of Buddhist organizations in Praying for Power; and Joanna Handlin Smith’s investigation of benevolent societies in The Art of Doing Good. 4 Huang Xingzeng, Wu feng lu, vol. 20, 5b. 5 Yu Shenxing, Gushan bizhu 4, 39. 6 Zheng Zhenduo, Chatu ben Zhongguo wenxue shi, 843. 7 Gui Zhuang, “Bigeng shuo,” 10, 490. Translation from Wai-kam Ho, “Late Ming Literati,” 31. 8 Gui Zhuang, “Huang Xiaozi zhuan,” ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 1. 9 Hu Zhouzi, “Huang Xiaozi jicheng xu,” ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 1a. 10 Elman, A Cultural History of Civil Examinations, 143. 11 Since none of the preface writers or colophonists for Huang Xiaozi jicheng cite an official position for Huang Xiangjian, it may be concluded that he did not pass the examinations. See Hu Zhouzi, Huang Xiaozi jicheng xu and Huang Xiaozi jicheng hou, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7. For a complete discussion of students’ preparation for the civil-service examinations, see Elman, A Cultural History of Civil Examinations; and Elman and Woodside, eds., Education and Society in Late Imperial China. 12 On the political and social milieu in late-Ming Suzhou, see Wakeman, The Great Enterprise 1, 615–32; Mote, “Form, Time and Space Concepts in Soochow,” 35–65; Santangelo, “Urban Society in Late Imperial Suzhou,” 81–116; Yuan, “Urban Riots and Disturbances,” 277–320; Dennerline, The Chia-ting Loyalists; for religious activities, see Brook, Praying for Power, and Yü, Chu-hung and the Late Ming Synthesis; and for the wide variety of entertainments available in this period, see Brook, The Confusions of Pleasure, 51, 55–56 (transportation), 218–22 (fashion), 222–28 (shopping and collecting); Clunas, Superfluous Things; Clunas, Fruitful Sites, 119–33; and Hegel, Reading Illustrated Fiction. 13 See Park’s discussion of the development of this term in the Ming dynasty in Art by the Book, 21–25. 14 Ming Qing minge shidiao ji 1, 429–32. 15 Shen Defu, Wanli yehuo bian 23, 1535. 16 For Wen Zhengming, see Clunas, Elegant Debts; Edwards, Art of Wen Cheng-ming; Clapp, Wen Cheng-ming.

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17 This painting is described by Qian Qianyi (1582–1664) in Liechao shiji xiaozhuan, 279. For an examination of parting paintings, see Shih Shou-ch’ien, Fengge yu shibian, 231–60. 18 Trans. in Li and Watt, eds., The Chinese Scholar’s Studio, 41. Burkus-Chasson examines a late-Ming painting commemorating a Buddhist social network in “Between Representations,” 315–33. 19 Contemporaries and later collectors cite the names and stylistic characteristics of specific famous fan makers. For example, Ma Xun was a popular fan maker who produced roundish fan sticks. Huang Xiaoyuan was renowned for his Korean-style fans, although he only produced a few in his lifetime. See Tsao, “Remembering Suzhou,” 163–64. 20 Weidner, “Regional, Economic, and Social Factors,” 33–37; Fulder, “Professional Painters in Fukien and Nanking,” 103–14; and Cahill, The Distant Mountains, 63–86, 175–211. Merrill provides an example of the interaction between Suzhou and Nanjing in her discussion of the artist Wen Jia’s frequent trips there; see Merrill, “Wen Chia,” 29–31. Many of the painters discussed here painted the topography of other cities in Jiangnan, particularly Nanjing; see Vinograd, The Southern Metropolis. For the topographical painters of the Anhui school, see Cahill, Shadows of Mt. Huang; and for the topographical painting of Beijing, see Liscomb, “The Eight Views of Beijing,” 127–52; and Naquin, Peking, 111–12. 21 The complicated matter of discerning who was painting for pleasure, who was supplementing his income, and who practiced painting as his sole livelihood is an underlying theme in Cahill’s The Painter’s Practice. Clapp’s study of Tang Yin (1470–1524) analyzes his artistic choices as a famous personality and financially dependent artist; see Clapp, The Painting of T’ang Yin, 25–100. The complex “patterns of elite exchange” that Wen Zhengming utilized are examined by Clunas in Elegant Debts, 158. For Lu Zhi, see Yuhas, “The Landscape Art of Lu Chih.” Burkus-Chasson analyzes this issue with regard to the late-Ming artist Chen Hongshou in “Elegant or Common?” 279–300. 22 For Wen Jia’s ten-leaf album, Record of a Journey to Two Caves (Liangdong jiyou tu), done in ink on paper, now in the Shanghai Museum, see ZGGDSHTM 3, 1–0965. For Qian Gong’s Fuyuan Monastery at Dongting West Mountain (Dongting xishan Fuyuansi tu), two album leaves now mounted as a handscroll in the collection of the Suzhou Museum, see Kindall, “Envisioning a Monastery,” 104–59. For Tang Yin’s 1509 painting Gazing in Sorrow at the Fields, see Clapp, The Painting of T’ang Yin, 33–37. 23 This material has been discussed previously in Kindall, “Visual Experience in Late-Ming Suzhou,” 137–77. 24 Zhang discusses Song-dynasty “farewell culture” in Transformative Journeys, 111–29. 25 Clapp, The Painting of T’ang Yin, 47–49; and Clapp, Commemorative Landscape Painting. For an example of a Ming-dynasty figure painting created to celebrate the retirement of its recipient, see Bentley, The Figurative Works of Chen Hongshou (1599–1652), 3. 26 Many thanks to Ling-en Lu, Associate Curator of Early Chinese Art at the NelsonAtkins Museum of Art, Kansas City, for sharing with me her unpublished paper on the Taibai Mountains painting, now held in the Liaoning Provincial Museum and reproduced in Barnhart et al., Three Thousand Years, fig. 165; and ZGGDSHTM 15, 1–080. See also Vinograd, “Wang Meng’s Pien Mountains,” 375–81. 27 The series of paintings that make up Journey by Water, also called A Water Route, are listed in Gugong shu hua lu, vol. 4, chap. 6, 56–57; and discussed by Ganza, “The Artist as Traveler,” 167–71; and Yuhas, “Wang Shih-chen as Patron,” 144. 28 The painters are Zhang Hong, Yuan Shangtong, Wang Qujun, Feng Ting, Chen Si, Zhu Zhi, Zhang Fengyi, and Ming Xu. Held by the Suzhou Museum, its leaves measure 32.7 

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64.5 cm. See ZGGDSHTM 6, 1–180. The title is translated as Resignation and Leave of Kou Shen, and four of its leaves are reproduced in color in Suzhou bowuguan cang Ming Qing shuhua, 74–75. James Cahill includes a short discussion of this painting in The Painter’s Practice, 154, n. 23. 29 The painters are Lu Shiren, Zhang Yuanju, Zhang Tao, Zhang Yuanshi, Yao Jun, Qian Gong, and Sun Zhi (ca. 1535–ca. 1601). Held by the Nanjing Museum, its leaves measure 25.5  50 cm; see ZGGDSHTM 7, 24–0167. 30 This refers to Mount Dizhu (Whetstone Pillar), which stands amidst the rushing waters of the Yellow River at Sanmenxia, Henan Province. The phrase implies that something or someone was “unmoveable under great stresses,” or “played an indispensable role.” My thanks to Amy McNair for pointing out this reference. 31 See ZGGDSHTM 7, 24–0167 for the colophon and the translated poem following. 32 This is a reference to Fan Chengda (1126–93). See Zhongwen dacidian 7, 31472.83. 33 “Four Steeds” is the name of a poem from the Book of Odes in which a government official wishes to return home but cannot due to his many duties for the king. See Wu Shuping et al., eds. Shisan jing 1, Maoshi, Xiaoya, 296. For an English translation, see Waley, The Book of Songs, 134. 34 To “borrow Mr. Kou” refers to the later Han-dynasty (25–220 CE) story of Kou Xun, a meritorious official who went on a southern tour with his emperor. When the imperial party arrived at Mr. Kou’s old jurisdiction, the people there begged the emperor to allow them to “borrow Mr. Kou” as an official there for a year. See Zhongwen dacidian 1, 779.50. 35 Mount Xian is a scenic mountain in Xiangyang District, Hubei Province, made famous by Yang Hu (221–78) of the Jin dynasty (265–420), who loved and frequented its scenery. See Zhongwen dacidian 3, 8287.1(6). 36 The Jin-Chang area, for example, was painted in other earlier works that James Cahill calls “parting at the shore” scenes, prepared as farewell presents for friends. These are discussed by Shih Shou-ch’ien in Fengge yu shibian, 231–60. See, for example, Tang Yin’s Parting at Jinchang in the National Palace Museum, Taipei, reproduced in Cahill, Parting at the Shore, 197 and fig. 91; and it is discussed as a mid-Ming honorific topographical scroll in Clapp, The Painting of T’ang Yin, 154–55, fig. 56. 37 In his discussion of an earlier painting of a specific place, The Bian Mountains by Wang Meng, Vinograd has called paintings of personalized topographical sites “landscape of property”; see his “Family Properties,” 11. 38 See Munakata, Ching Hao’s “Pi-fa-chi”; and Fong, Beyond Representation, 76–77. 39 Lew, “The Fisherman in Yuan Painting,” 41, 48–49. 40 This particular scene of the painting called Spring Festival on the River, or Peace Reigns over the River, attributed to Zhang Zeduan (act. early 12th c.), is reproduced in Thorp and Vinograd, Chinese Art & Culture, 228, fig. 7–3. For various opinions concerning this scroll, see Murray, “Water Under a Bridge,” 99–107; Johnson, “The Place of Qingming shanghe tu,” 145–82; Hansen, “The Mystery of the Qingming Scroll,” 183–200. 41 This leaf was painted by Chen Si. See Niu and Wang, eds., Chongzhen Wuxian zhi, vol. 1, chap. 1, 4b (178). 42 When Jia Cong of the later Han dynasty arrived to govern Jizhou, he ordered his driver to lift the carriage curtains in order to see and hear everything passing. See Zhongwen dacidian 8, 35293.3. 43 Even in drought, rain fell on the areas governed by Zheng Hong of the later Han dynasty. Because he was a good official, rain fell wherever his carriage passed. See Zhongwen dacidian 9, 42806.19.

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44 The gazetteer Suzhou fuzhi, 4, chap. 70, 21 (1767), quotes from Gu Yanwu’s epitaph for Kou Shen, which describes in detail Kou Shen’s accomplishments in Suzhou. 45 Yuan Hongdao (1568–1610) discusses the problem of false expectations at Lingyin Temple in Hangzhou in Yuan Hongdao, Yuan Zhonglang quanji, youji section, 14, 15; trans. from Chaves, “The Panoply of Images,” 356. 46 For a discussion of “collective memory” and “cultural memory,” see Halbwachs, On Collective Memory. Also see Pierre Nora’s discussion of “sites of memory” in “Between Memory and History,” 7–25. Robert E. Harrist, Jr., discusses the literati tradition of writing on the landscape in “Reading Chinese Mountains,” 64–69. 47 The significance of national topography, such as the Buddhist marchmounts (sacred mountains) and Daoist caverns, has been discussed in studies such as McDermott, “The Making of a Chinese Mountain”; and Munakata, Sacred Mountains in Chinese Art. The role of this sophisticated symbolism in the development of specific institutions and structures has also been examined by historians such as Walton in “Southern Sung Academies,” 23–51; and Meyer-Fong, Building Culture. 48 The painter Wen Boren (1502–75) moved from Han Village on Dongting to the western foot of Tiger Hill (Clapp, The Painting of T’ang Yin, 115). Lu Zhi relocated to Mount Zhixing, and Wang Zhideng owned a retreat there (Yuhas, “The Landscape Art of Lu Chih,” 45–46). According to Craig Clunas, “Such a move from a rural, if not exactly remote, area by the lake to the most fashionable suburb just outside the city walls to the northwest was one made by increasing numbers of the elite in the middle years of the sixteenth century” (Fruitful Sites, 119). 49 See Qian Gu, Wudu wencui xuji. 50 Murck, Poetry and Painting in Song China, 51–125; Liscomb, “The Eight Views of Beijing.” 51 Twelve Views of Sutai by Yuan Shangtong is a twelve-leaf album done in ink and color on paper, measuring 24.7  29.3 cm. Each of the twelve painted leaves is paired with a leaf of calligraphy. It is held in the Shanghai Museum and reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 3, 1–1532 (the calligraphy leaves are not reproduced). Twelve Views of Sutai by Zhang Hong is dated 1638 and is an album of twelve leaves done in ink and color on silk, measuring 30.5  24 cm. It is held in the Beijing Palace Museum and is reproduced in Wai-kam Ho, ed., The Century of Tung Ch’i-ch’ang, pl. 102. Other paintings that illustrate the same sites and basic characteristics discussed below include: Unexcelled Prospects of Wu (Wuzhong shenglan tu), 1632, a ten-leaf album by Zhang Hong listed in the collection of the Beijing Antique Store in ZGGDSHTM 1, 12–063 (it could not be found when I visited); Landscapes, 1628, a twelve-leaf album by Zhang Hong in the Tianjin Antique Company (ZGGDSHTM 8, 6–023); A Thousand Mountains and Distant Water (Qianshan yuanshui tu), 1648, a handscroll by Zhang Hong in the Zhejiang Provincial Museum, Hangzhou (ZGGDSHTM 11, 1–096); Unexcelled Prospects of Sutai (Sutai shenglan tu), 1637, a ten-leaf album by Shao Mi (ca. 1595–ca. 1642) and others coupled with ten leaves of calligraphy, in the Shanghai Museum (ZGGDSHTM 4, 1–1720); Ten Views of Gusu (Gusu shi jing), a ten-leaf album by Wen Boren in the National Palace Museum, Taipei (Gugong shu hua lu, 4, chap. 6, 49–50); Ancient Sites of Sutai (Sutai guji), a ten-leaf album by Chen Guan (act. ca. 1604–40) and others in the National Palace Museum, Taipei (nos. 6645–49, Asian Art Archives, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor); and Ten Views of Gusu (Gusu shi jing), 1648, a ten-leaf album by Bian Wenyu (act. ca. 1620–70), coupled with ten leaves of calligraphy, in the Guangxi Zhuang Autonomous Region Museum (ZGGDSHTM 14, 1–043).

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52 Strassberg, Inscribed Landscapes, 306. 53 See Lee, Exquisite Moments, 37–39. 54 See, for example, Yuan Hongdao’s description of the crowds that flocked to Tiger Hill during the Mid-Autumn Festival (Strassberg, Inscribed Landscapes, 306–7). 55 For a brief description of the Xu River today, see Suzhou shizhi 1, 483. 56 For the Pond of Heaven, see Niu and Wang, eds., Chongzhen Wuxian zhi 1, chap. 3, 56b (328). 57 Zou Xiqing, Suzhou zhi lü, 87. 58 This site begins Zhang Hong’s 1648 handscroll, A Thousand Mountains and Distant Water, discussed below. 59 For the Waicheng Canal, see Suzhou shi ditu ce, 17–18; Suzhou fengjing lüyou tu; Suzhou shizhi 1, 483. 60 Tianping shan; Huang Zhenwei, Tianping shan, 44–46; and Suzhou shizhi 1, 721–23. See also Niu and Wang, eds., Chongzhen Wuxian zhi 1, chap. 3, 42a–43a (299–301). Strassberg translates a record of a visit to this mountain written by Gao Qi (1336–74) in Inscribed Landscapes, 283–87. 61 There were already Fan ancestral graves here in 1044. Huang Zhenwei, Tianping shan, 12; for the Fan Zhongyan shrine, see ibid., 31–37; for the famous maples of Mount Tianping, see ibid., 29–30. 62 See Lu Zhaoyu and Ren Zhaolin, Hufu zhi, 87, 93, 314, 399–400. 63 For this painting, see Hou-chen-shang-chai collection, Asian Art Archives, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, nos. 33,892–98. Sensabaugh cites another literary gathering that occurred here in 1351 and its connection with a later set of paintings by Chen Ruyan in “Life at Jade Mountain,” 55. See also Li, “The Development of Painting in Soochow,” 483–505. 64 The inscription on the leaf for the Hushan site in Zhang Hong’s Twelve Views of Sutai album, for example, is erroneously translated “Autumn Colors on Tiger Hill” (Wai-kam Ho, ed., The Century of Tung Ch’i-ch’ang 2, 116). 65 For the Guangfu Pagoda, Hushan Bridge, and Hushan, see Yang Xiaodong, Guangfu, 2–6, 14–28; and Niu and Wang, eds., Chongzhen Wuxian zhi 1, chap. 3, 18b–19a (252–53). 66 See Lao Suzhou, 124, fig. 255. 67 For a discussion of the complexity and convenience of the canals of Suzhou, see Xu Yinong, The Chinese City in Space and Time, 129–42. 68 Zou Xiqing, Suzhou zhi lü, 55. Also see Niu and Wang, eds., Chongzhen Wuxian zhi 1, chap. 3, 18b–19a (252–53). 69 See Suzhou fuzhi 1, chap. 6, 7 (185). See also Niu and Wang, eds., Chongzhen Wuxian zhi 1, chap. 3, 38a–39a (291–93). 70 For another famous site of Mount Zhixing by Bian Wenyu, see Cahill, The Compelling Image, fig. 1.4; and for an earlier Ming rendering of the site by Lu Zhi, or perhaps a late Ming “copy” created in an attempt to present a lineage of the famous-sites compositions, see ibid., fig. 1.3. For a Qing-dynasty wood-block print of the site, which may have developed from the late-Ming famous-site compositional type, see ibid., fig. 1.5. 71 Since 1943, Xi Shi Cave has been called Guanyin Cave. See Zhou Hongdu, Lingyanshan, 36. For the history of Mount Lingyan, see Niu and Wang, eds., Chongzhen Wuxian zhi 1, chap. 3, 1–2b (217–20). 72 For the history of Lingyan Monastery, see Zhou Hongdu, Lingyanshan, 61–88; see also Suzhou Lingyanshan zhi, chap. 2, 19–56.

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73 Suzhou shizhi 1, 725–26. For Mount Shangfang and Stone Lake, respectively, see Niu and Wang, eds., Chongzhen Wuxian zhi 1, chap. 3, 10b (236), and 1, chap. 5, 17a (511). 74 For a contemporaneous printed gazetteer picture that shows a very different perspective of Stone Lake, see Niu and Wang, eds., Chongzhen Wuxian zhi, Tu, 19b–20a (134–35). 75 For Lengqie Monastery pagoda, see Ma, “Shangfang shan shang de Lengqiesi ta,” 65–67. 76 A Thousand Mountains and Distant Water is held by the Zhejiang Provincial Museum, Hangzhou, and is reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 11, 1–096. 77 Zhang Dai, Tao’an mengyi, 1b. For a translation, see Pei-yi Wu, “An Ambivalent Pilgrim to T’ai Shan,” 84. 78 Laing, “Wen Tien and Chin Chün-ming,” 412. Cahill, The Painter’s Practice, 39–41, discusses the role of go-betweens in later Chinese painting. 79 Laing, “Wen Tien and Chin Chün-ming,” 412, fig. 3. 80 Ibid., 412. 81 For an alternate translation, see Wai-kam Ho, ed., The Century of Tung Ch’i-ch’ang 2, 116. 82 Zhang recorded his friendship with Tang Xianke (b. ca. 1577), an artist and art collector, and his third son, Tang Renyu (1608–80), also an artist, in several painting inscriptions. See Wang Chung-Lan, “Chang Hung,” 10–11. 83 “Tang Xianke” entry in Yu Jianhua, ed., Zhongguo meishujia renming cidian, 670; and Xu Bangda, “Tang Yuzhao, yu Guang deng jiashi kaolüe,” 52–53. 84 Unexcelled Prospects of Wu has ten painted leaves and ten calligraphy leaves in ink and color on paper, 25.2  37 cm, and is reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 1, 12–063. It is listed in the collection of the Beijing Antique Store, but could not be found when I visited. 85 On the Ming forgery market, see Laing, “ ‘Suzhou Pian,’ ” 265–95; and Shan, “The Tendency Toward Mergence,” 3–6—3–9. For Wai-kam Ho’s translation of the poem “Bogus Antiques” by Shao Changheng (1637–1704), which describes the Suzhou forgery market, see Clunas, Superfluous Things, 110–11. 86 Wai-kam Ho, ed., The Century of Tung Ch’i-ch’ang 1, 123. 87 This biography is discussed in Cahill and Li, Paintings of the Zhi Garden by Zhang Hong, 10. For a discussion of social status and collecting practices among fifteenth-century merchants and gentry, see Liscomb, “Social Status and Art Collecting,” 111–36. Also see Brook, “The Merchant Network in Sixteenth Century Ming China,” 165–214; and Brook, The Confusions of Pleasure, 210–18. 88 Qian Yong, Lüyuan conghua 24, 640–41. 89 Huang Xingzeng, Wu feng lu, vol. 20, 5b. 90 Wang Qi, Yupu zaji 5, 42. 91 Zhang Dai, Tao’an mengyi, 1b, modified from trans. by Pei-yi Wu, “An Ambivalent Pilgrim to T’ai Shan,” 84; italics added. For more on markets of this type, see Clunas, Superfluous Things, 136–37. 92 For fan paintings of famous Suzhou sites painted by Zhang Hong in 1641, see Moss, Emperor, Scholar, Artisan, Monk, 46–53. The Wen Congchang fan is held in the JeanPierre Dubosc collection and discussed by Laing, “Wen Tien and Chin Chün-ming,” 412, fig. 3. 93 The set of hanging scrolls by Yuan Shangtong entitled Landscapes after Ancient Masters (Fanggu shanshui) and dated 1661 is done in ink and color on silk, and each measures 232  52 cm. They are held in the China Academy of Art, Hangzhou, and are reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 11, 3–04.

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94 For scholarship on the intensive interactions between Buddhist and local elite cultures, see, for example, Brook, Praying for Power; Yü, The Renewal of Buddhism in China; Weidner, ed., Latter Days of the Law; and Joanna Handlin Smith, “Benevolent Societies,” 309–37. For discussions of elite organizations and their activities, see Dardess, Blood and History in China; Hucker, “The Tung-lin Movement of the Late Ming Period,” 132–62; Dennerline, The Chia-ting Loyalists; Atwell, “Ch’en Tzu-lung (1608–1647)”; Atwell, “From Education to Politics: The Fu She,” 333–65; and Joanna Handlin Smith, The Art of Doing Good. 95 Brook, Praying for Power, 94, 98–99, 114–15. 96 James Cahill suggests that this painting was done around 1615. See Cahill, The Distant Mountains, 80–81, pl. 29. 97 Brook, Praying for Power, 161–62, 164, 357, n. 42. 98 As was the case with many traditional Chinese works, the album was not given a name. The paintings and calligraphy are entitled Paintings of Fuyuan Monastery at Dongting West Mountain (Dongting Xishan Fuyuansi tu) in ZGGDSHTM 6, 1–149. The Suzhou Museum reproduces only the frontispieces and paintings of the album and labels them in English as Fu Yuan Temple (Fuyuansi tu juan) in Suzhou bowuguan cang Ming Qing shuhua, 96–97. For the sake of convenience, I will refer to the entire work as the Fuyuan Monastery album. This material has been discussed previously in Kindall, “Envisioning a Monastery,” 104–59. 99 The paintings proper measure 33.2  57.7 and 33.2  58 cm. They are reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 6, 1–149; and in Suzhou bowuguan cang Ming Qing shuhua, 96–97. 100 Wang Zhideng, “Fundraising Appeal for the Reconstruction of Fuyuan Monastery on Dongting West Mountain,” reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 6, 1–149. 101 I have borrowed the term “fund-raising appeals,” used by Timothy Brook in his discussion of literary patronage in Praying for Power, 196–202. 102 Translation from Cahill, “Wu Chen,” 216, and also 256–63. Taki Seiichi believed the painting was produced to raise money. See Taki, “Go Chin Kaka hakkei zukan ni tsuite,” 194–204, esp. 195. 103 “Fundraising Appeal for Repair of Yunyan Monastery, Tiger Hill” by Wen Zhengming, for example, may have been attached to a painting illustrating the Yunyan Monastery, produced by Wen Zhengming himself or another painter; see Wen, Wen Zhengming ji 2, 1308. As another possible example, the four subscription appeals by the well-known Suzhou art patron Wang Shizhen might have been accompanied by paintings as well; see Wang Shizhen, Yanzhou shanren sibu gao, chap. 113. 104 Cahill discusses this issue in Pictures for Use and Pleasure, 6–16. 105 The paintings, which measure 33.2  57.7 and 33.2  58 cm, have the size and rectangular proportions of an album leaf with a vertical crease down the center of each, indicating they were mounted as album leaves that could be folded open and closed like a folio (figs. 1.44, 1.45). The essays are of varying lengths and written on joined pieces of paper. The finished essays were then cut and mounted on backing that matched the size of the painted album leaves. 106 An Xifan essay reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 6, 1–149. 107 These reasons for giving are socially acceptable and flattering to the reader. For more on the complexities of charity during this period, see Joanna Handlin Smith, The Art of Doing Good, esp. chap. 9 (“Beliefs in Charity—and the Rhetoric of Beliefs”).

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108 Shen Shixing essay reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 6, 1–149. 109 Wen Zhenmeng, “Chongxing Fuyuansi ji,” in Niu and Wang, eds., Chongzhen Wuxian zhi 3, 26.19b (488). 110 Ibid., 26.19b–20a (489). In his essay on the album, Wen states that it was completed in 1621 (reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 6, 1–149), but he also states that the whole endeavor took thirteen years, which would equate to 1622, so 1621 may be an error. 111 For more on the individual biographies of the colophonists in relation to this painting, see Kindall, “Envisioning a Monastery.” 112 See Niu and Wang, eds., Chongzhen Wuxian zhi 1, 4.1–3a (343–47). 113 Dongting East Mountain is connected to the mainland as a peninsula but is referred to as a mountain or island in Ming-dynasty writings as well as today. Wang Ao, who won third place in the metropolitan examination, went on to an appointment in the Hanlin Academy. He was later appointed an imperial tutor and then senior assistant minister and grand secretary. After his retirement to Suzhou in 1509, he became a great patron of the arts. For a biography of Wang Ao, see Goodrich and Fang, eds., Dictionary of Ming Biography 2, 1343–47; for Wang Ao’s role as a Suzhou patron, see Clapp, The Painting of T’ang Yin, 27–39. 114 Yang Zhijian, Jiangsu shanshui shengji, 183, 184, 187. Zhu Zhengyuan was said to have gathered on Green Snail (Biluo) Peak some wild tea that exuded a rich, strong taste that he found “startling.” Its name was changed to “Green Snail Spring” tea in 1699 by the Kangxi emperor on his southern tour (ibid., 184). 115 Clapp, The Painting of T’ang Yin, 30, cites Tao Liang, Hongdoushu guan shuhuaji 12, 2.717–18. 116 This hanging scroll done in ink and light color on paper is in the Palace Museum, Beijing. See Gugong shu hua ji, vol. 35, no. 12. 117 Poems by Wang Shizhen for the Lu Zhi album are recorded in Wang Shizhen, Yanzhou shanren sibu gao 3, 21.16b–17a (reprint pp. 1372–73); and ibid., 7, 73.1a–8a (reprint, pp. 3493–3507). 118 The Old Fisherman of the Lakes (Wuhu jun sou tu 五湖釣叟圖) is done in ink and color on silk. It measures 36.7  773 cm and is in the collection of the Palace Museum, Beijing. See Wumen huihua, no. 115, 236–37. 119 There was an established tradition of precise architectural renderings in painted maps and printed gazetteers, but that was hardly what Qian Gong’s patrons would have desired for this project. See Yee, Space and Place. 120 Chongzhen Wuxian zhi reports that “In the beginning the entrance gate of the temple faced the west, but at this time [the Ming dynasty] it was changed to face the south, so that it lined up directly across from the main hall” (Niu and Wang, eds., Chongzhen Wuxian zhi 3, 26.18a [485]). 121 Wang Zhideng essay, reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 6, 1–149. 122 For a discussion of the development of the blue-and-green style, see Vinograd, “Some Landscapes Related to the Blue-and-Green Manner,” 101–13. 123 Li, “The Artistic Theories of the Literati,” 17. Chapter 2 1 See app. 1 for a full translation, with explanatory notes, of Huang Xiangjian’s A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents and Diary of the Return from Yunnan.

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2 For a discussion of the various Miao ethnic groups of southwest China, particularly Guizhou, see Hostetler, Qing Colonial Enterprise, 106–7, 142–43. 3 See app. 1. 4 Struve, The Southern Ming, 101–3. 5 For Sun Kewang, see Hummel, Eminent Chinese, 679. For Sun Kewang’s campaigns in Guizhou and Yunnan, see Struve, The Southern Ming, 144–54; and Shore, “Last Court of Ming China,” 192–95. 6 See Huang Xiangjian, Xunqin jicheng, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 13b; see also app. 1. 7 Colophon to the Nanjing color album, A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents. See Huang Xiangjian, Xunqin jicheng, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 9b. 8 I have discussed Huang’s oeuvre previously in Kindall, “The Paintings of Huang Xiangjian’s Filial Journey,” 297–357. 9 The term “Lao,” or the interchangeable term “Liao,” could refer to any number of minority peoples in which “Lao” serves as a suffix, such as the Mulao. One of the largest of these groups, with subcategories of its own, was the Gelao minority of northwestern Guizhou. See Hostetler, Qing Colonial Enterprise, 109–10. 10 Colophon to A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Nanjing Museum, eightleaf album; see app. 2). See also Huang Xiangjian, Xunqin jicheng, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 8a. 11 Liu Xu, Jiu Tang shu, 197 (5269–87). 12 Diancheng ji (Record of a Journey to Dian) in Wang and Wan, eds., Yang Sheng’an congshu 2, 233–53. See also Pidhainy, “A Mid-Ming Account of the Road into Exile,” 8–42. 13 Wang and Wan, eds., Yang Sheng’an congshu 3, 274–75; also in Yang Shen, Sheng’an ji 15, 5b–8b. 14 Pidhainy, “Yang Shen and the Nature of Travel Writing,” 159–60, and “Text and Image,” 145–58; see also Pidhainy, “A Mid-Ming Account,” 15–16. 15 See, for example, Wang Shixing, “Diancangshan ji,” 144–47; and Xu Xiake in ZGYJSWDX, 431–37. 16 For the Sancai tu hui, see Goodall, Heaven and Earth. For the Yiyu tu zhi and “Miao albums,” see Moule, “An Introduction to the I yü t’u chih,” 179–88; and Hostetler, Qing Colonial Enterprise, 159–204. 17 For a discussion of the role of the southwest in the travel diaries of Xu Xiake, see Ward, Xu Xiake. Ming-dynasty commentaries on the southwest include the copious writings of the exile to Yunnan of Yang Shen (1488–1559). See Yang Shen in Wang and Wan, eds., Yang Sheng’an congshu 2, 233–53; 3, 110; 3, 1071–72. Other Ming writings on Yunnan include Chen Ding (b. ca. 1650), Dian youji 10, 5937–45; Wang Shixing, “You Jizushan ji,” 147–50; and Xie Zhaozhe, Dianlüe, vol. 155, juan 2, 8b–10a. 18 Struve, The Southern Ming, 4. 19 Ward, Xu Xiake, 147–49, esp. p. 148. 20 A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Nanjing Museum, nine-leaf album; see app. 2). 21 Leaf 7, Yearning for Father and Mother, in ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 11a–18a. 22 Precipitous Cliffs and Steep Precipices, in Pang Yuanji, Xuzhai minghualu, chap. 3; and app. 2. 23 Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents (Suzhou Museum, twelve-leaf album; see app. 2). 24 A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Nanjing Museum, nine-leaf album; see app. 2).

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25 Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents (Suzhou Museum, twelve-leaf album; see app. 2). 26 A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Nanjing Museum, nine-leaf album; see app. 2). 27 Cahill, “Huang Shan Paintings,” 262, romanization changed to pinyin. 28 Fu, Framing Famous Mountains, 115. 29 Yuhas, “The Landscape Art of Lu Chih,” 164, n. 8. 30 For a donkey-train painting by Qian Gu, see his handscroll Qunyu youzong tu, ink and color on paper, in the Shenyang Palace Museum, reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 15, 2–036. For Xie Shichen’s boat paintings, see Lawton, Hsieh Shih-ch’ên, figs. 3, 4, 5 and cat. 1, 2a. Also see Fu’s discussion of these paintings in “The Representation of Famous Mountains,” 178–81, 195–96. 31 On Yuan Jiang’s ox-cart paintings, see Murck, “Yuan Jiang: Image Maker,” 238. Ox-cart paintings were also produced by contemporaries such as Li Yin (act. ca. 1700) and Yuan Yao (act. ca. 1739–88), as well as the earlier Ming artist Xie Shichen; see Lawton, Hsieh Shih-ch’ên, cat. 2b. Also see Cahill, “Yuan Chiang and His School,” 259–72; for paintings of donkey trains in snow in this article, see, figs. 3, 4, 21; for the painting of boat travel in this article, see fig. 11; and for ox-cart paintings in this article, see figs. 9, 17, 18, 20, 23, 25, 26, 28, 29, 30. 32 Liscomb, Learning from Mount Hua, 12; for a full discussion of the date that the album was completed, see 181, n. 6. 33 Wang Lü quote from ibid., 109. 34 For examples of this see ibid., 40–41. 35 Ibid., 15–16. 36 Note the similarities between Yuan Shangtong’s rendering of Hushan (a distinctly separate site from Tiger Hill) in Twelve Views of Sutai, in the Shanghai Museum (ZGGDSHTM 3: 1–1532) and those in Landscape after Ancient Masters in the China Academy of Art, Hangzhou (ZGGDSHTM 11, 3–04), and Unexcelled Prospects of Sutai in the Shanghai Museum (ZGGDSHTM 4, 1–1720). 37 For Guan Suo Mountain Range, see Guizhou shengzhi, 187–89. For the Metropolitan Museum of Art leaf, see Suzuki, Comprehensive Illustrated Catalog of Chinese Paintings 1, A1–118. The Guan Suo Mountain Range is also listed as a subject in Huang’s Searching for My Parents Landscapes, for which see Chen Kuilin, Baoyuge shuhualu 2, 45a; Searching for My Parents in Yunnan, in ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 9–11; and Lu Shihua, Wu Yue suojian shuhualu, fasc. 5, 82b–84a; and Yearning for Father and Mother in ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 13a. The inscriptions of these paintings also share the same basic phrases and structure. 38 For the Metropolitan Museum of Art leaf, see Suzuki, Comprehensive Illustrated Catalog of Chinese Paintings 1, A1–118. The Qinglang river crossing is listed as a subject in the undated Searching for My Parents in Yunnan, in ZBZ, pt. 5, 9–11; and Lu Shihua, Wu Yue suojian shuhualu, fasc. 5, 83b; and as leaf 10 in Yearning for Father and Mother in ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 15a. 39 For Scenic Frontier of Yunnan, in the Metropolitan Museum of Art album, see Suzuki, Comprehensive Illustrated Catalog of Chinese Paintings, 1, A1–118; and two records: Searching for My Parents Landscapes, see Chen Kuilin, Baoyuge shuhualu 2, 46a; and Yearning for Father and Mother in ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 15b. Two examples of multiple versions of other sites include the Pan River, which occurs in the Suzhou Museum album (ZGGDSHTM 6, 1–256); as a hanging scroll, entitled Pan

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River Bridge in the Guizhou Provincial Museum (ZGGDSHTM 18, 1–16); and the Metropolitan Museum of Art album, see Suzuki, Comprehensive Illustrated Catalog of Chinese Paintings 1, A1–118; as well as three records: Searching for My Parents in Yunnan, in ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 9b; Yearning for Father and Mother, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 14a; and the later 1668 hanging scroll, Searching for My Parents, recorded in Pang Yuanji, Xuzhai minghualu, ch. 10, 1a. Xiangshui Pass occurs in the Suzhou Museum album (ZGGDSHTM 6, 1–256); as leaf 2 in the eight-leaf album, Landscape, in the Guizhou Provincial Museum (ZGGDSHTM 18, 1–15); and in the Art Museum of the Chinese University of Hong Kong, Searching for My Parents Landscapes, for which see Chen Kuilin, Baoyuge shuhualu 2: 45b; Searching for My Parents in Yunnan in ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 10a; and Yearning for Father and Mother, in ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 15a. 40 Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents, Suzhou Museum, twelve-leaf album; see app. 2. 41 Guan Suo was the fictitious third son of the celebrated military hero Guan Yu (161–219). According to Guan Yu’s biography in Records of the Three Kingdoms (San guo zhi), he was awarded the title of Marquis Ting of Hanshou by Cao Cao (155–220) in 200 (chap. 36). For an explanation of this unusual title, see Zhongwen dacidian 5, 18531.236. Guan Suo appears in the fourteenth-century Romance of the Three Kingdoms (San guo yan yi), attributed to Luo Guanzhong (ca. 14th c.), and is the hero of The Story of Hua Guan Suo (Hua Guan Suo zhuan). See King, The Story of Hua Guan Suo. 42 Chen Kuilin, Baoyuge shuhualu 2, 45a; see also app. 2. 43 Searching for My Parents in Yunnan, in ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 10b; Lu Shihua, Wu Yue suojian shuhualu, fasc. 5, 82b–84a; and app. 2. 44 Yearning for Father and Mother, in ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 13a; and app. 2. 45 Searching for My Parents in Yunnan, in ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 9–11; Lu Shihua, Wu Yue suojian shuhualu, fasc. 5, 82b–84a; and app. 2. 46 Yearning for Father and Mother, in ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 15a; and app. 2. 47 This compositional type also occurs in leaf 5 of Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents, held by the National Museum of China; see app. 2. 48 It is reproduced as leaf 6 in Landscape in the Guizhou Provincial Museum; see ZGGDSHTM 18: 1–15; and see app. 2. 49 This composition is also found in A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents in the Metropolitan Museum of Art; see app. 2; see also Suzuki, Comprehensive Illustrated Catalog of Chinese Paintings 1: A1–118. 50 Two leaves of A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents in the Metropolitan Museum of Art album illustrate this composition; see Suzuki, Comprehensive Illustrated Catalog of Chinese Paintings 1, A1–118. Leaves 3 and 4 of Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents in the National Museum of China album appear to be slightly looser versions of this compositional type; see ZGGDSHTM 1, 2–335. 51 There is another example of this in leaf 4 of Landscape in the Guizhou Provincial Museum album; see ZGGDSHTM 18, 1–15; also see app. 2. 52 Huang Xiangjian, Searching for My Parents Landscapes, in Chen Kuilin, Baoyuge shuhualu 2, 45a. 53 Searching for My Parents in Yunnan, in ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 9b; and Lu Shihua, Wu Yue suojian shuhualu, fasc. 5, 82b–84a. 54 Searching for My Parents in Yunnan, in ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 10a; and Lu Shihua, Wu Yue suojian shuhualu, fasc. 5, 82b–84a.

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55 Yearning for Father and Mother, in ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 14a–14b. For the Pan River, see Guizhou shengzhi, 230–31. 56 Searching for My Parents Landscapes, see Chen Kuilin, Baoyuge shuhualu 2, 44–47; and app. 2. 57 Struve, “Ambivalence and Action,” 327. 58 Peterson, “The Life of Ku Yen-wu,” 144. 59 Brook, Praying for Power, 123. 60 Wai-yee Li discusses early-Qing writers’ distinction between “remnant subjects” and “eremitic subjects” (yimin), and some of the biases concerning them in contemporary studies of early Qing literature and culture in Idema, Li, and Widmer, eds., Trauma and Transcendence, 6–22, 64–68. See also Zhao Yuan, Ming Qing zhi ji shidaifu yanjiu, 257–468. 61 Fisher, “Loyalist Alternatives in the Early Ch’ing,” 116–22. 62 Brook explains this trend in Praying for Power, 122–24. For an example of a loyalist monk, see Yim, “Loyalism, Exile, Poetry,” 149–98. 63 Widmer, The Margins of Utopia, 42. 64 Wakeman, The Great Enterprise, 1, 676. 65 Widmer, The Margins of Utopia, 46, romanization changed to pinyin. 66 Mi Chu Wiens, “Anti-Manchu Thought,” 9. 67 Wakeman, The Great Enterprise 2, 934–42. 68 He Zongmei, Mingmo Qingchu wenren jieshe yanjiu; and Xie Guozhen, Ming Qing dangshe yundong kao. 69 Wakeman, The Great Enterprise 2, 938. 70 For Eastern Zhejiang yimin societies, see Quan Zuwang, “Hushang shelao Dong xiansheng muban wen,” 850–52. 71 Wakeman, The Great Enterprise 2, 939. 72 Ibid., 941. 73 Widmer, The Margins of Utopia, 16–17. 74 Ibid., 18. Wakeman discusses loyalist activities in monasteries in The Great Enterprise 1, 675. 75 Wakeman suggests that some of the money donated toward this endeavor came from gentry sympathizers; see his The Great Enterprise 2, 1042–46. See also Struve, The Southern Ming, 154–66; and Croizier, Koxinga and Chinese Nationalism. For Zhang Mingzhen, see Hummel, Eminent Chinese, 46–47; and for Zheng Chenggong, see Struve, Voices, 179–203. 76 I.e., the Yongli court and the Prince of Lu; see Wakeman, The Great Enterprise 2, 990–95. 77 Ibid., 2, 993–94. 78 Struve, The Southern Ming, 153–54; and Shore, “Last Court of Ming China,” 199–204. 79 See app. 1. 80 Trans. in Peterson, “Life of Ku Yen-wu,” 150. 81 In his diary, Huang records his father discussing “my teacher Zhou Zhongjie.” See Huang Xiangjian, Dianhuan riji, in ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 22b. Zhou Danling, who was the grandson of this famous man, states in his colophon to the Nanjing Museum ink album that “the Filial Son’s father, Master Hanmei, was a student of the late Zhongjie”; see ZGGDSHTM 7, 24–474. Zhongjie was the posthumous epithet given to Zhou Shunchang. He passed the metropolitan exams in 1613 and was appointed Prefectural Judge of Fuzhou, Fujian

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Province, where he served from 1613 to 1619. See Goodrich and Fang, eds., A Dictionary of Ming Biography 1, 274–77. 82 Huang Xiangjian, Dianhuan riji, in ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 30b. 83 Widmer presents an example of this in The Margins of Utopia, 70. Wakeman discusses visits made to the Ming tombs, particularly that of the first emperor, by Gu Yanwu and Wan Shouqi, in The Great Enterprise 2, 771–76. Jonathan Hay discusses the symbolism of this imperial tomb for Ming loyalists and Qing rulers in “Ming Palace and Tomb,” 1–48. 84 The later text, Huang Ming yimin zhuan, juan 2 [8a–8b], also identifies Huang Kongzhao as a loyalist. 85 Hummel, Eminent Chinese, 427. 86 Only once, when he agreed to assist in reading the 1657 examination papers for Jinjiang, Jiangsu Province, did he work for the government in any capacity (ibid., 548). 87 Zhao Jingda, Gui Xuangong xiansheng nianpu, 24b–25a. 88 Qin Guangyu, Mingji Diannan yimin lu, shang, 1a; and Zhang Qigan, Mingdai qian yimin shiyong, sanbian, juan 4, 10b. 89 Zhang Fusan, ed., Yunnan difang wenxue shi: gudai juan, 291. 90 Barnhart, Li Kung-lin’s Classic of Filial Piety, 98. 91 Li Kaishu, “Huang Xiaozi jicheng xu,” in ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 4b. Li Kaishu appears to have misremembered the source for his quotation. “He who is disloyal in serving his lord is not filial” is not in the Classic of Filial Piety, but rather appears in the Liji. See “Jiyi,” in Wu Shuping et al., eds., Shisan jing 1, 872. 92 Tao Hongzuo, “Shu Huang Xiaozi xunqin jicheng hou,” in ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 1a, 1b. 93 Hu Zhouzi, “Huang Xiaozi jicheng xu,” in ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 1a. 94 Li Kaishu, “Huang Xiaozi jicheng xu,” in ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 5a. 95 Zhang Fusan, ed., Yunnan difang wenxue shi, 291. 96 Fang Guoyu, Yunnan shiliao mulu gaishuo, 408; Sun Qiuke, Mingdai Yunnan wenxue yanjiu, 169. For a modern biography of Wen Zuyao, see Zhang Fusan, ed., Yunnan difang wenxue shi, 291–92. 97 For Cangxue, see Sun Qiuke, Mingdai Yunnan wenxue yanjiu, 175–80. 98 Tao Hongzuo, “Shu Huang Xiaozi xunqin jicheng hou,” in ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 1b–2a. 99 Ibid., 2a–2b. 100 Lu Shiyi, “Ba,” in ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 4a. The end of the Wen family story is as sad as the Huangs’ was happy. At the time of printing, the conflict had kept Wen Zuyao from his family for ten years. When he finally left to return to Yunnan in 1661, he died on the road in Hunan; see Fang Guoyu, Yunnan shiliao mulu gaishuo, 408. 101 Chaves, “Moral Action,” 394–95. 102 Wakeman, The Great Enterprise 2, 1076–77. Wu Weiye wrote a poem for his good friend Wen Zuyao when Wu visited him in 1658; see Sun Qiuke, Mingdai Yunnan wenxue yanjiu, 171–72. 103 Cahill, The Compelling Image, 142–45. 104 Silbergeld, “The Political Landscapes of Kung Hsien,” 561–77, and “Kung Hsien’s SelfPortrait in Willows,” 5–38. 105 Jonathan Hay, Shitao, 183, 52. 106 Gu Yanwu, Tinglin shiji, 300; trans. in Peterson, “The Life of Ku Yen-wu,” 28, 149–50. 107 Trans. in Nelson I. Wu, “Tung Ch’i-Ch’ang,” 261; and Wakeman, The Great Enterprise 2, 1081.

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108 Mi Chu Wiens, “Anti-Manchu Thought,” 1–24; Struve, “Early Qing Officials as Chroniclers,” 10; and Langlois, “Chinese Culturalism and the Yuan Analogy,” 361–68. 109 For Scenery of Yunnan and Guizhou Provinces, see app. 2. 110 Lu, “Fictional Reunions,” 312. Chapter 3 1 Campaigns of this type were not uncommon. Suzanne Wright examines the campaign mounted by friends and family of the publisher Hu Zhengyan (1584–1674). This group used prefaces and biographical writings to reinforce Hu’s identity as a Ming loyalist; Wright, “Hu Zhengyan: Fashioning Biography,” 129–54. 2 Colophon to A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Nanjing Museum, eightleaf album; see app. 2). See also Huang, Xunqin jicheng, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 14b–15a. 3 Huang, Xunqin jicheng, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 17a. 4 The original date and contributors are discussed by Fang Guoyu in Yunnan shiliao mulu gaishuo, 408–10. Fang asserts that the biography by Gui Zhuang was included in the first printing of 1655 (p. 408). This accords with Gui Zhuang’s chronology, which states that he wrote the biography in 1653 (Zhao Jingda, Gui Xuangong xiansheng nianpu, 25a.) 5 Hu Zhouzi, “Huang Xiaozi jicheng xu,” ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 3a. By the “same generation,” Hu probably means that of Huang Kongzhao, as these men were his friends and acquaintances. 6 Tao Hongzuo, “Shu Huang Xiaozi xunqin jicheng hou,” ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 1b. 7 Hegel and Hessney, eds., Expressions of Self, 6. 8 Tao Hongzuo, “Shu Huang Xiaozi xunqin jicheng hou,” ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 1a–1b. 9 Li Kaishu, “Huang Xiaozi jicheng xu,” ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 4b–5a. 10 Gui Zhuang, “Huang Xiaozi zhuan,” ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 8a; and Gui Zhuang, Gui Zhuang ji 2, 414. 11 At the close of the inscription on the detailed handscroll, Scenery of Yunnan and Guizhou Provinces, Huang stated, “It has taken me two years to complete this scroll”; see app. 2. 12 See app. 2. 13 For the Wu Liang Shrine, see Wu Hung, Wu Liang Shrine. For the Classic of Filial Piety, see Barnhart, Li Kung-lin’s Classic of Filial Piety. See also Knapp, Selfless Offspring, 46–81. 14 Chaves, “Moral Action,” 405–14. 15 Wakeman, The Great Enterprise 2, 1091–94. Jonathan Chaves discusses this phenomenon in “Moral Action,” 387–88. This trend was not solely a response to the dynastic change. Chaves notes that already by the mid-Ming period, thinkers “were turning their attentions to the Confucian values that can be seen as underlying action—and preeminent among these was the age-old hsiao” (xiao in pinyin, or filial piety); see Chaves, “Moral Action,” 405. 16 Tao Hongzuo, “Shu Huang Xiaozi xunqin jicheng hou,” ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 1a–1b. 17 It was completed in 1682 and printed in 1690; see under “Yeh Fang-ai” in Hummel, Eminent Chinese, 902. Also, see Wakeman, The Great Enterprise 2, 1094–95, n. 47. 18 Knapp, Selfless Offspring, 28. 19 Gui Zhuang, “Huang Xiaozi zhuan,” ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 7b–8a; and Gui Zhuang, Gui Zhuang ji 2, 409. 20 Gui Zhuang, “Huang Xiaozi zhuan,” ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 7b–8a; and Gui Zhuang, Gui Zhuang ji 2, 409–14.

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21 Hu Zhouzi, “Huang Xiaozi jicheng xu,” ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 1b–2a. 22 Gui Zhuang, “Huang Xiaozi zhuan,” ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 7b–8a; and Gui Zhuang, Gui Zhuang ji 2, 414. 23 Li Kaishu, “Huang Xiaozi jicheng xu,” ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 4a–5a. 24 Tao Hongzuo, “Shu Huang Xiaozi xunqin jicheng hou,” ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 1a–2b. 25 Li Kaishu, “Huang Xiaozi jicheng xu,” ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 4a–5a. 26 Ibid. 27 Fan Chengda, Fan Shihu ji, 17.240. Translation modified from Cong Ellen Zhang, Transformative Journeys, 2. 28 Hu Zhouzi, “Huang Xiaozi jicheng xu,” ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 1a–3b. 29 Gui Zhuang, “Huang Xiaozi zhuan,” ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 1–8. 30 Ibid. 31 Tao Hongzuo, “Shu Huang Xiaozi xunqin jicheng hou,” ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 1a–2b. 32 Lu Shiyi, “Ba,” ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 3a–4a. 33 A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Nanjing Museum, nine-leaf album; see app. 2). 34 See app. 1. 35 Searching for My Parents Landscapes, see Chen Kuilin, Baoyuge shuhualu 2, 44–47 (see app. 2); Precipitous Cliffs and Steep Precipices, in Pang Yuanji, Xuzhai minghualu, chap. 3 (see app. 2); and Mount Jizu handscroll (see app. 2). 36 Gui Zhuang, “Huang Xiaozi zhuan,” ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 7b–8a; and Gui Zhuang, Gui Zhuang ji 2, 414. 37 Hu Zhouzi, “Huang Xiaozi jicheng xu,” ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 2a–2b. 38 For the filial stories of Dong Yong, Jiang Zhangxun, and Zhu Ming, see Wu Hung, Wu Liang Shrine, 289–94. 39 Hu Zhouzi, “Huang Xiaozi jicheng xu,” ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 1a–3b. 40 Ibid. 41 Li Kaishu, “Huang Xiaozi jicheng xu,” ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 4a–5a. 42 Gui Zhuang, “Huang Xiaozi zhuan,” ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 7b–8a; and Gui Zhuang, Gui Zhuang ji 2, 414. 43 Tao Hongzuo, “Shu Huang Xiaozi xunqin jicheng hou,” ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 1a–2b. 44 ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7. 45 Tina Lu, “Fictional Reunions,” 310. 46 Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents (Suzhou Museum, twelve-leaf album; see app. 2). 47 Searching for My Parents Landscapes, see Chen Kuilin, Baoyuge shuhualu 2, 44–47; and app. 2. 48 Leaf 4, Yearning for Father and Mother, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 11a–18a. 49 “Quli shang” chap., Liji, in Wu Shuping et al., eds., Shisan jing 1, 675. Huang Xiangjian is chiding himself for putting himself in danger and thus behaving in an unfilial way. 50 Leaf 7, Yearning for Father and Mother, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 11a–18a. 51 For Guan Yu and Guan Suo, see chap. 2, n. 41. 52 King, The Story of Hua Guan Suo, 3–25. The story is believed to have been printed for the first time in the mid-14th c. 53 Ibid., 10. 54 Ibid., 15.

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55 The other painting to include this inscriptional reference is leaf 3, Yearning for Father and Mother, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 13a. 56 Due to his historical and legendary role in the southwest, Zhuge Liang was of interest to most Han travelers who visited the area. See, for example, Pidhainy, “Mid-Ming Account,” 14. 57 Searching for My Parents, Self-Written, Pang Yuanji, Xuzhai minghualu, fasc. 10, 1a–3b; leaf 8, Yearning for Father and Mother, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 11a–18a; and app. 2. 58 Leaf 3, Searching for My Parents in Yunnan, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 10b; and app. 2. This album is also recorded as Searching for My Parents in Yunnan in Lu Shihua, Wu Yue suojian shuhualu, fasc. 5, 82b–84a. 59 For Wu Guolun, see Zhang Tingyu et al., Ming shi, 287. 60 Leaf 6, Yearning for Father and Mother, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 11a–18a; and app. 2. 61 Searching for My Parents Landscapes, see Chen Kuilin, Baoyuge shuhualu 2, 44–47; and app. 2. 62 Ibid. For a translation of the Li Bai poem, see Liu and Lo, eds., Sunflower Splendor, 104–6. 63 See Julia K. Murray, Mirror of Morality, 40. 64 Wu Hung, Wu Liang Shrine, 275; Knapp, Selfless Offspring, 54; and Kuroda, “Kōshidenzu to Kōshiden,” 116–32. 65 For color reproductions of Wu school paintings, see Zhongguo gudai shuhua jiandingzu, ed., Zhongguo huihua quanji, vols. 16, 17, 18. 66 Murck, Painting and Poetry in Song China. 67 Leaf 10, Searching for My Parents in Yunnan, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 9–11; Lu Shihua, Wu Yue suojian shuhualu, fasc. 5, 82b–84a; and app. 2. 68 For a reproduction, see Barnhart et al., Three Thousand Years of Chinese Painting, 23, fig. 12. 69 Leaf 1, Searching for My Parents in Yunnan, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 9–11; Lu Shihua, Wu Yue suojian shuhualu, fasc. 5, 82b–84a; and app. 2. 70 Leaf 8, Searching for My Parents in Yunnan, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 9–11; Lu Shihua, Wu Yue suojian shuhualu, fasc. 5, 82b–84a; and app. 2. 71 Searching for My Parents Landscapes, in Chen Kuilin, Baoyuge shuhualu 2, 44–47; and app. 2. 72 Leaf 5, Yearning for Father and Mother, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 11a–18a; and app. 2. 73 Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents (Suzhou Museum, twelve-leaf album; see app. 2). 74 Searching for My Parents Landscapes, in Chen Kuilin, Baoyuge shuhualu 2, 44–47; and app. 2. 75 For an inscription discussing rain, Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents (Suzhou Museum, twelve-leaf album); see app. 2. For snow, see leaf 12, Yearning for Father and Mother, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 11a–18a; and app. 2. 76 A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Nanjing Museum, nine-leaf album); see app. 2. 77 Searching for My Parents Landscapes, Chen Kuilin, Baoyuge shuhualu 2, 44–47; and app. 2. 78 Ibid. 79 Leaf 10, Searching for My Parents in Yunnan, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 9–11; Lu Shihua, Wu Yue suojian shuhualu, fasc. 5, 82b–84a; and app. 2. 80 Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents (Suzhou Museum, twelve-leaf album); see app. 2. 81 Leaf 7, Yearning for Father and Mother, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 11a–18a.

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82 Searching for My Parents in Yunnan, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 9–11; Lu Shihua, Wu Yue suojian shuhualu, fasc. 5, 82b–84a; and app. 2. 83 Leaf 11, Yearning for Father and Mother, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 11a–18a; and app. 2. 84 Searching for My Parents Landscapes, Chen Kuilin, Baoyuge shuhualu 2, 44–47; and app. 2. 85 Leaf 4, Searching for My Parents in Yunnan, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 9–11; Lu Shihua, Wu Yue suojian shuhualu, fasc. 5, 82b–84a; and app. 2. 86 A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Nanjing Museum, nine-leaf album); see app. 2. 87 Ibid. 88 Searching for My Parents Landscapes, in Chen Kuilin, Baoyuge shuhualu 2, 44–47. 89 Li Kaishu, “Huang Xiaozi jicheng xu,” ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 4a–5a. 90 Struve, “Ambivalence and Action,” 332, romanization changed to pinyin. John D. Langlois, Jr., also discusses this trend in “Chinese Culturalism,” 359–60. 91 In the preface to the mid-17th century edition, the commentator chooses three “incomparable” dominant characters: Zhuge Kongming (Zhuge Liang), Lord Guan (Guan Yu), and Cao Cao (Luo, Three Kingdoms: A Historical Novel, 465). Some scholars suggest this edition of Three Kingdoms has a “covert pro-Ming side,” but an equally strong argument may be made for its support of the Qing court; ibid., 458, 461–64. For The Lone Swordsman and The Duel of Wits Across the River, see Shih, The Golden Age of Chinese Drama, 44, 34–35. Zhuge Liang was particularly famous for his loyalty to one ruler; see Burkus-Chasson, Through a Forest of Chancellors, 169. 92 See nn. 51–52. 93 Struve, “Ambivalence and Action,” 338. 94 Ibid., 343. 95 Struve translates a series of memorials that Huang submitted to the Longwu throne over the course of this campaign in Voices, 122–40. 96 Brook, Confusions of Pleasure, 245–49. 97 Struve, “Ambivalence and Action,” 353. 98 On his Treatise on the Eight Strategies (Bazhen faming), see Hummel, Eminent Chinese, 548–49. 99 King, The Story of Hua Guan Suo, 16–18. 100 Ibid. 101 On later views of Zhuge Liang, see Tillman, “Historic Analogies and Evaluative Judgments,” 60–70; Zhuge Liang is also discussed by Backus in Nan-Chao Kingdom 6, 54–55. 102 It is also visible in a hanging scroll by Huang now held in the Guizhou Provincial Museum. A stele demarcates the other side of the bank in this scroll. See Pan River Bridge, app. 2. For an explanation of Ma Yuan’s pillars, see Zhongwen dacidian 1, 435.45. 103 Searching for My Parents Landscapes, see Chen Kuilin, Baoyuge shuhualu 2, 44–47; and leaf 4, Yearning for Father and Mother, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 11a–18a. Both paintings are listed in app. 2. 104 Leaf 5, Searching for My Parents in Yunnan, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 9–11; Lu Shihua, Wu Yue suojian shuhualu, fasc. 5, 82b–84a; and app. 2. 105 Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents (Suzhou Museum, twelve-leaf album); see app. 2. 106 Ibid. 107 Leaf 6, Searching for My Parents in Yunnan, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 9–11; Lu Shihua, Wu Yue suojian shuhualu, fasc. 5, 82b–84a; and app. 2.

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108 Searching for My Parents Landscapes, in Chen Kuilin, Baoyuge shuhualu 2, 44–47; and app. 2. 109 Leaf 9, Yearning for Father and Mother, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 11a–18a; and app. 2. 110 Searching for My Parents, Self-Written, see Pang Yuanji, Xuzhai minghualu, fasc. 10, 1a–3b; and app. 2. 111 Munakata, Ching Hao’s “Pi-fa-chi,” 1–56. 112 Sirén, Chinese on the Art of Painting, 141. 113 Chu and Wu, eds. Xu Xiake youji, 1141; translation from Ward, Xu Xiake, 119. 114 Leaf 2, Yearning for Father and Mother, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 11a–18a; and app. 2. 115 Precipitous Cliffs and Steep Precipices, in Pang Yuanji, Xuzhai minghualu, chap. 3; and app. 2. 116 For examples of these prejudiced reports, see Hostetler, Qing Colonial Enterprise, 113–14, 149, 151. For recent studies of ethnicity and the Chinese state, see James Lee, The Political Economy of a Frontier; Shin, Making of the Chinese State; and Giersch, Asian Borderlands. 117 See Zeitlin’s discussion of the various terms for “strange” in Historian of the Strange, 5–7. Huang’s preference for the character qi in the context of his accounts of the more beautiful southwestern areas suggests a more positive, awe-inspired sense of the term, so I translate it as “marvelous” or “extraordinary.” Andrew Plaks explains that qi indicated something new and positive in seventeenth-century literary criticism; see his “Aesthetics of Irony,” 487–500. Burnett examines the term qi in “A Discourse of Originality,” 522–58, esp. 532. Burnett also investigates the implications of qi in art-historical discussion in Dimensions of Originality, 103–200. 118 Hu Zhouzi, “Huang Xiaozi jicheng xu,” ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 2a–2b. 119 Gui Zhuang, “Huang Xiaozi zhuan,” ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 7b; and Gui Zhuang, Gui Zhuang ji 2, 414. 120 Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents (Suzhou Museum, twelve-leaf album); see app. 2. 121 Searching for My Parents Landscapes; Chen Kuilin, Baoyuge shuhualu 2, 44–47; and app. 2. 122 Yearning for Father and Mother, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 11a–18a; and app. 2. 123 Leaf 3, in Searching for My Parents in Yunnan, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 9b; Lu Shihua, Wu Yue suojian shuhualu, fasc. 5, 82b–84a; and app. 2. 124 Zhou Danling expressed this sentiment in a colophon he wrote for one of Huang’s undated albums entitled Searching for My Parents Landscapes; Chen Kuilin, Baoyuge shuhualu 2, 46b; and app. 2. 125 Searching for My Parents Landscapes; Chen Kuilin, Baoyuge shuhualu 2, 46b; and app. 2. 126 A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Nanjing Museum, nine-leaf album); see app. 2. 127 Yearning for Father and Mother; ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 11a–18a; and app. 2. 128 Chen Kuilin, Baoyuge shuhualu 2, 44–47. 129 The calligrapher Zhang Xu (658–747) was famous for his cursive script, which was based on the quick, natural movements he observed in human behavior, such as a noblewoman’s porters racing each other down the road and a woman performing a dance. See Li Zhao, Tangguo shibu, 17. For an English translation, see McNair, Upright Brush, 22. 130 A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Nanjing Museum, nine-leaf album); see also app. 2. 131 Yearning for Father and Mother; ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 11a–18a; and app. 2. 132 Recorded in ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 11a–12a.

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From “Quli shang” chap., Liji, in Wu Shuping et al., eds., Shisan jing 1, 675. From “Zhihu,” in “Odes of Wei,” Guofeng, in Shijing; Legge, Chinese Classics 4, 167–68. Xiangyan is called “cousin Xian” in the travel record and diary. Some of the emotion Huang Kongzhao expressed in this colophon was no doubt tied to the fact that Huang Xiangjian’s death preceded his father’s by three years. 137 For more on these monastic groups and loyalist activities in monasteries, see Brook, Praying for Power, 122–24; 144–46; 268; 365, n. 49. Wakeman discusses the painter Wan Shouqi going to a monastery in The Great Enterprise 1, 676–77. 138 Wakeman, The Great Enterprise, 1, 675, n. 268. 139 Randal Johnson, “Editor’s Introduction,” in Bourdieu, Field of Cultural Production, 9. See also Bourdieu, “The Market of Symbolic Goods,” in ibid., 112–41. Brook discusses this gentry network and its patronage of monasteries in Praying for Power, 185–223. Joanna Handlin Smith examines the charitable inclinations of this group in “Benevolent Societies”; a benevolent society in Wuxi, founded in 1614, “aided orphans and widows and paid special consideration . . . to those who were filial or chaste”; ibid., 313. See also Joanna Handlin Smith, Art of Doing Good. 140 There had always been “material rewards” for persons designated as “filial,” although the exact nature of these awards changed from period to period. See Knapp, Selfless Offspring, 37–39. 141 Bentley, The Figurative Works of Chen Hongshou, 19. 142 Li, “Introduction,” in Idema, Li, and Widmer, eds., Trauma and Transcendence, 36 and n. 111. The play is reprinted in Li Yu, Wanli yuan, in Guben xiqu congkan san ji, vol. 39. Liang’s yuefu poems are also mentioned in Zhao Erxun, et al., Qingshi gao, chap. 498, 13770. 143 Lu Miaw-fen, “Ming Qing Zhongguo Wanli xunqin de wenhua shijian,” 365. 144 See Silas H. L. Wu, Passage to Power, 87. 145 This colophon by Zhou Danling was attached to Searching for My Parents Landscapes; see Chen Kuilin, Baoyuge shuhualu 2, 46b; and app. 2. 146 Gu Zhentao, Wumen biaoyin, 165, 180. The presentation of one of Huang Xiangjian’s paintings to the Kangxi emperor may be related to this petition as a document accompanying the request or in thanks for its being granted. 133 134 135 136

Chapter 4 1 An earlier version of this material was published in Kindall, “Experiential Readings,” 412–36. 2 The Mount Jizu handscroll is labeled Landscape in the English entry and Xunqin tu (Searching for My Parents) in the Chinese entry in Zhongguo wenwu jizhen, 189–91, no. 58. See also Suzuki, Comprehensive Illustrated Catalog of Chinese Paintings 2, S7–035; and app. 2. 3 Mounted on separate sheets of paper at the end of the scroll are three colophons of appreciation by Zhu Yizun (1629–1709), Jiang Gao (1635–1715) and Zhu Hong (act. before 1739). 4 Brown, “Ch’en Ju-yen,” 146. Brown suggests that the use of the blue-and-green mode as one signifier of a land of the immortals was the culmination of a trend that began in the mid-1360s (ibid., 240). 5 For this theme in the work of Chen Ruyan and others, see ibid., 240–46.

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6 See Nelson, “On Through to the Beyond,” 23–47, esp. 36–37. 7 Labeling sites on paintings to enhance further viewers’ experience of the journey represented had been employed by artists since the Tang dynasty. For other discussions of labeled paintings, see Fu, Framing Famous Mountains, 83–108; and Cahill, “Huang Shan Paintings,” 246–92. 8 Cahill, “Wu Chen,” 216, 256–63; and Taki, “Go Chin Kaka hakkei zukan ni tsuite,” 194–204, esp. 195. 9 Wang Shixing, “You Jizushan ji,” Wang Shixing dilishu sanzhong, 147–50. 10 Jizushan/The Chickenfoot Mountains. 11 For pre-Ming history and conceptions of the southwest, see Yang Bin, Between Winds and Clouds; Herman, Amid the Clouds and Mist; Backus, Nan-Chao Kingdom; Herold Wiens, China’s March Toward the Tropics; and Fitzgerald, Southern Expansion. 12 Pei-yi Wu, The Confucian’s Progress, 101, 103; and Deng Huoqu, Nanxunlu jiaozhu. 13 See Goodrich and Fang, eds., Dictionary of Ming Biography 2, 1405–6; Ward, Xu Xiake, 16–17. 14 See Goodrich and Fang, eds., Dictionary of Ming Biography 1, 547. 15 Xie Dongshan, “You Jizushan ji”; Zhou Fujun, “You Jizushan ji”; and Li Yuanyang, “You Jizushan ji”; all in ZGYJSWDX, 481–501. 16 Goodrich and Fang, eds., Dictionary of Ming Biography, 2, 1531–35. For a complete examination of Yang Shen’s writings on the southwest, see Pidhainy, “Yang Shen and the Nature of Travel Writing.” 17 Ward, Xu Xiake, 15. 18 For the extant introductory portion of the Mount Jizu gazetteer, see Chu and Wu, eds., Xu Xiake youji, 1139–48. Xu Xiake’s experiences of Mount Jizu are discussed in detail in Ward, Xu Xiake, 174–89. 19 Li Xian et al., Da Ming yitong zhi 10, 5282. 20 Brook, Confusions of Pleasure, 129. 21 Yang Erzeng, Hainei qiguan, 647–51. 22 Wang Shixing, “You Jizushan ji,” and Xie Dongshan, “You Jizushan ji,” both in ZGYJSWDX, 476–91. Yang Erzeng, Hainei qiguan, 647–51. 23 Yang Shen, You Diancang shanji 24, 897. Trans. from Ward, Xu Xiake, 15. 24 Wang Shixing, “You Jizushan ji,” Wang Shixing dilishu sanzhong, 148. 25 Li Yuanyang, “You Jizushan ji,” 493. 26 Xie Dongshan, “You Jizushan ji,” 482. 27 Li Yuanyang, “Huadian ji,” 463–68. 28 Wang Shixing, “You Jizushan ji,” Wang Shixing dilishu sanzhong, 148. 29 Ibid. 30 This is the height as given in Wang Mingsheng, ed., Yunnan simiao taku, 33. 31 Ruogu and Chen, eds., Lingshan fodu, introductory distance indexes. 32 Although floods of local pilgrims are reported to have ascended the mountain around the New Year in the late Ming (Chu and Wu, eds., Xu Xiake youji, 833; Ward, Xu Xiake, 175), only a limited number of Huang’s Jiangnan viewers could have visited such a distant place amidst the extended chaos of the Ming-Qing changeover. 33 Vinograd describes this act as a “direct continuation of the extended series of events that produced it; the process is more like a reexperiencing of those events of production through the record of textual and visual traces” of the event; Vinograd, “Private Art and Public Knowledge,” 182.

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34 Li Xian et al., comps., Da Ming yitong zhi, 5282. 35 Goodrich and Fang, eds., Dictionary of Ming Biography 2, 1533. 36 Ward, Xu Xiake, 174. 37 Chen Ding, “Dian youji,” 5943 (13a). The Four Great Buddhist Mountains are usually considered to be Wutai, Putuo, Emei, and Jiuhua. They were believed to be located at the four cardinal points of China, and by the Ming dynasty they “formed a grand Buddhist pilgrimage circuit”; Naquin and Yü, Pilgrims and Sacred Sites in China, 16–17. 38 Chen Ding, “Dian youji,” 5943 (13a). See also Ward, Xu Xiake, 192–93, n. 76. 39 For Li Zhi, see Goodrich and Fang, eds., Dictionary of Ming Biography 1, 807–18. For a discussion of Li Zhi’s time in Yunnan, see Billeter, Li Zhi, Philosophe Maudit, 109–21. 40 Ward, Xu Xiake, 174, and 192, n. 75; Wang Shixing, “You Jizushan ji,” Wang Shixing dilishu sanzhong, 150. Relocalization is often done through a “portable sacred object.” See Granoff and Shinohara, eds., Pilgrims, Patrons, and Place, 5. 41 Foulk, “Sung Controversies,” 225–26. 42 Wang Shixing, “You Jizushan ji,” and Xie Dongshan, “You Jizushan ji”; both in ZGYJSWDX, 476 and 485, respectively. 43 The traditional dates for the historic Buddha Śākyamuni are 563 to 483 BCE, but he probably died closer to 400 BCE. See Cousins, “The Dating of the Historical Buddha,” 57–63. 44 Foulk, “Sung Controversies,” 221, 223; romanization modified to pinyin. 45 See Mi Chu Wiens, “Anti-Manchu Thought,” 1–24; and Langlois, “Chinese Culturalism,” 361–68. 46 Huang Xiangjian, Xunqin jicheng, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 9b. 47 Ibid., 13b. 48 Ibid., 15a. 49 For late-Ming Lotus Societies, see Brook, Praying for Power, 104–5. 50 Huang Xiangjian, Dianhuan riji, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 19b. 51 Ibid., 28b–29a. 52 In this translation, I am reading 浥 for 挹. 53 In this translation, I am reading 覽 for 攬. 54 For a translation, see Legge, trans., Chinese Classics, vol. III; “The Tribute of Yü,” pt. 1, 92–151, esp. 119–20, 147–49; Reiter, “Change and Continuity,” 129–41. 55 The Mountain and Seas Classic is translated by Richard E. Strassberg in Strassberg, A Chinese Bestiary. 56 For selections from The Chronicle of Emperor Mu, see Mirsky, Great Chinese Travelers, 3–10. 57 Harrist, Landscape of Words, 221–25. 58 Trans. from Kern, Stele Inscriptions of Ch’in Shih-huang, 18–19. 59 Hawkes, Ch’u Tz’u, 105. 60 Mochida, “Structuring a Second Creation,” 93. 61 Strassberg, Inscribed Landscapes, 20. 62 Trans. from ibid., 431, n. 42. See also Mencius, 150. 63 Mather, “Mystical Ascent of the T’ien T’ai Mountains,” 231. I do not suggest here that Sun was strictly Daoist. I only use this particular writing by Sun to illustrate the early prevalence of this concept amongst a variety of thought systems. Mather points out that later intellectual movements have colored Sun’s work as “Neo-Daoist,” and that he was also a strong Confucianist (see 231, 234). 64 Bush, “Tsung Ping’s Essay on Painting Landscape,” 136.

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65 Ibid., 150–51. 66 Trans. from Strassberg, Inscribed Landscapes, 142. 67 Trans. from Owen, Remembrances, 22–23; romanization changed to pinyin. 68 Frankel, “Contemplation of the Past in T’ang Poetry,” 346. 69 Ibid., 364–65. 70 Xiao Jizong, ed., Meng Haoran shishuo, 65. Trans. from Owen, Remembrances, 24. 71 Strassberg, Inscribed Landscapes, 21. 72 Ibid., 316; romanization changed to pinyin. 73 Pei-yi Wu, “An Ambivalent Pilgrim,” 86, n. 5. See also Pei-yi Wu, The Confucian’s Progress, 95–116, 131–41. 74 Trans. from Dudbridge, “Women Pilgrims to T’ai Shan,” 46; romanization changed to pinyin. The novel Xingshi yinyuan zhuan was written after 1628 and before either 1648 or 1661. See Berg, Carnival in China, 10. 75 For two other discussions of daguan, see Strassberg, Inscribed Landscapes, 20–21; and Plaks, Archetype and Allegory, 178–211. 76 Wilhelm, I Ching, 87. 77 Wu Shuping et al., eds., Shisan jing 1, 25; trans. modified from Plaks, Archetype and Allegory, 178–79 and n. 1. 78 It was presented by Liu An to the Han emperor in 139 BCE. Judson B. Murray, “Consummate Dao,” 2–3. 79 Major et al., trans. and eds., Huainanzi, 844. 80 Trans. from ibid., 849–50. I have added daguan in brackets. 81 Hightower, “Chia Yi’s ‘Owl Fu,’ ” 125–30. 82 Trans. modified from ibid., 128. I have added daguan in brackets. An alternate translation may be found in Watson, Chinese Rhyme-Prose, 25–28. 83 Fan Zhongyan, Fan Wenzheng gong ji, 95. Trans. from Strassberg, Inscribed Landscapes, 158; romanization changed to pinyin. I have added daguan in brackets. 84 Zhang Juzheng, Zhang Taiyue ji 9, 8b (116). Trans. from Strassberg, Inscribed Landscapes, 292. I have added daguan in brackets. 85 Strassberg, Inscribed Landscapes, 293–94. 86 Jiao Hong, Zhuangzi yi (1588 reprint), chap. 8, 33a. 87 This same journey trajectory is discussed by Pei-yi Wu in both “An Ambivalent Pilgrim,” 65–88, and The Confucian’s Progress, 95–99. Later-Ming and Qing writers also incorporated the term into a variety of other genres from discussions of garden design to literary allegory, the most famous being the Daguan Garden in Cao Xueqin’s novel Dream of the Red Chamber (18th c.). Plaks suggests that this term in the novel indicates “the idea of vast vision within enclosed space, and not a literal panorama”; Plaks, Archetype and Allegory, 181. 88 Wang Shixing, “Diancangshan ji,” 144. 89 Chu and Wu, eds., Xu Xiake youji, 900. Trans. from Ward, Xu Xiake, 162. Ward discusses Xu’s continual search for the highest views of the southwest in “Climbing on High”; see ibid., 161–63. 90 Huang Xiangjian, Xunqin jicheng, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 11b. 91 For a general discussion of monumental landscapes, see Fong, Beyond Representation, 83. For a careful reading of one such work, see Murck, Poetry and Painting in Song China, 34–37.

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92 Murashige discusses the multiple views presented in works such as these in “Rhythm, Order, Change,” 337–64. 93 Trans. modified from ibid., 342, n. 8. Nelson discusses the implications of a distant “ultimate prospect” in relation to renderings of Tao Yuanming (365–427); see Nelson, “Catching Sight of South Mountain,” 11–43, esp. 36. 94 For West Lake, see Hui-shu Lee, Exquisite Moments, 24–25. For the Mount Hua album leaves by Wang Lü, see Liscomb, Learning from Mount Hua, pls. 3, 7. For Song Xu, see Fu, Framing Famous Mountains, pl. 23. For the Tiger Hill leaf by Shen Zhou, see Eight Dynasties of Chinese Painting, fig. 155G. 95 Sturman, Mi Fu, 10. 96 Wang Shixing describes what is seen directionally using the proper names of the geographical sites in Wang Shixing, “You Jizushan ji, Wang Shixing dilishu sanzhong,” 148–49. Xu Xiake, in his Mount Jizu gazetteer, uses these exact designations (Chu and Wu, eds., Xu Xiake youji, 1141, 1155–56). 97 Wang Shixing, “You Jizushan ji,” Wang Shixing dilishu sanzhong, 148–49. 98 Li Yuanyang, “You Jizushan ji,” 493. 99 Zhou Fujun, “You Jizushan ji,” 499. 100 Xie Dongshan, “You Jizushan ji,” 483–84. 101 Zhongguo mingsheng cidian (1986), 986. 102 Ibid., 979. 103 Almost all of the Ming travel records also explain the resemblance of the mountain’s overall shape to a chicken’s foot; see, for example, Xie Dongshan, “You Jizushan ji,” 483. This too is observable only from the top of the mountain. Although Huang describes the mountain’s shape as “exactly like the four toes of a chicken foot,” he does not illustrate this form in the painting. 104 Sponberg, “Meditation in Fa-hsiang Buddhism,” 22; Shinohara, “Stories of Miraculous Images,” 193; and Abe, “Art and Practice,” 5–8. 105 Wu Hung, “What is Bianxiang?” 127–28. 106 Conze, Buddhism, 186–87. 107 Julia K. Murray, “The Evolution of Buddhist Narrative Illustration,” 129. 108 Eugene Y. Wang, “Watching the Steps,” 116–42. 109 Wei-Cheng Lin, “Relocating and Relocalizing Mount Wutai,” 129. 110 Shih-shan Susan Huang discusses the diverse forms of Daoist visualization and their relationship to art in Huang, Picturing the True Form. 111 Robinet, Taoist Meditation, 1. 112 Ibid., 58. 113 Ibid., 178. 114 The Daoist implications of this painting are examined by Laing in “Daoist Qi,” 33. 115 Clapp, Painting of T’ang Yin, 190–96, fig. 77. 116 Wakeman, “Price of Autonomy,” 44, 47–48; and de Bary, Unfolding of Neo-Confucianism, 141–216. 117 Jiang Wu, Enlightenment in Dispute, 50. Later Ming-dynasty followers of Wang are designated the Taizhou school. 118 For examples of Li Zhi’s study of Chan and Pure Land in Yunnan, see Lin Haiquan, Li Zhi nianpu kaolüe, 111.

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119 Jiang Wu, Enlightenment in Dispute, 52. 120 Ching, To Acquire Wisdom, 45. 121 For Gao Panlong, see de Bary, ed., Unfolding of Neo-Confucianism, 180–84. For a translation of Gao Panlong’s description of his daily program of quiet-sitting, see Pei-yi Wu, The Confucian’s Progress, 135. For Zhuhong’s interaction with lay believers, see Chün-fang Yü, Renewal of Buddhism, 64–100. 122 Elman, Cultural History of Civil Examinations, 270; and Spence, Memory Palace, 1–4. 123 Gu Dingchen, Ming zhuangyuan tukao 2, 7a–8a. Shang Lu is recorded in Zhang Tingyu et al., Ming shi, chap. 176, 4687–91; and Goodrich and Fang, eds., Dictionary of Ming Biography, 2, 1161–63. See also Elman, Cultural History of Civil Examinations, 332–33. 124 Hegel, Reading Illustrated Fiction, 323. 125 Yearning for Father and Mother, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 11a–12a; see also app. 2. 126 Heping Liu, “The Water Mill,” 585. 127 The man-made sites in order of occurrence are Brushwood Market; Haoran Pavilion; Lubai Village; Xiacang, depicted by a bridge; Water Mill; Catalpa Village; All Connections Ferry; Sand Islet Village; Cleanse the Heart Bridge; Universally Scenic Bridge; and Monkey Stairs. 128 In the order in which they appear in the scroll, they are the Dragon Flower Monastery, Vast Assembly Monastery, Kāśyapa Monastery, and Tus.ita Buddhist Shrine. 129 The scenic sites in order of occurrence are Er Lake; Aurora-Soaked Peak; Calamity Pass (Caixiuguan); Flower Domain; Jinsha River; White Stone Cave; White Stone Precipice; Binchuan, illustrated by its “stone forest”; Pressing the Clouds Cliff; Qixian Ravine; Pouring Clouds Spring; Mid-Cliff Basin; Dragon Tarn; Immortal Yang Cave; Mount Jizu; and Jade Dragon Snowy Mountains. 130 Xu Xiake describes the new construction of the Tianchang Pavilion and moving of the Tuzhu Temple in Chu and Wu, eds., Xu Xiake youji, 827–28; Ward, Xu Xiake, 175. 131 Heping Liu, “The Water Mill,” 585. 132 Yang Erzeng, Hainei qiguan, 658; Yang Shen, Diancheng ji, 299; and Pidhainy, “Yang Shen and the Nature of Travel Writing,” 260. 133 Wang Mingsheng, ed., Yunnan simiao taku, 245–46. 134 Although I describe the robes of the figures at Pressing the Clouds Cliff and the Vast Assembly Monastery Dragon Tarn as red and blue, the pigments are quite faded, so the possibility that Huang intended these two sets of figures to represent other travelers cannot be completely ruled out. 135 Venerable Friends is reproduced in Li and Watt, eds., The Chinese Scholar’s Studio, no. 1. For Journey beyond the Zi[jing] Pass, see Chou, Journeys on Paper and Silk, 40–47, no. 11. 136 Chün-fang Yü, Renewal of Buddhism, 47–63. 137 Li Yongkuang and Wang Xi, Zhongguo jieling shi, 36–37. For other poems and song lyrics associated with this holiday, see Han and Li, Zhongguo gudai shi ge yu jieri xisu, 232–42. 138 Trans. from Owen, Great Age of Chinese Poetry, 28–29. For the Double-Ninth Day in Song-dynasty painting, see Hui-shu Lee, Exquisite Moments, 37–38. 139 For an English translation of a late-Ming-dynasty poem written for the Double-Ninth Festival, see Ye Yang, Vignettes from the Late Ming, 72–73. For the legendary origination of this festival, see ibid., 125, n. 3. 140 Li Yongkuang and Wang Xi, Zhongguo jieling shi, 37.

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Chapter 5 1 It is now held in the Nanjing Museum. See app. 2. The distinguished collector Wu Hufan (1894–1968) inscribed the album between the frontispiece and the first album leaf. Shilin Zhenji transcribed A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents in 1696 and attached it as a colophon to the end of the album. Shilin Zhenji was a Chan monk in Suzhou who collated and edited the poetry of his master, Monk Xiaoqing (1629–90); see Xiaoqing, Gaoyun tang shiji, in Siku weishoushu jikan 8, 237–400. Four colophons follow the inscription by Shilin Zhenji. The first is by Zhang Zongzhen (Qing dynasty); the second by Jia Fuchen (active late 17th c.); the last two are by Wu Hufan. The seals of Liu Shu (1759–1816) of Suzhou appear in several places on the album, strongly suggesting that he owned it. 2 The final two dated paintings attributed to Huang appear ten years later in 1668. See app. 2. 3 Liscomb, “The Eight Views of Beijing,” 127–30. It should be noted that this work is believed to be a copy of the original (127). 4 Clapp, Commemorative Landscape Painting, 79–110. 5 Vinograd, “Family Properties,” 11. These landscapes are called “wilderness landscapes” by Jonathan Hay, Shitao, 40–41. 6 This is a variation on the ideas of Henri Lefebvre and David Harvey. See Lefebvre, Production of Space, 33; and Harvey, Condition of Postmodernity, 220–21. See also Robson, Power of Place, 7. 7 Owen, Remembrances, 25. 8 Ibid., 26. 9 Wang Shixing, “Diancangshan ji,” 144–47. 10 Ibid., 145–47. 11 For Yang Shen, see Wang and Wan, Yang Sheng’an congshu, vol. 4. For examples of writing by Xie Dongshan, Zhou Fujun, and Li Yuanyang, see chap. 4, nn. 15 and 22. For Xie Zhaozhe, see Xie Zhaozhe, Dianlüe, vol. 155. For Xu Xiake, see Chu and Wu, eds., Xu Xiake youji; and Riemenschnitter, “Traveler’s Vocation,” 298–310. A group of Yang Shen local poet-followers, called the “Six Disciples at the Gates of Yang” (Yangmen liu xueshi), which developed in Ming-dynasty Yunnan, also wrote about the area, but it was little known outside the province. See Pidhainy, “Lives and Legends of Yang Shen,” 24; and Lei Lei, Yang Shen shixue yanjiu, 166–70. 12 Huang is quoting a phrase from Suzhou native Fan Zhongyan’s commemorative essay on the Yueyang Tower (“Yueyang lou ji”), which Fan wrote in 1046. See Fan Zhongyan, Fan Wenzheng gong ji, 95; trans. from Strassberg, Inscribed Landscapes, 159. 13 Ibid. 14 For Guizhou, see Corrigan, Guizhou Province, 14. See also Herman, Amid the Clouds and Mist. For the Jade Dragon Snowy Mountains, see Lijiang, 3, 6; for Tiger Hill, see Huqiu­ shan: Jiangnan diyimingshan 1, 1; for Mount Tianping, see Huang Zhenwei, Tianping shan, 2. 15 For more on Zhang Hong and his conception of space, see Cahill, Compelling Image, 1–35; Cahill, Distant Mountains, 36–86, 175–211; Cahill and Li, Paintings of the Zhi Garden by Zhang Hong; Chung-Lan Wang, “Chang Hung”; and Wang Qi, “Tan Suzhou huajia Yuan Shangtong he Zhang Hong,” 27–35. 16 Cahill discusses both these paintings at length in his Compelling Image, 1–35.

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17 A Thousand Mountains and Distant Water is held in the Zhejiang Provincial Museum, Hangzhou, and is reproduced in ZGGDSHTM 11, 1–096. 18 Brown, “Ch’en Ju-yen,” 146. Brown suggests that the use of the blue-and-green mode as one signifier of a land of the immortals was the culmination of a trend that began in the mid-1360s; ibid., 240. 19 Tao Yuanming, “Tao hua yuan ji,” chap. 6, 337–39. 20 Chen-Courtin, “Literary Theme of the Peach Blossom Spring,” 72; and Nelson, “On Through to the Beyond,” 25. Most Ming-dynasty painters attributed the synthesis of this color scheme with the Peach Blossom Spring theme to the Southern-Song-dynasty court painters Zhao Boju (d. ca. 1162) and Zhao Bosu (1124–82), specialists in the blue-and-green painting style who also painted the Peach Blossom Spring theme; Chen-Courtin, “Literary Theme of the Peach Blossom Spring,” 96; and Nelson, “On Through to the Beyond,” 35. Nelson presents a succinct discussion of the development of the blue-and-green style in ibid., 30. 21 Chen-Courtin, “Literary Theme of the Peach Blossom Spring,” 188–89, 195. 22 Chen Jiru, Nigulu 3, 8b. 23 Chen-Courtin, “Literary Theme of the Peach Blossom Spring,” 195. 24 Yang Shen is believed to have written this poem in the 1540s; see Pidhainy, “Yang Shen and the Nature of Travel Writing,” 274, 279. See also “Hong Jue” in Lin and Jia, eds., Yang Shen yanjiu ziliao huibian, 255. 25 Trans. adapted from Hightower; see Tao Qian, Poetry of T’ao Ch’ien, 254–58. 26 Nelson, “On Through to the Beyond,” 27–28. 27 Ibid., 24, 36. 28 Clapp, Painting of T’ang Yin, 189, fig. 75. 29 Nelson, “Catching Sight of South Mountain,” 11–43. 30 Huang Xiangjian, Dianhuan riji, ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 1–31. 31 Struve, The Southern Ming, 153–54; Shore, “Last Court of Ming China,” 199–204. The Qing conquest of the southwest forced the Yongli emperor to flee into Myanmar in 1659. After living there in impoverished conditions for three years, he was handed over to the Qing general, Wu Sangui (1612–78), by the king of Myanmar in 1662 and taken back to Yunnan and executed; ibid., 204–10; Struve, The Southern Ming, 169–78; Struve, Voices, 239–60. 32 Widmer, Margins of Utopia, 4, 63. 33 Jonathan Hay, “Ming Palace and Tomb,” 1–48. 34 Reproduced in Burkus-Chasson, “Clouds and Mists,” 183, fig. 6. 35 Chen Chen, Shuihu hou zhuan, C 8.12; trans. from Widmer, Margins of Utopia, 70. 36 Ibid. For the historical associations of a distant view, see Laing, “Qiu Ying’s Depiction of Sima Guang’s Duluo Yuan,” 375–80. 37 For references to the Ming imperial house and the setting sun, see Silbergeld, “Political Landscapes of Kung Hsien,” 561–74. Hay discusses the loyalist use of crimson in the painting of Shitao; see Jonathan Hay, Shitao, 52. 38 Zhao Shiyu and Du, “ ‘Birthday of the Sun,’ ” 267. 39 Ibid., 266. 40 Ibid., 255–56. 41 Erickson discusses this work in “Chang Lu’s ‘A Poet Contemplating A Waterfall,’ ” 35–45. 42 Mencius 1, 162–65.

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43 Sturman, “Donkey Rider as Icon,” 47–48. 44 Ibid., 50–51. 45 Ibid., 49. 46 Brook, Confusions of Pleasure, 181. 47 Wang and Wan, eds., Yang Sheng’an congshu 3, 274–75; also in Yang Shen, Sheng’an ji 15, 5b–8b. 48 Pidhainy, “Yang Shen and the Nature of Travel Writing,” 159–60; and Pidhainy, “Text and Image,” 145–58. See also Pidhainy, “A Mid-Ming Account,” 15–16. 49 Liscomb, “Power of Quiet Sitting,” 381–403, fig. 1; Cahill, Parting at the Shore, 90–91, pls. 37–38; and Edwards, Field of Stones, 56–57, cat. no. xxxvi, pl. 33b. 50 Chaffee, “Chu Hsi,” 40–62. 51 Ibid., 41. 52 Ibid., 43–45. 53 Ibid., 49. 54 Ibid., 54. 55 For Listening to the Wind in the Pines, see Lee, Empresses, Art, and Agency, 226, fig. E.3; for The Sound of Pines on a Mountain Path and Wind in the Pines and Flowing Streams, see Clapp, Painting of T’ang Yin, 181, fig. 72, and 184–85, fig. 73. 56 Trans. from Strassberg, Inscribed Landscapes, 280–81. 57 See Confucius, Analects, 84–85 (9, 28). 58 Wai-kam Ho, “Late Ming Literati,” 28. 59 John Hay, Kernels of Energy, Bones of Earth. 60 See Harrist, Landscape of Words, 24. See also Harrist, “Reading Chinese Mountains,” 64–69. 61 Chu and Wu, eds., Xu Xiake youji, 899. 62 Strassburg, Inscribed Landscapes, 5. 63 Ibid. 64 Brook, Praying for Power, 94, 114–15, 98–99. 65 Pei-yi Wu, The Confucian’s Progress, 95–141. 66 Brook explains this trend in Praying for Power, 122–24. For an example of a loyalist monk, see Yim, “Loyalism, Exile, Poetry,” 149–98. 67 For more on these monastic groups and loyalist activities in monasteries, see Brook, Praying for Power, 122–24, 144–46, 268, and 365, n. 49. Wakeman discusses the painter Wan Shouqi going to a monastery in The Great Enterprise 1, 676–77. 68 Murck, Poetry and Painting in Song China, 112–13. 69 Owen, Remembrances, 26. 70 Yunnan tongzhi in Zhongguo Xi’nan wenxian congshu 21, 9. 71 Yang Erzeng, Hainei qiguan, 658–59. 72 Xu Xiake, “You Diancang shan,” in ZGYJSWDX, 431–37. 73 Soper and Chapin, “A Long Roll of Buddhist Images I,” 6. 74 Chapin and Soper, “A Long Roll of Buddhist Images,” 195–96. 75 Robson, Power of Place, 11. 76 Wang and Zhang, comps., Jianchuan zhou zhi, chap. 3, 905. 77 Pidhainy, “Yang Shen and the Nature of Travel Writing,” 55, n. 50. 78 Trans. from Pidhainy, “Yang Shen and the Nature of Travel Writing,” 204–5; Cai Shaoke, “Dali shanchuan ji,” 419–20. See a biography of Cai in Li Yuanyang, Yunnan tongzhi 19, 56b.

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79 Wang Sheng’s “Dianchi fu,” as discussed in Zhuo Weihua, Xinbian Kunming fengwu zhi, 14. 80 Wang Shixing, “Diancangshan ji,” 145–47. 81 Fu, Framing Famous Mountains, 51–80. 82 Yang Shen, “You Diancang shan ji,” in Wang and Wan, eds., Yang Sheng’an congshu, 4, 65–68; Yang Shen, “Dianchi xu,” in Wang and Wan, eds., Yang Sheng’an congshu 3, 1071– 72; “Diancheng ji,” in Wang and Wan, eds., Yang Sheng’an congshu 2, 248; and Hong Jue in Lin and Jia, eds., Yang Shen yanjiu ziliao huibian, 253–56; and “Dianhai qu,” in Wang and Wan, eds., Yang Sheng’an congshu 4, 303–5; and Yang Shen, Sheng’an ji 34, 4a–6a. 83 See ZGYJSWDX, 398–403, 448–56. 84 For example, see Zhuo Weihua, Xinbian Kunming fengwu zhi; and Ye Guichen, Xu Xiake: Wode lüyou xiangdao. 85 Zhuo Weihua, Xinbian Kunming fengwu zhi, 25–26. 86 Wang and Wan, eds., Sheng’an shiwen, 138; and Feng Jiahua, Yang Shen pingzhuan, 125–28. 87 Lu Yongkang, Xu Xiake zai Yunnan. 88 Yang Shen, “Dianchi xu,” in Wang and Wan, eds., Yang Sheng’an congshu 3, 1071–72. Trans. modified from Pidhainy, “Yang Shen and the Nature of Travel Writing,” 44. 89 Yibiwanqing as a description of the view over Dian Lake is found in the Yuan-dynasty Yuanhun yifangyu shenglan; see Lu Yongkang, Xu Xiake zai Yunnan, 6. 90 Yueyang lou ji in Fan Zhongyan, Fan Wenzheng gong ji, 95. For an English translation, see Strassberg, Inscribed Landscapes, 159. 91 Trans. modified from ibid. 92 Wang Shixing, “Fanchuan Kunmingchi li Taihua zhufeng ji,” 140–42. 93 Wang Shixing names the peaks, creeks, and islets of the area as follows: “There are eighteen streams on the mountain peaks. . . . From the south going north, the first is Xieyang peak and Nan creek, the second is Maer peak and Tingli creek, the third is Foding peak and Mocan creek, the fourth is Shengying peak and Qingbi creek, the fifth is Malong peak and Long creek, the sixth is Yuju peak and Luyu creek, the seventh is Longquan peak and Zhong brook, the eighth is Zhong peak and Tao creek, the ninth is Guanyin peak and Mei brook, the tenth is Yingle peak and Yinxian creek, the eleventh is Xueren peak and Shuangyuan creek, the twelfth is Lan peak and Baishi creek, the thirteenth is Sanyang peak and Lingquan creek, the fourteenth is Heyun peak and Jin creek, the fifteenth is Baiyun peak and Mangyong creek, the sixteenth is Lianhua peak and Yang creek, the seventeenth is Wutai peak and Wanhua creek, the eighteenth is Canglang peak and Xiayi creek, and the nineteenth is Yunnong peak . . . the three islands of Er Lake are Jinsuo, Chiwen, and Yuji . . . the four islets are Qingsha, Daguan, Yuanyang, and Malian . . . the nine inlets are Lianhua, Daguan, Panji, Fengyi, Luoshi, Niujiao, Bozha, Gaoyan, and Dachang”; in Wang Shixing, “Diancangshan ji,” 145–47. Modern names of the peaks in order from north to south are Yunnong, Canglang, Wutai, Lianhua, Baiyun, Heyun, Sanyang, Lanfeng, Xueren, Yingle, Guanyin, Zhonghe, Longquan, Yuju, Malong, Shengying, Foding, Maer, and Xieyang; see Ye Guichen, Xu Xiake: Wode lüyou xiangdao, 175. 94 Trans. from Pidhainy, “Yang Shen and the Nature of Travel Writing,” 207; Yang Shen, “You Diancang shanji,” in Wang and Wan, eds., Yang Sheng’an congshu 4, 65–68. 95 Guo Songnian, Dali xingji; trans. modified from Pidhainy, “Yang Shen and the Nature of Travel Writing,” 203.

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96 Wan Ye et. al, “Geomorphologic Structure,” 155–63. 97 Wu Guangfan, ed., Yunnan mingsheng daquan, 439–40; Ye Guichen, Xu Xiake: Wode lüyou xiangdao, 178. 98 Li Yuanyang, “Huadian ji,” ZGYJSWDX, 463. Chapter 6 1 I presented this idea at the “Biography in East Asia, 1400–1900” conference at the Institute of Asian Research, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, June 28–29, 2013. I am grateful to the symposium organizers, Adam Bohnet, Ihor Pidhainy, and Leo Shin, and the participants for the constructive conversations concerning this concept in East Asia. 2 de Bary, Self and Society, 3. See also Martin Huang, Literati and Self-re/presentation. 3 Pei-yi Wu dates this period to 1565 to 1680; see his Confucian’s Progress, xii. 4 Hegel, “Exploration of the Chinese Literary Self,” 30. 5 Hsia, Classic Chinese Novel, 107–10. 6 Hegel, “Exploration of the Chinese Literary Self,” 3. 7 James J. Y. Liu, “Time, Space, and Self,” 138. See also Hegel, “Exploration of the Chinese Literary Self,” 10. 8 In his autobiography, Deng Huoqu says he thought of Wang Shouren in reference to the topography he trod. See Pei-yi Wu, The Confucian’s Progress, 110. 9 Tu, Neo-Confucian Thought in Action, 95. For a basic biography of Wang Shouren, see Goodrich and Fang, eds., Dictionary of Ming Biography 2, 1409. 10 Ching, To Acquire Wisdom, 27, 30. 11 See, for example, ibid.; Tu, Neo-Confucian Thought in Action; and de Bary, Unfolding of Neo-Confucianism. 12 Wang and Xu, comps., Wanli Guizhou tongzhi, chap. 15, 317. 13 Ching, To Acquire Wisdom, 30; and Tu, Neo-Confucian Thought in Action, 119. 14 Trans. modified from Tu, Neo-Confucian Thought in Action, 120. 15 Wang Yangming, Wang Wencheng gong quanshu 22, 668b. Trans. from Ching, To Acquire Wisdom, 54. 16 This and the following two quotations are from ibid., 56, 57. 17 Ibid., 45. 18 See, for example, this section in Wang and Xu, comps., Wanli Guizhou tongzhi 5, 115. 19 Clapp, Painting of T’ang Yin, 61–65. 20 Tu, Neo-Confucian Thought in Action, 58–62. 21 Trans. modified from Ching, To Acquire Wisdom, 56. 22 Trans. modified from ibid., 111. 23 For loyalist options in the Ming-Qing period, see Fisher, “Accommodation and Loyalism,” 97–145; and Fisher, “Loyalist Alternatives in the Early Ch’ing,” 83–122. 24 Wu Jiang, Enlightenment in Dispute, 50. 25 For examples of Li Zhi’s study of Chan and Pure Land in Yunnan, see Lin Haiquan, Li Zhi nianpu kaolüe, 111. 26 Wu Jiang, Enlightenment in Dispute, 52. 27 Ibid., 54. 28 The traditional dates for the historic Buddha Śākyamuni are 563–483 BCE, but he probably died closer to 400 BCE; see Cousins, “Dating of the Historical Buddha,” 57–63.

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29 See Chappell, “Chinese Buddhist Interpretations of the Pure Lands,” 23–53. 30 For Huiyuan, see Zürcher, Buddhist Conquest of China 1, 217. 31 Pan, “Li Gonglin’s Buddhist Beliefs,” 8. 32 Brook, Praying for Power, 104–5. For one example of fund-raising among a late-Ming Lotus Society, see ibid., p. 141. See also Joanna Handlin Smith, The Art of Doing Good. 33 The identities and activities of the other members of this Lotus Society are discussed in Chen Yuan, Mingji Dian Qian fojiao kao, 244. 34 Bush, “Tsung Ping’s Essay on Painting Landscape,” 133. 35 Ibid., 136. 36 Ibid., 141. 37 Wu Jiang, Enlightenment in Dispute, 49. 38 Bush, “Tsung Ping’s Essay on Painting Landscape,” 149. 39 Ibid., 145–46. 40 Tan Qixiang, ed., Zhongguo lishi dituji, vol. 7, map 78–79. 41 Chu and Wu, eds., Xu Xiake youji, 953–55. 42 Yang Shen, Yunnan shanchuan zhi, 8b–9a. 43 Lu Yongkang, Xu Xiake zai Yunnan, 121. 44 Ibid. 45 Li Yuanyang, Yunnan tongzhi, 89. 46 Lu Yongkang, Xu Xiake zai Yunnan, 97. 47 Li Yuanyang, Yunnan tongzhi, 90. 48 For the Jianchuan Grottoes sculpture, see Zhongguo mingsheng cidian (1981), 988; and Yunnan zhilü, 58–59. For reproductions of the sculpture, see Zhongguo shiku diaosu quanji, vol. 9. Also see Hearn and Smith, eds., Arts of the Sung and Yüan, 232, fig. 12.2; and Howard, Li, and Qiu, “Nanzhao and Dali Buddhist Sculpture,” 51–60. 49 The only other example that I have found is the group of bathers in the “Hot Springs” leaf of the album Eight Views of Huangshan by Shitao in the Sumitomo Kichizaemon collection, Kyoto. For a reproduction of Eight Views of Huangshan, see Edwards, World Around the Chinese Artist, 129, fig. III–13c. 50 Schafer, “Development of Bathing Customs,” 66–67. 51 Ibid., 58–59, 63, 66–70. For a general outline of the history of bathing in China, see ibid., 57–65; and Needham and Lu, Science and Civilisation in China, vol. 6: Biology and Biological Technology, part 6: Medicine, 84–86. 52 Chu and Wu, eds., Xu Xiake youji, 1112; trans. from Ward, Xu Xiake, 44. Also see Schafer, “Development of Bathing Customs,” 65–66. 53 Schafer, “Development of Bathing Customs,” 65–66, 70. 54 Ibid., 69–70; Pas, Visions of Sukāvatī, 279; Oertling, “Ting Yun-p’eng,” 227; and Andrews, “Significance of Style,” 206–7. For a discussion of the development of this painting theme, see Weidner, ed., Latter Days of the Law, 403–5, no. 66. 55 Trans. modified from Pidhainy, “Yang Shen and the Nature of Travel Writing,” 44; Yang Shen, “Anning wenquan shixu,” 138–39. 56 Tan Qixiang, ed., Zhongguo lishi ditu ji, vol. 7, map 78–79. 57 Trans. from Pidhainy, “Yang Shen and the Nature of Travel Writing,” 225, n. 44; Li Yuanyang, “Qingxi santan ji,” 457–59. 58 Hegel, “Exploration of the Chinese Literary Self,” 7; and Tu, “Confucian Perception of Adulthood.”

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59 Adapted from Tu, “Confucian Perception of Adulthood,” 109. 60 Tu, Centrality and Commonality, 1; Taylor, Religious Dimensions of Confucianism. 61 Ivanhoe, Confucian Moral Self Cultivation, xiv. 62 Berry, “Individualism and Holism,” 44. 63 Tu, Centrality and Commonality, 102. 64 Ibid., 106. 65 Berry, “Individualism and Holism,” 45. 66 Trans. from Sung, ed., Text of the Yi King, sec. 1, chap. 5, 279. 67 Berry, “Individualism and Holism,” 116. 68 See de Bary, “Neo-Confucian Cultivation,” 153–60, for a discussion of Jinsi lu. For a translation, see Chan, Reflections on Things at Hand, and for the “On the Dispositions of Sages and Worthies” chapter, see 289–308. 69 Taylor, Religious Dimensions of Confucianism, 46. 70 de Bary, “Neo-Confucian Cultivation,” 157. 71 Taylor, Religious Dimensions of Confucianism, 46. 72 Ibid., 49. 73 For a discussion of Hu Zhi’s Recollections of the Toils of Learning, see ibid., 66–71. 74 Ibid., 54; Pascal, Design and Truth in Autobiography, 19. 75 Pei-yi Wu, The Confucian’s Progress, xii. 76 Ibid., 95. 77 Quotations for Chen Jiamou, Deng Yizan, and Zhou Rudeng from ibid., 97, romanization changed to pinyin. 78 Pei-yi Wu, “An Ambivalent Pilgrim,” 65–88 and 86, n. 5. 79 Taylor, Religious Dimensions of Confucianism, 60; romanization changed to pinyin. 80 Ibid., 56. 81 Tu, “Confucian Perception of Adulthood,” 115. 82 For the circumstances of this affair, see Taylor, Religious Dimensions of Confucianism, 160, n. 62. 83 Ibid., 57–58; romanization changed to pinyin. 84 Ching, To Acquire Wisdom, 51. 85 Pei-yi Wu, “An Ambivalent Pilgrim,” 86, n. 5. 86 Moloughney, “From Biographical History to Historical Biography,” 6; Pei-yi Wu, The Confucian’s Progress, 4; and Mair, ed., Columbia History of Chinese Literature, 505. 87 Ibid. 88 Nienhauser, “Early Biography,” 513; and Mair, Columbia History of Chinese Literature, 505. 89 Greenbaum, Chen Jiru (1558–1639), 112–13. 90 Pei-yi Wu, The Confucian’s Progress, 19–23, esp. 19. 91 I suggest elsewhere that the Diannan album may also be read as a dual biography of both Huang Kongzhao and Huang Xiangjian; see Kindall, “Huang Xianjian (1609–1673): Painting a Dual Biography.” Appendix 1 1 ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, 1–31; Congshu jicheng chubian, vol. 2686, Lunli xiaoshuo section; Xiaofanghu zhai yudi congchao, vol. 41, 245a–48b; and Biji xiaoshuo daguan, vol. 5, 5211–17.

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2 All paragraph designations are my own. I benefitted from Lynn Struve’s translation of excerpts from the Congshu jicheng chubian version of A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents, see Struve, Voices, 162–78. 3 Huang refers to his cousin as “Xian 仙.” Gui Zhuang explains he was the orphan of the younger brother of Huang’s father (“Huang Xiaozi zhuan,” ZBZ, pt. 5, fasc. 7, Huang Xiaozi jicheng fuzhuan, 1). This cousin’s formal name is recorded as Huang Xiangyan in Zhao Erxun et al., Qingshigao, chap. 498, 13770, in Huang Xiangjian’s biography in the “Filial and Righteous” (Xiaoyi 孝義) section. 4 The printed versions add: “My only fear was that, when the day came, I would be unable to muster the courage to step out my front gate” 但恐不能一日果[or 鼓]勇踏出大門耳. 5 Huang Xiangjian does not identify Wang Yumin or mention him again until they arrive in Yunnan, where we find that Wang has traveled with him the entire trip. That Wang Yumin does not merit discussion as a traveling companion suggests that he was a paid guide or a servant. 6 The correlation of sadness and isolation with landscape may be traced back to the poetry of the Warring States period (ca. 450–221 BCE). For the evolution of this theme, see Mochida, “Structuring a Second Creation,” 70–122. 7 Huang misremembers the order of these ports, mistakenly placing Lanxi before Yan. He does this several times throughout the text, which suggests that he may have recorded them on his way back to Suzhou, or after he had returned home. 8 Bandits were a constant threat to late-Ming travelers, and accounts of near scrapes with groups of robbers are common in writings of this period. For a discussion of bandits in this region see Struve, The Southern Ming, 64, 69–70. Brook cites various Ming authors’ reports of safe and dangerous routes in Confusions of Pleasure, 177–79. 9 Huang was traveling at the height of a period of time labeled by environmental historians as “the Little Ice Age.” The coldest temperatures for China in this period were recorded between 1650 and 1750, and the years between 1650 and 1664 were particularly wet in south China. Marks, Tigers, Rice, Silk, and Silt, 125–26, 48, 201. For a complete discussion of the Little Ice Age, see 48–52 and 125–27. 10 The South China tiger (Panthera tigris amoyensis) flourished in modern Hunan and Jiangxi Provinces. Large cat populations had also developed in the surrounding provinces of Guangdong, Guangxi, Fujian, and Guizhou. See Lu Houji, “Habitat Availability and Prospects for Tigers in China,” 71–74, and Xiang Peilon, Tan Bangjie, and Jia Xianggang, “South China Tiger Recovery Program,” 323–28. The wolves Huang mentions were probably the two species most disturbing to travelers: the grey wolf (Canis lupus), largest of all wild canids, and the dhole (Asiatic wild dog; whistling hunter; Cuon alpinus), see Alderton, Foxes, Wolves, and Wild Dogs, 107–15, 128–39, 159–62. 11 The Miao are the largest minority group of southwest China. The term Liao could refer to any number of minority peoples in which Liao, or the interchangeable term Lao, serve as suffix endings. One of the largest of these groups, with subcategories of its own, was the Gelao 犵狫 minority of northwestern Guizhou (Hostetler, Qing Colonial Enterprise, 106–9). 12 Yaoan was the name of both the prefecture where Huang’s parents were stationed and the city nearest their home. 13 The printed versions of this paragraph read: “I crossed a large rainbow bridge, and on the eastern embankment was the Purple Solarity Library. The upper story of the building

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faced the distant broken peaks. The commander of the fu had halted his troops here. I gazed about for a long time. Secretly, I searched out news about Yaoyi [Dayao], but did not get any. This area was strictly forbidden and no one but local residents could go up there” 跨大橋一虹﹐東岸有紫陽書院.樓閣臨於絕嶮.有帥府駐兵.觀望許久.潛訪姚邑音 耗未的.此處有厲禁非其民不得上. 14 The community Huang passes through here could be a part of what the Chinese called the Dong Miao 硐 (洞) 苗 (Cave Miao), a Guizhou tribe that lived in caves. 15 Struve, Ming-Qing Conflict, 318. The printed versions of this section read: “It was extremely sad. Even though there were marvelous mountains and extraordinary rivers, I did not dare wander about to have a look” 慘甚.卽有奇山異水不敢流覽. 16 Huang’s partially grown-out Qing hairstyle worried the locals as it had the regiment at the Guizhou border. They were concerned he was a Qing spy. For Guandi, see Werner, Dictionary of Chinese Mythology, 227–29; Duara, “Superscribing Symbols,” 783–85; and Elman, Cultural History of Civil Examinations, 302–5. 17 Although the use of war elephants had ended in north China by the first millennium BCE, they were used in the west and southwest till around 1662 (Elvin, Retreat of the Elephants, 15). 18 The printed versions of this sentence read: “[He] examined my papers while I stayed at his office and then gave me gifts” 驗票留署中致贈. 19 The printed versions of this sentence read: “Alone, I sat and allowed myself to gaze at it, which quieted the fears in my mind” 獨坐縱觀.心目澄竦. 20 Guan Suo was the fictitious son of the celebrated military hero Guan Yu (161–219). See The Story of Hua Guan Suo. 21 The printed versions of the end of this section read: “[Then they offered me a large cup of congee.] At midnight I left the camp, and I rested at a thatched inn for two days. I kept my travel bag in front of me as I walked” 夜半起營去.予息草店兩日.束行囊前走. 22 The printed versions of these two sentences read: “Toward evening, it hurt to walk and I sought a place to lodge” 將暮,疾走尋宿. 23 The pro-Ming rebel troops under Sun Kewang used elephants in battle. Chief Commander Li Dingguo, in particular, was known for his excellent use of southwestern war elephants. For a poem celebrating the holiday washing of southwestern elephants and a description of the war elephant practice around Dian Lake, see “Xi xiangxing” 洗象行 and “Yi xiangxing” 義象行 in Guo, Li Dingguo ji nian, 273–44. 24 Huang crosses the northern Pan River at its most celebrated site, the iron-link bridge at Guanling 關嶺. The technologically advanced bridge that spanned this section of the northern Pan had become famous through the reports of Xu Xiake and other travelers. For an early Qing description of the dangers of this bridge, see Elvin, Retreat of the Elephants, 254–55. See also, Needham, Science and Civilisation in China, vol. 4, pt. 3: Civil Engineering and Nautics, 203–5; and Ward, Xu Xiake, 58–59. 25 The printed versions of these two sentences read: “We got along well like old friends. I could not bear to part with him” 繾綣如故交.不忍卽別. 26 The Xiaoguan Range was probably a local designation for this section of the Guan Suo Mountains. Yilong 易隆 is not found in Tan Qixiang, ed., Zhongguo lishi dituji, vol. 7: Yuan, Ming, 78–79 (2)7. Yilong 易龍, however, is located between Qujing 曲靖 and Yanglin 易林. It is likely that Huang recorded this Yilong phonetically. The Niulan 牛欄 江 River tributary that flows from Yilong into Yanglin was probably called Haizilong by locals. Many of the rivers in this area include the character long 龍 in their titles.

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27 The printed versions of this sentence read: “[When I stopped at Xiangboliang] for a short while, military men and civilians crowded the door, and I was utterly terrified” 少頃軍民 擠門無不驚訝. 28 Huang had traveled about 450 kilometers. An equivalent journey for the modern reader would be to walk and boat the length of Ireland or the width of the state of Pennsylvania in twenty-six days. 29 The Mu family was the dominant power in Ming Yunnan thanks to Mu Ying, the highly favored adopted son of the first Ming emperor, who had begun incorporating Yunnan into the Ming Empire in 1381. Mu Ying governed there under the title Duke of Qianguo 黔國公, and the Mu family had ruled under this hereditary title ever since. By 1645, however, Mu control had weakened considerably in the wake of native administrators’ dissatisfaction with the corrupt administration of the current Duke of Qianguo and their position within the Ming political structure. It was under these circumstances that the native administrator Wu Bikui rebelled, followed soon after by the local pacification commissioner, Sha Dingzhou. Struve, The Southern Ming, 144–45. 30 In January of 1646, Sha Dingzhou took over Yunnanfu [Kunming] in a bid to become the hereditary military governor of the province, the position held by the current Duke of Qianguo, Mu Tianbo 沐天波. Though the local armies, native administrators, and Ming officials acknowledged the Sha regime, Mu Tianbo and the Ming Circuit Intendant, Yang Weizhi (d. 1651), escaped with some loyal troops to the northwest of Yunnan. Struve, The Southern Ming, 145; and Struve, “Southern Ming,” 702–3. 31 Sun Kewang’s troops entered Yunnan, via Qujing, in April and May of 1647. They had been invited by a native general who promised them control of the province upon their defeat of Sha Dingzhou. Word of their bloody entry into Qujing must have reached the capital in Yunnanfu for the population surrendered without a fight. 32 The Duke of Qianguo (Mu Tianbo) and Yang Weizhi agreed to cooperate with Sun Kewang if he would curtail his violent troops and defeat Sha Dingzhou (Struve, The Southern Ming, 146). 33 This may be a reference to the matrilineal structure of the Lijiang Naxi and the dominant role of women in this tribe. 34 The printed versions of these three sentences read: “Many government buildings and mansions had gone up, not on the scale of former days. Outside the southern city wall . . .” 大起府第.非復舊日之規模.南城外 . . . 35 Yang Weizhi traveled as an emissary to the Yongli court in Anlong to receive the title Qinwang 秦王 [Imperial Prince] for Sun Kewang (Struve, The Southern Ming, 243, n. 28; 152). Sun had demanded the hereditary imperial title Qinwang from the Yongli court several times over the past two years to further solidify his position and control in the southwest. Now, as the Yongli court perceived its impending move into Sun’s area of control and with Sun’s murder of those opposed, the title was granted (Struve, The Southern Ming, 134–35, 152; and Struve, “Southern Ming,” 705). 36 Outraged by Sun Kewang’s actions in pursuit of the title, Yang Weizhi refused to return to Guiyang and remained at the Yongli court, where he was made grand secretary. Sun responded by sending representatives to forcibly take Yang back to Guizhou, where he was executed in 1651 (Shore, “Last Court of Ming China,” 191). The printed versions add this sentence: “At this time I was just loitering about in my lodging” 時 逗遛在寓.

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37 Biji Pass was located to the northwest of Dian Lake. Hence, Huang looked southeastward for this view of Dian Lake and its mountains; and westward to survey the former Nanzhao Kingdom. As Biji Pass is located some distance from the lake’s edge, Huang was probably a bit south of the settlement proper. In all likelihood he was standing at the northernmost tip of Dian Lake at what is now called Grand View Park (Daguan yuan 大 觀園), which is heralded in guidebooks and frequented by tourists for its all-encompassing view of the area and the lakeside reflections visible there. 38 The printed versions add: “His parents invited me to their home, and so I went to Sanpo xian. I hurried along with the elder brother on his return home. There we saw his mother. Together we cried and offered worship in front of the [ancestral] hall. As they entertained me in the upper storey of the house, I asked about the whereabouts of the master. They told me saying, ‘He is still in Jiangpu, and he already has a son! We are both hopeful and doubtful, sorrowful and joyful’ ” 伊親邀至家.往三泊縣.趣長君歸.見太夫人.和淚出 拜堂前.留樓頭問公踪跡.告之曰,仍寓江浦.已有子矣.將信將疑.忽悲忽喜. 39 Located only sixty-five kilometers from Mr. Chen’s hometown of Huangyan, the Stone Bridge at Tiantai, a bridge-shaped rock formation that spans a mountain creek, has inspired a number of legends and religious stories. 40 This official is named Shi Qikun 史起鵾 in the printed versions of Huang’s journey. 41 The printed versions of this sentence read: “[Yumin] asked about events in his home village because he had not received any correspondence. To do this made him very sad” 兄問家鄉事.因無書信.爲之大慟. 42 Huang Xiangjian already had children, whom he mentions upon leaving home, and Huang Kongzhao later states that he has two grandsons awaiting him in Suzhou. Either Huang Xiangjian had two sons, one elder and the new baby he mentions here (who was now four years old) or, less likely, there is an unmentioned brother of Huang Xiangjian who has one son also. Huang Xiangjian mentions daughters at the beginning of the narrative, but never again. 43 The detours Huang was forced to take, and his modes of travel by foot or unofficial boat, added at least a month to his travel time. By comparison, under the peacetime conditions of 1640, Xu Xiake had traveled by sedan chair and official boat on an equivalent trip from Yunnan to Jiangsu in a little over five months. Xu Xiake traveled from atop Mount Jizu to his home in Jiangyin, about eighty kilometers northwest of Suzhou, in one hundred and fifty-six days (Brook, Confusions of Pleasure, 176). 44 In this early Ming tale, Wang Yuan travels from his home in Wenan 文安, just west of Tianjin 天津, in search of his father, who was exiled while serving as an official. Wang Yuan finds his father at a monastery in Huixian 輝縣, in the north of modern Henan 河 南 Province, after a search of more than ten years. Father and son then journey home together. See Li Zhi, Li Zhi quanji zhu, vol. 11: Xu Cangshu zhu 3, 223–25. 45 For a discussion of late Ming specialization in texts, see Elman, Cultural History of Civil Examinations, 280–85. 46 Mr. Gao was a native official (tusi 土司 or tuguan). Local, usually native, minority leaders were awarded official Chinese titles and granted autonomous control over their people in exchange for their submission to the imperial government. See Kida Mikio, “Rokusen Ban Hyakui no hanran ni tsuite,” 122–41; and Giersch, Asian Borderlands, 11 and 34–35. For a detailed discussion of the interactions between the Ming government and native officials in Guangxi, see Shin, Making of the Chinese State, 56–105.

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47 According to Chen Yuan, Wuzhu studied with a well-known master at Tiantong before returning home to Yunnan to practice at the Shuimu Monastery 水目寺 at Er Lake. Although he is referred to as Bukong and Baikong in different versions of Huang’s travel record, Chen Yuan cites the Sengtu shenghuo pian 僧徒生活篇 to demonstrate his real name was Huankong. See Chen Yuan, Mingji Dian Qian fojiao kao, 244. 48 No prominent Yunnanese minority group is listed as the Hei Bo Man in official gazetteers or ethnographic writings of this period. Perhaps this was a term used by Chinese locals for the Hei Jiao Miao 黑腳苗, or Black-Foot Miao. These could also be members of the Boren 僰人 minority group, whom the Chinese named for the overgrown, inhospitable areas in which they lived by placing the character for “brambles” with that of “person.” In using the term Hei Bo Man, Huang may be referring to both of these groups and condensing them into one term, or he may have been misinformed (Hostetler, Qing Colonial Enterprise, 142, 146). 49 The printed versions of this sentence read: “The mountains were mostly crimson. At the place where [people] washed for gold, the river water flowed along like rose-red clouds” 山多頳色.淘金處﹐江水瀲灔灩如紅霞. 50 The Luoluo nationality was found in Yunnan, Guizhou, and Sichuan. As Luoluo is a derogatory term, the official designation for this group in the People’s Republic of China today is Yi, though they call themselves the Nosu. By the eighteenth century, ethnographic texts subdivided this group into the Hei [Black] Luoluo and the Bai [White] Luoluo. See Hostetler, Qing Colonial Enterprise, 110, 144, 190. 51 The printed versions of this sentence read: “Its sound shook the forests and valleys” 響震 林谷. 52 This sentence is not found in the printed versions. 53 The printed versions of this sentence read: “I searched out an old road and traveled for three days. By the time I returned home to Bai[yan]jing, it was late October” 探舊路行三 日.得歸白井.時九月終也. 54 The printed versions of this sentence read: “[Then he and mother] planned for ten days. I urged them [to pack]” 計商旬日. 勉爾. 55 Huang uses the Yuan-dynasty name of Weichu for Chuxiong Prefecture. No Hechuan is recorded as existing in this area. Huang may have misremembered the Longchuan, a river the family could have traveled from Weichu to the Jinsha River 金沙江. 56 The colophon to A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents ends with this signature: “Huang Xiangjian, (style name) Duanmu 端木, of ancient Wu recorded this. Transcribed by Shilin Zhenji 獅林震濟.” Neither Huang’s authorship nor the transcriber’s role is identified in the printed versions of the journey. The printed versions add this final sentence: “It was only because we prayed to the deities of heaven and earth that we were secretly protected” 惟祈天地鬼神默佑而已. 57 Wang Yongbin was a close friend of Huang Kongzhao and had already assisted the younger Huang on his journey to Baiyanjing by explaining his father’s involvement in the recent conflicts in Yunnan, providing him with an escort to Langjing, and offering him a “generous gift.” 58 Huang Kongzhao may be referring to the battle for the capital city of Yunnanfu, fought between the rebel ethnic minority leader Sha Dingzhou and Yang Weizhi, who was the Jin-Cang circuit intendant at that time. In his efforts to restore the Ming, Yang Weizhi worked closely with Sun Kewang and joined the Yongli court as its grand secretary in

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Nanning. When Sun Kewang moved the court to Anlong, however, Yang refused to serve, in response to the execution of the senior grand secretary Yan Qiheng 嚴起恒 in 1651. Sun Kewang then ordered Yang executed as well. Yang had been dead less than a year when the Huangs traveled through this area on their way back to Suzhou. See Shore, “Last Court of Ming China,” 237. For Yang Weizhi’s role in Yunnan, see Shore, “Last Court of Ming China,” 36–39. Huang reports the auspicious results of his New Year’s Day divination, a traditional practice on this day. He interprets this omen within the sixty-four hexagram system of the Yijing by equating the horse with the hexagram kun. See the kun hexagram in Zhouyi 周易, in Wu Shuping et al., eds., Shisan jing, 1:4. This was particularly appropriate given Huang Kongzhao’s specialization in that text. Interpreting earthly phenomena as portending the future was a common practice by the Ming-Qing period and professional diviners and private individuals often utilized “Yijing-related mantic techniques.” For a discussion of these omens and texts devoted to explaining them, see Richard J. Smith, Fortune-Tellers, 233–45. For the Yijing within this tradition, see Smith, 108, 117. Huang Kongzhao had hoped to find two old friends, with whom he had been posted at Dayao, serving as officials in the Qujing area. This was not an unreasonable assumption given the information and kindnesses both men had lavished upon Huang Xiangjian only months before. Within this short time, however, Gu Xin had been called to serve in or near Sun Kewang’s second capital in Guiyang; and Liu Wenzhi, who had been alive and well in May of 1652, had been killed, either when Li Dingguo seized Baoqing in June and July of 1652 or later that winter when Sun Kewang led an army through the region (Struve, The Southern Ming, 147). This expression is still used today, but has been expanded to express the present poor conditions of the province and many of its inhabitants. A modern geographical text translates it as, “without three li [one mile] of continually level land, without three successive days of fine weather, and its inhabitants each without three cents of money,” and a travel guide states that “In Guizhou you will never see three consecutive days of sunshine, three taels of silver, or three mou of flat land.” Zhao Songqiao, Geography of China, 235; and Stevens and Wehrfritz, Southwest China, 78. Zhou Zhongjie is the posthumous epithet given to Zhou Shunchang 周順昌 (1584–1626), one of the seven Donglin Party heroes who died by order of the eunuch Wei Zhongxian 魏忠賢 (1568–1627). He passed the metropolitan examinations in 1613 and was appointed Prefectural Judge of Fuzhou, Fujian, where he served from 1613 to 1619. Goodrich and Fang, eds., Dictionary of Ming Biography 1: 274–77. The Xianxia Mountain Range is located within the southwest border of Zhejiang, just northeast of Fujian. These women were refugees from areas of intensive fighting between the pro-Ming rebels and Manchu troops. Guangxi and Yuanzhou in Huguang both saw fighting in this year [1653]. The Huang family is moving toward these contested areas. See Struve, The Southern Ming, 147. This man’s son was Liu Wenzhi of Sichuan, who had helped Huang Xiangjian on his trip into Yunnan and was killed later. Huang was roughly handled and heavily interrogated around Pingxi on his way to find his parents. This may be why he chooses a circuitous route around this heavily militarized area.

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Not e s for page s 37 8 –388

66 In April of 1653, Baoqing was one of the Qing-held cities in Huguang under attack by Sun Kewang’s troops, which accounts for the chaos experienced by the Huang family in this region (Struve, The Southern Ming, 147; Shore, “Last Court of Ming China,” 195). To avoid trouble, Huang Kongzhao either shaved his forehead and changed into Manchu style dress, or cut off all his hair and changed into the robes of a Buddhist monk. 67 These are two phrases from the first Red Cliff Rhapsody of 1082 by Su Shi 蘇軾 (1037–1101). The lines Huang Kongzhao quotes are: “Westward is Xiakou; to the east lies Wuchang. The mountains and the river encircle one another; how dense the viridian growth!” See Chibifu 赤壁賦 in Su Shi, Su Shi wenji, 1: 5–6; and Strassberg, Inscribed Landscapes, 186. 68 The shi fish (Ilishae longata) is a long, narrow, flat-sided fish native to the Pacific Ocean. It is commonly found in the rivers of South China and is particularly favored for eating due to the layers of fat beneath its skin (Zhongwen dacidian, vol. 10, no. 47361). 69 Located on the outskirts of modern-day Nanjing 南京, Mount Zhong is the burial place of the Hongwu emperor, Zhu Yuanzhang (r. 1368–98), the founder of the Ming dynasty. 70 Huang had already told his parents that the Qing government confiscated their belongings when they did not immediately return from the southwest, but returning home, they find that much of their home has been destroyed as well. Huang does not report on the condition of his wife and children, and the reader is left to wonder what had become of those he had left behind in Suzhou. Appendix 2 1 This could be a separate painting or a record of the Suzhou Museum painting mentioned earlier. 2 This could be a separate painting or a record of the Suzhou Museum painting mentioned earlier.

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Gl os sa ry-I n de x Admonitions of the Instructress to the Court Ladies, 246 All Connections Ferry (Baijie du 百接渡), 211, 225, 418n127 Amitābha Buddha, 325 An Xifan 安希范 (1564–1621), 81, 82, 84 Analects (Lunyu 論語), 166, 299 Ānanda, 222 Ancient Buddhist Monastery of the Brahman (figs. 5.8, 5.15, 5.23; Diannan album leaf 8; Huang Xiangjian), 259, 286, 289; and Buddhism, 327–28; figures in, 276, 300–301, 340; inscription on, 273–74, 284 “Ancient Cave of Ziyang” (Ziyang gudong 紫 陽古洞; famous view), 319 Ancient Na-Khi Kingdom of Southwest China (Rock), 13 Ancient Sites of Sutai [Suzhou] (Sutai guji 蘇 臺古蹟; album; Chen Guan), 74, 398n51 animals, 32, 121, 296, 404nn30–31; elephants, 105, 106, 160, 182, 183, 185, 186, 351, 353, 372, 427n17, 427n23; tigers, 1, 98, 118, 153, 183, 297, 345, 346, 347, 349, 350, 372, 373, 374, 375, 377, 378, 426n10 “An Overview of the Essentials” (Yao lüe 要 略; Huainanzi), 235 architecture, 3, 33, 91, 92, 176, 402n119, 418n127; Buddhist, 323; in Fuyuan Monastery album, 86–88; in Mount Jizu, 219, 247, 249, 252; in Suzhou, 5, 64. See also monasteries Aśoka, Emperor, 221 Assignments at the Studio of the True Reality (Zhenshizhai changke ji; Feng Mengzhen), 300

Aurora-Soaked Peak (Yixia feng 挹霞嶺), 211, 225, 418n129 autobiography. See biography Backus, Charles, 12 Baikoupo 白口坡, 105–6, 183, 353 Baikoupo 白口坡 (figs. 2.6, 3.6; album leaf; Huang Xiangjian), 106, 110, 179, 180, 182, 185, 186, 189 Bailudong Shuyuan. See White Deer Grotto Academy Baishui 白水 Post Station, 177, 352, 369 Baiyanjing 白鹽井 (Yunnan), 99, 100, 354, 359, 365 Bamboo Monastery (Zhuyuan 竹院; painting; Zhao Zuo), 79 Bao Yikun 鮑一鯤, 362 Baoen Monastery, 59 Baolin [Monastery] Record (Baolin zhuan 寶 林傳), 222 Baoqing 寳慶, 183, 347, 369, 378, 431n60, 432n66 bathing, 330, 332 Bazhen faming. See Treatise on the Eight Strategies Bentley, Tamara, 200 Berry, Thomas, 333 Bian Wenyu, 398n51, 399n70 Bian Mountains (painting; Wang Meng), 258, 397n37 biehao 別號 (chosen name) paintings, 258. See also hao Bifaji. See Notes on Brush Methods bigeng. See “farming with the brush”

gl os sa ry  -   i n de x

Bigeng shuo. See “On My Farming with the Brush” Biji 碧雞 Pass, 139, 177, 237, 308, 357, 367, 429n37 Binchuan 賓川, 211, 225, 363, 418n129 biography, 166, 315; spiritual, 2, 15, 334, 335–36, 338–40; as travel account, 233–34 “Biography of Filial Son Huang” (Gui Zhuang), 19, 151, 154, 163, 195 Birthday of the Sun festival, 293–94 blue-and-green (qinglü 青綠) palette, 413n4, 420nn18–20; in Diannan album, 287, 288, 312; and Ming loyalism, 290; in Mount Jizu, 209–10, 212, 220, 228, 247, 254; in Suzhou tradition, 34, 42, 88, 178 Bo Yanhui 薄彥徽 (jinshi 1496), 319 Bodhidharma, 223 Book of Changes (Yijing 易經), 100, 200, 224, 234–35, 237, 333, 360, 431n59 Book of Documents (Shujing 書經), 228, 330 Book of Odes (Shijing 詩經), 397n33 Book of Rites (Liji 禮記), 174, 330 Brief Comment on Zhuowu (Zhuowu lunlüe 卓吾論略; Li Zhi), 338 Brook, Timothy, 150 Brushwood Market (Chai shi 柴市), 211, 225, 418n127 Buddha Śākyamuni, 221, 222, 223, 324, 415n43, 423n28 Buddhism, 7, 330, 335; and Dawn on Lotus Peak, 324, 325, 327; and Diannan album, 258; and elites, 78–79, 300, 302; and eremitism, 290; and filial campaign, 199; and fund-raising, 82, 92; and grand view, 232; of Huang Kongzhao, 100, 246, 323–28, 340; Huayan, 325; landscape, 325–26; meditation in, 297; and Ming loyalists, 154; and mountains, 398n47, 415n37; in Mount Jizu, 203, 221–22, 223, 248–49, 251; Pure Land, 254, 324, 325; Tiantai, 325; and visualization, 243, 244–45. See also Chan Buddhism Bush, Susan, 7, 11, 326 Cahill, James, 2–3, 6, 121 Cai Shaoke 蔡紹科 (late 15th–early 16th c.), 306

calligraphy, 26, 74, 79, 84, 92; forged, 75, 76 Cangxue 蒼雪 (1588–1656), 156, 199 Cao Cao 曹操 (155–220), 231, 405n41, 411n91 Cao Xueqin, 416n87 Catalpa Village (Zi cun 梓邨), 211, 418n127 Ceremonies and Rites (Yili 儀禮), 330 Chaffee, John W., 298 Chan Buddhism, 78, 254, 323–28, 340; and Confucianism, 244–45, 323–24; Yangming, 323, 326 Changshu 常熟, 19, 168 Chang 長 Bridge, 26 Chaves, Jonathan, 408n14 Chen Chen 陳忱 (ca. 1614–66), 151, 292, 293 Chen Ding 陳鼎 (b. ca. 1650), 403n17 Chen Guan 陳祼 (act. ca. 1604–40), 74, 398n51 Chen Hongshou 陳洪綬 (1599–1652), 158 Chen Jiamou 陳嘉謀 (1520–1603), 335 Chen Jiru 陳繼儒 (1558–1639), 75, 79, 200, 288, 338 Chen Ruyan 陳汝言 (ca. 1331–71), 210, 399n63 Chen Si 陳思, 25, 34, 396n28, 397n41 Chen Yuanyuan 陳圓圓 (Xi Shi 西施), 158 Chen Zhenqi 陳振奇, 357 Chen Zilong 陳子龍 (1608–47), 338 Cheng Mingdao 程明道 (Cheng Hao 程顥 1032–85), 336 Chenggong 呈貢 (Yunnan), 157, 368 chengren 成人 (becoming a person), 332 Chengying 澄影, Master, 361 China, People’s Republic of (PRC), 58 Chongsheng 崇聖 Monastery, 252, 253 Chongsheng Monastery pagodas (fig. 4.24), 253, 304 Chongyang 重陽 (Double Ninth Day), 256 Chronicle of Emperor Mu (Mu Tianzi zhuan 穆天子傳), 229 Chu 楚 City, 99, 358, 362 Cihang 慈航, 380 Clapp, Anne de Coursey, 12, 24, 258, 320 Classic of Filial Piety (Xiao jing 孝經), 155, 166, 169 Cleanse the Heart Bridge (Xixin qiao 洗心 橋), 212, 214, 220, 225, 253, 254, 418n127 Cloudy Mountain and Wooded Ravine (painting; Lu Zhi), 244

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Club of Startled and Secretive Poets (Jingyin shishe 驚隱詩社), 151 Clunas, Craig, 398n48 colophons, 7, 185; on filial piety, 167–72, 192, 196; on honorific paintings, 26, 30, 36, 89; on Huang’s paintings, 120, 165, 166; on southwest, 196. See also inscriptions commemorative painting, 24 commerce: and famous-sites paintings, 74–77, 89; and reputation, 200; in Suzhou, 18–19, 91 composition, 131–47, 187–89; in Diannan album, 268–69, 275–78, 277–78, 280, 281, 282, 284, 312, 337; and inscriptions, 189, 268–69, 274–75; in Mount Jizu, 247 Comprehensive Gazetteer of the Great Ming (Da Ming yitong zhi 大明一統志), 213, 221 Comprehensive Guizhou Gazetteer of the Wanli Reign (Wanli Guizhou tongzhi 萬歷 貴州通志), 319, 320 Confucianism: on bathing, 330; behavior models for, 163–64; and Chan Buddhism, 244–45, 323–24; and Diannan album, 258, 297–98; and eremitism, 290; and filial campaign, 161–62, 199; and filial piety, 166–67, 198; and grand view, 239; and heroism, 184; and Mount Jizu, 203, 247, 248–49; and quiet-sitting, 324; and sagehood, 332, 333, 334, 335; in Suzhou, 19 Confucius (trad. dates 551 BCE–479 BCE), 231, 232, 296, 299, 330 Conze, Edward, 243 “Cover [with] a Rain Hat [to Attain] Infinite Merit” (Fu li yu gong 覆笠餘功; Shen Shixing), 79 Cui Yanfu 崔彦輔 (act. 1340s), 55 cultural memory, 37, 38, 398n46 Cultural Revolution, 58 Da Dai Li ji 大戴禮記, 169 daguan. See grand view Dai Xian 戴銑 (jinshi 1496), 319 Dali, 237, 261, 303, 306 Dalong 大龍, 348 Dalongshui 大瀧水, 180 Da Ming yitong zhi. See Comprehensive Gazetteer of the Great Ming

Dan dao hui. See Lone Swordsman, The dao 道 (way, road), 299, 335 Daoism, 122, 244, 335, 398n47, 415n63; on bathing, 330; and grand view, 231–32; meditation in, 297; in Mount Jizu, 249, 251 Dawn on Lotus Peak (figs. 5.6, 5.19, 5.20, 6.1; Diannan album leaf 6; Huang Xiangjian), 259, 292, 293, 295; and Buddhism, 324–27; composition of, 276, 284; figures in, 276, 289; inscription on, 269–70, 273, 276, 279; and Wang Yangming, 320, 321–22 Dayao 大姚 (Yunnan), 95, 99, 198, 325, 344, 350, 354, 355, 359 de Bary, William Theodore, 315, 334 Deng Huoqu 鄧豁渠 (1498–1570?), 212, 234, 335, 423n8 Deng Linchu 鄧林楚, 377 Deng Yizan 鄧以贊 (1542–99), 335 Dengwei 鄧尉, 38, 57–58, 78; in Thousand Mountains (fig. 1.43), 64, 73, 78, 219, 286 Departing at Daybreak at Jinchang (Jinchang xiaofa tu 金閶曉發圖; figs. 1.3, 1.9; album leaf; Chen Si), 25, 26, 32, 34, 35 Descending Zhuge Mountain Range (figs. 2.34, 3.1; album leaf; Huang Xiangjian), 147, 149, 173, 180, 187, 191 Diancang Mountains: and grand view, 239, 240, 242; hot springs in, 331; in Huadian on the Li River, 225, 264, 279, 288, 302, 312, 313; maps of, 303–4; photograph of (fig. 5.26), 305, 308; in travel accounts, 240, 260–62, 305, 306, 307–10, 364 Diancang Mountains Travel Record (You Diancangshan ji 游點蒼山記; He Tang), 308 “Diancang shan tu” 點蒼山圖 (fig. 5.25; Yang Erzeng), 304 Diancheng ji. See Diary of a Journey to Dian; Record of a Journey to Dian Dianchi xu. See Preface to [Poetry of] Dian Lake Dianhai qu. See “Songs of Dian Lake” Dian houji. See Record of the Climate of Dian Dianhuan riji. See Diary of the Return from Yunnan Dian Lake (Dianhai 滇海), 139, 192, 237, 288, 304, 308, 309, 357, 358, 422n89, 427n23, 429n37

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Dianlüe. See Summary of Dian Diannan album. See Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents, A Diannan shengjing (album). See Scenic Frontier of Yunnan Dian Taihua Mountain Travel Record (You Dian Taihua shan ji 游滇太華山記; Zhang Jiayin), 308 Dian zaiji. See Historical Records of Dian Diary of a Journey to Dian (Diancheng ji 滇 程記; Yang Shen), 213 Diary of the Return from Yunnan (Dianhuan riji 滇還日記; Huang Xiangjian), 101, 343, 365–83 Doctrine of the Mean (Zhongyong 中庸), 333 Dong Qichang 董其昌 (1555–1636), 75, 76, 92–93, 193, 200, 254 Dong Yong 董永, 171 Dong You 董逌 (fl. 1126), 296 Dongkou 洞口, 377 Donglin Academy, 84 Donglin Party, 153, 431n62 Dongting East Mountain, 85, 402n113 Dongting liangshan tu. See Two Mountains of Dongting Dongting West Mountain (Dongting xishan 洞庭西山), 83, 84–89. See also Fuyuan Monastery at Dongting West Mountain Dongting West Mountain (Xi Dongtingshan tu 西洞庭山圖; scroll; Wen Boren), 85 Dongting Xishan Fuyuansi tu. See Fuyuan Monastery at Dongting West Mountain Dongting 洞庭 Lake, 239, 380 Drafts of Travels to the Five Sacred Mountains (Wuyue youcao 五嶽遊草; Wang Shixing), 213 Dragon Flower Monastery (Longhuasi 龍華 寺), 212, 214, 216, 217, 225, 418n128 Dragon Tarn (Longtan 龍潭), 212, 225, 250, 254, 418n129 Dream of the Red Chamber (Cao Xueqin), 416n87 Du Fu 杜甫 (712–70), 296, 302 Du Zhengzhen, 293–94 Duan Hunran 段渾然, 373 Duanmu 端木, 155, 157, 164, 168, 171. See also Huang Xiangjian

Duel of Wits Across the River (Ge jiang dou zhi 隔江鬪智), 184 Edwards, Richard, 3, 121 Eight Views of Beijing (paintings; Wang Fu), 38, 258 Eight Views of Huangshan (album; Shitao), 424n49 Eight Views of Jiahe (Jiahe bajing 嘉和八景; handscroll; Wu Zhen), 10, 81–82, 212 Eight Views of the South (album; Shitao), 293 Eight Views of Xiao Xiang (paintings), 37, 179 elites: and Buddhism, 78–79, 300, 302; and commerce, 18–19; and Diannan album, 258; and famous-sites paintings, 74, 75, 77; and Filial Son title, 162; and fund-raising paintings, 78–88, 82, 88, 92; and heroic action, 184–85; and honorific paintings, 89, 90; and Huang family, 147–48, 150, 161; and Huang Xiangjian, 341; and Ming-Qing transition, 294; and monasteries, 78–79, 302; and Peach Blossom Spring, 288, 290; and rocks, 300; in Suzhou, 18–20, 22–23, 179; and visualization, 243, 244 Elm River (Yuhe 榆河), 262 “Endless Expanse of Blue” (Yibiwanqing 一 碧萬頃), 5, 263, 309 “En qianshu Dian jixing.” See “Song of Gratitude Recording My Punishment of Banishment to Dian” eremitic subjects. See yimin 逸民 eremitism, 150, 199, 209, 287, 290–92, 295–96, 302, 406n60 Er Lake (Erhai 洱海), 3, 364, 418n129; and Diannan album, 260, 263, 303, 304, 310; and grand view, 239; and Mount Jizu, 211, 215, 220, 225, 240, 242, 243, 253; photographs of (figs. 4.16, 4.17), 241, 242, 308 Evening Ferry on the Xu River (figs. 1.19, 1.20; album leaf; Zhang Hong), 46, 47, 48, 52, 286 Evening Verdure at Mount Zhixing (figs. 1.21, 1.22; album leaf; Zhang Hong), 46, 48, 49, 59, 120 examination system, 2, 79, 237, 333, 395n11; and Filial Son title, 162, 170–71; and Ming loyalists, 150, 156; in Suzhou, 18–19; and visualization, 245

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Exploration and Amplification of the Classic of Filial Piety (Xiaojing yanyi 孝經衍義), 167 fa 法 (dharma), 223 Famous Sites of Southern Jiangsu (Jiangzuo mingsheng tu 江左名勝圖; album), 26–36, 27, 30, 31, 32, 36 famous-sites paintings, 12, 36–78; and festivals, 39–40, 42, 60, 77; figures in, 38, 42, 46, 64; forgeries of, 75–76; formats of, 78, 91; and fund-raising paintings, 86; and gazetteers, 37, 55; as geo-narratives, 88–89; and honorific paintings, 38, 42, 46, 74, 77; and Huang’s paintings, 123; inscriptions on, 74, 75, 89; and Mount Jizu, 210; poetry on, 37, 75–76; sales of, 74–77, 89; and seasons, 38–39, 42; subcategories of, 74–78; and Suzhou place painting, 91; themes of, 38–39; topography in, 38, 50, 55, 63–73, 78, 217, 219; and tourism, 51, 60, 77; visual codes in, 63–73, 78, 217, 219 Fan Chengda 范成大 (1126–93), 30, 169–70, 397n32 Fan Qi 樊圻 (1616–after 1694), 289 Fan Yunlin 范允臨 (1558–1641), 53 Fan Zhongyan 范仲淹 (989–1052), 53, 236, 239, 280, 309, 337, 419n12 Fang Guoyu 方國瑜 (1903–83), 12 Fang Yizhi 方以智 (1611–71), 150–51 Fangguang 放光 Pagoda, 214 Fanggu shanshui. See Landscapes after Ancient Masters fans, painted, 20, 22, 78, 288, 400n92 farewell culture, 24 farewell paintings, 89 “farming with the brush” (bigeng 筆耕), 18–19 fashion deviant (fuyao 服妖), 20 Feng Mengzhen 馮夢禎 (1546–1605), 300 Feng Ting 馮停, 396n28 festivals, 39–40, 42, 60, 77, 293–94, 399n53 figures: in Diannan album, 275–77, 278–79, 281, 286, 289–90, 296, 312, 327, 330, 332, 338–39, 340; and eremitism, 302; in famous-sites paintings, 38, 42, 46, 64; and filial piety, 173, 185–86; in Fuyuan Monas-

tery album, 86, 89; in honorific paintings, 32–33, 89; in Huang’s paintings, 91, 102, 109, 116, 119–20, 147; and Huang’s umbrella, 91, 99, 102, 106, 109, 116, 179, 254, 276, 281, 289, 338–39; in Mount Jizu, 253–54, 418n134; and Suzhou place painting, 90, 253; of Wang Lü, 122 filial campaign, 1, 147–49, 161, 162–65; and colophons, 170, 171; and Diannan album, 258; evidence for, 165–67; and heroism, 184; and Huang Kongzhao, 165, 198–99; and Mount Jizu, 202; outcome of, 198–201; and social networks, 165, 199–200 filial piety (xiao 孝): and action, 2, 179–92, 341, 408n13; behavior models for, 163–64; colophons on, 167–72, 192, 196; and Confucianism, 166–67, 198; geo-narratives on, 172–97; and Heavenly Mandate, 172, 173, 179; and heroism, 184–92; and Huang’s character, 173–79, 196–97; and Huang’s paintings, 14, 15, 155, 157–58, 163, 172–97, 339; and loyalty, 1, 155, 160, 164, 166, 167, 169; and Mount Jizu, 224–25; rewards for, 168, 169, 171, 172, 184, 192–96, 413n140; and sagehood, 333; and topography, 172, 173, 176 filial-piety tales, 192, 196; and actions, 179–80; Huang’s writings as, 166, 167–72 Filial Son (title), 14, 158, 172, 184, 196; Huang as, 15, 169, 200–201; and Huang’s paintings, 1–2, 165; monuments to, 178; and social status, 162, 170–71 Filial Son Searching for His Parents (album; Huang Xiangjian), 128, 145 First Emperor of Qin (r. 221–210 BCE), 230 Fisher, Tom, 150 Fitzgerald, C. P., 12 Flower Domain (Huadian 花甸), 211, 217, 225, 260, 312, 418n129 forgeries, 75–76 foxin 佛心 (Buddha-mind), 223 Frankel, Hans, 233 Fu, Li-tsui Flora, 3, 8, 121, 307 fund-raising: and Huang Kongzhao, 162–63; by Huang Xiangjian, 92, 101, 152, 174, 209, 223–24, 258; for monasteries, 78–88, 92

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fund-raising paintings, 12, 78–88, 91–92, 342; and famous-sites paintings, 86; as geo-narratives, 89; and honorific paintings, 85, 86; and Huang, 92, 199, 258; inscriptions on, 81, 85; perspective in, 285 Fushe. See Restoration Society Fuyuan Monastery album (Qian Gong), 79–88, 89, 91–92, 120, 286, 401n98, 401n105 Fuyuan Monastery at Dongting West Mountain (Dongting Xishan Fuyuansi tu 洞庭西 山福源寺圖; figs. 1.44–1.47; album leaves; Qian Gong), 80, 81, 85, 86, 87, 88, 120, 286, 401n98, 401n105 Ganza, Kenneth, 5 Gao 高, Regional Commander, 349 Gao Panlong 高攀龍 (1562–1626), 234, 245, 334, 335–36 Gao Qi, 399n60 Gao Songyun 高松筠, 366 gaoyuan 高遠 (high distance), 238 Gazetteer of the Mountains and Rivers of Yunnan (Yunnan shanchuan zhi 雲南山川 志; Yang Shen), 213, 328 gazetteers, 2, 221, 319, 320; and famous-sites paintings, 37, 55; on filial piety, 166; and geo-narratives, 7, 10, 12; and grand view, 239; and Mount Jizu, 213, 220; and sitespecific paintings, 4, 212; of southwest, 96, 119, 193, 213, 303, 304, 306, 307, 328, 329 Ge Xu 葛旭 (act. ca. 17th c.), 74 Ge jiang dou zhi. See Duel of Wits Across the River Gelao 犵狫 minority, 403n9, 426n11 gentleman, theme of, 296–302, 334 geo-narratives, 2, 5–12, 341–42, 394n19; and experential knowledge, 7–8; famous-sites paintings as, 88–89; on filial piety, 172–97; fund-raising paintings as, 89; and gazetteers, 7, 10, 12; honorific paintings as, 89; and Huang Xiangjian, 11–12, 93, 119–20, 202; and landscape painting, 6–7, 12; place paintings as, 88–89, 90; and the self, 316; topography in, 6–7, 11, 88–89 Giersch, C. Patterson, 12 Gong Xian 龔賢 (ca. 1618–89), 158

grand view (daguan 大觀), 237–43, 357; and Diancang Mountains, 239, 240, 242; in Diannan album, 279–80, 340; and experiential journey, 230, 233–34, 236, 237, 239; and Huang Kongzhao, 246–56, 336–37; literary use of, 230–37; and Mount Jizu, 15, 203, 239–43, 254, 337; and the past, 233–34, 239; and social status, 230–31; symbolism of, 230–37, 238, 337; and Wang Yangming, 336–37 Great Leap Forward, 58 Green Snail Spring 碧螺春 tea, 85, 402n114 Gu Jingyang 顧涇陽, 336 Gu Jiusi 顧九思 (jinshi 1571), 30–31 Gu Xiancheng 顧憲成 (1550–1612), 336 Gu Xin 古心, 224, 355, 431n60 Gu Yanwu 顧炎武 (1613–82), 151, 153, 154, 159, 398n44, 407n83 guai 怪 (strange, otherworldly), 194 guan 觀 (to see, tower), 234 Guan Suo 關索, 176–77, 184, 190–91, 263, 352, 405n41, 427n20 Guan Yu 關羽 (Guan Yunchang 關雲長; 161–219), 176, 184, 190, 191, 405n41, 411n90, 427n20 Guangfu 光福 Pagoda, 55, 57 Guan 關 Mountain Range. See Guan Suo Mountain Range Guan Suo Mountain Range (figs. 2.13–2.15, 3.11; album leaves; Huang Xiangjian), 123, 124, 125, 189, 190 Guan Suo 關索 Mountain Range, 123–25, 129–30, 160, 176, 178, 180, 187, 285, 352, 371 guanxiang 觀像 (contemplating holy icons), 243 Gui Changshi 歸昌世 (1573–1644), 18 Gui Youguang 歸有光 (1507–71), 18 Gui Zhuang 歸莊 (Zuoming 祚明; 1613–73), 18, 164, 168, 170, 171, 199, 408n4; biography by, 19, 151, 154, 163, 195 “Gui Qi Gu Guai” 歸奇顧怪 (Gui the mysterious and Gu the strange), 154 Guizhou, 3, 13; dangers in, 97–98, 99, 129–30, 176, 180, 183; in Diannan album, 257, 285, 306; Huang’s paintings of, 102, 105, 106, 109, 123, 131, 160, 177, 190, 193; and Ming,

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100, 152, 223; scenery of, 193–94, 370; Wang Yangming in, 318, 319–23; writings on, 119, 213 Guizhou-Yunnan border, 147, 186, 257 Guo Songnian 郭松年 (act. 13th c.–14th c.), 310 Guo Xi 郭熙 (ca. 1020–after 1090), 8, 238 Gusu shi jing. See Ten Views of Gusu Hainei qiguan. See Strange Views Within the [Four] Seas Halbwacks, Maurice, 37 Han Yu 韓愈 (768–824), 289, 302 Han Chinese, 12, 194 Haoran 浩然 Pavilion, 3, 211, 225, 226, 227, 252, 418n127 hao 號 painting, 322. See also biehao He Tang 何鏜 (b. 1518; jinshi 1547), 308 He Zhuo 何焯 (1661–1722), 257 heaven (tian 天), 164, 166, 171, 234–35, 393n12; canopy of, 179; and human nature, 333–34, 336 Heavenly Mandate, 153, 171, 172, 173, 179 “Heaven Sent Lofty Mountain” (Tian zuo gao shan 天作高山), 300 Hegel, Robert, 164, 245, 316 Helin Monastery (Helinsi 鶴林寺), 79 Hengyue 衡嶽 Mountain, 236 Heqing 鶴慶 region, 142, 270, 278, 339, 363 Herman, John, 12 hero-tales, 184 Hessney, Richard, 164, 316 Historical Records of Dian [Yunnan] (Dian zaiji 滇載記; Yang Shen), 213 Hongchu 弘儲 (act. 17th c.), 199 Hongren 弘仁 (1610–64), 10 Hongwu emperor (Zhu Yuanzhang, r. 1368–98), 154, 291–92, 293, 432n69 honorific paintings, 12, 24–36; and Diannan album, 258, 317; and famous-sites paintings, 38, 42, 46, 74, 77; figures in, 32–33, 89; and fund-raising paintings, 85, 86; as geo-narratives, 89; and Huang’s paintings, 119, 199, 246; inscriptions on, 26, 30, 31, 89; perspective in, 31, 285; and Suzhou place painting, 90–91; symbolism in, 33–36

Hostetler, Laura, 12, 194 hot springs, 330–31 Hot Springs of Qiong County (figs. 5.2, 5.10, 5.21; Diannan album leaf 2; Huang Xiangjian), 259, 262, 263, 278, 286, 289; composition of, 276; figures in, 296, 297, 329–30, 339; inscription on, 267–68, 331 Hsia, C. T., 316 hu 笏 (tablets), 53 Hu Zhengyan 胡正言 (1584–1674), 408n1 Hu Zhi 胡直 (1517–85), 334 Hu Zhouzi 胡周鼒 (jinshi 1640), 155, 163, 168, 170, 171, 194 Huadian on the Li River (figs. 5.1, 5.9, 5.28; Diannan album leaf 1; Huang Xiangjian), 259–60, 263–64, 275, 276, 277, 286–89, 302, 310–13; figures in, 289; inscription on, 257, 268, 270, 279. See also Flower Domain Hua Guan Suo zhuan. See Story of Hua Guan Suo Huainanzi 淮南子, 235, 245 Huaiyang wangshe. See Society of Hope of Huaiyang Huang Daozhou 黃道周 (1585–1646), 185 Huang Kongzhao 黃孔昭 (father; 1589–1678), 11, 15, 19, 120, 315–40, 342; and Book of Changes, 200, 237; as Buddhist, 100, 246, 323–28, 340; and Diannan album, 257–58, 259, 307, 314, 339–40; and filial campaign, 165, 168, 198–99; and fund-raising, 162–63; as gentleman, 296–302; and grand view, 246–56, 336–37; hairstyle of, 432n66; on Huang Xiangjian, 196–97; as Ming loyalist, 153–54, 155–56, 290–91, 293, 295–96, 302, 340; and Ming-Qing transition, 317– 18; and Mount Jizu, 90, 203, 209, 223–24, 246–56; as official, 164, 317–18, 340; as philosopher, 318–23, 340; preface by, 196–97, 198, 200; on return home, 365–69, 371–80, 382–83; and sagehood, 332–34; search for, 344, 354–55, 356, 358, 359, 360, 361, 362–64, 365; and visualization, 244–45; and Wang Yangming, 318–23; in Yunnan, 95, 99–100, 349, 351 Huang Xiangjian 黃向堅 (1609–73): biography of, 19, 151, 154, 163, 195; dates of

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Huang Xiangjian (continued) paintings by, 164–65; in Diannan album, 276, 338–39; diaries of, 259, 297; experiences of, 192–93, 195, 196, 197; hairstyle of, 357, 427n16; heroism of, 184–92, 196; journey of, 97–101; monument to, 201; production method of, 123–49; sketching en route by, 97, 120–23; style name of, 93; style of, 21–22, 121–22, 197; in Suzhou, 17–23; and Suzhou painting tradition, 12–13, 90–93; umbrella of, 91, 99, 102, 106, 109, 116, 179, 254, 276, 281, 289, 338–39. See also filial campaign Huang Xiangyan 黃向嚴 (Xian 仙; nephew/ cousin), 198, 364, 365, 376, 378, 379, 426n3 Huang Xiaoyuan, 396n19 Huang Xingzeng 黃省曾 (1490–1540), 77 Huang Yue 黃鉞 (jinshi 1400; d. 1402), 19 Huang Zhouxing 黃周星 (1611–80), 151 Huangguanshao 黃官峭 Frontier Pass, 183 Huangshan 黃山, 233 Huang Xiaozi jicheng. See Travel Records of Filial Son Huang Huankong 幻空 (Bukong 不空, Baikong 白 空), 362, 430n47 Hua shanshui xu. See Introduction to Painting Landscape Huating 華亭, 308 Huichang suppression, 55 Huineng 惠能 (Luneng; 638–713), 221, 223 Huiqing Monastery (Huiqingsengsi 慧慶僧 寺), 74 Huiyuan 慧遠 (334–416), 324, 325 Hushan 虎山 (fig. 1.13; album leaf; Yuan Shangtong), 39, 42, 55, 63, 217, 219, 286, 404n36 Hushan 虎山 (fig. 1.28; album leaf; Zhang Hong), 55, 56, 63, 217, 219 Hushan 虎山 (Tiger Mountain), 38, 39, 55, 77, 78, 217; and perspective, 286; photograph of (fig. 1.29), 57; in Thousand Mountains (fig. 1.42), 64, 72; visual codes for, 63, 219 Hushan 虎山 Bridge, 55, 57 identity, 3, 6, 18, 20, 90 Immortal Yang Cave (Yang Zhenren dong 楊 真人洞), 212, 216, 418n129

India, 221–22, 240, 249, 274, 324, 327, 328 “inkstone rice field” (yantian 硯田), 18 inscriptions: and composition, 189, 268–69, 274–75; vs. copies, 147; in Diannan album, 263–86, 279, 286, 287, 312, 320–21, 322, 324, 326, 327–28, 329, 337, 339; on experiential journey, 220–21, 226–28; on famous-sites paintings, 74, 75, 89; on filial piety, 173, 174, 180; forged, 75–76; on fund-raising paintings, 81, 85; and geo-narratives, 7, 10; and grand view, 239; and heroic action, 190; on honorific paintings, 26, 30, 31, 89; on Huang’s paintings, 14, 15, 102, 105–6, 109, 116, 118, 119, 120, 123, 129–31, 183; on Mount Jizu, 203, 208, 211, 220–30, 254, 256; on reward of experience, 192–94; on rocks, 300–301; on southwest, 195–96; and Suzhou place painting, 90; and travel accounts, 343–44; Wen-family style, 22. See also colophons Introduction to Painting Landscape (Hua shanshui xu 畫山水序; Zong Bing), 11 Introduction to Poetry on Wandering at the Stone Gate by the Laymen of Mount Lu, 326 Ivanhoe, P. J., 333 [Jade Dragon] Snowy Mountains (Xueshan 雪山), 212, 239, 240, 242, 243, 285, 418n129 jen (ren) 仁 (humanity), 332 ji 跡 (site, traces), 6, 259 Jia Cong 賈琮, 36, 397n42 Jia Dao 賈島 (779–849), 296 Jia Fuchen 賈孚宸 (act. late 17th c.), 419n1 Jia Yi 賈誼 (200–168 BCE), 235 Jiahe bajing. See Eight Views of Jiahe Jianchuan 劍川, 147, 194, 339 Jianchuan zhou Gazetteer (Jianchuan zhou zhi), 306 Jianfu 薦福, 131, 134, 195, 370 Jiang Gao 江皐 (1635–1715), 413n3 Jiang Menglong 蔣夢龍 (b. 1531; jinshi 1565), 26, 28–29 Jiang Zhangxun 蔣章訓, 171 Jiangzuo mingsheng tu. See Famous Sites of Southern Jiangsu

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Jianwen 建文 era (1399–1402), 19, 168 Jiao Hong 焦竑 (1540–1620), 236 Jijian 寂鑒 Monastery, 52 Jiming 雞鳴 Pass, 349 Jiming 雞鳴 Pass (figs. 2.1, 3.8; album leaf; Huang Xiangjian), 102, 103, 106, 131, 179, 180, 185, 186 Jinchang xiaofa tu. See Departing at Daybreak at Jinchang Jin-Chang (Jinchang) 金閶 gate area, 25, 26, 31, 32, 34, 35, 74, 397n36 Jing Hao 荊浩 (ca. 870–ca. 935), 33, 193 Jing 景 Mountain, 11 Jingru 凈儒, 11 Jingting 敬亭 Mountain, 11 Jingyin shishe. See Club of Startled and Secretive Poets jingzuo. See quiet-sitting Jin History (Jinshu 晉書), 232 Jinma Biji 金馬碧雞 regions, 139, 177 Jinsha River (fig. 2.10; album leaf; Huang Xiangjian; Nanjing Museum), 109, 114, 139, 179, 180, 187, 189 Jinsha 金沙 River, 211, 363, 418n129, 430n55 Jinsi lu. See Reflections on Things at Hand Jishizhong. See Supervising Secretary Jiu Tangshu. See Old History of the Tang Jizhou 冀州, 397 journey, experiential, 2–5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 14, 24, 38, 342, 393n10; in Diannan album, 257–58, 259, 263, 276–77, 286, 287, 303, 305, 312, 313, 338–39, 340; and grand view, 230, 233–34, 236, 237, 239; and Huang Kongzhao, 254; in Huang’s inscriptions, 220–21, 226–28; of individual, 315; in Mount Jizu, 203, 219, 220–21, 248–49; and photographs, 3–4; in southwest, 192, 307; spiritual, 335– 36; and Suzhou place painting, 63–73, 85, 86, 88, 90, 91, 92, 119; towards sagehood, 332–33; and visualization, 7–8, 243–44 Journey beyond the Zijing Pass (painting; Xu Xilie), 254 Journey by Water (Shuicheng tu 水程圖; albums; Qian Gu, Zhang Fu, Wang Shizhen), 24, 396n27 Journey in Search of My Parents (Xunqin jili shanshui tu 尋親紀歷山水圖; album;

Huang Xiangjian), 125, 127, 133, 140, 144, 149, 173, 181, 189, 190 Journey to the West, 316 juren 舉人 degree, 18, 19 Kailou Fortified Village (fig. 2.31; album leaf; Huang Xiangjian), 139, 145, 179 Kangxi emperor, 200 Kāśyapa, 221 Kāśyapa Monastery (Jiayesi 迦葉寺), 212, 216, 217, 251, 418n128 King, Gail, 176 Knapp, Keith, 167–68 knight-errant (youxia 遊俠), 184 knowledge, experiential, 5, 7–8, 14–15, 36, 192, 393n10; and famous-sites paintings, 50–51; and Mount Jizu, 203, 209, 219, 221, 230, 239, 241, 242 Kong Ruogu 孔若谷, 338. See also Li Zhi Kou Shen 寇慎 (jinshi 1616), 24–26, 35–36, 398n44 Kou Xun 寇恂, 30, 397n34 Kukkutapāda (Mount Chickenfoot), 221, 222 Kunming Lake, 196, 271, 278, 282 Kunxue ji. See Recollections of the Toils of Learning Laishipo 癩石坡, 116, 372 Lake Tai 太湖, 37, 58, 85–88, 86, 286 Land of Joy (letu 樂土), 268, 324, 331 landscape-of-property paintings, 258, 397n37 landscape painting, 20–22, 394n18; figures in, 253, 276; and fund-raising paintings, 88; and geo-narratives, 6–7, 12; grand view in, 237–43; iconic themes in, 287–96; as illustrated journeys, 212, 219–20; perspective in, 285–86, 337; vs. site-specific painting, 4–5, 21; of southwest, 119, 303; in Suzhou, 17–93, 96, 120, 178–79, 217, 219, 285, 316, 341–42; texts on, 238; and visualization, 243–44; visual tradition in, 4–5, 12. See also place painting Landscapes (Shanshui 山水; album; Zhang Hong), 398n51 Landscapes (Shanshui 山水; fig. 1.2; album; Huang Xiangjian; Yu Wei Du Zhai collection), 20, 21

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Landscapes after Ancient Masters (Fanggu shanshui 仿古山水; Yuan Shangtong), 400n93, 404n36 Langqiong 浪穹, 183, 196, 331, 364 Langqiong Road (fig. 3.5; album leaf; Huang Xiangjian), 180, 181 League of Fugitives (Taozhi meng 逃之盟), 151 Leaving Qiongshui (figs. 2.26; 3.13; album leaf; Huang Xiangjian), 139, 140, 190, 191 Lengqie 楞伽 Monastery pagoda, 64 letu. See land of joy Li Bai 李白 (701–62), 178 Li Bo 李渤 (d. 831?), 298 Li Chengsou 李澄叟 (ca. 1150–after 1221), 9 Li Chunkun 李春鵾, 350 Li Dingguo 李定國 (1620–62), 427n23, 431n60 Li Gonglin 李公麟 (ca. 1041–1106), 166 Li He 李賀 (790–816), 296 Li Jiquan 李及泉, 26, 28–29, 30 Li Kaishu 李楷叔 (act. mid-17th c.), 155, 156, 163, 164, 169, 171, 184, 199 Li Liufang 李流芳 (1575–1629), 121 Li She 李涉, 298 Li Song 李嵩 (act. ca. 1190–1230), 238 Li Tingsheng 李挺生, 185 Li Yin 李寅 (act. ca. 1700), 404n31 Li Yu 李玉 (ca. 1610s–ca. 1680s), 200 Li Yuanchong 李元冲 (1551–1608), 336 Li Yuanyang 李元陽 (jinshi 1526; 1497–1580), 213, 216, 217, 240, 329, 331 Li Zhi 李贄 (Li Zhuowu 李卓吾; 1527–1602), 222, 244, 318, 323, 338, 339, 361, 366 Li Zicheng 李自成 (1606–45), 185 Liang Fen 梁份 (1641–1728), 185 Liang Qingbiao 梁清標 (1620–91), 200 Liangdong jiyou tu. See Record of a Journey to Two Caves liangzhi 良知 (moral knowledge), 322, 326 Liangzhou 梁州, 228 liezhuan 列傳 (exemplary biographies), 166 Liji. See Book of Rites Li Laishipo. See Passing Laishipo Lin Bu 林逋 (967–1028), 296 Lin Wei-Cheng, 243–44 Lingxiu 靈岫 Pass, 211 Lingyan Monastery. See Mount Lingyan

Linquan gaozhi. See Lofty Truth of Forests and Streams Li Peak Station (Liding zhan 歴頂站), 173, 176, 177 Li Peak Station (Liding zhan 歴頂站; fig. 2.3; album leaf; Huang Xiangjian), 102, 106, 107, 123, 129, 173, 176, 177, 180, 186, 187, 189, 190 Liscomb, Kathlyn, 2–3, 6, 12, 258 Listening to the Wind in the Pines (painting; Ma Lin), 298 Little Ice Age, 1, 426n9 Liu An 劉安 (179?–122 BCE), 235, 416n78 Liu Bei 劉備 (161–223), 184, 191 Liu Feng 劉鳯, 20 Liu, James J. Y., 318 Liu Ji 劉基 (1311–75), 298 Liu Shu 劉恕 (1759–1816), 419n1 Liu Wenzhi 劉文治, 355, 369, 431n60, 431n64 Liu Yuxi 劉禹鍚 (772–842), 289 Liu Zongyuan 柳宗元 (773–819), 232 Liuguozi 六國子 Lane, 201 Liuzhai 柳寨, 348 Liu zhuan. See “Roaming About” Living Abroad or Returning Home Is One and the Same (Gui yu yiyuan tu 歸寓一元圖; handscroll; Xiao Yuncong), 11 Liwu 梨武 Slope, 180, 359, 366 Lizong, Emperor (r. 1224–64), 298 Lofty Truth of Forests and Streams (Linquan gaozhi 林泉高致; Guo Xi), 8, 238 Lone Swordsman, The (Dan dao hui), 184 Longchang 龍場, 183, 318–19, 320, 321, 372 Longli 龍里, 98, 350 Longquan 龍泉 County, 131, 373 Long Scroll of Buddhist Images (Zhang Sheng ­wen), 304 “Lord Grand Historian says” (taishi gongyue 太史公曰), 338 Lord Zhang Cave (Zhanggong dong 張公洞; fig. 1.6; album leaf; Lu Shiren), 26, 27, 32 Lotus Flower Lake Festival, 77 Lotus Society, 224, 254, 295, 323, 324, 325, 362 loyalty (zhong 忠): behavior models for, 163–64; and filial piety, 1, 155, 160, 166–67, 169; and Huang family, 14, 15, 161, 163, 167. See also Ming loyalists Lü Liuliang 呂留良 (1629–83), 151, 159

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Lu Miaw-fen, 200 Lu Shiren 陸士仁, 27, 397n29 Lu Shiyi 陸世儀 (1611–72), 154, 157, 163, 170, 185 Lu Zhi 陸治 (1496–1576), 85, 244, 288, 398n48, 399n70 Lu Zizhi, 22 Lü Zuqian 呂祖謙 (1137–81), 334 Lubai 艣擺 Village, 211, 225, 418n127 Luo Guanzhong 羅貫中 (ca. 14th c.), 405n41 Luodian (fig. 2.8; album leaf; Huang Xiangjian; Nanjing Museum), 106, 112, 139, 179, 180, 189 Luodian 羅甸, 183, 195 Ma Lin 馬麟 (ca. 1180–after 1256), 298 Ma Xun, 396n19 Ma Yuan 馬援 (14 BCE–49 CE), 177, 191 Mahage (fig. 2.29; album leaf; Huang Xiangjian), 139, 143, 195 Mahage 蔴哈葛, 350 Maitreya Buddha, 222 Malong 馬龍 Peak, 310 Malongzhou Road (figs. 2.7, 3.2; album leaf; Huang Xiangjian; Nanjing Museum), 106, 111, 120, 139, 173, 174, 179, 187, 189, 192 Malongzhou 馬龍州 Road, 183 Manchus, 23, 119; hairstyle of, 96, 152, 302, 427n16, 432n66; and Huang, 97, 100, 105–6, 158; resistance to, 152, 153, 156, 159. See also Ming-Qing transition; Qing dynasty McDermott, Joseph, 6 meditation, 60, 297, 313, 320, 321, 324, 325, 326; and visualization, 244–45. See also quiet-sitting Mei Qing 梅清 (1623–97), 9 Meidu 眉渡, 99, 362 Mencius (ca. 370–ca. 300 BCE), 231, 296 Meng Haoran 孟浩然 (689–740), 233, 289, 296 Mi Fu 米黻 (1052–1107), 300 Mi Youren 米友仁 (1074–1151), 239 Miao. See minority groups Mid-Autumn Festival, 39–40, 60, 77 Mid-Cliff Basin (Zhongdengpan 中磴盤), 212, 225, 418n129 Ming Xu 明旭, 396n28

Ming dynasty: fall of, 1, 95–96; and grand view, 233; and Huang’s journey, 97, 100, 105–6; satellite courts of, 100, 150, 152, 156, 159, 160, 185, 292, 428n35, 431n58; and Yunnan, 223, 230 Ming loyalists, 14, 97, 149–60, 199; and Diannan album, 258, 295–96, 303, 312; in exile, 313; and filial campaign, 200; Huang Kongzhao as, 153–54, 155–56, 290–91, 293, 295–96, 302, 340; and literary societies, 151–52; and monasteries, 150, 151, 152, 302; and Peach Blossom Spring, 290. See also eremitism Ming-Qing transition, 12, 119, 166; and Buddhism, 323; and elites, 294; and eremitism, 290–92; hardships in, 158–60; and heroic action, 184–85; and Huang Kongzhao, 317–18; monasteries in, 222, 302, 323 Mingzhi 明智, 83 minority groups, 194, 362, 363, 403n9, 427n14, 430n48, 430n50; Miao, 97, 98, 99, 102, 116, 119, 183, 348, 350, 353, 354, 375, 426n11; women of, 428n33 Mogao Grottoes, 243, 244 monasteries, 24, 165, 252–53, 329; in Diannan album, 272, 304, 308, 310, 323, 339; and elites, 78–79, 302; in famous-sites paintings, 52, 55, 57–58, 59, 64; and filial campaign, 199; fund-raising for, 78–88, 92; Huang at, 191–92; and Huang Kongzhao, 224; and Ming loyalists, 150, 151, 152, 302; in Ming-Qing transition, 222, 302, 323; on Mount Jizu, 221–22. See also Ancient Buddhist Monastery of the Brahman; Dragon Flower Monastery; Fuyuan Monastery album; Kāśyapa Monastery; Vast Assembly Monastery Mongols, 223, 230 Monkey Stairs (Husun ti 猢孫梯), 212, 214–16, 219, 225–26, 418n127 mountain men (shanren 山人), 19–20 Mountains and Seas Classic (Shanhai jing 山 海經), 229 Mountain Village in the Evening (fig. 2.24; hanging scroll; Huang Xiangjian), 131, 137 Mount Dizhu 砥柱 (Whetstone Pillar), 397n30

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Mount Jin 金, 26 Mount Jizu 鷄足, 5, 10, 14, 90–91, 193, 418n129; grand view from, 239–43; in Huang’s albums, 131, 138, 139, 146, 182, 189, 202; Huang’s experience of, 208–9, 363, 367; labeling of, 212; photograph of (fig. 4.5), 203, 208 Mount Jizu 鷄足 (fig. 2.32; album leaf; Huang Xiangjian; Guizhou Provincial Museum), 146, 189 Mount Jizu 鷄足 (figs. 4.1–4.26; handscroll; Huang Xiangjian). See Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu) “Mount Jizu” (fig. 4.8; illustration; Hainei qiguan), 214, 239 Mount Jizu Travel Record (You Jizushan ji 遊 鷄足山記; Wang Shixing), 212 Mount Lingyan (fig. 1.15; album leaf; Yuan Shangtong), 39, 42, 43, 60 Mount Lingyan (fig. 1.32; album leaf; Zhang Hong), 60, 61 Mount Lingyan 靈巖, 25, 26, 38, 39, 60, 78, 199; in Thousand Mountains (fig. 1.40), 64, 70; visual codes for, 63 Mount Lu 廬山, 7, 232, 325, 381 Mount Nine-Curve (Jiuqu shan 九曲山), 213, 221 Mount Qixia (painting; Zhang Hong), 286 Mount Shangfang 上方, 60, 64, 219 Mount Tai 泰, 230, 234, 306 Mount Taihua 太華, 3, 5, 139, 192, 196, 237, 323, 337, 357; in Diannan album, 282, 298, 302, 305, 307, 308–9, 313, 339 Mount Tianping (Tianping shan 天平山; fig. 1.7; album leaf; Shen Wan), 32 Mount Tianping (Tianping shan 天平山; fig. 1.8; album leaf; Zhu Zhi), 32, 33 Mount Tianping (Tianping shan 天平山; fig. 1.26; album leaf; Yuan Shangtong), 53 Mount Tianping (Tianping shan 天平山; fig. 1.27; album leaf; Zhang Hong), 53, 54 Mount Tianping 天平, 25–26, 31, 32–33, 38, 51, 52–54, 59, 60; and Suzhou painting, 285; in Thousand Mountains (fig. 1.38), 64, 68; visual codes for, 63 Mount Tiantai 天臺, 119, 231–32, 358

Mount Wutai 五臺, 244, 415n37 Mount Zhixing (fig. 1.30–1.31; album leaf; Yuan Shangtong), 58, 59 Mount Zhixing 支硎, 3, 38, 46, 59, 78, 399n70; in Thousand Mountains (fig. 1.37), 64, 67; visual codes for, 63 Mount Zhong 鐘, 154, 291–93, 382, 432n69 moya shike 摩崖石刻 (rock inscriptions), 300 Mu, King (r. 956–918 BCE; trad. r. 1001–946 BCE; Zhou dynasty), 229 Mu Tianbo 沐天波, 153, 428n30, 428n32 Mu Ying 沐英, 428n29 Muchen 木陳, 165, 199 Mulao 木狫, 403n9 Murck, Alfreda, 2–3, 37, 302 Mu Tianzi zhuan. See Chronicle of Emperor Mu Myanmar, 292, 328, 420n31 Nanhu jiuzishe. See Society of the Nine Poets of South Lake Nanxun 南潯, 151 Nanxunlu. See Record of a Quest in the South Nanzhao 南詔 Kingdom, 202, 223, 226, 230, 237, 252, 328, 329, 357 Nanzhao 南詔 peoples, 118 Nanzhong 南中, 191 Nelson, Susan, 289, 290 Nienhauser, William, 338 Night Moon over Tiger Hill (figs. 1.11, 1.18; album leaf; Zhang Hong), 38, 40, 42, 46, 53 Night Revels of Han Xizai, 246 Night Vigil (painting; Shen Zhou), 297 Northern Foot of Mount Jizu (figs. 2.25, 3.7; album leaf; Huang Xiangjian), 131, 138, 180, 182, 202 Notes on Brush Methods (Bifaji 筆法記; Jing Hao), 193 Numinous Peaks and Billowing Clouds (figs. 5.7, 5.14; Diannan album leaf 7; Huang Xiangjian), 259, 272, 283, 286; composition of, 278; figures in, 276, 299–300, 339; inscription on, 270–71, 275 Old Fisherman of the Lakes (Wuhu jun sou tu 五湖鈞叟圖; painting; Sun Zhi), 85, 402n118

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Old History of the Tang (Jiu Tangshu 舊唐 書), 118 “On My Farming with the Brush” (Bigeng shuo 筆耕說; Gui Zhuang), 18–19 “On the Double Ninth: Remembering My Brothers East of the Mountains” (poem; Wang Wei), 256 Orell, Julia, 3 Ouyang Xiu 歐陽修 (1007–72), 300 Owen, Stephen, 259, 302 “Owl, The” (Funiao fu 鵩鳥賦; poem; Jia Yi), 235 Paintings for Suzhou Prefect Kou Shen’s Resignation from Office (Suzhou Taishou Kou Shen quren tu 蘇州太守寇慎去任圖; figs. 1.3, 1.4, 1.8, 1.9, 5.17; album), 24–26, 31, 33, 34, 35, 85, 286, 287 Painting Travel Notes (album; Qian Gu and Zhang Fu), 121 Pan Lang 潘閬 (d. 1009), 296 Panchi 盤螭, 38, 57 Pan River (figs. 3.9, 3.10; album leaf; Huang Xiangjian), 186, 187, 188, 190, 191, 404n39 Pan 盤 River, 147, 177, 187, 353, 370, 427n24 Parting at Jinchang (painting; Tang Yin), 397n36 Passing Laishipo (Li Laishipo 歷癩石坡; fig. 2.12; album leaf; Huang Xiangjian), 116, 117, 139, 189 Pavilion of Dreaming of an Immortal (Mengxian caotang tu 夢仙草堂圖; Tang Yin), 244 Peach Blossom Retreat (Taohua’an 桃花菴), 288 Peach Blossom Spring (album; Fan Qi), 289 “Peach Blossom Spring” (Tao Qian), 210, 257, 264, 288–89, 290, 312, 420n20 Peach Blossom Valley (Zhou Chen), 290 Pei, I. M., 341 Personal Explanations (Wang Yangming), 319–20 perspective, 285–86, 337 Peterson, Willard J., 150 photographs, 3–4, 50, 51, 57, 63, 305; of Er Lake (figs. 4.16, 4.17), 241, 242, 308; of Mount Jizu (fig. 4.5), 203, 208

pi 癖 (obsession), 300 Pictorial Compendium of the Three Powers, A (Sancai tuhui 三才圖會), 119 Pictures and Descriptions of Strange Regions (Yiyu tu zhi 異域圖志), 119 Pidhainy, Ihor, 12, 118, 297, 306 Pine Trees and Stone Steps of Taihua (figs. 5.5, 5.13, 5.22, 5.27; Diannan album leaf 5; Huang Xiangjian), 259, 269, 278, 289, 302, 308, 311; composition of, 282; figures in, 276, 298–99, 339; inscription on, 271–72, 279, 310, 337 pingyuan 平遠 (level distance), 238 Pingyue fu 平越府 (fig. 2.20; painting; Huang Xiangjian), 131, 133 Pingyue 平越 Prefecture, 131, 133, 174, 350 place painting: categories of, 12, 24–36, 36–78, 78–88; and Diannan album, 259; as geo-narratives, 88–89; and grand view, 238; and Huang, 90–93, 120; site-specific, 2–5, 4, 6, 21, 90, 123, 212, 253; and southwest China, 119; of Suzhou, 285, 341–42; Suzhou tradition of, 17–93, 96, 120, 217, 219. See also famous-sites paintings; fund-raising paintings; honorific paintings; landscape painting Plaks, Andrew, 412n117 Poet Contemplating a Waterfall (Zhang Lu), 296 “Poetic Essay on Roaming in the Tiantai Moutains” (You Tiantai shan fu 遊天台山 賦; Sun Chuo), 231 poetry, 4, 7, 326; on famous-sites paintings, 37, 75–76; and filial campaign, 200; filial piety in, 169–70; forged, 75–76; and fund-raising paintings, 80; on grand view, 230–31, 235, 256; and honorific paintings, 26, 30, 35–36; and hot springs, 330; Ming loyalist, 158, 159; on Peach Blossom Spring, 288; on southwest, 118, 119, 177–78, 260, 297, 305; and Suzhou, 22, 90; on travel, 297; of Wang Lü, 122 Pond of Heaven (fig. 1.25; album leaf; Yuan Shangtong), 52 Pond of Heaven (Tianchi 天池), 37, 38, 52, 63, 78; photograph of (fig. 1.24), 51; in Thousand Mountains (fig. 1.39), 64, 69

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Pouring Clouds Spring (Guanyun quan 灌雲 泉), 212, 418n129 Preface to [Poetry of] Dian Lake (Dianchi xu 滇池序; Yang Shen), 308 Preface to the Travel Record of the Filial Son Huang (Li Kaishu), 155 Pressing the Clouds Cliff (Pixiao yan 逼霄 嵓), 212, 225, 251, 253–54, 418n129, 418n134 Prince of Yongming. See Yongli emperor Purtle, Jennifer, 3 qi 奇 (strange, marvelous), 194, 412n117 Qian Gong 錢貢 (act. ca. 1573–1619), 80–88, 85–86, 88, 286, 397n29, 402n119 Qian Gu 錢穀 (1508–after 1579), 37, 121, 404n30 Qian Qianyi 錢謙益 (1582–1664), 200, 233, 396n17 Qian Shisu 錢士驌, 354 Qian Ying 錢應, 152 Qianshan yuanshui tu. See Thousand Mountains and Distant Water Qin Guan 秦觀 (1049–1100), 8 Qin dynasty, 230 Qing dynasty, 166, 167, 223, 294. See also Manchus Qinglang 清浪, 349, 375 Qinglang Military Station Town (Qinglang weicheng 清浪衛城; figs. 2.4, 2.16, 3.4; album leaf; Huang Xiangjian), 105, 108, 123, 126, 130–31, 180, 181, 186, 187, 189 qinglü. See blue-and-green Qingming shanghe tu. See Spring Festival on the River Qingping 清平, 98, 350 Qinguan 秦關, 106, 349 Qiongshui 卭水, 184. See also Leaving Qiongshui Qiu Ying 仇英 (ca. 1500–ca. 1552), 290 Qixian Ravine, 212, 216, 254, 255, 418n129 quiet-sitting (jingzuo 靜坐), 244–45, 297, 319, 320, 321, 324, 336 “Quli shang” 曲禮上 (Book of Rites), 174 Qunyu youzong tu 群玉遊踪圖 (handscroll; Qian Gu), 404n30

Rare Views of Xiao-Xiang (Mi Youren), 239 Recollections of the Toils of Learning (Kunxue ji 困學記; Gao Panlong), 334 Recollections of the Toils of Learning (Kunxue ji 困學記; Hu Zhi), 334 Record of a Journey to Dian (Diancheng ji 滇 程記; Yang Shen), 118, 308 Record of a Journey to Two Caves (Liangdong jiyou tu 兩洞紀遊圖; Wen Jia), 396n22 Record of a Quest in the South (Nanxunlu 南 詢錄; Deng Huoqu), 212 Record of Roaming upon Diancang Mountain (You Diancang shan ji 游點蒼山記; Yang Shen), 308 Record of the Climate of Dian (Dian houji 滇 候記; Yang Shen), 213 Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents, A (Xunqin jicheng tu 尋親紀程 圖; album; Huang Xiangjian; Nanjing Museum), 111, 112, 114, 123, 124, 126, 132, 142, 147, 174, 181, 190, 196. See also Guan Suo Mountain Range; Jinsha River; Luodian; Malongzhou Road; Qinglang Military Station Town; Road to Heqing; Sandu Pass; Wu Village Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents, A (Xunqin jicheng tu 尋親紀程 圖; Diannan album; Huang Xiangjian), 90–91, 102, 257–314, 343–44; colophons on, 196, 419n1; cultural topography of, 258, 287–314; frontispece to, 257; and fund-raising, 92, 258; gentleman theme in, 296–302; iconic themes in, 287–96; inscriptions in, 263–86, 279, 286, 287, 312, 320–21, 322, 324, 326, 327–28, 329, 337, 339; loci of remembrance in, 258–59, 302–14; narrator of, 338–40; personal topography of, 258, 313–14, 315–40; physical topography of, 258, 259–86; privileged content of, 328–32, 340; size of, 284–85. See also Ancient Buddhist Monastery of the Brahman (leaf 8); Dawn on Lotus Peak (leaf 6); Hot Springs of Qiong County (leaf 2); Huadian on the Li River (leaf 1); Numinous Peaks and Billowing Clouds (leaf 7); Pine Trees and Stone Steps of Taihua (leaf 5); Stone

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Cave and Indented Peak (leaf 4); Stone Cliffs of Jianchuan (leaf 3) Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents, A (Xunqin jicheng 尋親紀程; travel account; Huang Xiangjian), 15, 95, 152, 162–63, 315, 343, 344–65 Records of the Historian (Shiji 史記; Sima Qian), 230, 245, 338 Records of the Three Kingdoms (San guo zhi 三國志), 405n41 Reflections on Things at Hand (Jinsi lu 近思 錄; Zhu Xi), 334 remembrance, loci of, 315, 317; and Diannan album, 258–59, 302–14 remnant subjects. See yimin 遺民 Ren Xi 任熙, 359 Restoration Society (Fushe 復社), 151 Road to Heqing (fig. 2.28; album leaf; Huang Xiangjian; Nanjing Museum), 139, 142, 186, 190, 195 Road to Langqiong (fig. 2.27; album leaf; Huang Xiangjian; Guizhou Provincial Museum), 139, 141, 186 “Roaming About” (Liu zhuan 流轉; poem; Gu Yanwu), 159 “roam while reclining” (woyou 臥遊), 8, 11 Robson, James, 305 Rock, Joseph, 12 Romance of the Three Kingdoms (San guo yan yi 三國演義; Luo Guanzhong), 184, 316, 405n41 Ruan Ji 阮籍 (210–63), 296 sagehood, 321, 332–34, 332–37, 340; and Huang Kongzhao, 336–37; and Wang Yangming, 319, 320 Sancai tuhui. See Pictorial Compendium of the Three Powers, A Sand Islet Village (Shazhi cun 沙沚村), 211, 225, 418n127 Sandu 三度 Pass, 180, 285, 372 Sandu 三度 Pass (fig. 2.19; album leaf; Huang Xiangjian; Nanjing Museum), 131, 132, 147 saoxiang 掃象 (bathing elephants), 330 Scenery of Yunnan and Guizhou Provinces (fig. 2.5; handscroll; Huang Xiangjian), 105, 109, 160

“Scenic Frontier of Yunnan” (Diannan shengjing 滇南勝境), 354, 369 Scenic Frontier of Yunnan (Diannan shengjing 滇南勝境; figs. 2.2, 2.17, 2.18; album leaves; Huang Xiangjian), 102, 104–5, 123, 127–28, 180, 189, 199 Scenic Frontier of Yunnan (Diannan shengjing 滇南勝境; frontispiece to Diannan album), 257 Searching for My Parents Landscapes (Xunqin shanshui: 尋親山水; Huang Xiangjian), 196 Searching for My Parents (Mount Jizu) 尋 親圖 (figs. 4.1–4.26; handscroll; Huang Xiangjian), 90–91, 200, 202–56, 339; description of, 203–8; and Diannan album, 267, 285, 287; and grand view, 239–40, 337; and Huang Kongzhao, 246–56; as illustrated journey, 219–20, 230; labeled locations on, 211; pictorial narrative of, 209–20; readings of, 14–15, 203, 209, 215, 219, 220, 230, 242–43 self, the, 315, 316, 318, 326, 332 self-cultivation, 333, 334 Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove, 296 Sha Dingzhou 沙定洲 (1621–62), 100, 153, 356–57, 428nn29–31, 430n58 Shadows of Mount Huang (Cahill), 3 Shandao 善導 (613–81), 243 Shang Lu 商輅 (1414–86), 245 Shangqing school (Daoism), 244 Shanhai jing. See Mountains and Seas Classic Shao Changheng 邵長蘅 (1637–1704), 400n85 Shao Mi 邵彌 (ca. 1595–ca. 1642), 398n51 Shen 沈 (friend of Wang Lü), 122 Shen Defu 沈德符 (1578–1642), 20 Shen Shichong 沈士充 (fl. ca. 1607–after 1640), 290 Shen Shixing 申時行 (1535–1614), 79, 81, 82, 83, 84 Shen Wan 沈完, 32 Shen Yue 沈約 (441–513), 8 Shen Zhou 沈周 (1427–1509), 22, 178, 238, 297 Shen Zuxiao 沈祖孝 (ca. 17th c.), 151 Sheng Maoye 盛茂燁 (act. ca. 1594–1640), 74 Sheng’en 聖恩 Monastery, 57–58 shengji 勝跡 (traces of glory), 259, 329

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shenyuan 深遠 (deep distance), 238 Shi Minwang, 22 Shi Qikun, 429n40 Shi Qipeng 史起鵬 (Shi Qikun 史起鵾), 359, 429n40 shih (shi) 士 (knight), 332 Shiji. See Records of the Historian Shilin Zhenji 獅林震濟 (act. 1696), 343, 419n1, 430n56 Shitao 石濤 (Daoji 道濟; 1642–1707), 158, 293, 424n49 Shuicheng tu. See Journey by Water Shuihu houzhuan. See Water Margin: A Sequel Shu jing. See Book of Documents Shunzhi emperor, 151 Sibianlu. See Speculations Sima Qian 司馬遷 (ca. 145–ca. 86 BCE), 245, 338. See also Records of the Historian Sinan 思南, 193, 371, 373 site identification, 217, 226, 414n7; in Mount Jizu, 211–12, 214–15, 219, 249; in southwest, 306, 307 Six Canons, 92–93 Six Disciples at the Gates of Yang (Yangmen liu xueshi 楊門六學士), 419n11 Sixteen Views of Mount Huang (album; Mei Qing), 9 Sixteen Visualizations of Queen Vaidehī (Cave 45, Mogao Grottoes), 243 Snow on Yao Peak (fig. 1.16, album leaf; Zhang Hong), 38, 42, 44, 58 Snowy Mountains. See [Jade Dragon] Snowy Mountains social networks, 22, 23, 92, 149; and filial campaign, 165, 199–200; in Suzhou, 18, 90 social status, 2, 14; and Diannan album, 258; and Filial Son title, 162, 170–71; and grand view, 230–31; and honorific paintings, 36, 89–90; of Huang family, 147–48; and Mount Jizu, 246–47, 253, 254 social structure: in Mount Jizu, 247–48; in Suzhou, 18–20, 22, 23 Society of Escape of Wuzhong (Wuzhong taoshe 吳中逃社), 151 Society of Hope of Huaiyang (Huaiyang wangshe 淮陽望社), 151

Society of the Eight Poets of West Lake (Xihu bazishe 西湖八子社), 151 Society of the Nine Poets of South Lake (Nanhu jiuzishe 南湖九子社), 151 Song Xu 宋旭 (1525–1605), 238 Song History (Songshu 宋書), 8 “Song of Gratitude Recording My Punishment of Banishment to Dian” (En qianxu Dian jixing 恩遣戍滇紀行; poem; Yang Shen), 118, 297 “Song of Qiu Hu” (Qiu Hu xing 秋胡行; Cao Cao), 231 Songshu. See Song History “Songs of Dian Lake” (Dianhai qu 滇海曲; Yang Shen), 288, 308 Songs of the South (Chu ci 楚辭), 231 Sound of Pines on a Mountain Path (painting; Tang Yin), 298 southwest China, 1–2; gazetteers of, 96, 119, 193, 213, 303, 304, 306, 307, 328, 329; and Guan Suo, 176–77, 184; Huang Xiangjian’s paintings of, 21, 91, 95–160; inscriptions on, 195–96; and landscape painting traditions, 119, 303; maps of, 303; Ming conceptions of, 96; poetry on, 118, 119, 177–78, 260, 297, 305; strangeness of, 194–96; topography of, 259–86; travel accounts of, 12, 96, 118, 119–20, 263, 308 Speculations (Sibianlu 思辨錄; Lu Shiyi), 185 Spring Dawn at Panchi (fig. 1.12; album leaf; Zhang Hong), 38, 39, 41, 57 Spring Festival on the River (Qingming shanghe tu 清明上河圖; painting; Zhang Zeduan), 35, 397n40 Stendhal, 334 Stone Cave and Indented Peak (figs. 5.4, 5.12, 5.16; Diannan album leaf 4; Huang Xiangjian), 259, 276, 285, 289, 323; composition of, 277–78, 280–81, 284; figure in, 297; inscription on, 265–66, 275, 279, 293; and Wang Yangming, 319, 320–21, 322 Stone Cliff at the Pond of Heaven (fig. 1.17; album leaf; Zhang Hong), 39, 42, 45, 52 Stone Cliffs of Jianchuan (figs. 5.3, 5.11, 5.18; Diannan album leaf 3; Huang Xiangjian), 259, 264, 276, 277, 280, 289, 291, 296; composition of, 282–84; inscription on, 268, 274, 279, 306, 317, 329

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Stone Lake (fig. 1.14; album leaf; Yuan Shangtong), 38, 42, 43, 60, 64, 120, 217, 219, 286 Stone Lake (fig. 1.33; album leaf; Zhang Hong), 60, 62, 64, 217, 219 Stone Lake (Shihu 石湖), 26, 30, 38, 76, 217, 219; and perspective, 286; photograph of (fig. 1.34), 60, 63; in Thousand Mountains (fig. 1.41), 64, 71; visual codes for, 63, 64 Story of Hua Guan Suo (Hua Guan Suo zhuan 花關索傳), 176, 184 Strange Views Within the [Four] Seas (Hainei qiguan 海內奇觀; Yang Erzeng), 213–14, 239, 240, 252, 303 Strassburg, Richard, 300 Stream in Guizhou, A (fig. 3.12; album leaf; Huang Xiangjian), 189, 190 Struve, Lynn, 12, 150 Stuer, Catherine, 3 Sturman, Peter, 239, 296 style, painting, 10, 189–90; of Huang Xiangjian, 21–22, 121–22, 197, 203, 286; of Qian Gong, 85–86, 88; of Wang Lü, 122 Su Shi 蘇軾 (1037–1101), 296, 432n67 Summary of Dian (Dianlüe 滇略; Xie Zhaozhe), 213 “Summons of the Soul” (Zhao hun 招魂; Chu ci), 231 Sun Chunyang 孫春陽 (late 16th c.), 77 Sun Chuo 孫綽 (ca. 310–97), 231 Sun Kewang 孫可望 (d. 1660), 100, 153, 356–57, 427n23, 428n31, 428n36, 430n58, 431n60, 432n66 Sun Shijing 孫士勍, 363 Sun Zhi 孫枝 (ca. 1535–ca. 1601), 27, 85, 397n29 Supervising Secretary (Jishizhong 給事中), 19, 168 Supplemental Collection of Literary Pieces from the Capital of Wu (Wudu wencui xuji 吳都文粹續集), 37 Sutai guji. See Ancient Sites of Sutai Sutai shenglan tu. See Unexcelled Prospects of Sutai Sutai shier jing. See Twelve Views of Sutai Sutra on the Sea of the Samādhi of Buddha Visualization (Guanfo sanmei hai jing 觀 佛三昧海經), 243

Sutra on the Visualization of the Buddha Amitāyus (Guan Wuliangshou jing 觀無量 壽經), 243 Suzhou: affluence of, 17–18; architecture in, 5, 64; commerce in, 18–19, 91; elites in, 18–20, 22–23, 179; and geo-narratives, 11–12; grand views of, 238; and Huang Xiangjian, 1–2, 17–23, 341–42; Manchu occupation of, 23; map of, 16; painting tradition of, 12–13, 17–93, 63–73, 85, 86, 88, 90–93, 91, 92, 119, 178–79, 316, 341; Qing capture of, 96; and site-specific paintings, 2, 3, 5, 11–12, 23–36; social structure in, 18–20, 22, 23; and southwest, 1, 194; topography of, 285 Suzhou Taishou Kou Shen quren tu. See Paintings for Suzhou Prefect Kou Shen’s Resignation from Office symbolism, 3, 4, 12, 15; of blue-green landscapes, 209–10; in Diannan album, 258–59, 287–88, 296; and famous-sites paintings, 55; and filial campaign, 163, 200; of grand view, 230–37, 238, 337; in honorific paintings, 33–36; of landscape, 342; Ming-loyalist, 158; in Mount Jizu, 209, 246, 247; of pine trees, 299 Taibai Mountains (Taibaishan tu 太白山圖; handscroll; Wang Meng), 24 Taizhou school, 323 Tale of Marriage Destinies That Will Bring Society to Its Senses (Xingshi yinyuan zhuan 醒世姻緣傳), 234 Tang Renyu 唐人玉 (1608–80), 400n82 Tang Xianke 唐獻可 (b. ca. 1577), 400n82 Tang Yin 唐寅 (1470–1524), 85, 244, 288, 298, 396n21, 397n36 Tang 唐 family, 75 Tao Hongzuo 陶鴻祚 (Yugu Daoren 愚古 道人; 1610–74), 155, 156, 163, 164, 166, 169, 170, 171 Tao Qian. See Tao Yuanming Tao Yuanming 陶淵明 (Tao Qian 陶潛; 365–427), 210, 288–89, 290, 417n93 Taozhi meng. See League of Fugitives Taylor, Rodney, 333, 334, 336 Ten Scenes of Yue, 9 “ten-thousand li” (wanli 萬里), 169–70

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Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents (Wanli xunqin tu 萬里尋親圖; album; Huang Xiangjian; Suzhou Museum), 102, 103, 104, 107–8, 110, 113, 115, 117, 126, 131, 138, 143, 147, 175, 182, 186, 187, 188. See also Baikoupo; Jiming Pass; Li Peak Station; Mahage; Northern Foot of Mount Jizu; Pan River; Passing Laishipo; Qinglang Military Station Town; Scenic Frontier of Yunnan; Wusheng Pass; Xiang River; Xiangshui Pass Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents (Wanli xunqin tu 萬里尋親圖; figs. 2.21, 2.33; hanging scroll; Huang Xiangjian; Suzhou Museum), 131, 134, 147, 148 Ten-Thousand Tablets of Mount Tianping (fig. 1.4; album leaf; Zhu Zhi), 25, 26, 32, 246 Ten Views of Gusu (Gusu shi jing 姑蘇十景; album; Bian Wenyu), 398n51 Ten Views of Gusu (Gusu shi jing 姑蘇十景; album; Wen Boren), 74, 398n51 Thousand Man Rock (fig. 1.36), 46, 55, 64, 66 Thousand Mountains and Distant Water, A (Qianshan yuanshui tu 千山遠水圖; figs. 1.35–1.43; handscroll; Zhang Hong), 64–73, 75, 78, 219, 286, 398n51, 399n58, 400n76, 420n17 Tianshun emperor (Yingzong; r. 1457–64), 213 Tiantong 天童 Monastery, 24, 165, 199 Tiger Hill (Huqiu 虎丘), 3, 22, 26, 37, 38, 50, 51, 55, 75, 285, 286; grand views from, 238; literary societies at, 151; photograph of (fig. 1.23), 50; in Thousand Mountains (fig. 1.36), 64, 66; visual codes for, 63 Tiger Hill (Huqiu 虎丘; fig. 1.5; album leaf; Sun Zhi), 26, 27, 38, 246 Tiger Hill (Huqiu 虎丘; fig. 1.10; album leaf; Yuan Shangtong), 38, 39, 46, 53 Tiger Hill (Huqiu 虎丘; fig. 5.17; album leaf; Zhang Fengyi), 286, 287 topography: coded, 63–64, 63–73, 78, 91, 210, 217, 219, 220, 329; cultural, 287–314, 315, 316, 340, 342; Daoist, 122; experience of, 9; in famous-sites paintings, 38, 50, 55, 63–73,

78, 217, 219; and filial piety, 172, 173, 176; and fund-raising, 92; in geo-narratives, 6–7, 11, 88–89; and heroic action, 192; in honorific paintings, 30, 31, 33, 34; and Huang Xiangjian, 98, 118; in Mount Jizu, 203, 209, 210, 215, 220; mythical, 306; narrative, 312; national, 398n47; otherworldly, 317; personal, 258, 313–14, 315–40, 342; physical, 315, 316, 340, 342; and site-specific paintings, 3–4, 5; of southwest, 259–86; in Thousand Mountains, 64; visualization of, 242–43 “To Revive an Ancient Monastery” (Gucha zhong xing 古刹重興; Wang Zhideng), 79 Törmä, Minna, 7 tourism, 86, 212, 305, 308, 330; and famous-sites paintings, 51, 58, 60, 77 traces. See ji; shengji travel: in geo-narratives, 9–10; by officials, 24, 95, 139, 156–57, 169–70, 171, 177, 178, 239, 247, 296–97, 317; to sites of paintings, 4–5 travel accounts (youji 遊記), 2, 4, 7; as biographies, 233–34; Diancang Mountains in, 240, 260–62, 305, 306, 307–10, 364; and experience, 194; and filial-piety tales, 167, 168; and grand view, 232, 234; heroism in, 184; by Huang Xiangjian, 93, 120, 148, 166, 316, 319, 341; and inscriptions, 343–44; of southwest, 12, 96, 118, 119–20, 263, 308; as spiritual autobiographies, 335–36; themes of, 166; by Wang Lü, 122; by Xu Xiake, 327–28. See also particular accounts Travel Records of Filial Son Huang (Huang Xiaozi jicheng 黃孝子紀程; Huang Xiangjian), 1, 14, 152, 163, 164, 165, 185, 209 Treatise on the Eight Strategies (Bazhen faming 八陣發明; Lu Shiyi), 411n98 “Tribute of Yu” (Yu gong 禹貢; Book of Documents), 228 Tu Wei-ming, 322, 333, 336, 393n12 “Tuan Commentary” (Tuan zhuan 彖傳; Book of Changes), 234 tuanyuan 團圓 (reunion), 172 Tus.ita Buddhist Shrine (Doushuai’an 兜率 庵), 212, 214, 418n128

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Twelve Views of Sutai (Sutai shier jing 蘇臺十 二景; album; Yuan Shangtong), 38–39, 42, 43, 52, 53, 58, 59, 398n51, 404n36 Twelve Views of Sutai (Sutai shier jing 蘇臺十 二景; album; Zhang Hong), 38, 40, 41, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 54, 56, 61, 62, 75, 398n51, 399n64 Two Mountains of Dongting (Dongting liangshan tu 洞庭兩山圖; album; Tang Yin), 85 Unexcelled Prospects of Sutai (Sutai shenglan tu 蘇臺勝覽圖; album; Shao Mi), 398n51, 404n36 Unexcelled Prospects of Wu (Wuzhong shenglan tu 吳中勝覽圖; album; Zhang Hong), 75–76, 398n51, 400n84 Union Over Ten-Thousand Li (Wanli yuan 萬 里圓; play; Li Yu), 200 Universally Scenic Bridge (Pusheng qiao 普 勝橋), 212, 418n127 Vast Assembly Monastery (Haihuisi 海會寺), 212, 254, 418n128, 418n134 Venerable Friends (painting; Xiang Shengmo and Zhang Qi), 254 Vinograd, Richard, 6, 258, 414n33 visualization, 15, 118, 203, 230, 239, 242–46, 254, 325; and Buddhism, 243, 244–45; and historical narratives, 245–46 Waicheng 外城 Canal, 52; in Thousand Mountains (fig. 1.35), 64, 65, 78, 219, 286 Wan Shouqi 萬壽祺 (1603–52), 151, 407n83, 421n67 Wang Anshi 王安石 (1021–86), 296 Wang Ao 王鏊 (jinshi 1475; 1450–1524), 85, 402n113 Wang Eryu 王爾玉, 366 Wang, Eugene, 6, 243–44 Wang Fu 王紱 (1362–1416), 258 Wang Fuzhi 王夫之 (1619–92), 159 Wang Kunhua 王崑華, 367 Wang Lü 王履 (ca. 1332–91), 2, 9, 10, 122–23, 238 Wang Meng 王蒙 (ca. 1301–85), 24, 258, 397n37

Wang Min 王珉, 55 Wang Qi 王錡 (1433–99), 17, 77 Wang Qujun 王璩峻, 396n28 Wang Sheng 王升, 307 Wang Shipeng 王十朋 (1112–71), 289 Wang Shixing 王士性 (1547–98), 118, 212–13, 214, 215–16, 217, 219, 222, 403n17, 422n93; and Diannan album, 260, 262–63, 305, 307, 308, 309, 310; and grand view, 237, 239, 240 Wang Shizhen 王世貞 (1526–90), 24, 82, 85, 338, 401n103, 402n117 Wang Shizhen 王士禎 (1634–1711), 306 Wang Shouren. See Wang Yangming Wang Wei 王維 (701–61), 8, 256 Wang Xingyi 王性一, 366 Wang Xun 王珣, 55 Wang Yangming 王陽明 (Wang Shouren 王 守仁; 1472–1529), 166, 244, 245; and Buddhism, 323, 326; and grand view, 336–37; and Huang Kongzhao, 318–23 Wang Yongbin 王用賔, 358, 366–67, 430n57 Wang Yuan 王源 (1648–1710), 184–85 Wang Yuan 王原, 361, 429n44 Wang Yumin 王雨民, 345, 359, 360, 361, 366, 426n5, 429n41 Wang Zhideng 王穉登 (1535–1612), 79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 86, 398n48 Wangchuan 輞川 Villa, 8 wanli guiren 萬里歸人 (man who returned home ten-thousand li), 170 Wanli Guizhou tongzhi. See Comprehensive Guizhou Gazetteer of the Wanli Reign Wanli xunqin tu. See Ten-Thousand Li in Search of My Parents Wanli yuan. See Union Over Ten-Thousand Li Ward, Julian, 12, 119, 213 Watching a Waterfall (fig. 1.1; fan; Huang Xiangjian), 20 Water Margin, 316 Water Margin: A Sequel (Shuihu houzhuan 水滸後傅; Chen Chen), 292 Watermill (Shuideng 水磴), 211, 225, 248, 418n127; in Mount Jizu, 248, 251–52 Wei Shizhong 魏時中 (act. 17th c.), 76 Wei Zhongxian 魏忠賢 (1568–1627), 153, 431n62

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Weiqing 威清 region, 116, 183, 269, 320, 321, 324, 352, 372, 373 Wen Boren 文伯仁 (1502–75), 74, 85, 398n48, 398n51 Wen Chongguang 文寵光, 75 Wen Congchang 文從昌 (1541–1616), 75, 78, 400n92 Wen Congjian 文從簡 (1574–1648), 75 Wen Dian 文點 (1633–1704), 74 Wen Jia 文嘉 (1501–83), 22, 85, 396n20 Wen Jieshi 文介石 (Wen Zuyao 文祖堯; 1598–1661), 154, 156, 157, 163, 199, 368, 407n100, 407n102 Wen Kunzhong 文昆仲, 368 Wen Lin 文林 (1445–99), 22 Wen Qianguang 文謙光, 75 Wen Ruilin 溫睿臨 (fl. 1690–1710), 184 Wen Zhengming 文徵明 (1470–1559), 22, 74, 82, 85, 178, 401n103 Wen Zhenheng 文震亨 (1585–1645), 75 Wen Zhenmeng 文震孟 (1574–1636), 35, 75, 81, 84 Wen Zuyao. See Wen Jieshi West Mountain (Xishan 西山; Hunan), 232 White Deer Grotto Academy (Bailudong Shuyuan 白鹿洞書院), 297–98 White Stone Cave (Baishi dong 白石洞), 211, 418n129 White Stone Precipice (Baishi ya 白石厓), 211, 225, 226, 229, 418n129 Widmer, Ellen, 151, 292, 293 Wiens, Herold J., 12 Wilhelm, Richard, 234 Wind in the Pines and Flowing Streams (painting; Tang Yin), 298 Wind in the Pines at Mount Gouqu (painting; Zhang Hong), 286 “Wind-in-The-Pines Pavilion” (Songfengge ji 松風閣記; essay; Liu Ji), 298 World Around the Chinese Artist, The (Edwards), 3 woyou. See “roam while reclining” Wu Bikui 吾必奎, 356, 428n29 Wu, Emperor (r. 140–87 BCE; Han dynasty), 235, 328 Wu Guolun 吳國倫 (1524–93), 177

Wu Hufan 吳湖帆 (1894–1968), 419n1 Wu Jiaji 吳嘉記 (1618–84), 158, 166 Wu Jiang, 244, 323 Wu, King of, 55 Wu Ling 吳令 (act. ca. 1637–71), 74 Wu, Pei-yi, 234, 315, 335, 416n87 Wu Sangui 吳三桂 (1612–78), 420n31 Wu Weiye 吳偉業 (1609–72), 151, 158, 200, 407n102 Wu Yun 吳雲 (1811–83), 81 Wu Zhaoyuan 吳兆元, 368 Wu Zhen 吳鎮 (1280–1354), 10, 81, 82, 212 Wudu wencui xuji. See Supplemental Collection of Literary Pieces from the Capital of Wu Wu Liang Shrine, 166, 178 Wulong Cave (fig. 2.30; album leaf; Huang Xiangjian), 139, 144 Wu school, 22, 88, 178 Wusheng Pass (fig. 2.11; album leaf; Huang Xiangjian), 109, 115, 139, 187, 189, 192, 374 Wusheng 武勝 Pass, 374 Wuyue youcao. See Drafts of Travels to the Five Sacred Mountains Wuzhong shenglan tu. See Unexcelled Prospects of Wu Wuzhong taoshe. See Society of Escape of Wuzhong Wuzhu 無住 (Hongru 洪如), 362, 430n47 Wuzong, Emperor, 318 Wu 烏 Village (figs. 2.22–2.23; painting; Huang Xiangjian), 131, 135, 136 Xia Zuxun 夏祖訓, 368 Xiacang 下倉, 211, 217, 218, 225, 418n127 Xiaguan 下關, 304 Xiang Shengmo 項聖謨 (1597–1658), 254 Xiang 湘 River, 174, 347, 379 Xiang River (fig. 3.3; album leaf; Huang Xiangjian), 174, 175, 179 Xiangshui Pass (fig. 2.9; album leaf; Huang Xiangjian), 109, 113, 116, 179, 180, 187 Xiangshui 響水 Pass, 116, 180, 183, 369 Xiangxuehai 香雪海 (Sea of Fragrant Snow), 58 Xiangyang 襄陽 (Hubei), 397n35

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xiao 孝. See filial piety Xiao Yuncong 蕭雲從 (1596–1673), 11 Xiao jing. See Classic of Filial Piety Xiaojing yanyi. See Exploration and Amplification of the Classic of Filial Piety Xiaoqing 曉青 (1629–90), 419n1 Xiao Xiang region, 3. See also Eight Views of Xiao Xiang; Rare Views of Xiao-Xiang Xi Dongtingshan tu. See Dongting West Mountain Xie Dongshan 謝東山 (jinshi 1541), 213, 214, 217, 222, 240, 263 Xie Lingyun 謝靈運 (385–433), 299, 325 Xie Shichen 謝時臣 (1487–ca. 1560), 85, 121, 404n30, 404n31 Xie Zhaozhe 謝肇淛 (jinshi 1592; 1567–1624), 213, 222, 263, 403n17 Xihu bazishe. See Society of the Eight Poets of West Lake xin 心 (mind-and-heart), 320–21, 322 Xingtian 性天, 82, 83, 84, 86, 89 Xintian 新添, 98, 350 Xi Shi 西施 Cave, 60 Xixi 西溪, 348 Xu Ai 徐愛 (1487–1518), 337 Xu Bao 許寶 (act. 16th c.), 254 Xu Shidong 徐時棟 (1814–73), 294 Xu Xiake 徐霞客 (1587–1641), 9–10, 403n17, 418n130, 427n24, 429n43; and Buddhism, 327–28; and Diancang Mountains, 304, 305, 306, 308; on Mount Jizu, 193, 213, 222, 239; on southwest, 118, 119, 237, 263, 300, 327–28, 329, 330 Xu Xilie 許希烈 (active ca. 1572–1606), 254 Xu Yu, 296 xue 學, 335, 336 Xukou 胥口, 38, 52, 63, 78, 286; in Thousand Mountains (fig. 1.35), 64, 65 Xunqin jicheng tu. See Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents, A Xunzi 荀子 (ca. 340–245 BCE), 335 Xu 胥 River, 46, 47, 48, 51, 52; in Thousand Mountains (fig. 1.35), 64 Yan Peizu 嚴珮祖, 363 Yan Qiheng 嚴起恆 (d. 1615), 431n58

Yan Shilong 嚴士龍, 359 Yang Bin, 12 Yang Erzeng 楊爾曾 (act. early 17th c.), 213 Yang Hu 羊祜 (221–78), 232, 233, 397n35 Yang Qingtian 楊擎天, 377 Yang Shen 楊慎 (1488–1559), 96, 263, 330, 403n17; and Buddhism, 327; and Diannan album, 297, 305, 306, 308, 309, 310; and Mount Jizu, 213, 215, 221, 252; on Peach Blossom Spring, 288; works by, 118, 213, 288, 297, 308, 328 Yang Weizhi 楊畏知 (d. 1651), 153, 156, 356, 367, 428n30, 428n32, 428nn35–36, 431n58 Yang Yinglong 楊應龍, 372 Yang Yongyan 楊永言, 357 Yang Yuanxun 楊元勳, 379 Yanglin 楊林 Post Station, 99, 355–56, 369 Yangmen liu xueshi. See Six Disciples at the Gates of Yang Yangming 陽明. See Wang Yangming Yangming Chan Buddhism, 323, 326 Yangming shanren 陽明山人, 320 Yangming xiao dongtian 陽明小洞天, 319 Yangming zi 陽明子, 322 yantian. See “inkstone rice field” Yao, Emperor, 296 Yao Jun 姚俊, 397n29 Yao Shangde 姚尚德 (jinshi 1586), 81, 83 Yaoan 姚安, 222, 224, 317, 325, 350, 358, 359, 366, 426n12 Ye Chuchun 葉初春 (jinshi 1580; d. 1622), 81, 84 Ye Jiwu 葉繼武 (1615–73), 151 Yearning for Father and Mother (painting; Huang Xiangjian), preface to, 196–97, 198, 200 Yelang 夜郞 region, 116, 187, 372 Yellow Court Scriptures (Huangting nei/wai jing黃庭內/外經), 244 yi 異 (extraordinary, strange), 194 Yibiwanqing. See “Endless Expanse of Blue” Yijing. See Book of Changes Yili. See Ceremonies and Rites yimin 逸民 (eremitic subjects), 290, 406n60 yimin 遺民 (remnant subjects), 150, 406n60 Yingzong. See Tianshun emperor

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yin-yang dualism, 316 Yixing 宜興, 26 Yiyu tu zhi. See Pictures and Descriptions of Strange Regions Yongli emperor (Prince of Yongming; r. 1647–62), 100, 420n31; satellite court of, 152, 156, 160, 292 You Diancang shan ji. See Diancang Mountains Travel Record; Record of Roaming upon Diancang Mountain youji 遊記. See travel accounts youxia. See knight-errant Yu Shenxing 于慎行 (1545–1608), 18 Yuan Hongdao 袁宏道 (1568–1610), 39–40, 244, 245, 323, 398n45, 399n54 Yuan Jiang 袁江 (ca. 1690–1730), 121, 404n31 Yuan Shangtong 袁尚統 (1570–after 1661), 74, 77, 78, 396n28, 400n93, 404n36; brush style of, 121; paintings by, 38–39, 42, 43, 46, 52, 53, 55, 58, 59, 60, 63, 64, 120, 217, 219, 286, 398n51, 404n36; and perspective, 286 Yuan Yao 袁耀 (act. ca. 1739–88), 404n31 Yuan dynasty, 223, 230, 239. See also Mongols Yue 鋮 (Yuezhi 鋮之), 168 yuefu 樂府 poem, 200 “Yueyang Tower” (Yueyang lou ji 岳陽樓記), 236, 280, 309, 337, 419n12 Yueyang Tower 岳陽樓, 236, 239, 280, 380 Yu gong 禹貢. See “Tribute of Yu” Yugu Daoren. See Tao Hongzuo 陶鴻祚 Yuhas, Louise, 121 Yuhuatai (album leaf; Shitao), 293 Yunnan: and Buddhism, 223; and daguan, 237; in Diannan album, 257–314; as exotic land, 119, 228–29; experience of, 3, 219; gazetteers of, 213, 303, 304, 328, 329; in Han dynasty, 229; hot springs in, 330–31; Huang Kongzhao in, 1, 95, 99–100; Huang Xiangjian in, 1, 17, 102, 163; map of, 94; and Ming dynasty, 152, 153, 223, 230; Ming satellite courts in, 152, 156, 160, 292; Yang Shen in, 213; in Zhou dynasty, 228–29. See also Mount Jizu; southwest China; other specific locations Yunnan shanchuan zhi. See Gazetteer of the Mountains and Rivers of Yunnan

Yunnan tongzhi 雲南通志 (Li Yuanyang), 303 Yunqi Zhuhong 雲棲祩宏 (1535–1615), 245 Yunyan 雲巖 Monastery, 55 Zangge 牂牁, 195, 196, 372 Zeng Shen 曾參 (505–436 BCE), 332 Zhang Dai 張岱 (1597–1689), 74, 77, 159 Zhang Fengyi 張鳳儀 (1527–1613), 18, 286, 287, 396n28 Zhang Fu 張復 (1546–ca. 1631), 121 Zhang Guoshen 張國紳, 81 Zhang Hong 張宏 (1577–ca. 1652), 9, 74, 77, 78, 329, 396n28, 399n64; paintings by, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63, 64, 75–76, 120, 217, 219, 286, 398n51, 400n84; and perspective, 286. See also Thousand Mountains and Distant Water, A; Twelve Views of Sutai Zhang Jiayin 張佳引, 308 Zhang Jie 章碣 (fl. ca. 877), 289 Zhang Juzheng 張居正 (1525–82), 236 Zhang Mingzhen 張名振 (d. 1656), 152 Zhang Qi (act. mid-17th c.), 254 Zhang Qian 張騫 (2nd c. BCE), 328 Zhang Ru 張儒, 100, 358 Zhang Shengwen 張勝溫 (act. 1163–89), 304 Zhang Tao 張滔 (act. late-16th c.), 397n29 Zhang Xu 張旭 (658–747), 412n129 Zhang Yaonian 張堯年, 357 Zhang Yuanju 張元舉, 397n29 Zhang Yuanshi 張元士, 397n29 Zhang Zeduan 張择端 (act. early 12th c.), 397n40 Zhang Zongzhen 張宗禎 (Qing dynasty), 419n1 Zhao Boju 趙伯駒 (d. ca. 1162), 420n20 Zhao Bosu 趙伯驌 (1124–82), 420n20 Zhao, King (Zhou dynasty; trad. r. 1052–1001 BCE), 222 Zhao Shiyu, 293–94 Zhao Xun 趙珣, 364 Zhao Zuo 趙左 (ca. 1573–1644), 79 Zheng Chenggong 鄭成功 (Coxinga; 1624–62), 152 Zheng Hong 鄭弘, 36, 397n43

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Zhennan 鎮南 Subprefecture, 362 Zhidun 支遁 (314–66), 59 Zhong Xing 鍾惺 (1574–1624), 329 zhong 忠. See loyalty Zhongyong. See Doctrine of the Mean Zhou Chen 周臣 (ca. 1450–after 1535), 290 Zhou Danling 周旦齡 (ca. late 17th c.–ca. early 18th c.), 120–21, 165, 170, 196, 197, 200, 412n124, 413n145 Zhou Fujun 周復俊 (jinshi 1532; 1496–1573), 213, 240, 263 Zhou Liao 周廫, 152 Zhou Rudeng 周汝登 (1547–1629?), 335 Zhou Shunchang 周順昌 (posthumously known as Zhou Zhongjie 周忠介; 1584– 1626), 153, 165, 371, 406n81, 431n62 Zhu Hong 諸鴻 (act. before 1739), 413n3 Zhu Ming 朱明, 171 Zhu Xi 朱熹 (1130–1200), 298, 334 Zhu Yizun 朱彝尊 (1629–1709), 413n3

Zhu Yuanzhang. See Hongwu emperor Zhu Zhengyuan, 402n114 Zhu Zhi 朱質, 25, 35, 396n28 Zhuanglie, Emperor (Chongzhen; r. 1627–44), 294 Zhuangyuan 狀元 Ridge, 183, 346 Zhuangzi 莊子, 236 Zhuge Liang 諸葛亮 (181–234), 184, 263, 306, 327, 410n56; loyalty of, 177, 411n91; southwest campaign of, 129, 191, 268, 317 Zhuge 諸葛 Mountain Range, 147, 149, 180, 191, 359, 366 Zhuowu lunlüe. See Brief Comment on Zhuowu Zhuyuan. See Bamboo Monastery Ziyang gudong. See “Ancient Cave of Ziyang” Zong Bing 宗炳 (375–443), 7–8, 11, 232, 325–26 Zou Zhan 鄒湛, 232, 233 Zuoming 祚明 (Gui Zhuang), 154

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*1. LiangG.Fang-chung, The Single-Whip Method of Taxation in China 287. Michael Chang, A Court on Horseback: Imperial Touring & the Construction of Qing *2. C. Hinton, The Grain Tribute System of China, 1845–1911 Rule,Harold 1680–1785 3. Ellsworth C. Tsang, Carlson,War Theand Kaiping Mines, 288. Carol Richmond Faith: Ikkō1877–1912 Ikki in Late Muromachi Japan Kuo-chün, Agrarian Policies of Mainland China: A Standards DocumentaryforStudy, 289. *4. HildeChao De Weerdt, Competition over Content: Negotiating the Civil Service 1949–1956in Imperial China (1127 –1279) Examinations Edgar Snow, Random Notes on Red China, 1936–1945 290. *5. Eve Zimmerman, Out of the Alleyway: Nakagami Kenji and the Poetics of Outcaste Fic*6. Edwin George Beal, Jr., The Origin of Likin, 1835–1864 tion 7. Chao Kuo-chün, Economic Planning Civic and Organization Mainland A in 291. Robert Culp, Articulating Citizenship: Education in and StudentChina: Politics Documentary Study,1912–1940 1949–1957 Southeastern China, JohnJ.K. Fairbank,From ChingFoot Documents: Syllabus Takahashi Korekiyo, Japan’s 292. *8. Richard Smethurst, SoldierAn to Introductory Finance Minister: *9. Helen Yin and Yi-chang Yin, Economic Statistics of Mainland China, 1949–1957 Keynes Franke, Abolition of the Traditional Chinese Examination 293. 10. JohnWolfgang E. Herman, AmidThe theReform Cloudsand and Mist: China’s Colonization of Guizhou, 1200–1700 System 294. Tomoko Shiroyama, China during the Great Depression: Market, State, and the World 11. Albert1929–1937 Feuerwerker and S. Cheng, Chinese Communist Studies of Modern Chinese Economy, History 295. Kirk W. Larsen, Tradition, Treaties and Trade: Qing Imperialism and Chosŏn Korea, 12. C. John Stanley, Late Ching Finance: Hu Kuang-yung as an Innovator 1850–1910 13. S. M.Golley, Meng, When The Tsungli Yamen: Organization and Functions 296. Gregory Our Eyes NoItsLonger See: Realism, Science, and Ecology in Japa*14. Historiography of the Taiping Rebellion nese Ssu-yü LiteraryTeng, Modernism 15. Chun-Jo Liu, Emplacing ControversiesainPilgrimage: Modern Chinese History: Analytic 297. Barbara Ambros, The Intellectual Ōyama Cult and An Regional Religion in EarBibliography ly Modern Japanof Periodical Articles, Mainly of the May Fourth and Post-May Fourth Era Edward J. M. The Chinese Red Army,Murakami 1927–1963Haruki : An Annotated 298. *16. Rebecca Suter, TheRhoads, Japanization of Modernity: between Japan and the Bibliography United States Andrew Nathan, History of theTrial: ChinaThe International Commission 299. *17. Yuma Totani,J.The TokyoAWar Crimes Pursuit ofFamine JusticeRelief in the Wake of World *18. Frank H. H. King (ed.) and Prescott Clarke, A Research Guide to China-Coast War II Newspapers, 1822–1911 301. David M. Robinson, ed., Culture, Courtiers, and Competition: The Ming Court (1368– *19. 1644)Ellis Joffe, Party and Army: Professionalism and Political Control in the Chinese Officer Corps, 1949–1964 302. Calvin Chen, Some Assembly Required: Work, Community, and Politics in China’s Rural *20. Toshio G. Tsukahira, Feudal Control in Tokugawa Japan: The Sankin Kōtai System Enterprises Liu,Power ed., American Missionaries China: Papers from Harvard Seminars 303. *21. Sem Kwang-Ching Vermeersch, The of the Buddhas: TheinPolitics of Buddhism During the Koryŏ *22. George Moseley, A Sino-Soviet Cultural Frontier: The Ili Kazakh Autonomous Chou Dynasty (918–1392) 304. Tina Lu, Accidental Incest, Filial Cannibalism, and Other Peculiar Encounters in Late Imperial Chinese Literature 305. Chang Woei Ong, Men of Letters Within the Passes: Guanzhong Literati in Chinese History, 907–1911 306. Wendy Swartz, Reading Tao Yuanming: Shifting Paradigms of Historical Reception (427– 1900)

307. Peter K. Bol, Neo-Confucianism in History 308. Carlos Rojas, The Naked Gaze: Reflections on Chinese Modernity 309. Kelly H. Chong, Deliverance and Submission: Evangelical Women and the Negotiation of Patriarchy in South Korea 310. Rachel DiNitto, Uchida Hyakken: A Critique of Modernity and Militarism in Prewar Japan 311. Jeffrey Snyder-Reinke, Dry Spells: State Rainmaking and Local Governance in Late Imperial China 312. Jay Dautcher, Down a Narrow Road: Identity and Masculinity in a Uyghur Community in Xinjiang China 313. Xun Liu, Daoist Modern: Innovation, Lay Practice, and the Community of Inner Alchemy in Republican Shanghai 314. Jacob Eyferth, Eating Rice from Bamboo Roots: The Social History of a Community of Handicraft Papermakers in Rural Sichuan, 1920–2000 315. David Johnson, Spectacle and Sacrifice: The Ritual Foundations of Village Life in North China 316. James Robson, Power of Place: The Religious Landscape of the Southern Sacred Peak (Nanyue 南嶽) in Medieval China 317. Lori Watt, When Empire Comes Home: Repatriation and Reintegration in Postwar Japan 318. James Dorsey, Critical Aesthetics: Kobayashi Hideo, Modernity, and Wartime Japan 319. Christopher Bolton, Sublime Voices: The Fictional Science and Scientific Fiction of Abe Kōbō 320. Si-yen Fei, Negotiating Urban Space: Urbanization and Late Ming Nanjing 321. Christopher Gerteis, Gender Struggles: Wage-Earning Women and Male-Dominated Unions in Postwar Japan 322. Rebecca Nedostup, Superstitious Regimes: Religion and the Politics of Chinese Modernity 323. Lucien Bianco, Wretched Rebels: Rural Disturbances on the Eve of the Chinese Revolution 324. Cathryn H. Clayton, Sovereignty at the Edge: Macau and the Question of Chineseness 325. Micah S. Muscolino, Fishing Wars and Environmental Change in Late Imperial and Modern China 326. Robert I. Hellyer, Defining Engagement: Japan and Global Contexts, 1750–1868 327. Robert Ashmore, The Transport of Reading: Text and Understanding in the World of Tao Qian (365–427) 328. Mark A. Jones, Children as Treasures: Childhood and the Middle Class in Early Twentieth Century Japan 329. Miryam Sas, Experimental Arts in Postwar Japan: Moments of Encounter, Engagement, and Imagined Return 330. H. Mack Horton, Traversing the Frontier: The Man’yōshū Account of a Japanese Mission to Silla in 736–737 331. Dennis J. Frost, Seeing Stars: Sports Celebrity, Identity, and Body Culture in Modern Japan 332. Marnie S. Anderson, A Place in Public: Women’s Rights in Meiji Japan 333. Peter Mauch, Sailor Diplomat: Nomura Kichisaburō and the Japanese-American War 334. Ethan Isaac Segal, Coins, Trade, and the State: Economic Growth in Early Medieval Japan 335. David B. Lurie, Realms of Literacy: Early Japan and the History of Writing 336. Lillian Lan-ying Tseng, Picturing Heaven in Early China 337. Jun Uchida, Brokers of Empire: Japanese Settler Colonialism in Korea, 1876–1945 338. Patricia L. Maclachlan, The People’s Post Office: The History and Politics of the Japanese Postal System, 1871–2010

339. Michael Schiltz, The Money Doctors from Japan: Finance, Imperialism, and the Building of the Yen Bloc, 1895–1937 340. Daqing Yang, Jie Liu, Hiroshi Mitani, and Andrew Gordon, eds., Toward a History beyond Borders: Contentious Issues in Sino-Japanese Relations 341. Sonia Ryang, Reading North Korea: An Ethnological Inquiry 342. Shih-shan Susan Huang, Picturing the True Form: Daoist Visual Culture in Traditional China 343. Barbara Mittler, A Continuous Revolution: Making Sense of Cultural Revolution Culture 344. Hwansoo Ilmee Kim, Empire of the Dharma: Korean and Japanese Buddhism, 1877–1912 345. Satoru Saito, Detective Fiction and the Rise of the Japanese Novel, 1880–1930 346. Jung-Sun N. Han, An Imperial Path to Modernity: Yoshino Sakuzō and a New Liberal Order in East Asia, 1905–1937 347. Atsuko Hirai, Government by Mourning: Death and Political Integration in Japan, 1603– 1912 348. Darryl E. Flaherty, Public Law, Private Practice: Politics, Profit, and the Legal Profession in Nineteenth-Century Japan 349. Jeffrey Paul Bayliss, On the Margins of Empire: Buraku and Korean Identity in Prewar and Wartime Japan 350. Barry Eichengreen, Dwight H. Perkins, and Kwanho Shin, From Miracle to Maturity: The Growth of the Korean Economy 351. Michel Mohr, Buddhism, Unitarianism, and the Meiji Competition for Universality 352. J. Keith Vincent, Two-Timing Modernity: Homosocial Narrative in Modern Japanese Fiction 354. Chong-Bum An and Barry Bosworth, Income Inequality in Korea: An Analysis of Trends, Causes, and Answers 355. Jamie L. Newhard, Knowing the Amorous Man: A History of Scholarship on Tales of Ise 356. Sho Konishi, Anarchist Modernity: Cooperatism and Japanese-Russian Intellectual Relations in Modern Japan 357. Christopher P. Hanscom, The Real Modern: Literary Modernism and the Crisis of Representation in Colonial Korea 358. Michael Wert, Meiji Restoration Losers: Memory and Tokugawa Supporters in Modern Japan 359. Garret P. S. Olberding, ed., Facing the Monarch: Modes of Advice in the Early Chinese Court 360. Xiaojue Wang, Modernity with a Cold War Face: Reimagining the Nation in Chinese Literature Across the 1949 Divide 361. David Spafford, A Sense of Place: The Political Landscape in Late Medieval Japan 362. Jongryn Mo and Barry Weingast, Korean Political and Economic Development: Crisis, Security, and Economic Rebalancing 363. Melek Ortabasi, The Undiscovered Country: Text, Translation, and Modernity in the Work of Yanagita Kunio 364. Hiraku Shimoda, Lost and Found: Recovering Regional Identity in Imperial Japan 365. Trent E. Maxey, The “Greatest Problem”: Religion and State Formation in Meiji Japan 366. Gina Cogan, The Princess Nun: Bunchi, Buddhist Reform, and Gender in Early Edo Japan 367. Eric C. Han, Rise of a Japanese Chinatown: Yokohama, 1894–1972 368. Natasha Heller, Illusory Abiding: The Cultural Construction of the Chan Monk Zhongfeng Mingben

369. Paize Keulemans, Sound Rising from the Paper: Nineteenth-Century Martial Arts Fiction and the Chinese Acoustic Imagination 370. Simon James Bytheway, Investing Japan: Foreign Capital, Monetary Standards, and Economic Development, 1859–2011 371. Sukhee Lee, Negotiated Power: The State, Elites, and Local Governance in TwelfthFourteenth China 372. Foong Ping, The Efficacious Landscape: On the Authorities of Painting at the Northern Song Court 373. Catherine L. Phipps, Empires on the Waterfront: Japan’s Ports and Power, 1858–1899 374. Sunyoung Park, The Proletarian Wave: Literature and Leftist Culture in Colonial Korea, 1910–1945 375. Barry Eichengreen, Wonhyuk Lim, Yung Chul Park, and Dwight H. Perkins, The Korean Economy: From a Miraculous Past to a Sustainable Future 376. Heather Blair, Real and Imagined: The Peak of Gold in Heian Japan 377. Emer O’Dwyer, Significant Soil: Settler Colonialism and Japan’s Urban Empire in Manchuria 378. Martina Deuchler, Under the Ancestors’ Eyes: Kinship, Status, and Locality in Premodern Korea 379. Joseph R. Dennis, Writing, Publishing, and Reading Local Gazetteers in Imperial China, 1100–1700 380. Catherine Vance Yeh, The Chinese Political Novel: Migration of a World Genre 381. Noell Wilson, Defensive Positions: The Politics of Maritime Security in Tokugawa Japan 382. Miri Nakamura, Monstrous Bodies: The Rise of the Uncanny in Modern Japan 383. Nara Dillon, Radical Inequalities: China’s Revolutionary Welfare State in Comparative Perspective 384. Ma Zhao, Runaway Wives, Urban Crimes, and Survival Tactics in Wartime Beijing, 19371949 385. Mingwei Song, Young China: National Rejuvenation and the Bildungsroman, 1900-1959 386. Christopher Bondy, Voice, Silence, and Self: Negotiations of Buraku Identity in Contemporary Japan 387. Seth Jacobowitz, Writing Technology in Meiji Japan: A Media History of Modern Japanese Literature and Visual Culture 388. Hilde De Weerdt, Information, Territory, and Elite Networks: The Crisis and Maintenance of Empire in Song China 389. Elizabeth Kindall, Geo-Narratives of a Filial Son: The Paintings and Travel Diaries of Huang Xiangjian (1609–1673) 390. Matthew Fraleigh, Plucking Chrysanthemums: Narushima Ryūhoku and Sinitic Literary Traditions in Modern Japan 391. Hu Ying, Burying Autumn: Poetry, Friendship, and Loss 392. Mark E. Byington, The Ancient State of Puyŏ in Northeast Asia: Archaeology and Historical Memory 393. Timothy J. Van Compernolle, Struggling Upward: Worldly Success and the Japanese Novel 394. Heekyoung Cho, Translation’s Forgotten History: Russian Literature, Japanese Mediation, and the Formation of Modern Korean Literature 395. Terry Kawashima, Itineraries of Power: Texts and Traversals in Heian and Medieval Japan 396. Anna Andreeva, Assembling Shinto: Buddhist Approaches to Kami Worship in Medieval Japan