Ritual Opera and Mercantile Lineage: The Confucian Transformation of Popular Culture in Late Imperial Huizhou 9781503624917

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ritual oper a and mercantile lineage

Ritual Opera and Mercantile Lineage the confuc ian tr ansformation of popular culture in late imperial huizhou

Qitao Guo

stanford universit y press stanford, california 2005

Stanford University Press Stanford, California © 2005 by the Board of Trustees of the Leland Stanford Junior University. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system without the prior written permission of Stanford University Press. Printed in the United States of America on acid-free, archival-quality paper library of congress cataloging-in-publication data Guo, Qitao. Ritual opera and mercantile lineage : the Confucian transformation of popular culture in late Imperial Huizhou / Qitao Guo. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. isbn 0-8047-5032-7 (cloth : alk. paper) 1. Mercantile system— China—Huizhou (Anhui Sheng) 2. Popular culture— China—Huizhou (Anhui Sheng) 3. Opera— China—Huizhou (Anhui Sheng) 4. China—History—Ming dynasty, 1368 –1644. 5. China—History— Qing dynasty, 1644 –1911. I. Title. hb91.g86 2005 306.4⬘848⬘0951— dc22 2004018559 Typeset by G&S Book Services in 10/12.5 Sabon Original Printing 2005 Last figure below indicates year of this printing: 14 13 12 11 10 09 08 07 06 05

In memory of my mother, Xu Suizhen റỰ╶ (1927Ð1996), and my father, Guo Haochu ⵗᙯӮ (1927Ð2004)

Contents

List of Map, Figures, and Tables

ix

List of Abbreviations

xi

List of Reign Periods of the Ming and Qing Dynasties

xii

Acknowledgments

xiii

Introduction

1

Part One. The Setting 1. A Gentrified Kinship Society 2. Huizhou Merchants and Mercantile Lineage Culture

9 50

Part Two. The Script 3. The Mulian Legacy 4. The Confucian Transformation of the Mulian Tradition

89 103

Part Three. The Performance 5. An Integrated Tradition: Mulian Scripts and Female Chastity

151

6. A Shared Culture: Ritual Opera and Mercantile Lineage

178

Conclusion

211

Appendix A: Extant Mulian Operatic Scripts

221

Appendix B: Huizhou Ancestral Halls (ca. 1500 –1644)

223

Appendix C: Homophonic and Graphic Substitutions and Sardonic Characters in Mulian Scripts

225

Notes

227

Glossary

299

Bibliography

317

Index

351

Map, Figures, and Tables

Map 1. Map of Huizhou in the Late Imperial Yangzi River Delta.

xiv

Figures 1.1 Mountainous Huizhou (1725).

14

1.2 The Lineage Temple of the Yingzhou Hus, Jixi (late Ming).

34

1.3 The interior courtyard of the Lineage Temple of the Yingzhou Hus, Jixi (late Ming).

35

1.4 The lineage temple of the Tangyue Baos, Shexian (late eighteenth century).

36

1.5 Seven memorial archways honoring loyal officials, filial sons, and chaste widows of the Tangyue Baos, Shexian (Ming and Qing).

37

1.6 A late-Ming illustration of a freestanding ancestral hall.

38

1.7 A High-Qing illustration of a freestanding ancestral hall.

39

1.8 The model of an ancestral shrine from Zhu Xi’s Zhuzi Jiali.

40

1.9 The offering hall in the living quarters, with an ancestral shrine in the upper left, in Xidi village, Yixian (Qing).

41

4.1 Unfilial son Zhao is being judged in the first hall of Hell.

118

4.2 The Forest of Swords in Hell.

119

4.3 The ten-thousand-pound Copper Mill in Hell.

120

4.4 The Bed of Nails in Hell.

121

4.5 The Lake of Blood in Hell.

122

4.6 The Cauldron of Oil in Hell.

123

4.7 The Mirror of Karma in Hell.

124

4.8 The Looking Home Terrace (wangxiang tai).

127

4.9 The original cover design for Zheng Zhizhen’s script (ca. 1582).

138

5.1 The main hall of the female shrine of the Tangyue Baos, Shexian (Qing).

171

5.2 The side-facing door of the female shrine of the Tangyue Baos, Shexian (Qing).

172

5.3 The Treading-Fortune Hall (Lüfu tang) in Xidi village, Yixian (Qing).

173

5.4 The Auspicious Jade Hall (Ruiyu ting) in Xidi village, Yixian (Qing).

174

6.1 A three-tiered stage in the county seat of Yixian (early nineteenth century). Photograph 1927.

200

Tables 2.1 Chaste and Martyred Widows in Shexian

75

5.1 Various Categories of Virtuous Women in Huizhou

166

5.2 Virtuous Women and Huizhou Lineage-Dominated Communities

167

Abbreviations

CXAHTZ

Chongxiu Anhui tongzhi (1878)

HZF

Huizhou fuzhi (1502)

HZZ

Huizhou fuzhi (1566)

JNTZ

Jiangnan tongzhi (1737)

JXZ

Jixi xianzhi (1755, 1810, and 1963)

LHYF

Lianghui yanfa zhi (1693)

MLBY

Mulian jiumu: Yiyang qiang liantaibenxi, 7 vols. (the Boyang version, 1871; reprint, 1982)

MLCB

Mulian xi: Gaoqiang, 3 vols. (the Changbiao version, 1868)

MLNL

Mulian xi juben, 3 vols. (the Nanling version, 1957)

MLZZ

Zheng Zhizhen, Mulian jiumu quanshan xiwen, 3 vols. (1582)

MQHS

Ming-Qing Huishang ziliao xuanbian (1985)

NLZ

Nanling xianzhi (1924)

QXZ

Qimen xianzhi (1873)

SXH

Shexian zhi (1771)

SXZ

Shexian zhi (1937)

XNLKCS

Xiuning Lükou Chengshi xubian benzong pu (1570)

XXZ

Xiuning xianzhi (1693)

YXZ

Yixian sanzhi (1870)

Reign Periods of the Ming and Qing Dynasties

mi ng (1368–1644)

q ing (1644 –1911)

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

Shunzhi Kangxi Yongzheng Qianlong Jiaqing Daoguang Xianfeng Tongzhi Guangxu Xuantong

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

1644 –1661 1662 –1722 1723–1735 1736 –1795 1796 –1820 1821–1850 1851–1861 1862 –1874 1875 –1907 1908 –1911

Acknowledgments

I want to thank the following for their contribution to this book: Muriel Bell, Bo Songnian, Carmen Borbón-Wu, Cynthia Brokaw, Shana Brown, Samuel Cheung, Ned Davis, Joseph Esherick, Andrea S. Goldman, Steve Gosch, Robert Gough, Judith Hibbard, Hu Yimin, David Johnson, Karen Jolly, Harold Kahn, David Keightley, James Kettner, D. W. Y. Kwok, Christopher Lind, Cynthia Lindlof, Mao Gengru, Harold McArthur, Tom Miller, Cyndy Ning, Brett Sheehan, Andy Sieverman, Michael Szonyi, Frederic Wakeman, Wang Ch’iu-kuei, John Williams, Wen-hsin Yeh, Zhao Guohua, Zhu Wanshu, Harriet Zurndorfer, and the outside reviewers. I owe a special debt of gratitude to several people. Professors David Johnson and David Keightley were instrumental in bringing me from Beijing to Berkeley, and went out of their way to ease my culture shock in the early years of this long “Journey to the West.” David Johnson, while charting out the new field of traditional Chinese popular culture, shaped my career as a sociocultural historian of late imperial China. Frederic Wakeman’s high demands on scholarship drove me back to libraries and Anhui archives again and again to search for the social dimensions of popular Mulian performance and the broader implications for Huizhou social history. Harold Kahn was a gentle and generous mentor to a Berkeley interloper and also played a key role in bringing my work to publication. Last but not least, Mao Gengru, a genuine old-school Chinese scholar, provided me with a key Mulian script in the early phase of my research, which helped to sustain my Huizhou focus. This book would not have been possible without the support of all of the above. The following institutions or organizations have helped at various stages to fund this project: The China and Inner Council and Chiang Ching-kuo Foundation of the Association for Asian Studies; Department of History and Institute of East Asian Studies at the University of California at Berkeley; The National Endowment for the Humanities; Stanford University East Asia National Resource Center; University Research Council, History Department, and Center for Chinese Studies at the University of Hawaii at Manoa; University of Wisconsin–Eau Claire. They have my deepest appreciation.

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ritual oper a and mercantile lineage

Introduction

This study rests upon two related convictions I have gained through academic training and empirical research: Historians need to study popular culture in light of its interactions with elite culture as well as with the social context. They also must pursue such a sociocultural history within a local setting, for only a reduced scale allows us to more accurately analyze the complex transmission of beliefs and practices over time and space and thus understand—with the slightest possible deterministic reduction—the changing patterns of interplay between systems of values and social affiliations and between lower and high cultures. This book, which focuses upon a popular genre of ritual opera in a local society of late imperial China, is such an attempt. The highlighted region is Huizhou, a Jiangnan prefecture famed empirewide since the sixteenth century for its Confucian gentry society, strong practice of kinship organization, and far-reaching mercantile influence. The genre is Mulian, arguably the greatest of all Chinese religious dramas, featuring the epic journey by Buddhist monk Mulian through the underworld to rescue his sinful mother. This study explores two chief questions: How did Huizhou local society and popular Mulian performance interact, and what were the characteristics of traditional Chinese popular culture as revealed in Huizhou Mulian? The performance of Mulian ritual opera did not fully mature until the late sixteenth century, although the myth, first introduced to China with Indic Buddhism in around the third century c.e., and enjoying further development in the subsequent centuries, had been performed in various genres prior to the Ming dynasty (1368 –1644). A Huizhou scholar named Zheng Zhizhen (1518 –95) produced the first full-length script, Mulian Rescues His Mother: An Opera for Goodness (Mulian jiumu quanshan xiwen). This three-volume libretto, designed for three nights of consecutive performance, marked the completion of a new Mulian tradition. It was, in essence, a Confucian transformation of a Buddhist value system that had syncretized elements of Daoism and popular religion. Incorporated in Zheng’s script were a large number of secular stories, mirroring the daily and spiritual life of his local kinsmen and kinswomen. These stories, as well as the Mulian myth, were selected or remade to illustrate the governing theme of Mulian performance: “encouraging goodness and punishing evil” (quanshan cheng’e). Although the criterion of defining “goodness” or “evil” was ultimately Confucian, the means of “encouraging” or “punishing” was to appeal to the

2

Introduction

supernatural power of divinity. Conveying Confucian ethics by means of eclectic pantheons of the spirits and gods and in the popular format of ritual opera, the new Mulian dramatically empowered and enriched a distinctive ethico-religious discourse. The significance of Zheng Zhizhen’s work lies also in its influence upon later librettos and performance of Mulian, because Zheng’s transformation of the ritual opera into a scripted performance set a pattern for subsequent Mulian scripts and manuscripts. Soon after Zheng’s manuscript was completed, high local demand led to its printing in 1582. Its publication helped further promote the style of Mulian performance that had been popular before Zheng’s time. In terms of the fundamental orientation of socioreligious values, if not plot, Zheng Zhizhen virtually unified the ritual opera, both in his home prefecture and other centers of Mulian performance in the southern provinces of Anhui, Jiangsu, Jiangxi, Zhejiang, Fujian, Hunan, and Sichuan. But nowhere was Mulian more popular and more revealing of the nature of traditional Chinese popular culture than in the Huizhou region.1 “Jiangnan people are truly distinctive,” as a local proverb puts it, “even their dogs can howl out three volumes of Mulian opera.” 2 Twenty-one known Mulian operatic scripts, out of fifty-two listed in a recent survey, are from the Huizhou region; four of them are extant. They, along with Zheng’s master copy, constitute one set of key sources for this study.3 In a more folklike style than Zheng’s script could possibly reveal, the performance based on these later and longer scripts featured the following characteristics of traditional Chinese popular culture: the ritual embrace of operatic entertainment, the role of divine force in the transmission of public ideas of good and bad behavior, and the encrustation of Confucian values with popular and syncretic forms. This study seeks to historicize and contextualize Mulian performance— that is, to study the ritual opera as a historically evolving and socially grounded cultural tradition. Many of the materials I analyze here have their origins or parallels in other genres of both elite and folk nature (as well as pre–Zheng Zhizhen Mulian literature), and wherever they are relevant to my concerns, I have explored these avenues. For the most part, however, I have assumed that once these materials made their way into the network of Huizhou Mulian, they could be used to shed light upon the consciousness of Huizhou people in a given historical period without constant reference to their existence in other genres. For example, although originating in the Song dynasty (960 –1279), the ethico-religious discourse found in Huizhou Mulian was also present in many other genres of sixteenth-century and later vernacular literature and popular religious tracts, which nevertheless indexed the permeation of Confucian values into local culture and popular religion. Yet in Mulian performances, such a popular Confucian discourse—

Introduction

3

or what I will call “popular Confucianism”—was most completely represented, most effectively transmitted by the means of ritual opera, most powerfully conveyed by the supernatural, and most deeply rooted in local customs and social institutions. At the center of my analysis is the Mulian tradition, but I also engage in Huizhou social history for its own sake, as well as for making better sense of the ritual opera. I treat Mulian performance as part of Huizhou social history, investigating one to illuminate the other. Huizhou was a remarkable place, showcasing many important developments of late imperial China.4 As the ancestral home of Zhu Xi, the leading Song dynasty synthesizer of neo-Confucianism, Huizhou was a center of Confucian ideology and scholarship throughout late imperial times. The local social fabric served to enhance and crystallize this intensive Confucian milieu. In the sixteenth century, in particular, the region underwent a dramatic strengthening of Confucian lineage culture, featuring the establishment of corporate lands (partly used to sponsor ritual operas) and lineage temples (often with a newly built ritual operatic stage), the elaboration of ancestral rites used to convey filial devotion and propriety, and the promotion of female marital fidelity. At about the same time, Huizhou emerged as a major cradle of mercantilism within the context of the rising money economy. Of great significance is the cooperative relationship between the educated gentry elite and merchants within the lineages, in local society, and outside Huizhou, in terms of both cultural orientation and social behavior. Fully supported by their ancestral lineages and gentry kinsmen, Huizhou merchants spread throughout China, amassing enormous fortunes, significant portions of which were channeled back home to enhance lineage infrastructure. All of this led to the construction and maturation of what I call “mercantile lineages,” gentry-guided and merchant-based kinship communities that dominated the Huizhou social landscape. In this land of mercantile lineages, moreover, ritual operas flourished to promote Confucian ethics as well as cultural syncretism and popular cults. Most spectacularly, all of these facets of Huizhou social history found their expressions in one way or another in popular Mulian performance. All of this allows us to root the analysis of popular cultural representation in the local social order. Moving back and forth from text to context, I strive to seek out the social dimensions of Mulian and the social mechanism that facilitated the interplay of higher and lower culture in the making of the ritual opera tradition. We shall see, for instance, how the new Mulian first codified by Zheng Zhizhen reflected new trends in the economic, intellectual, religious, and sociocultural spheres of the sixteenth century and how these trends were particularly manifest in Huizhou. Zheng Zhizhen was not an inventor of the Mulian ritual opera, although he played a vital

4

Introduction

part in remaking the tradition. The concurrent social and cultural developments in Huizhou paved the way for our playwright to reorient popular Mulian performance, and it was those developments, as recorded by Zheng Zhizhen, that made his script a new tradition. The new Mulian tradition prevailed thereafter in large part because it met the needs of Huizhou mercantile lineages, which ultimately determined both the scripting and staging of the ritual opera. This social dimension of Mulian requires a new look into the nature of ritual opera as well as popular culture. Mulian opera was always staged in a ritual context of thanking the gods for their protection and exorcising ghosts. According to Piet van der Loon, Mulian was staged simply and solely to “cleanse the community of all impurities” or “the malevolent forces of contagion,” but not to convey morality lessons and religious precepts “by threatening people with the punishment of their sins.” 5 This study, while taking into account the exorcising function of Mulian, seeks to illuminate the content and context of the ritual opera and, especially, their interaction in a given historical era. Although Mulian performance did evolve from ancient exorcism rites, Mulian exorcism had undergone a fundamental transformation by the sixteenth century. This arguably most popular genre of ritual opera had become the most powerful arena for local lineage elites to convey kinship values as well as religious precepts. The new Mulian served to both exorcise malevolent influences of ghosts and bolster socioreligious norms; in the process, orthodox values penetrated the ritual opera and cult symbols originally mobilized to exorcise ghosts. Given this elite penetration, was Mulian still an artifact of popular culture? By way of giving a quick answer here, let me first note that the first full-length script in the history of Mulian operatic performance, though compiled by a local scholar, came from and returned to local popular culture.6 Zheng Zhizhen’s rewriting did not alter the popular nature of Mulian performance but rather helped transform the nature of popular culture. A printed script further promoted the trend of popular Mulian performance, making it more widely shared among all social groups within local kinship communities. The shared nature of popular Mulian discourse is embodied even more evidently in later anonymous scripts, for they are collective representations resulting from long negotiation between “authors” and audience or between elite and folk sentiments. Culture is marked by simultaneous integration and diversity.7 Thus, “popular culture” in my usage is not an exclusive manifestation of folkways. Rather, it designates a tradition that is publicly shared, although it may be appropriated in different ways by different people, or by the same person for different purposes under different circumstances.8 Our task with the Mulian performance, then, is to puzzle out what was shared and what was used for different purposes. Certain

Introduction

5

messages and images of Mulian, or what David Johnson has called “cultural vocabulary,” 9 may have been interpreted differently by different people situated in the local lineage hierarchy, or the ritual opera as a whole might be appropriated on various occasions for different purposes; but the core Confucian ethico-religious discourse was shared by all Huizhou people, regardless of their social status—it was the “grammar” of traditional Chinese popular culture. However, the significance of this study lies not just in a reinterpretation of traditional Chinese popular culture or an alternative perspective on the Confucian tradition. Its biggest contribution is the quest per se, by which I strive to integrate social, cultural, intellectual, religious, and gender history within a local setting.10 More specifically, this book studies Confucian ideology as culture and culture as history by weaving popular performance of Mulian ritual opera into the social fabric of Huizhou gentrified mercantile lineages. I examine Mulian not only to illuminate the nature of traditional Chinese popular culture but also to shed new light on the social history of its birthplace. Just as Huizhou merchants cannot be fully understood without linking them to their home lineages, the gentry society of mercantile lineages cannot be fully understood without taking into account local popular culture (and vice versa). Differing from current scholarship, which seems to have irreversibly moved away from the gentry society and Confucian tradition, this study returns to these two seemingly “outdated” paradigms of late imperial China—but through the channels of mercantile lineage and popular culture.11 I have discovered in Mulian a living history of gentrified Huizhou lineage culture, a culture that was quickly absorbing, and in turn thoroughly influenced by, increasing commercialization and developments in popular culture (including local cults) from the sixteenth century onward. I explore how local lineage elites of both gentry and merchant extraction manipulated various social and gender relations via the medium of Mulian performance within the social context of a rising money economy. I show, as one example of this cultural manipulation, how lineagesponsored ritual opera was used to convey Confucian notions of filial piety, female chastity, bond-servant loyalty, and a newly shaped mercantile ethic among villagewide audiences composed of both kinsmen and kinswomen. These were concerns of no small importance to elites in a region whose economic sustenance was largely predicated upon the wealth of sojourning merchants. The accumulated result of elite manipulation, at times conscious and at times instinctive, was a subtle but thorough Confucian remolding of local popular culture. The new Mulian was the staged form of Confucian ideology and social praxis of local kinship communities. Popular Mulian performance or discourse in late imperial Huizhou was gentrified mercantile lineage culture in practice.

6

Introduction

All in all, this study is about both “ritual opera” and “mercantile lineage,” with particular emphasis on their interaction and its cultural product: the Confucian transformation of popular culture. The book is composed of three parts, each with two chapters. The first two chapters focus on the social history of Huizhou lineage institutions and merchant culture both to set the context for the new Mulian tradition and for the sake of its own significance. These two chapters, I wish to emphasize, are by no means conventional “setting” chapters, but central to both the subject matter and the sociocultural approach of this historical study. No historian has yet portrayed such a detailed, localized, and coherent picture of Chinese mercantile lineage culture, let alone its integration with popular Mulian performance.12 To illuminate the newness of Zheng Zhizhen’s contribution—and make full sense of it—the pre-Zheng legacy of Mulian literature and performance is first examined in Chapter 3. The new Mulian codified in Zheng Zhizhen’s script and its place in concurrent Chinese popular culture form the subject of Chapter 4. This chapter also demonstrates a massive Confucian reorientation of other popular genres in the sixteenth-century context of vast socioeconomic and intellectual changes. Chapter 5 explores the further development of Mulian performance in the Huizhou region over the course of the Qing dynasty (1644 –1912). It compares Zheng’s script to two later and lengthier versions of Mulian from local villages in the Huizhou region, focusing on the similar formulation of women’s virtues in these scripts. The comparison reveals the integration of local popular culture by demonstrating how Zheng Zhizhen virtually unified Mulian performances with his Confucian ethico-religious discourse. Chapter 6 examines the actual Mulian performance in local communities. It first considers ritual dimensions of the opera, focusing on so-called Mulian / Wuchang performance, one particularly important ritual moment that most focally staged Huizhou mercantile lineage culture. It then concludes with an analysis of the social ingredients of Huizhou Mulian performance as a shared lineage discourse. The ultimate concern of both Parts 2 and 3, and indeed of the book as a whole, is to integrate both the scripting and staging of Mulian into Huizhou social history by seeking out social meanings of the ritual opera in light of local mercantile lineage culture. The Mulian of Huizhou or the Huizhou of Mulian may be a key to unlocking the rich treasury of late imperial Chinese society and culture. Integration of these two investigative strands reveals significant new dimensions of gentry society and popular culture that have not yet been seen or properly understood.

Part

One

the set ting

1

A Gentrified Kinship Society

In the spring of 1718, a Yangzhou poet named Cheng Ting set off for the first time, at age forty-seven, to fulfill a dream he had nurtured since he was “capped” at age twenty: to visit his ancestral home. His family had lived in Yangzhou, the center of China’s salt business, since the time of his grandfather, but now he was sojourning to Censhan village in Shexian, the capital county of Huizhou prefecture, about two hundred miles south of Yangzhou. The main activity of the trip was to offer sacrifice to his ancestors, and thus an auspicious day to begin the journey was first divined. After eleven days traveling by boat, he arrived at Shexian on the fourteenth day of the second month. All members of the Cheng lineage, including all “elders and children,” came out to greet him as he walked into Censhan. He was deeply moved by the scene. Nothing could have pleased him more than “holding sleeves and shaking hands” with his kinspeople, he wrote. In Censhan it appeared that he finally breathed some fresh air, which, nevertheless, somehow seemed very familiar to him. On the same day he noted in his travel diary, The Recorded Journey of a Spring Boat, certain “customs of Huizhou,” which he certainly would have read about and heard of many times before. The language of the diary passage conveys a profound sense of pride and certainty, as if the social landscape of his ancestral prefecture was as exquisite as Huizhou’s Mount Huang, one of the most popular tourist spots in China. It is the custom in Huizhou that scholar-officials and prominent households settle in the countryside. Each village is occupied by a certain lineage whose members live together, with no men of other surnames dwelling there. In each village a temple is built for the earth god and an ancestral hall for the descent-line. Genealogies are written for lineage branches so that their origins and lineal order are not confused. Lords and servants are clearly differentiated, and everyone is distinctly dressed [according to social status]. This is what distinguishes Huizhou customs from any other prefecture’s. Men uphold integrity and righteousness, and women cherish uprightness and chastity. Even in straitened circumstances, they never abandon their [husbands’] villages. There are maidens whose husbands travel far [to do business] immediately after the wedding, and, in some cases, never return. But still

10

the setting

they judiciously care for their parents-in-law, uphold high aspirations and behave flawlessly. Throughout their lives they make no complaints. This is another unique custom of Shexian that is better than that of other prefectures.1

The following day, the fifteenth day of the second month, Cheng climbed up Cen Hill to the location of the earth-god shrine and ancestral hall. There, after paying tribute to Buddha and offering sacrifices to the Cheng ancestors, he met all members of the Cheng lineage formally. During the following half month, Cheng Ting’s basic schedule was “to sweep the graves” of his great-great-grandfather and great-grandfather and to visit his relatives and friends in nearby villages. The ceremonial procedure of paying a formal visit to their ancestral halls was repeated. Some of those lineage ancestral temples, he noted admiringly, were “ravishingly magnificent.” Cheng Ting himself had planned to purchase a grave site in this “pure” environment, and he surveyed some of the surrounding lands. But none was divined “propitious.” This saddened him but did not lessen his enjoyment of his ancestral home. The Censhan Cheng lineage treated him frequently to good wine and delicacies, and one evening even called upon a troupe to perform two literary chuanqi operas for him, the romances called Kunlun and Hongxian.2 Soon came the Qingming festival, the fifth day of the third month, when people went out to “sweep the tombs of the ancestors.” Qingming was “most seriously regarded in Xin’an,” Cheng Ting noted, referring to Huizhou by its ancient name. Three days later, on the evening of the eighth day, the Censhan Cheng lineage called upon actors and had Mulian Rescues His Mother staged within the village, obviously as part of the operatic rituals of the Qingming celebration. Cheng Ting did not mention any details regarding the performance other than that its “countrified and folksy” (lisu) manners were laughable. But the Mulian story, he quickly added, was “based on Sanskrit sutras” and was already “popular in Tang times.” 3 Clearly, he was not too disturbed by the “folksy” ways of the performance. After all, unlike the two literary operas enacted especially for him, Mulian was simply part of the Qingming ceremony of his kinspeople, which he happened to see and thought worth mentioning. The folk performance of Mulian attended by Cheng Ting in Censhan was in fact a fundamental feature of traditional Chinese popular culture. Similar scenes took place throughout late imperial times, as part of Qingming festival celebrations and on other ritual occasions, not only in Huizhou but also in the countryside and market towns of other prefectures of southern Anhui, as well as throughout south-central China. The significance of Cheng Ting’s account lies not in his mention of Mulian but in the way he documents the social setting of Censhan and the larger Huizhou region.

A Gentrified Kinship Society

11

Censhan was a gentry community of mercantile lineage throughout late imperial times. In the Ming dynasty, the Censhan Chengs produced six metropolitan jinshi and six provincial juren degree holders; and from the late Ming through High Qing, they, along with ten or so other Shexian lineages, dominated the salt business in Yangzhou, one of the most lucrative trades in the realm.4 By the eighteenth century, the Censhan Chengs had grown into one of the most prosperous descent groups in the prefecture.5 This gentrified lineage, as implied in Cheng Ting’s observation, showcased entire Huizhou, a prefecture that was thoroughly saturated with Confucian norms and customs. Indeed, the strict Confucianism of Huizhou had caught the attention of numerous other visiting literati as well, not to mention selfcongratulatory native sons. For example, Yao Qiyuan, when appointed magistrate of Qimen in 1683, offered his first impressions of this Huizhou county in terms similar to Cheng Ting’s. In “this land of propriety and righteousness,” Yao noted, gentlemen were modest and had a sense of honor, whereas commoners were obedient and had a sense of sincerity—they all showed the “cultural heritage of the ancient sage-kings.” 6 This Confucian land was nevertheless also home to the “countrified and folksy” Mulian performance. In fact, Huizhou was the very birthplace of what I will call here the new tradition of Mulian ritual opera performance. The Huizhou man of letters Zheng Zhizhen first scripted the performance into a three-volume text, Mulian Rescues His Mother: An Opera for Goodness. This script, though written by a well-educated literatus and professionally printed in 1582, was still quite “folksy” in its style, especially as enacted during its three-night performance. Qi Biaojia (1602 – 45), a metropolitan degree holder from Shaoxing, Zhejiang, despised both the script and its performance in Jiangnan: “An Opera for Goodness (Quanshan): It shows no awareness whatsoever of operatic melodies. Just like blind beggars, [the performers] do nothing but yell and sing from house to house. However, foolish people worship Buddha. Totaling 109 scenes, the performance lasts three days and three nights, stirring up the whole rural community.” 7 Qi Biaojia was one of leading dramatic critics in the art world of late-Ming China. His criticism of Mulian may be sound, if considered from a literary or artistic perspective, but his personal experience might have also fueled the rebuke. In Qi’s diary on the thirtieth of the fifth month, 1639, he noted: “It has been extremely hot for a couple of days. Tonight the village of Ke again staged the Mulian opera, [it was so noisy that I] couldn’t fall asleep the entire night.” 8 Here we have a puzzle that is critically important for a proper understanding of traditional Chinese popular culture and its relation to gentry society: Why was the “noisy” performance of “folk” Mulian so popular in “a land of propriety and righteousness”? The key to answering this ques-

12

the setting

tion lies not only in the Mulian tradition per se but in Huizhou local society as well. Part 1 of this study focuses on the social history of late imperial Huizhou, setting the stage for analyzing the Mulian ritual opera. Although I treat the late imperial period from the 1500s to 1912 (or up to the 1930s) as a coherent whole, the two chapters of Part 1 concentrate on the sixteenth century to show how a series of socioeconomic changes transformed Huizhou local society. In Huizhou at least, virtually all major social forces and cultural patterns that remained powerful or relevant up through the early decades of the twentieth century took full shape over the course of the sixteenth century. Part 1 is a discrete essay on Huizhou social history for its own sake, though often reconstructed in light of illustrating the social dimensions of Mulian performance. First, Chapter 1 describes how, especially in the eyes of local elite, the prefecture was a model of Confucian gentry society. The thrust of the chapter lies in examining the lineage organization, the institutional foundation for gentry rule that partly explains the prevalence of Confucian values in local life. Chapter 2 explores other aspects of Huizhou society, highlighting the rise and gentrification of Huizhou merchants and two of their cultural products, namely, the new mercantile code and the cult of female chastity, while briefly considering operatic and religious traditions to prepare for subsequent investigations of Mulian ritual opera in Parts 2 and 3. It demonstrates how seemingly non-Confucian sociocultural developments could serve local gentry lineages and enhance Confucian moral teachings. In particular, the gentrification of merchants was the surest manifestation of the prevalence of Confucian ideology in kinship communities and is the key to understanding Huizhou mercantile lineage culture. But what is particularly relevant to the Mulian performance is how merchant gentrification contributed to the Confucian remolding of local popular culture. Mulian is used in this study to shed new light on Huizhou mercantile lineage culture, just as the social fabric of the local kinship community is used to make full sense of the ritual opera tradition.

The “Southeastern Zou-Lu” In late imperial China, Huizhou prefecture comprised the six counties of Shexian, Xiuning, Jixi, Yixian, Qimen, and Wuyuan.9 The prefecture, deep in southern Anhui, lay toward the southwestern end of Jiangnan, the great economic and cultural heartland of the realm.10 Unlike other regions in Jiangnan that were largely flat, the ecology of Huizhou and its surrounding areas, including Ningguo and Guangde in the north, Chizhou in the northwest, and Raozhou in northeastern Jiangxi in the south, was dominated by a series of high, densely forested mountains. At least half of

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Huizhou’s six counties were named after local peaks, and the very name of the prefecture, it is believed, had been taken from Peak Hui in Jixi.11 Rising highest was Mount Huang (1,841 meters), animating literati empirewide to compose poems and travel accounts about its stunning beauty. Mythmakers even link the mountain to the ancient sage-king, the Yellow Emperor.12 Other mountains were invested with particular religious significance, including Mount Jiuhua (lying just outside Huizhou) and Mount Qiyun. Home to great Buddhist monasteries or Daoist temples, they conveyed an aura of mystery, inspiring legends about Heaven and Hell, gods and ghosts.13 The mountainous scenery of course enlightened local literati as well. A scene in Zheng Zhizhen’s Mulian Rescues His Mother titled “Black Pine Forest,” for instance, was set in High Crimson Peak in western Qimen, the home county of the playwright.14 Encircling the mountains were meandering watercourses, including the Xin’an and Chang rivers. The waterways and mountain ranges produced moving seas of clouds, creating an atmosphere of natural charm and mystery (Figure 1.1). With such a scenic setting, Huizhou came to be known as a veritable Peach Blossom Spring (taoyuan), the legendary paradise where “gentlemen love to live and settle.” 15 The mountains also shielded Huizhou during times of war, but it was not isolated.16 A few transportation arteries moved local residents to the outside world and outside people to the hilly region. It could be reached by a combination of water and land routes from the regions of Hangzhou, Yanzhou, Raozhou, Chizhou, Ningguo, and Jiangning, noted the geographer Gu Zuyu (1624 – 80).17 So did Huizhou merchant Huang Bian, in an illustrated route book he published in 1570.18 Reachable but secure, scenic Huizhou steadily attracted immigrants from the Jin dynasty (265 – 420) onward. The Huang Chao rebellion (875 – 84) is often highlighted in local genealogies as the period when a substantial number of aristocratic clans migrated to Xin’an from a devastated northern and central China. They settled there and, partly out of the pride in their family pedigree and partly due to the need to band together to fight natural disaster or beasts in the mountainous region, they kept their kinship settlement intact throughout the following centuries.19 In Ming-Qing times Huizhou also became the destination of landless peasants crowded out of coastal areas in eastern Jiangnan, even though the hilly prefecture itself had limited arable land. In 1600, Huizhou had a population of about 1.2 million; and by 1820, the population had surpassed 2 million.20 The security, combined with Huizhou’s natural beauty and the social eminence of its great families, bred in its residents a profound love for their homeland.21 The same ecological features, however, could also spark a strong desire among local residents to leave home and eke out a living in other places. Philip Kuhn, in his celebrated Soulstealers, sketches an abject picture of

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figure 1.1 Mountainous Huizhou (1725). Source: Gujin tushu jicheng, 123.2a.

hilly Huizhou, which ironically became the home base of the most vigorous mercantile group of late imperial China.22 Only a few small plains and river deltas dotted the rugged region, leaving about one-tenth of its land arable.23 To make things worse, the land-man ratio decreased steadily with continual increases in population. The average amount of land, in mu (about 0.0667 hectare), that each taxable man (ding) owned in 1391 was 4.15; in 1600 it had decreased to 2.2; in 1850, to a mere 1.5. This tight land-man ratio con-

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trasted sharply with the empirewide average, which ranged from 6.5 to 20.6 mu in the Ming dynasty.24 Huizhou’s land scarcity in part explains why, to quote a local proverb, “every boy upon the age of sixteen needs to go out to do business.” 25 For Xin’an men, indeed, leaving home to enter a trade was a typical economic behavior, which earned them the title Huishang (“Huizhou merchants”). From about 1500 to 1850, the merchants of Huizhou dominated the highly developed commercial scene in southern and central China.26 As a popular saying put it: “No market town can emerge without [the presence of merchants from] Huizhou,” especially in Jiangnan and the Middle Yangzi Valley.27 For those who stayed home, the mountains became the source of their livelihoods, in some cases even fortunes.28 Tea, lacquer, lumber, and bamboo products, all mountain-related in one way or another, became major commodities for Huizhou merchants. Some locals were masters of handicraft, especially good at manufacturing the “four treasures of the study” (wenfang sibao), essential for Confucian literati life. Chengxintang paper, Wang Boxuan brushes, Li Tinggui ink, and Jiukeng inkstones of Huizhou were famed throughout the realm in pre-Qing times.29 Also famous was Huizhou-style woodblock printing. Of special interest is its organization, as certain consanguineous groups dominated the printing industry.30 Most notable among these was the Huang lineage of Qiu village in Shexian. From 1436 to 1832 the Qiu Huangs produced about four hundred block cutters. Their prints covered a variety of subjects, often with well-cut illustrations. On the top of their list were the four major categories of traditional Chinese writing: classics, history, philosophical works, and belles lettres (for example, Rites of the Zhou and Zhu Xi’s Family Rituals, Sima Qian’s Records of a Historian, the philosophical master Xun Kuang’s Xunzi, and Songs of Chu [Chuci]). Other texts printed by the Qiu Huangs, and by other lineage-based printers as well, included county gazetteers, Buddhist and Daoist scriptures, manuals of trade routes, and family genealogies. They also printed moral handbooks that simplified or popularized Confucian ethical teachings, such as Female Exemplars (Guifan), Records of Model Women (Nüfan bian), and Records of Male Duty and Female Fidelity (Yilie ji). Another major category of publication was vernacular literature, including Zheng Zhizhen’s Mulian opera script and the semierotic Plum in the Golden Vase (Jinpingmei), one of four masterworks of the late-Ming novel.31 This list of publications, far from exhaustive, reflects the richness and complexity of local cultural life. It might also indicate the savvy business strategy and cultural tastes of Huizhou merchants, because these books were printed primarily for export to other places. The single most notable heritage of Huizhou culture was its unique connection to Song-dynasty neo-Confucianism, which became the state ortho-

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doxy during the Ming and Qing. Xin’an was the ancestral place of Zhu Xi (1130 –1200), the great synthesizer of neo-Confucian philosophy and morality.32 Members of the Cheng lineage of Huangdun in Shexian even claimed themselves to be descended from Cheng Hao and Cheng Yi, important forerunners of Zhu Xi. In Shexian and Xiuning counties, large numbers of ancestral halls were constructed in memory of the two Cheng brothers and Zhu Xi. Known as “the native place of Cheng-Zhu” (ChengZhu quili), Huizhou came to be called “Southeastern Zou-Lu,” with ZouLu referring to the native places of Mencius (Zou) and Confucius (Lu).33 These labels, legitimate or apocryphal, conveyed enormous symbolic meaning, for the Cheng brothers and Zhu Xi were widely viewed as the legitimate transmitters of the Way established by Confucius and Mencius. By the early Ming, the Zhu Xi school (or the Cheng-Zhu school) had become synonymous with neo-Confucian orthodoxy, and the curriculum set down by Zhu Xi formed the basis for the civil service examinations, the primary route for educated men to enter officialdom.34 All students aspiring to examination success had to master the Four Books annotated by Zhu Xi. They were also required to follow a particular sequence in reading these four Confucian classics, tackling first Great Learning, followed by the Analects and then the Mencius, and ending with Doctrine of the Mean.35 Before coping with Great Learning, however, most students needed first to master Zhu Xi’s Elementary Learning, a primer that formulated in specific terms the social and moral discipline required for more advanced studies.36 Whereas Elementary Learning prepared students for reading the Confucian classics, Zhu Xi’s Family Rituals simplified and standardized the classical rites of capping, wedding, funeral, and ancestral sacrifice.37 The two texts became important tools for the Ming state to “purify” local customs and ethical behavior.38 Confucian literati, too, worked hard to perpetuate Zhu Xi’s teachings on public manners and morals. Hu Guang included Family Rituals in his Complete Repository of [Teachings About] Human Nature and Principle (Xingli daquan), and Li Guangdi included it in Essential Ideas of Human Nature and Principle (Xingli jingyi). Both anthologies were compiled under imperial order, in 1415 and 1715, respectively.39 The Zhu Xi school, whose Huizhou branch came to be called Xin’an lixue (the Xin’an school of principle), naturally had a special appeal to residents of the area. A native of Wuyuan named Jiang Xuqi in 1626 recommended to the Ming court that Elementary Learning, along with Classic of Filial Piety (Xiaojing), be added to the civil service examination curriculum.40 The Complete Repository, including Family Rituals, had already become a required text for the examinations.41 Family Rituals, however, was widely read and practiced by those outside the narrow circle of examination candidates. It was in fact Zhu Xi’s best-known work and contributed to his reputation as the greatest Confucian authority after Confucius.42

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Partially because of Zhu Xi’s persistent influence, Huizhou emerged as a center of both neo-Confucian scholarship and morals in Ming-Qing times and was proudly perceived so by the local residents.43 “Southeastern ZouLu” plaques were hung on the gates of the numerous schools and academies that dotted the prefecture.44 In 556 local schools (shexue), boys read primers such as Elementary Learning and Three Character Classic to acquaint themselves with the basics of education and propriety. In over 120 academies, advanced scholars pondered philosophical ethics and historical wisdom.45 The Ziyang Academy of Shexian, the most famous in the prefecture, frequently held lectures to “scrutinize and edit Confucian classics and their annotations.” Two of the lecture halls at Ziyang were named, respectively, Zun dexing (honoring the moral nature) and Dao wenxue (following the path of inquiry and study).46 Given this balanced approach to knowledge and ethics, Huizhou not only became a stronghold of Confucian morality but also nurtured Jiang Yong (1681–1762) and especially Dai Zhen (1724 –77), two intellectual giants who founded a major discourse of Qing evidential scholarship.47 More important, in a sociological sense, Huizhou produced a large number of jinshi and juren, the higher examination degree holders who composed the upper echelon of local gentry society. In late imperial times more than one-fourth of Anhui jinshi were from Huizhou, which had only onetenth of Anhui’s population.48 In the Qing, Xiuning and Shexian each produced two Top Examination Graduates (zhuangyuan) out of nine from the entire province, which means that the prefecture produced more zhuangyuan than most other provinces.49 A key mechanism for Huizhou’s examination success was the lineage, in both social and intellectual terms. The Cheng lineage in Censhan, as already noted, produced six jinshi and six juren in the Ming. The Huaitang Chengs, also dwelling in Shexian and patrilineally related to the Censhan Chengs, generated even more, claiming seven jinshi and eleven juren in the same period.50 Most remarkable of all, the Pans in Pancun village, Wuyuan, claimed more than forty jinshi over two hundred years from the Chenghua to Chongzhen reigns.51 Probably to an even greater degree than in Tongcheng county in central Anhui, as described by Hilary J. Beattie, Huizhou exhibited strong links between the abundance of degree holders and the support from local lineages.52 This support was often spelled out in lineage documents. During the Jiajing reign (1522 – 66), for example, the Ximen Wangs of Xiuning used their “family injunctions” to urge schoolboys to study hard so that they would pass the examinations and “glorify the kin.” 53 The Family Code of the Wus in Mingzhou of Xiuning (1733) stated in the lineage rules: “For offspring who are well-behaved and intellectually gifted but have no means to study with a teacher, the lineage will house and instruct them, sending them to the lineage school or giving them allowances. To foster one or two good people, to be used as mod-

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els [for the poor], is the hope of our kinship community. This is indeed the honor of our ancestors, with no small significance.” 54 The genealogy of the Xiaoli Huangs in Tandu, Shexian, first compiled in the Ming, expressed the same concern regarding lineage progeny: “Offspring over the age of 15 who are intelligent by nature and working hard on their books should all be encouraged, and properly given brush, paper, and subsidies. In addition, a charity school will be set up to teach the poor offspring of the kinship community.” 55 In addition to support through financial aid and the maintenance of local schools and academies, family traditions of scholarship played an important part in training Huizhou literati. For instance, the Xies in Qimen excelled at the Spring and Autumn classics, and their offspring continuously succeeded in the exams during the Ming.56 Combined with more tangible support, this family-based erudition created a love for learning in local communities. “[People from] the four directions call Xin’an the Southeastern Zou-Lu,” the 1693 Xiuning gazetteer quoted a Ming source, “and scholarship flourishes especially in Xiuning. In the years of great examinations, participants reached a thousand.” 57 In his preface to Prominent Lineages in Xin’an (Xin’an mingzu zhi, 1551), Cheng Shangkuan called his native place “a renowned prefecture under Heaven,” famous for both family pedigree and learning, which enhanced each other to produce prominent lineages.58 These gentrified kinship communities were the social fabric of the “Southeastern Zou-Lu.” With so many eminent literati came stories about their unusual accomplishments. One of them has to do with Wang Daokun (1525 –93), a leading scholar-official of the late Ming from a prominent Shexian lineage. When his friend from eastern Jiangnan, Wang Shizhen (1526 –90), made a tour of Mount Huang, Wang Daokun made special preparations. Shizhen apparently attempted to “make a show in our county,” as the Shexian literatus Zhang Chao (1650 –?) later noted, for this equally famed scholarofficial brought over one hundred “guests” from his home region, each specializing in an artistic skill. Wang Daokun, as “the host of Mount Huang,” called upon native talents in all fields to wait upon Shizhen and his guests in several “famed gardens.” When Wang Shizhen and his followers arrived, each of them was attended by one or two of what Joseph Levenson might have called “amateur specialists”—a calligrapher matched with a calligrapher, a painter with a painter, and so on. Seeing that the talents from all of eastern Jiangnan could be well matched by one county, Wang Shizhen could not help but leave Shexian with “plenty of admiration.” 59 Many famous outsiders joined in their admiration of Huizhou, in their awe of the beauty and eminence of the prefecture’s natural and cultural landscape. The leading Ming playwright, Tang Xianzu (1550 –1616), “dreamed” of traveling in Huizhou, which he called “the most fabulous

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place” under Heaven.60 Even emperors poured praise upon this remarkable place. The Kangxi and Qianlong emperors, for instance, handwrote pairs of couplets for the Ziyang Academy where Zhu Xi had lectured. One of them reads: “Learning reaching the mind and Heaven / The tradition of the Way lasting forever.” 61 The everlasting influence of Zhu Xi contributed to Huizhou’s reputation as, to employ a term Wang Daokun and many others used with affection, “a land of propriety and righteousness.” 62 This unique heritage, according to various sources, conditioned local people “even in solitary villages and humble rooms” to “practice the sage’s Way”; and the reading aloud of Confucian classics could be heard “even in a ten-household hamlet.” 63 What is more, the texts they studied had to be annotated by Master Zhu. The Daoguang (1821–50) edition of the Xiuning gazetteer noted: From living quarters and farming fields up to remote mountains and deep valleys, as long as people live there, there are students, teachers, and collections of classics and history books. Their learning is all based on the time-honored teacher of our prefecture, Master Zhu. Annotated versions of the Six Classics, and books from other philosophers of the hundred schools, if not endorsed by Master Zhu, will not be taught by fathers and elder brothers. Neither will these books be studied by sons and younger brothers. Therefore, although the school of Master Zhu has spread under Heaven, it is Xin’an scholars who teach it most masterfully, explain it most meticulously, and adhere to it most firmly.64

Such rigorous schooling, stated the Kangxi (1662 –1722) edition of the Huizhou gazetteer, was intended “to clarify human ethical relations, purify local customs, uplift filial and fraternal feelings, and promote the sense of shame.” 65 Local gentry, of course, fully understood the efficacy of neoConfucian moral teachings in binding communities together. “The lasting order of the prefecture,” said Fang Hongjing, a Ming-dynasty man of the gentry from Shexian, “relies not on the steep [mountains]. Rather, it can be well maintained by the fastened indoctrination of moral bonds.” 66 With “village elders’ unceasing inculcation,” as Cheng Huaijing observed upon his arrival in Huizhou as the prefect during the Daoguang reign, “local customs became thickly refined.” 67 For the native elite, and for local officials (non-Huizhou natives) as well, their prefecture was a genuine gentry society, that is, the “Southeastern Zou-Lu.”

Lineage Institutions and Rituals Compliments for Huizhou such as the ones cited above, made by both insiders and outsiders, fill all kinds of historical documents concerned with this prominent gentry society. They are, of course, all statements made by the elite and should not be taken at face value. There is always a dis-

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crepancy between elite description and social reality, especially as experienced by commoners. But how should we account for the discrepancy? How, in other words, did the “thickly refined” culture, presumably eliteinitiated and elite-oriented, affect local folk culture, and vice versa? To be sure, “local elders’ unceasing inculcation” through schools and “readings” of classics were not sufficient and, in most cases, were not even relevant, as many rural people were illiterate or nearly so. Rather than school the local people in ideology, elites found it more effective to mold their consciousness by co-opting folklore. But this co-option could also put local elite under the influence of folk culture. One of the best scenarios to illustrate this dialectic interplay is Mulian. We will turn to the popular ritual opera in Parts 2 and 3. Here we will first explore a one-way process: how local elite created and perfected social institutions that, while facilitating Mulian performance, worked directly to mold popular consciousness and plebeian behavior. This section focuses on the lineage organization, the institutional foundation of Huizhou gentry society and of its popular culture as well. It examines three interconnected threads of the development that matured in the mid-Ming. First, it briefly considers the influence of Song-dynasty neoConfucianism and portrays the centrality of the patrilineal kinship settlement to the Huizhou social landscape. Second, it moves on to document, in great detail, the mid-Ming development of various lineage institutions, ranging from the composition of genealogies, the setting up of ritual land, the construction of freestanding ancestral halls, the rise of lineage authority (zuquan), and the development of lineagewide rites. This detailed analysis is meant to show, on the one hand, how gentry values permeated kinship life and, on the other hand, how mature institutions were able to accommodate the steady increase in kin population and incorporate kinfolk into lineage rituals. The inclusive rather than exclusive nature of lineage institutions and rituals, I will argue, made it possible to integrate local culture, an integration that helped bridge, thereby enhancing but not eradicating, the stratification of various socioeconomic groupings within the kinship community. Third, in the process I will also show how commercial wealth was key to strengthening lineage infrastructure (or the material base for ritual opera performance), thereby setting the stage in the following chapters for an analysis of the concurrent rise and gentrification of merchants and the elite remolding of popular culture.68 The lineage was probably the most effective social institution in spreading neo-Confucian values in rural society.69 It began to emerge during Song times as ancient aristocratic clans declined, but arguably did not fully mature until the mid-Ming.70 Many prominent Song neo-Confucians contributed to the formulation or reformulation of what has been called the

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“social control” organization, the kinship system of the late imperial epoch. They included such famous scholar-officials or prominent literati as Fan Zhongyan (989 –1052), Ouyang Xiu (1007–72), Su Xun (1009 – 66), Su Shi (1036 –1101), Sima Guang (1019 – 86), Zhang Zai (1022 –78), Cheng Yi (1033–1107), and Zhu Xi.71 Zhang Zai said, “In order to control the hearts of the people under Heaven, to bring together agnates, and to enrich social customs so that people never forget their origins, it is necessary to clarify the genealogical order of descent groups and institute the system of the descent-line heir (zongzi).” 72 The zongzi refers to the firstborn son of the main wife in the main line of a descent group; and the system dictated that only the heir be vested with the ritual authority to preside over sacrifices to the ancestors. This rule can be traced back to the institution of the Zhoudynasty patriarchal clan. Notably, however, Zhu Xi stressed the principle of the “lesser descent-line” (xiaozong) with a fixed depth of five generations, in contrast to the ancient “great descent-line” (dazong), which refers to a descent group with an unlimited generational depth and hence an infinite number of ancestors. The heir of a lesser descent-line worshipped his ancestors only up to the great-great-grandfather, four generations before. Neither Zhu Xi nor any other Song neo-Confucians attempted to revive the great descent-line system with its clan temple for the worship of the first or apical ancestor, which they believed was an inalienable right of the ancient hereditary aristocracy.73 This particular thread of new kinship ideology would eventually lose its appeal in practice, as will be discussed later. Still, the neo-Confucians exerted an indelible influence upon lineage building in the post-Song era.74 Fan Zhongyan provided a model for later lineages with the charitable estate he set up for the Suzhou Fan kin in 1050, and Ouyang Xiu and Su Shi reinitiated the compilation of genealogies.75 As for Zhu Xi, he provided moral principles and ritual norms, especially with his Elementary Learning and Family Rituals. In Ming-Qing times, the imperial state also encouraged the kinship organization as a way to maintain control in local society.76 By the sixteenth century, the lineage institution had matured, featuring written genealogies, corporate estates, and freestanding ancestral halls.77 Thereafter, it continued to grow and spread throughout virtually all of southern and central China. But the contour of lineage construction differed in various regions. According to Western anthropological and historical scholarship, three types of kinship organizations existed in late imperial China. The first, in the south, consisted of the huge lineages with large corporate estates that Maurice Freedman found in Guangdong and Fujian in the twentieth century. In the second type, most commonly found in the north, descent groups normally had few or no corporately endowed property and only occasionally

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had a freestanding ancestral hall. The lineage of the Jiangnan type, considered to fall somewhere in between in terms of communal infrastructure, exhibited the strongest leadership by local gentry.78 Although it is not my intention to verify this general distinction, I think it important to keep in mind that many Huizhou lineages could grow to very large size. Gentry were dominant, but merchants played a key part in the making of Huizhou kinship history. In fact, the two elite groups were hardly separable in both social relation and cultural outlook. But social forces aside, no historian has hitherto examined how popular culture contributed to the making of gentrified mercantile lineage in late imperial times.79 Huizhou was a stronghold of lineage organizations (zongzu or zu) throughout late imperial times.80 Everywhere kinspeople sought to maintain solidarity and pure bloodlines by settling together, generally in the same village. Within the village, a descent group was normally divided into several branches (fang) composed of dozens of nuclear families. But the fang branches, after enjoying further expansion of kinship population, often spread out to several villages to form a multivillage lineage. Cheng Ting’s ancestral agnates in Shexian and Xiuning, including those residing in Censhan village, appeared to be such a multivillage lineage. In 1695, Zhao Jishi, a meticulous observer of Huizhou customs, noted: “In Xin’an [agnates of] each surname reside together under the lineage system (juzu er ju); no single family with a different surname lives among them. This is a custom that closely follows the ancient tradition.” 81 Zhao Jishi’s account is somewhat exaggerated. Most Huizhou villages did have residents with different surnames, but not every surname made up a lineage. The Shaxi jilüe, a collection of lineage documents prepared in various eras by the Shaxi Lings in Shexian, contains a short account called “Yixing kao” (An examination of other surnames). According to this account, people of three other surnames resided in the village of Shaxi in the early nineteenth century: the Fangs of less than ten households, the Wus of several households, and the Wangs of two households.82 These families did not make up lineages of their own in Shaxi; rather, they were attached to the Ling lineage that dominated the village. And, as the compiler Ling Yingqiu proudly noted, his Shaxi Lings were “a famed lineage under Heaven.” The prominent scholar-official Zhang Ying (1637–1708) of Tongcheng handwrote the gate plaque for their ancestral hall, first built in the Jiajing reign (1522 – 66).83 The demographic composition of Shaxi was probably typical of that of Huizhou villages. According to the 1809 gazetteer of Jiangcun village, also in Shexian, there was only one lineage surnamed Jiang in the village, sharing space with a small number of people surnamed Wang, Huang, Xiao, Gu, and Nie.84 These sources do not indicate whether those other surnames were sub-

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ordinate to the main descent groups in Shaxi or Jiangcun. But sources from other Huizhou villages suggest that the distinction between the lineage surname and other surnames of the same village had significant social implications. The former was a “big or prominent surname” (daxing), whereas the latter often referred to a “little or humble surname” (xiaoxing) of “tenants or bond-servants” (dianpu) who made up a menial class legally or illegally subordinate to the main lineage. For instance, the Wangs that resided in Chawan village in Qimen formed a prominent lineage, having produced three jinshi degree holders in the Ming. Their so-called lineage landlords (zongfa dizhu) also engaged in trade from the mid-Ming onward. According to a local doggerel, the Chawan Wangs once owned 3,800 households of tenants or bond-servants. In the early twentieth century the lineage still had 208 households of tenants or bond-servants, all with two “humble surnames,” Hong and Ni. In other words, Hong and Ni were not “big surnames.” Neither did they live within the village (cun)—they resided in the village’s surrounding areas called zhuang. For this reason, tenants or bondservants in Huizhou were also called zhuangpu (village servants) and their households, xiaohu (little or humble households). In short, in Chawan there was only one lineage surnamed Wang, and the Hongs and Nis were tenants or bond-servants of the Wang lineage.85 The Chawan Wangs, like the Shaxi Lings, the Jiangcun Jiangs, and the Censhan Chengs, typified what Fu Yiling called the xiangzu (village-based lineages or simply village-lineages), bound by the combined ties of the bloodline (xueyuan) and native place (diyuan).86 A large number of Huizhou villages were simply named after the main descent groups that occupied them (such as Jiangcun), where both lineages and their merchants used the menial class of bond-servants.87 Zu lineage and cun village tended to be identical, as the lineage head and village head were often the same person.88 The cun-zhuang arrangement helped enhance kinship solidarity and social stratification throughout the late imperial period.89 Within the lineage-village the most powerful force was the gentry. Gentry-dominated lineage culture partly evolved from the pre-Song aristocratic clans that had migrated to Xin’an from northern and central China. Their descendants made up sixty-six among eighty-four eminent lineages listed in Prominent Lineages in Xin’an. After settling in Huizhou, these descent groups managed to maintain their political privilege by promoting their offspring through the civil service examinations, maintaining and developing their traditional ties with the state.90 As Huizhou literati prevailed in the examinations, gentry rule was confirmed in local society. They set out to strengthen their translocal power by consolidating the home kinship base.91 But in Huizhou, lineage building did not fully mature until around the mid-Ming; and the development was mainly a response to the develop-

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ing money economy that began to destabilize the paternalistic order of the agnatic community. At the same time, ironically, commercial wealth made it possible to perfect various lineage institutions, thereby helping assure gentry home rule (see Chapter 2 herein). Let us start with the genealogy, one of the most notable hallmarks of the Chinese kinship organization. Huizhou was famed for having produced a large number of genealogies. According to recent statistics, Anhui ranks fourth, following Beijing, Zhejiang, and Jiangsu, in the number of extant genealogies, totaling 1,005. Most of them came from Tongcheng county and Huizhou prefecture (mainly from Shexian, Xiuning, and Wuyuan).92 Huizhou was one of a few prefectures that in post-Song times still produced prefectural or county genealogies for its “great or renowned or prominent lineages” (dazu, shijia, or mingzu). These included Chen Li’s Xin’an dazu zhi (1316), Zheng Zuo et al.’s Shilu Xin’an shijia (1549), and Cao Sixuan’s Xiuning mingzu zhi (1625), in addition to Cheng Shangkuan et al.’s Prominent Lineages in Xin’an. They were publicly compiled, and the compilers were all renowned native literati.93 But a large number of Huizhou genealogies were privately compiled by and for those notable xiangzu, though such a village-lineage was often also recorded as a branch in a more comprehensive genealogy that covered all branches of the common ancestor scattered in several villages within a county or throughout the prefecture. The first peak of genealogical compilation in Huizhou came in the sixteenth century. Of more than two hundred rare editions of Huizhou genealogies stored in Beijing Library, 10 percent are from the pre-1505 period, 50 percent from the period 1506 –1619, 10 percent from the period 1620 – 44, and 10 percent from the early Qing (up to 1820), with the remaining 20 percent undatable.94 Huizhou genealogies tended to claim illustrious ancestry, and many did so legitimately, which helped generate a sense of distinction and thereby increase kinship solidarity. In distinction from pre-Song genealogies that highlighted the family pedigree, however, their late imperial counterparts from Huizhou stressed the unity of the whole descent group in yet another way: they covered all agnates of the same village-lineage or all descendants of a common prominent ancestor spread out in many places.95 It is not possible to date this subtle shift, but the new emphasis prevailed in Ming and Qing times. The Longqing (1567–72) edition of the genealogy of the Xin’an Xus claims that the new tradition started with Cheng Minzheng (1444 – 99), an eminent scholar-official from Xiuning who converted the limited genealogical diagrams of Ouyang Xiu and Su Shi into an expanded format linking all kinspeople.96 Sources indicate that locals had a similar idea even earlier, however. The Luos in Chengkan village, Shexian, were patrilineally related but later divided into two autonomous lineages. The Front Luos dis-

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tinguished themselves by their examination success and the Back Luos in commerce. Both lineages began to compile their own genealogies in the Song. Su Shi wrote a foreword and Zhu Xi wrote a preface for them. But it was Luo Rongzu (flourished late Yuan) of the thirteenth generation of the Front Luos who set down the principles for compiling the genealogy: “The compilation of the genealogy is to clarify generational status, distinguish agnates from outsiders, illuminate human ethics, and purify customs. No kinspeople should be left out even if they are ragged; no non-kinspeople should be included even if they are celebrated.” 97 The genealogy Luo Rongzu put together is not available. Yet his fellow compilers in Ming-Qing Huizhou clearly used the same principle in drawing up their own genealogies. For instance, Xiuning Fanshi zupu (Genealogy of the Fan lineage of Xiuning, 1600), covering a period from 750 to 1600, gives genealogical details for over 2,690 males and some 2,500 females surnamed Fan, the majority of whom dwelled in three of nine villages in Xiuning.98 The newly discovered Kaochuan Mingjing Hushi tongzong pu (Comprehensive genealogy of the Mingjing Hus [originating] from Kaochuan) covers all main branches descended from the apical ancestor Hu Changyi, spanning the period from 904 to 1755 (when the genealogy was compiled). Hu Changyi was (or was claimed to be) a prince of the Tangdynasty royal family, who changed his surname and earned the top examination degree called Mingjing (Clarifying the classics) while settling in Kaochuan village, Wuyuan.99 By the High Qing, his descendants had spread throughout Huizhou and further split into huge lineages, such as the branch in Xidi village in Yixian. In 1826, the Xidi Hus, distinguished for having produced both higher-degree holders and wealthy merchants, wrote up their own branch genealogy, covering all agnates while claiming descent from the same illustrious Tang ancestor. By then, the Xidi Hu branch had nearly three thousand members, whose unified identity was confirmed by their own independent genealogy as well as their celebrated ancestry.100 A genealogy was not just a list of kinspeople up to the apical or the first migrant ancestor; it was the written network of social control as well as integration. It was intended, as stated in the genealogy of the Lükou Chengs, to uphold “the principle of the lineage”: “revere ancestors, honor the lineage, and bind kinspeople (zunzu jingzong shouzu).” 101 To “bind kinsfolk,” gentry compilers invoked neo-Confucian ethics and rituals and included prefaces and lineage rules that elaborated on kinship ideology. Chen Li, sounding like his contemporary Luo Rongzu or the Song-dynasty Zhang Zai, said in his preface to Eminent Lineages in Xin’an (1316), “The [function of a] genealogy is . . . to pass on the spirit of ancestors, to purify social customs so that [kinspeople] never forget their origins.” 102 A common source of inspiration for Huizhou genealogies, especially sections on lineage

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rules and rites, was Zhu Xi’s Family Rituals. The aforementioned Family Code of the Wus in Mingzhou, as stated in a 1733 preface, was “based on the Ziyang Family Rituals, but newly titled Jiadian (Family code).” 103 It urged kinsfolk to follow Zhu Xi strictly: “Since our Xin’an is the ancestral place of Master Zhu, we should read Master Zhu’s books, follow Master Zhu’s teachings, and perform Master Zhu’s rituals. We should behave ourselves according to the inherited style of Zou-Lu, and hand this down to our progeny.” 104 Other lineages made similar demands. A lineage rule included by the Xiuning Fans in their 1600 genealogy urged offspring to study first Elementary Learning and then Great Learning.105 So did the Ming lineage rule laid down by the Xuanren Wangs in Xiuning.106 The Huizhou specialist Zhao Huafu has demonstrated that the compilation of lineage rules or family instructions, included in the genealogy, began to emerge around the midMing in Huizhou. The compilations often featured the Hongwu emperor’s Six Injunctions: Be filial to your parents; be respectful to your seniors; live in harmony with your neighbors; instruct your sons and grandsons; be content with your calling; and do no evil.107 These so-called Sacred Edicts, including the Sixteen Injunctions of the Kangxi emperor for the Qing-dynasty genealogies, were succinct expressions of Confucian teachings as well as other imperial concerns.108 Gentry compilers also stressed neo-Confucian ethics of a more general nature, the “three moral bonds” and the “five constant virtues” (sangang wuchang).109 In 1494, a local elder named Wang Dao wrote a postface to the genealogy of the Lükou Chengs in Xiuning, urging them to attend to his advice: “Ah, kinsmen, listen to my exhortation. Benevolence, righteousness, propriety-and-ritual, and rationality (Ren yi li zhi) are the constant virtues of human beings. As a son, one should be filial; as a father, one should be benevolent. While serving the emperor [or lord] and making friends, one should behave with loyalty and good faith. Men and women should be differentiated.” 110 The Confucian norm was the moral idiom of genealogies. These moral exhortations were not just written down in lineage rules but were frequently read aloud to kinspeople (and more subtly conveyed through ritual and dramatic performances). The reading assembly known as the village lecture (xiangyue) was popular in the mid-Ming and through early Qing and often coincided with lineage as well as the lijia and baojia systems of local taxation and social service (as some xiangyue associations were organized also for the purpose of self-protection).111 The xiangyue assembly was already in place in the Song. Zhu Xi, for instance, wrote one such village lecture, which was adapted from the one used by a family formerly associated with Cheng Yi.112 This institution of local indoctrination, however, did not flourish until the sixteenth century. Wang Yangming

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(1472 –1528), the leading neo-Confucian philosopher of the Ming, was eager to promote the village lecture for its practical use in transforming local customs.113 During the Jiajing reign (1522 – 66), the Board of Rites formally proclaimed the use of xiangyue throughout the empire. In 1567, the Chief Surveillance Bureau ordered each prefecture to establish the xiangyue association. One of the most enthusiastic proponents of the reading assembly was Lü Kun (1536 –1618), an influential scholar-official who believed that “nothing works better than the village lecture for encouraging goodness and punishing evil.” 114 In Huizhou, local officials or top gentry such as Zheng Zuo, He Dongxu, Li Qiaodai, Gan Shijia, and Zhang Tao were all enthusiastic about the village lecture, especially after the Jiajing reign.115 Before discussing local xiangyue organization, the compilers of the 1566 edition of the prefectural gazetteer drew on the authority of the famous Xiuning scholar Cheng Dachang (jinshi, 1151) by including his essay “On Thickening Customs” (Housu lun). The gazetteer then described how in Huizhou one tu (covering several villages) or one lineage normally made up an administrative unit of the village lecture. Within the unit, small villages or descent groups were attached to larger ones. The xiangyue assembly was presided over by a yuezheng (village lecturer), a “virtuous elder” elected by all constituents. Under him were two deputy village lecturers (yuefu), several other villagers skilled at rituals and lecturing on the Sacred Edicts, and some dozen young male singers. The gazetteer’s account also mentions a general Xin’an xiangyue, which included several Hongwu edicts stipulating the colors or styles of clothing to be worn by women, peasants, and merchants.116 There were also larger Associations for Explicating Village Lectures (jiang xiangyue hui) composed of several large lineages, often sharing the same surname. For example, the Chen lineage established their xiangyue association in 1572, which encompassed the three lineage branches totaling thousands of kinspeople across three villages in Wentang, Qimen. According to the lineage rule of the Wentang association (Wentang xiangyue jiafa, 1572), village lectures focused on the “exhortation of virtues and the practice of rituals.” 117 Normally, local gentry presided over the association and read village lectures aloud to kinsfolk, often within or in front of ancestral halls. They were held regularly, on the shuowang (the first and fifteenth days of each lunar month), the same days for the two semimonthly rituals prescribed by Zhu Xi in Family Rituals.118 Twice every month, kinspeople assembled in the ancestral halls to listen to the reading of the Sacred Edicts and lineage rules. After the readings, participants discussed the good behavior and misdeeds of the kinsfolk, which were then recorded separately in a shanbu (the book recording virtues) or an ebu (the book recording misdeeds) for reward or

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punishment. The shanbu and ebu format was most likely a metamorphosed form or an extension of Hongwu’s Pavilion for Declaring Goodness and Pavilion for Extending Clarity (shenming ting, which published the names and wrongdoings of criminals as warnings to others). Hongwu’s pavilions, according to Timothy Brook, fell into disuse after the mid-fifteenth century, although we occasionally see that in Huizhou, such as Tangyue village in Shexian, the Pavilion for Extending Clarity was still intact and in use up through the early nineteenth century.119 A village lecture was often accompanied by ritual and music; and in Wentang, it ended with boys singing a song called “The First Chapter of Filial Devotion and Obedience.” 120 The lecture assembly translated moral desiderata into living social values. The 1693 Xiuning gazetteer noted: After it was in practice for some time, the unobservant and outlaws dared not go to the village lecture upon hearing it was to be assembled. They hurried to their parents and the lineage head to confess their transgressions, and [promised to] remold themselves before participating in the lecture. If others raised even a slight criticism, they would blush with deep shame. [The village lecture] aroused the good nature of people’s mind (ganfa renxin) so effectively that moral teachings (jiaohua) prevailed.121

No wonder Jin Sheng (1598 –1645), the Huizhou hero in the war of resistance against the Manchus, came to see the village lecture as an all-purpose solution to whatever ailed local society.122 The xiangyue reading assembly fell out of fashion after the High Qing. Yet there were always other tools in the lineage repertoire to instill Confucian ethics into the consciousness of common kinsfolk. One of them, constantly in use, was the performance of lineage ritual. This format of indoctrination was less imposing and often less “pure” in its orientation, but more effective and subtler, than the reading of village lectures or lineage rules. Needless to say, Confucian literati appreciated the significance of ritual. “Above all, the lineage institution stresses ritual,” said a High-Qing scholar from Linchuan in northern Jiangxi.123 The Jiangxi governor Chen Hongmou believed that ritual performances worked better than family rules in transforming popular morals. He quoted the late-Ming Lü Kun: “Today’s prominent families are all fond of promulgating household rules, but do not give similar emphasis to family ritual. Rules inspire only respect, whereas rituals inspire moral transformation. Rules may motivate out of fear, but rituals motivate out of personal affection.” 124 But prominent local families, in Huizhou at least, certainly understood the transformative power of rituals as well. Most Huizhou genealogies included a section called cigui (regulations for sacrificial rituals, mainly ancestral rites) or the equivalent.125 In 1605, the Cha lineage of Ximen village in Xiuning even compiled a separate volume regulating family rituals and recording important precedents in

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the ritual history of the lineage.126 The most detailed of all written ritual regulations in Huizhou was probably the Family Code of the Mingzhou Wus. It contains one volume on family rituals, another on ancestral rites, and still another on sacrifices to various deities called waishen (outer gods), as distinguished from the neishen (inner spirits of ancestors).127 The prefect even wrote a foreword to the Family Code, saying that “the essence of ritual permeates human life, mediating emotion and reason, negotiating social relations. It meets the spiritual needs of the people and integrates [local customs].” 128 Rituals, of course, can be traced back to the dawn of China’s recorded history and were used constantly throughout imperial times, everywhere in the empire. But lineage rituals in Huizhou attained maturity during the sixteenth century and were fundamentally reoriented in the process. This reorientation was directly embedded in the concurrent practice of setting up ritual lands and the rise of new-style ancestral halls. The physical infrastructure of the reoriented lineage rites (and ritual opera performances as well) therefore should be considered first. People in Huizhou, as in many other areas in southern and central China, began to set up corporate estates (zutian) in the Song, but the trend did not reach its zenith until the sixteenth century.129 This particular landowning pattern was in part inspired by the writings of Zhu Xi (as well as Fan Zhongyan), as Zhu’s authority continued to grow in society at large (if not among some philosophers) in late imperial times. Family Rituals stipulated that every descent-line should have a shrine for making sacrifices to the four preceding generations of ancestors and therefore should establish ritual land (jitian) as a jointly owned source of revenue reserved for ritual expenses.130 In 1190, Cheng Dunlin of the aforementioned Lükou Chengs left a testament to remind his offspring to set up land to fund rituals and the maintenance of ancestral grave sites.131 It is not clear whether Zhu Xi influenced his contemporary Cheng Dunlin. In Ming-Qing times, however, the most important ritual manual was undoubtedly Family Rituals, especially in Zhu Xi’s ancestral place.132 Gentry, landlords, and merchants were all eager to follow Zhu Xi in setting up corporate ritual land. In the latefifteenth century, the Yongxi Wang lineage in Wuyuan produced eight jinshi and juren degree holders in a row. While establishing archways to extol “Gathered Brilliance” (juying), each of these elite gentry members donated handsome sums of silver to purchase corporate land, called “Righteous Land of the Archway for Gathered Brilliance.” In addition, they stipulated in the lineage rules that all degree holders thereafter must follow suit in contributing to ritual land. Gentry aside, landowners as well reserved acreage for corporate use. In 1556, landlords of the Xie lineage in Huizhou set aside seventeen plots of land (including ninety-eight mountain fields and

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44.515 mu of arable land) as ritual land. “The annual rent” collected from these plots, they decided, “is to be stored in the Shanze Hall, for covering forever the expenses of ancestral sacrifices and the maintenance of halls and temples.” 133 Merchants, too, were eager to mimic the gentry, and their contribution was essential in establishing the sixteenth-century trend of creating corporate land. Xu Puweng, a Shexian merchant living in the Jiajing reign (1522 – 65), was the first kinsman to set up ritual land for the Xu lineage. The genealogy recognized his contribution: “The ancestral hall had had no ritual land, which was started with Puweng.” 134 In 1558, a Qimen merchant named Ma Lu donated three hundred taels of silver to his ancestral lineage for the purchase of ritual land.135 This trend continued in the Qing. As a local gazetteer noted, “The wealthy branches of any lineage ancestral hall all establish ritual land, annual rents of which are collected to cover the expenses of the ancestral hall. The surplus is used to provide relief for orphans and widows.” 136 This gazetteer account suggests the multiple use of ritual land or corporate estates. Accordingly, the corporate land often had different labels. The xuetian was set up to maintain lineage schools or help pay for the education of lineage offspring, and the yitian to support poor kinsfolk, orphans, and widows, similar to the charitable estate Fan Zhongyan founded in 1050. But these various estates could likewise be used to provide for expenses normally covered by jitian (alternatively called citian, mutian, or simiaotian) estates set up to maintain the ancestral hall and graves as well as to finance ancestral rites and funerals.137 This complex terminology partly explains why the amount of land categorized under “ritual land” differed so sharply between various lineages. In 1950, for example, whereas Dong’e village in Shexian had 100.5 mu of ritual land, which accounted for only 5 percent of the total amount of Dong’e land (2,005.35 mu), the aforementioned Chawan village had 1,762.5 mu of ritual land, which accounted for 75.2 percent of the total amount of Chawan land (2,344.3 mu).138 This difference aside, each Huizhou lineage must have had ritual land, given the centrality of rituals to kinship life.139 One notable mechanism for accumulating corporate capital was the socalled shenzhu ruci, perfected by the Tangmo Xus in Shexian. In this prominent lineage, all kinspeople had to pay for the honor of having the spiritual tablets (shenzhu) of their immediate ancestors established in the lineage ancestral temple (ruci). The money thus collected was earmarked for the purchase of ritual land. The Tangmo Xus had three major branches, each of which had already established its branch ancestral hall by the mid-Ming. “At the end of the Ming,” recorded a later Xu lineage document, they “again pooled efforts to build a corporate lineage temple (yinci) at the entrance of the village, to unite all kinspeople of the three branches.” The Qing Dynasty Rule for Setting Up Ancestral Tablets in the Xu Lineage

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Temple (Qingdai Xushi zongci shenzhuli) stipulated: “In order to have the spiritual tablets of the branch ancestors established in the lineage temple, each descendant of the Xus pays three to five taels of silver, which are accumulated to purchase ritual land for permanently providing sacrifices to ancestral tablets.” The Tangmo Xus, as will be noted in Chapter 2, were one of the Shexian lineages that provided the “head merchants” for the Yangzhou salt administration during the High Qing, and their new yinci was large enough to display about four thousand spiritual tablets. This suggests that the lineage could have accumulated over ten thousand taels of silver through the shenzhu ruci method. By the early nineteenth century, the Xu lineage had set up 650 mu of ritual land. About half of it came from the poor kinspeople of the Xus, who mortgaged their land (and sometimes houses) to the lineage temple for the money needed to send in their ancestral tablets. The mortgaged land was usually rented back to the mortgagors, who agreed to pay a certain amount of rent in kind each year.140 About 17 percent of the income from Xu lineage’s corporate estates was used to finance ancestral rites held on the New Year and during the spring and autumn, and 24 percent was put toward maintaining ancestral halls, granaries, and operatic stages.141 Ritual land provided a solid material base not just for regular lineage rituals but also for popular ritual opera performances (see Part 3). The shenzhu ruci method, although a veiled form of exploitation, incorporated all kinspeople into ancestral worship and helped co-opt local popular culture as well.142 In addition to covering lineage rituals and other corporate concerns, the development of ritual land was consequential in several other respects. It limited the growth of private landlords, which in turn helped to maintain the relative stability of peasants who were small landholders throughout late imperial times. In 1949, corporate land accounted for 14.32 percent of total land in Huizhou. This was not an enormous percentage, but large enough to make the “lineage-landlords” (zongfa dizhu) the largest landowners in the region. They controlled the corporate estate, which was nominally owned by the whole lineage. The system made rural paternalism possible and helped keep the institution of the menial class intact, as bondservants normally tilled corporate land. Furthermore, the growth of ritual land lured donations or investments from merchants, thereby leading to the rise of merchant-landlords (shangren dizhu), or the gentrification of commercial wealth. But the top echelon of the lineage-landlords was made up of gentry-landlords (jinshen dizhu).143 In other words, the corporate estate was an economic manifestation of gentry rule. Gentry families in this region, however, were skillful in exploiting the newly emerging opportunities in the commercial sector, especially after the mid-Ming, as will be explored in the following chapter. Another Ming-dynasty development that was to have a profound impact

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upon both lineage building and rural popular culture, including Mulian performance, was the rising vogue of freestanding ancestral halls. This phenomenon was closely linked with, but more complex than, the concurrent trend of setting up corporate land. Zhu Xi, based on the principle of the lesser descent-line system, had decreed that a family offering hall be built with four shrines (kan) for the tablets of the ancestors of the preceding four generations in the “east [left] side of the main chamber.” 144 This format of ancestral ritual was probably a compromise with ancient customs in which commoners offered sacrifice to their ancestors only up to the deceased grandfather and father in the main chamber and officials offered sacrifice to unlimited ancestors in the clan temple.145 According to Gu Yanwu (1613– 82), the ancestral hall modeled on Zhu Xi’s protocol was in fashion in the Yuan and early Ming, when “customs were pure” and “the Way of caring for kinsmen and revering elders was widespread under Heaven.” 146 Zhu Xi’s model was eventually surmounted in practice, as ancestry expanded to accommodate the growth of the patriline from five to scores of generations. Already in the Yuan, the agnates of Xu Heng (1209 – 81) had founded an ancestral hall dedicated to the first migrant ancestor of their lineage, apparently different from Zhu Xi’s model of the lesser descent-line family hall. Xu Heng, a prominent follower of the Cheng-Zhu school, wrote an essay to commemorate his kinspeople’s innovation. He legitimated it by invoking the Book of Rites. In fact, his Song mentors seem to have harbored a similar idea. Cheng Yi had introduced the annual worship of the “first ancestor” (shizu) at the winter solstice. Zhu Xi included Cheng Yi’s idea in his Record of Reflections at Hand and Elementary Learning in spite of his personal injunction against it. But for Xu Heng, the first ancestor meant the first migrant ancestor or the first winner of official post within an ancestry. Xu’s elaboration of Cheng Yi’s idea for the worship of the first ancestor was to have significant consequences on later lineage building. Shizu in Xu’s sense became the most common term for apical ancestor in late imperial genealogies. It justified the construction of the “apical ancestral hall” (zongci) and thus the development of a new type of kinship organization capable of embracing a much larger lineage than the five-generation model.147 By making an office holder a candidate for the first ancestor, moreover, Xu’s definition provided a genealogical and ritual foundation for gentry hegemony in kinship communities. Prior to the mid-Ming, however, the common arrangement for ancestral halls appeared to be a combination of Zhu Xi’s quaternary system and Xu Heng’s idea of honoring the first migrant ancestor. Wei Ji (1374 –1471), a onetime vice president of the Board of Personnel, set up a separate niche for the tablet of the first migrant ancestor while founding an ancestral hall enshrining his four immediate lineal ascendants. Wei Ji’s move must not be

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considered an isolated case limited to the privileged alone. In 1536, Grand Secretary Xia Yan recommended to the Jiajing emperor that both officials and commoners be allowed to worship the first ancestor as well as the four immediate ancestors. Clearly an official recognition of a widespread practice, Xia’s suggestion in turn must have fostered the worship of the first ancestor and stimulated the construction of the apical ancestral hall in society at large.148 But the zongci or lineage temple of the sixteenth century was not the type built by either Xu Heng’s kinspeople in the thirteenth or even Wei Ji’s in the fifteenth century.149 Lineage temples and even most ancestral shrines (citang or jiamiao) of branch descent-lines were now independent buildings, separate from residences.150 Such an independent hall was often a new construction located in a strategically important spot within the village, although it could also be the expanded house of a distinguished ancestor, often a scholar-official. The freestanding nature allowed the new lineage temple to grow in size and called for more corporate endowment for maintenance. It was able to incorporate a growing number of kinsfolk for formal assemblies, including large-scale ritual performances and festival celebrations. The ancestral hall assembly was no longer a private family ceremony but a public lineage ritual. All of this was particularly manifest in Huizhou. Modern scholars have agreed that the mid-Ming witnessed the rise of independent lineage temples in this gentry stronghold (see Appendix B).151 The 1693 edition of the Xiuning gazetteer lists sixty-six important zongci within the county. Most of them were obviously pre-Qing buildings, and the focus of worship was the apical ancestor or a prominent gentryman in the ancestry.152 Bao Xiangxian (jinshi 1529) of the Tangyue Baos in Shexian wrote a stele memorializing the Hall of the Great Descent-Line, built in 1522 by the Gulin Huangs in Xiuning. After describing the huge lineage temple complex, he invoked the authority of Cheng Yi and even Zhu Xi: “It was fine for Yichuan [Cheng Yi] to extend family rituals to remote ancestors. [This practice] coexists with the rites established by Kaoting [Zhu Xi].” 153 Couched in the justification was an awareness of the tension between Zhu Xi’s regulation and local ritual practices. But for Bao Xiangxian, and for many fellow lineage elders as well, it was fine to worship the apical ancestor so long as they upheld Zhu Xi’s ritualism. As another prominent Shexian scholar, Wang Daokun (1525 –93), reported, most Huizhou gentry families preferred to worship in the apical ancestral hall or the hall of the great descentline.154 In yet another place, Wang described the huge complex of the Hall of Purifying Origin of the Xinan Wus in Shexian. Comparable in size and located in the same county were the Golden-Purple Hall in Qiankou, the Hall of Benevolence and Filiality in Tangyue, and the Lineage Temple of the Tangmo Xus.155

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figure 1.2 The Lineage Temple of the Yingzhou Hus, Jixi (late Ming). Source: Yu Hongli et al., Lao fangzi, vol. 2, photo 335.

Notably, lineage merchants made significant contributions to the construction of all of these magnificent ancestral halls.156 It is indeed no coincidence that the sixteenth century witnessed the rise of both Huizhou merchants and gigantic lineage temples. The ancestral hall built by the prominent mercantile descent of the Yingzhou Hus (Hushi zongci) in the late Ming was absolutely stunning (Figures 1.2 and 1.3). The most magnificent of all extant lineage temples in Huizhou was the Hall of Luo Dongshu, constructed by the Front Luos in Chengkan with significant merchant input. It covered 3,300 square meters, memorializing Lord Dongshu (that is, the aforementioned Luo Rongzu) and his wife. To its left was a “women’s memorial shrine” (nüci). The construction began in 1542 but was not completed until 1617. It is interesting to note that in spite of its size the hall was only a branch memorial hall (zhici), alternatively called the New Ancestral Hall. A century earlier, in 1498, the Front Luos had built their Apical Ancestral Hall (shici), covering 1,462 square meters. Two wealthy merchants of the lineage, Luo Misi and Luo Zhensun, proposed to the lineage head Luo Shangben that the first lineage temple of the Front Luos be constructed.157 The descent groups that built the aforementioned lineage temples were all renowned lineages, noted for both examination fame and

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figure 1.3 The interior courtyard of the Lineage Temple of the Yingzhou Hus, Jixi (late Ming). Source: Yu Hongli et al., Lao fangzi, vol. 2, photo 336.

commercial fortune. However, descent groups that were less prominent in local pedigree hierarchy followed virtually the same practice. In the Jiajing reign (1522 – 66), for instance, a merchant from Jingzhao in Qimen named Jin Deqing, after “accumulating ten thousand taels” in Guangdong and Beijing, contributed six hundred taels upon returning home for the construction of an ancestral hall for his lineage.158 Money from the commercial sector was key to the Ming-dynasty fashion of freestanding ancestral halls in Huizhou, and largely for the same reason the fashion continued to grow in the Qing.159 During the High Qing, two of the most marvelous lineage temples built with merchant funds were those of the Xidi Hus in Yixian and the Tangyue Baos in Shexian. Hu Guansan, one of the “six wealthiest Jiangnan merchants,” covered most of the expenses for Xidi’s Apical Ancestral Hall, which in total cost some 6,940 taels of silver. Upon its completion in 1788, Cao Wenzhi, Hu’s friend from Shexian and future in-law who was then an imperial grand secretary, handwrote the gate plaque for the Lineage Temple of the Mingjing Hus (Mingjing Hushi zongci). This building, in honor of the aforementioned prince of the Tang-dynasty royal family, was the largest of twenty-six ancestral halls in the village, including the 1,800-square-meter Hall of Reverence and Love, reconstructed in the Qing over a late-Ming ancestral hall.160 As for the Tangyue Baos, it was Bao Zhidao (1743–1801), the head merchant of

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figure 1.4 The lineage temple of the Tangyue Baos, Shexian (late eighteenth century). Source: Photograph by Qitao Guo.

the Lianghuai salt administration at Yangzhou, who initiated the project of their largest lineage temple (Figure 1.4). The amount of silver spent reached 3,527 taels.161 Bao Zhidao also set up 180 mu of ritual land, and his brother Bao Qiyun purchased over 1,200 mu of charitable land. The lineage temple, covering 1,035 square meters, was constructed to the side of seven commemorative archways (paifang) for loyal officials, filial sons, and chaste widows of the lineage, erected in the Ming or Qing (Figure 1.5).162 Eventually, the Baos had fifteen ancestral halls within the village of Tangyue, including the aforementioned Hall of Purifying Origin and Hall of Benevolence and Filiality built in the Ming.163 The rise in the sixteenth century of freestanding ancestral halls was reflected in contemporary print culture. The 1597 edition of Zhu Xi’s Family Rituals, printed by a Shexian publishing hall called Shigu zhai, contains an illustration mirroring the new trend (Figure 1.6).164 Most important, for this study at least, the 1597 illustration reveals a significant innovation made by Huizhou people to the front of the lineage temple: a large ritual platform that could easily be turned into an opera stage. This new arrangement mirrored, and in turn fostered, the rising fashion of ritual opera performance.165 This noted, the very fact that the hall in Figure 1.6 was freestanding was itself a new development within the printing tradition of Family Rituals, if not also in the architecture of ancestral halls. The six-

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figure 1.5 Seven memorial archways honoring loyal officials, filial sons, and chaste widows of the Tangyue Baos, Shexian (Ming and Qing). Source: Photograph by Qitao Guo.

teenth-century Huizhou editors of Family Rituals probably attempted to standardize the ancestral hall by providing an illustrated model to limit its size. Their attempt at standardization, like the old one by Zhu Xi, did not work, as many lineage temples became increasingly larger and more complex than the ones illustrated in Figures 1.6 and 1.7. Lineage temples constructed in the sixteenth century and thereafter (see Figure 1.2) tended to be ravishingly magnificent, glorifying not just dead ancestors but living builders as well. Yet the gigantic lineage temple, while most vividly indexing the gentrification of merchant wealth, helped render lineage culture (including ritual opera performances) more consistent. The symbolic capital embodied in the ancestral hall belonged to the whole lineage, not just to builders or donors. (Compare Zhu Xi’s original model of an ancestral shrine illustrated in Figure 1.8.) By the sixteenth century, the development of local kinship communities had apparently overstepped the boundary set by Zhu Xi in terms of the building of ancestral halls. The surmounting of certain rules stipulated in Family Rituals, however, did not discredit the ritual manual. Zhu Xi was still a paramount symbol of orthodox authority, at least at the practical or cultural level, if not also at the philosophical or intellectual level.166 Individual households within local lineages (such as the Xidi Hus) continued to

figure 1.6 A late-Ming illustration of a freestanding ancestral hall. Source: Zhu Xi’s Jiali (1597), 28.1a.

I

figure 1.7 A High-Qing illustration of a freestanding ancestral hall. Source: Zhu Xi’s Jiali (1989), 2.1261.

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figure 1.8 The model of an ancestral shrine from Zhu Xi’s Zhuzi Jiali. Source: Zhu Xi’s Zhuzi Jiali (1701), 1.39b-40a.

set up offering halls in their living quarters (Figure 1.9) similar to the model stipulated in Family Rituals. After all, as Patricia Ebrey and James Watson have noted, ancestral sacrifice could be conducted strictly on a family basis or as a lineagewide rite.167 The two formats of ritual coexisted at different levels of family-lineage life in Huizhou (as implied in the previously quoted statement by Bao Xiangxian). Viewed from this perspective, the independent ancestral hall was a natural expansion of Zhu Xi’s model of ancestral shrine. Local gentry, facing the growth of both kin population and the money economy, helped Zhu Xi win the overall ideological war by ignoring some of his specific spacio-ritual precepts. The same thing can be said of the rule of the “heir of the lesser descentline” (zongzi) emphasized by Zhu Xi and other Song neo-Confucians. This rule became increasingly irrelevant by late imperial times. It was now virtually impossible for most lineages to identify the main descent-line heir, as so many generations had passed since the common ancestor that the descent groups had become much larger and more complex. Eventually, the 1701 edition of Family Rituals, printed by the Ziyang Academy, included something that the original version of the ritual manual did not: a chart illustrating both the great descent-line and the lesser descent-line, with the “first ancestor” being defined in Xu Heng’s manner mentioned above.168 The Family Code of the Wus in Mingzhou included the same chart.169 The Family Code still paid lip service to the privilege of the descent-line heir to

figure 1.9 The offering hall in the living quarters, with an ancestral shrine in the upper left, in Xidi village, Yixian (Qing). Source: Yu Hongli et al., Lao fangzi, vol. 2, photo 191.

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officiate at ancestral rites. But it applied only to individual family units within the larger kinship community, as suggested in the “Zongzi yi” (An essay on the heir of the lesser descent-line) compiled in the Family Code.170 Now, for most of the prominent lineages in Huizhou, the man who presided over ancestral rites was the lineage head (zuzhang), not the descent-line heir. These included the Tangyue Baos, the Tangmo Xus, the Western Xinan Wus, and the Chengkan Front and Back Luos in Shexian; the Gulin Huangs and the Yuetan Zhus in Xiuning; the Xidi Hus and the Nanping Yes in Yixian; the Zhukou Nis in Qimen; and the Longchuan Hus in Jixi. For those lineages that still instituted the system of the lesser descent-line heir, he was most often just a figurehead; real power lay in the hands of the lineage head.171 This new lineage leader was usually chosen from respectable elders.172 The kinship leadership was now in most cases to be earned instead of inherited, a process that was in profound agreement with the principle of meritocracy embodied in the civil service examinations Huizhou gentrified lineages cherished most. It is still not clear exactly when the new system started. Like other key elements of the lineage repertoire, the term zuzhang could be traced to Song or Yuan eras. For instance, Huizhou neo-Confucian philosopher Zheng Yu (1298 –1358) mentioned in a grave inscription that on New Year’s morning local lineage youths visited their zuzhang before sweeping the ancestral tombs.173 Ming law, issued in 1369, also mentioned the zuzhang for his capacity as an agent helping a sonless chaste widow to designate an heir.174 But in practice, the lineage head was probably not fully empowered until the mid-Ming, given the concurrent development of other lineage institutions. Various local sources, too, seem to point to the mid-Ming for the rise of the zuzhang’s authority. The first case, quite fittingly, concerns the zuzhang’s policing power over widow chastity during the Jingtai reign (1450 – 56). The historian Zhang Xuan (1558 –1641) noted that a certain widow in Zhending county, Hebei, was showing some sign of having wearied of a life of solitude. “The zuzhang felt shamed by this, and called upon the masses [of their kinspeople] to beat her to death.” 175 In Huizhou, from the midMing onward, references to the zuzhang became more frequent in lineage documents. According to the genealogy of the Ximen Wangs in Xiuning, the zuzhang in the Tianshun reign (1457– 64) was Wang Fuzong.176 In 1564, for another example, the zuzhang of the Tandu Huangs, Huang Shuangyuan, seeing the “increasing growth of kinspeople,” called upon all branch heads (menzhang) for a lineage conference to discuss rules for expanding and managing corporate estates.177 The latter case indexed not just the development of the zuzhang’s authority but also of the kinship organization in response to the lineage’s demographic expansion into several branches. The mature institution of the zuzhang, along with the establishment of

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ancestral halls and corporate estates, marked the rise of lineage authority (zuquan). This authority ensured the strong leadership of the greatly expanded kinship community, much needed in the mid-Ming context of intense socioeconomic change. The lineage head, on behalf of the whole lineage and especially its elite, controlled both corporate capital and symbolic resources most focally embodied in the ancestral hall. He officiated at ancestral rites (or “assisted” the descent-line heir where the zongzi rule was still instituted) and other lineage rituals, managed the corporate estates, upheld Confucian ethics to bind kinspeople together, negotiated intra- or extralineage conflicts, and oversaw tenants or bond-servants. Not least important, he was in charge of the shan and e notebooks for the recording of kinspeople’s good or bad deeds.178 In other words, the new leadership served to uphold Zhu Xi’s moral teachings as well as his ritualism. From this perspective, the lineage head should be seen as developing out of the family patriarch (jiazhang) Zhu Xi stipulated in Family Rituals.179 Local gentry thus made good use of Zhu Xi’s authority while skillfully amending some of his out-of-date regulations.180 In some kinship communities, below the lineage head were several managers of lineage temples. In others, the two positions tended to be identical, for example, as stipulated in the Wanli edition of the genealogy of the Xinan Jiangs, Shexian.181 A late-Ming memorandum, written by Huang Wenming of Gulin village in Xiuning to “Record the Reconstruction of the Ancestral Hall,” is revealing about the composition of lineage leadership. According to the memorandum, the lineage temple of Huang Wenming’s branch was first built in 1511 and reconstructed in 1522. During the Wanli reign, the merchant Huang Du proposed to his lineage leader Huang Zhenbao (Huang Wenming’s great-grandfather) that the temple be expanded. In the renovated hall were “erected spiritual tablets in accord with Zhu’s Family Rituals,” ranging from their prominent apical ancestor, the Jin-dynasty prefect of Xin’an named Huang Yuanji, to those who made contribution to the 1522 reconstruction (a tribute to merchants; see Chapter 2). At the same time, ritual land was set up to finance the winter rite. Thirty years later, the lineage temple underwent another renovation, this time initiated by a salt merchant of the lineage, Huang Jiahui. “Kinsmen were all pleased by the proposal; and each made a contribution,” Huang Wenming noted. For overseeing the project, they needed a general manager (dongli). As Huang Chaoxian, notably “a scholar,” had always been “honest and altruistic in managing matters of the lineage temple,” he was “unanimously elected” for the position.182 It is not clear whether this dongli also served as the lineage head for the Gulin Huangs. But the Huangs elected a scholarly gentryman to manage a lineage project initiated by a merchant. At the same time, however, respected merchants often shared lineage leadership in Hui-

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zhou. Bao Shichen (1660 –1748), of the twenty-first generation of the second branch of the Tangyue Baos, became the lineage head due to his “seniority and virtue.” Bao Shichen, as will be shown in the following chapter, was a typical gentrified businessman.183 The management of the lineage temple, including its attached corporate estates, was obviously a powerful and rewarding position. Local elite sometimes even gave up the pursuit of examination success in order to take the position. During the Kangxi reign, Bao Bingxian of the twenty-second generation of the third branch of the Tangyue Baos (a distant nephew of Bao Shichen), wanted his son, Bao Shengtang, to take over the management of the lineage temple, as Bao Bingxian did from his own father. Bao Shengtang was then focusing on academic studies, but he quit his pursuit of an examination degree to take up the lineage position. What is more, Bao Shengtang’s eldest son, Bao Zong (1746 –1805), did the same thing by giving up scholarly pursuit to keep the post.184 But Bao Zong, if not his forebears as well, most likely served as the lineage head, for he also chaired the editorial board of the genealogy of the Tangyue Baos, which was prefaced by the prominent scholar-officials Cao Wenzhi and Ji Yun.185 These Baos were just lower gentry, but their story testified to the ultimate isomorphism between lineage authority and gentry hegemony. The Bao family was able to maintain the lineage leadership for four generations in large part because of their scholarly upbringing. The gentry or elite background of lineage authority in local society did not escape the attention of the Qianlong emperor. “The elected lineage leaders,” said the emperor, “are all gentry members or local strongmen.” Qianlong also noted that “in many places the lineage leaders are hardly men who obey the law,” for they enjoyed overwhelming power in the local community.186 However, as lineage authority provided what Max Weber called the “liturgical” service the state expected of the gentry (or local elite, including merchants) in governing the local community, state authorities often tolerated or even encouraged it.187 This liturgical service was embodied in ritual performances, most notably in the ancestral rites. Accompanying the development of lineage authority and infrastructure was the reorientation of local worship and related symbolic representation. The foremost religious inclination in local kinship community appears to have shifted to ancestral worship. For example, before the Ming dynasty the aforementioned Mingzhou Wus did not have a freestanding ancestral hall; they offered sacrifices to the dragon god and Wu Yu (one particularly efficacious ancestor) together in a Daoist shrine built during the Tang dynasty. In 1525, the shrine was rebuilt and expanded and began to be called a zongci (lineage temple) in the lineage genealogy. This new title reflected the Wu family’s ritual practice, as they gradually shifted the focus of their sacrificial rites from popular cults to their first migrant ancestor, Wu Xiang.188 The rituals performed in the lineage temple, however,

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were still ambiguously called sheji (also called shesi or sheshi), the designation for sacrifices offered to the earth god, both officially sanctioned and popularly worshipped, whereas the Wu descent group was called zushe (a local kinship community).189 The festival rites staged for the earth god and other popular deities, especially the spring request and autumn requital rites, were still popular and often involved opera performances.190 Nevertheless, the earth god, reformalized by the first Ming emperor, underwent a local metamorphosis around the mid-Ming, being superseded by the tutelary deities of lineages. These local patron deities were often regionally significant historical heroes, the most popular of whom in Huizhou was Wang Hua, the apical ancestor of the most populous surname in the entire prefecture. As an anthropomorphic proxy of the earth god, Wang Hua also headed an extensive local pantheon, incorporating various Daoist, Buddhist, and popular deities.191 This process of incorporation, while enhancing local appealing of popular cults, also represents a Confucian transformation of local religious culture that was more complex and more integrated than the case of the Mingzhou Wu lineage reveals. It helped make the festival performance of ritual opera one aspect of lineage culture, facilitating the interaction of elite and folk values. Most notable of all, the content of ritual opera was also transformed in the process, as will be discussed in the following chapters. Other aspects of Huizhou lineage culture also underwent transformation around the time of the mid-Ming. The new lineage institutions made it possible to have lineagewide shared rituals.192 Evidence suggests that kinspeople with different social status held either separate or shared rituals, especially during pre-Ming times when lineage institutions had not yet fully developed. Chen Li (1252 –1334), the author of Eminent Lineages in Xin’an, reported that in his lifetime gentry and wealthy members of his lineage celebrated rituals separately from the rest of their kin.193 In the aforementioned stele to commemorate the 1522 construction of the Gulin Huang lineage temple, however, Bao Xiangxian indicated that the previous generations of the Gulin Huangs had built ancestral halls “to involve the entire kin membership (heqi zuxing) in the ancestral rites.” Bao Xiangxian was referring to the first ancestral hall the Gulin Huangs built during the Song, which was destroyed at the end of the Yuan. After describing the new lineage temple complex, he admired the Huang’s practice of “bringing together kinsfolk” (shuaiqi zuzhong) in the Spring and Autumn Rites.194 Cheng Minzheng reported similar lineagewide rituals practiced by other Huizhou descent groups. On one occasion, Cheng noted that the Qimen Lis “integrated the entire kin when offering sacrifices to the ancestors” (heqizu er sizhi). On another, he reported that the Shanhe Chengs in Qimen had a lineagewide (hezu) feast on every Qingming festival, a ritual that had lasted for three hundred years.195 Cheng Xian of the Shanhe Chengs filed a similar report

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when in 1461 he made a record of the newly expanded ritual land for his lineage. “Every year,” he first noted, “on the New Year and the Qingming, all kin members assemble to have the ancestral rite (hezu zhiji) and enjoy a banquet after the rite. This has been the case for three hundred years from the Song to the present.” He complained that by his lifetime “the ritual land has quickly all disappeared.” 196 For this reason, the descent group needed to set up new corporate estates, and the lineage temple, to maintain the lineagewide ritual and banquet tradition.197 Like the Shanhe Chengs and the Gulin Huangs, other Huizhou lineages made efforts to involve kinsfolk in ancestral rites (and other annual rituals as well) so that their ethical implications could be extended to kinsfolk. Local sources emphasized the lineagewide participation (hezu or juzu) in various ceremonial practices.198 “One day ahead of time,” the 1618 manuscript of Ritual Handbook for the Yes’ Lineage Temple reports, “kinsfolk were notified so that each would get prepared” for the Spring and Autumn Rites.199 The 1759 manuscript of Regulations for the Wangs’ Lineage Temple even specified that “gongs are to be beaten once” to notify “all the new participants” for the festival ritual held on the fifteenth day of the first month.200 In 1801, the aforementioned salt merchant Bao Zhidao left a deathbed injunction in an essay titled “Record of the Memorial Hall of Filial Sons.” He started by elaborating upon the significance of filial devotion, which he called “the essence of one’s deeds.” And then, after glorifying his contribution to the construction of both the Lineage Temple and the Memorial Hall of Filial Sons in Tangyue, he stipulated that “every year, when annual rituals are held . . . kinspeople must all come (tongzu xianzhi). Let them pay their respects to [the filial sons memorialized in] the Hall to have some reflection.” 201 His command to bring together all kin in lineage rituals appears to have been acted upon. According to “Ritual Matters” in the Tangyue Baos’ branch genealogy (1805), on the morning of the New Year, bond-servants attached to ancestral halls (cipu) routinely went to each house, respectfully notifying the Baos of the annual ceremony. The latter, in ritual dress, would then gather in the lineage temple and orderly go through the rites.202 In any event, as Bao Zhidao’s eighth-generation ancestor Bao Xiangxian indicated in the stele commemorating the construction of the Gulin Huangs’ ancestral hall, a primary purpose of building huge ancestral halls was to incorporate all kinspeople into the increasingly expanded lineage in annual rituals.203 For example, the ancestral hall the Xu lineage in the East Gate of Shexian built in 1763 had a capacity of a thousand kneeling people.204 For a descent group with great depth that had a large number of diverse members in terms of status, profession, gender, and age, the lineage ritual was the best way to overcome this diversity, thereby consolidating kinship solidarity.205

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Not just a setting for performing ritual, the ancestral hall was itself invested with power. The classic style of the building and the arrangement of ancestral spiritual tablets (see Chapter 2) conveyed a sacred atmosphere, so solemn that its authority was hardly violable. In the lineage temple, kinsfolk confronted the supernatural presence of their own ancestors, the “inner gods,” who were as powerful as the “outer gods” (deities such as the city or earth gods).206 But inner gods, needless to say, were spiritually much closer to their living descendants than outer gods were. The worship of one’s own ancestors entailed, and often generated, the kind of piety that went deeper than the worship of outer gods. The Family Code of the Wus in Mingzhou viewed lineage rites as originating from the “heavenly principles,” ruling out uncouth behavior in the process of ritual performance. The Xiuning Fans in the lineage rules specifically spelled out how kinsfolk must behave during ancestral rites: “Be really solemn and earnest upon offering sacrifices. Do not whisper in each other’s ears; do not turn back to look around; do not scratch or stretch; do not shoulder-shrug or yawn. . . . Violators will be punished.” 207 The piety engendered by the ancestral worship was so strong that, as the Huizhou scholar Wang Jian reported in his 1701 afterword to Family Rituals, “offspring and kin brothers” of Huizhou descent groups “all hurried to ancestral rites; no one dared to go with feet dragging.” 208 Certain arrangements of the lineage temple directly invoked ancestral power to caution kinspeople. Offspring often faced not just the ancestral tablets but also their ancestors’ instructions, inscribed on the lineage temple’s walls. For instance, the Xiuning Wangs in the mid-Ming engraved the moral injunctions of a prominent ancestor on the walls of their lineage temple. So did the Tandu Huangs in Shexian during the High Qing. These ancestral “handed-down instructions” were characteristically Confucian, stressing human ethics and kinship harmony.209 Other lineages marked their Confucian commitment in an even more straightforward way. The Shaxi Zhengs, Shexian, simply called their lineage temple, built in 1578, the “Shrine of Loyalty and Chastity (Zhongzhen ci).” 210 Most revealing of all, the Wu lineage in Xiuning named their ancestral hall “The Wu Lineage Hall of Loyalty, Filial Piety, Chastity, and Righteousness.” 211 The weighty atmosphere of the lineage temple conveyed Confucian norms combined with the supernatural power of one’s own ancestors. The ancestral hall was the center of Huizhou lineage culture. “Each descent group has an ancestral hall,” a Shexian gazetteer noted, “and each branch of it has a branch ancestral hall. They are all imposing and magnificent, built away from living quarters. On festivals, life-cycle ritual ceremonies are performed there. Whenever there are important issues kinsmen assemble there for discussion.” 212 In 1825 –26, when the Xidi Hus set out to compile their own branch genealogy, they prepared it in the Hall of Rev-

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erence and Love. Upon its completion, they staged a ten-day celebration of ritual opera performance in front of the Apical Ancestral Hall. To ensure that the large-scale gala would proceed smoothly, they posted numerous circulars on the two largest ancestral halls in the village.213 Besides hosting all major rituals and lineage events, the ancestral hall was the place where kinspeople assembled to read lineage rules aloud (along with village lectures). It was also a court where lineage rules were implemented and wrongdoers were judged and punished.214 Most important, of course, the ancestral hall was the place to conduct lineage rituals, and ancestral sacrifices in particular. The ancestral rite was routinely staged during the spring, autumn, and winter, often also on the Zhongyuan festival (the fifteenth day of the seventh month) and the birthdays or the death anniversaries of important ancestors.215 These rites were intended to perpetuate the memory of kinspeople’s lineal origins and thereby cultivate filial piety, the central concern of Confucian ethics. “Essential to the careful attention [to performing the sacrificial rites] to ancestors and following them when long gone,” noted Gu Yanwu (1613– 82), “are filial piety and brotherly fraternity.” 216 The ritual process also nourished and affirmed strict lineage hierarchy, although it was often cloaked in a lenient fabric of kinship paternalism.217 For the aforementioned prominent Huizhou lineages where the lineage head officiated at lineage rituals, the ancestral rite always went through three rounds of the initial, the second, and the final sacrifices as stipulated by Zhu Xi in Family Rituals.218 These ancestral rites first of all provided self-definition for the lineage head. By presiding over ritual procedures, he appeared to be the living incarnation of the ancestors, reading aloud their instructions to an obedient audience. While having a feast in front of the spiritual tablets of the ancestors, the lineage head, the older the more revered, occupied the central and highest seat to receive greetings for longevity from the kinsfolk.219 The respect paid to the lineage head in the ritual process extended to his peers as well. The preface of the 1527 genealogy of the Ximen Wangs in Xiuning delineated an orderly procession on the occasion of the ancestral rites conducted by the lineage: “Elders and youth of the lineage, totaling more than three hundred couples, arrived without calling, respectfully self-maintained without ordering. The elders offered wine and conducted the rite first, the youth followed the pattern accordingly to end the rite. After the sacrifice was over, the elders were seated, with the youth standing.” 220 In the process of rituals, ancestral worship was transformed into a worship of the living elders; filial piety thus generated was devoted to both dead ancestors and living elders. Filial devotion, hierarchical consciousness, and orderly demeanor were virtues that could hardly be cultivated without rituals. The molding power

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lies in Zhu Xi’s ritualism. By molding through rituals, inculcation came across naturally and ethics were absorbed unconsciously. This is what Family Rituals is all about. It tells people what to do, not what to think, during the rites of cappings, weddings, funerals, and ancestral sacrifices.221 Each rite, properly conducted, was an automatic reproduction of the existing hierarchy and Confucian kinship values. In 1695, our native observer Zhao Jishi reported: In Xin’an [agnates of] each surname reside together under the lineage system; no single family with a different surname lives among them. This is a custom that follows the ancient tradition closely. As for their interactions, [kinsmen] yield to each other according to their ranks. Every descent-line has a lineage temple to incorporate it. Every year during [the major festivals such as] the summer fu and winter la a thousand kinsmen of each lineage-village all gather to conduct the rituals as regulated by the Literary Master in the Family Rituals. In a refined way they go through the rituals properly. Our elders once said, “Xin’an has certain customs that are superior to those of other prefectures. Not even a cupful of soil has ever been removed from the ancestors’ thousand-year-old graves. [Not a single male adult in] a onethousand-member lineage has ever scattered. The lineal genealogies of one thousand years are compiled neatly without a trace of disorder. The social differentiation between lords and bond-servants is strictly observed for scores of generations, and petty minions (xiaoxiao) dare not be reckless.” 222

Zhao Jishi believed that lineage rituals promoted cultural integration, enhancing both kinship hierarchy and solidarity. So did many other Huizhou gentry writers quoted earlier. In their view, Family Rituals did influence kinsfolk, and local lineage culture was Zhu Xi’s teachings in practice. Modern scholars may wonder whether this assessment was true or not— whether the written sources were expressing an elite goal or describing its social effect.223 The answer to this question apparently lies not in elite reports but most relevantly in local popular culture, for the latter was what the common folk lived with and practiced. Popular performances and symbols could reach where gentry teachings presumably could not. If local popular culture was gentrified, this transformation should best illustrate the integrating power of lineage institutions and rituals. As we will see in the following chapters, Mulian ritual opera performance was most effective in fostering cultural integration within the lineage. The ritual opera, probably the best and richest embodiment of local popular culture appealing to common folk, was also Huizhou lineage culture in practice. In order to make full sense of the Mulian tradition, however, we need to examine other aspects of Huizhou society, especially merchants and their mental world, key to transforming local popular culture as well as to creating the Huizhou mercantile lineage.

2

Huizhou Merchants and Mercantile Lineage Culture

In Huizhou, Zhu Xi’s ancestral area, neither lineage culture nor ritual performance was purely Confucian. Lineage culture was saturated with folk cults as well as a syncretic form of the Three Teachings (Buddhism, Daoism, and Confucianism); at the same time, local rituals were increasingly mixed with operatic performance. This blending of diverse cultural and religious elements had been nevertheless a widespread phenomenon in China since the sixteenth century. What was unusual about Huizhou is how this gentry-lineage stronghold became the home base of the most prominent mercantile group of late imperial China, and at the same time how the commercializing process in turn transformed Huizhou into a land of mercantile lineages. All three mutually influential factors— commercialism, ritual opera, and local religious practices—underwent fundamental transformations over the course of the sixteenth century. These changes enabled each of the three apparently “unorthodox” aspects of Huizhou society to enhance orthodox mercantile lineage culture—and work together through popular Mulian performance. Gentry dominance in Huizhou was not rooted just in the development of kinship institutions. It was more subtly embedded in the Confucian molding of merchants and local popular culture, which made gentry lineage culture all the more resilient and integrating. This chapter first briefly describes the rise of “Huizhou merchants” (Huishang) around the time of the mid-Ming and then analyzes the development of what may be called the merchant code, an ethical manifestation of the collective mentality of the Confucianized Huishang group as well as the larger mercantile lineage. But Huizhou merchants were also motivated by what I would call “Huishang social strategy,” a familywide and, indeed, lineagewide plan to gain the ultimate aspiration of gentry standing. Herein lie the reasons for the dramatic strengthening of lineage institutions in the sixteenth century, one by-product of which was the cult of female marital fidelity. The chapter concludes with an account of local dramatic and religious traditions, deline-

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ating the cultural background of Mulian ritual opera performance in this emerging merchant capital of late imperial China.

The Rise of Huizhou Merchants (Huishang) Merchants in Huizhou can be identified as early as the eastern Jin dynasty (317– 420 c.e.). The social “class” enjoyed further development in the Song dynasty (960 –1279). But the term “Huishang” first appeared in the Ming, and most likely during the mid-Ming, designating the formation of a mercantile group bound together with native-place kin ties.1 Indeed, this group could hardly have taken shape before the mid-Ming, given that the first Ming emperor had decreed an agrarian subsistence economy for the empire. Timothy Brook has narrated how the dynasty founder Zhu Yuanzhang’s agrarian ideal was gradually supplanted during the first century of Ming rule by a new pattern of commercial landlordism in rural life, which simultaneously fueled the growth of an urban economy.2 For Huizhou, a fundamental change during the first half of the sixteenth century can be gleaned from a comparison of two accounts of local involvement in commercial activities, found in the 1502 and 1566 editions of Huizhou prefectural gazetteers. “In the Southeastern Zou-Lu,” noted the 1502 account, “book-reading or farming is fundamental, [but] occasionally [the locals] are also involved in trade.” 3 Half a century later, the 1566 account depicts a thoroughly commercialized Huizhou: “As the locals lack arable land, they take trade as the permanent source of wealth. During the spring months, they go out for trade with their savings, in the hope of making 20% profit for a year, and will not return until the winter. Some merchants return home only once every couple of years.” 4 Thereafter, in the late Ming, numerous accounts from within and without the prefecture noted the growing intensity of Huishang commercial activities. Wang Daokun (1525 –93) and Wang Shizhen (1526 –90), for instance, reported that “seven out of ten households” in Shexian (or Huizhou) engaged in trade.5 As a result, noted the prominent lower Yangzi scholar Gui Youguang (1507–71), those engaging in commerce “in the metropolitan centers under Heaven” were “mostly Xin’an men.” 6 By the sixteenth century, indeed, Huizhou had become a merchant cradle of the empire. In their golden age, roughly from the 1500s to the 1850s, Huizhou men spread from home throughout the realm, dominating the increasingly intense commercial activity, especially in the lower and middle Yangzi regions. They ruled the roost in the pawnshop industry and dealt extensively in lumber, tea, and paper (products of their mountainous home area), as well as rice, silk, and porcelain.7 But their financial backbone consisted of the Lianghuai salt merchants, and their rise best signaled the for-

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mation of the Huishang group around the mid-Ming. This formation process also serves to illustrate the nature of the mercantile group, especially in terms of its relation with the gentry and home lineage. The commercialization process started with the official reform of the “border delivery” (kaizhong) system in 1492. The kaizhong system, which ensured the state monopoly of the salt trade, was first instituted in 1370, at that time centered in the northern province of Shanxi. The system was to ensure the supply of grain to army units stationed on the frontier, because only merchants who transported grain to the northern frontier were qualified to purchase “salt licenses” (yanyin) from the government to trade salt. With these licenses, merchants could exchange and market salt in appointed areas. The licenses came to be controlled by merchants who had connections with the central government and were often high-ranking officials themselves. This led to a gradual specialization among salt merchants. License controllers who made fortunes by simply selling their licenses were called “frontier merchants” (bianshang). “Interior merchants” (neishang) actually transported grain and salt. The process of getting the increasingly expensive licenses was thus separate from the salt trade itself, forcing more and more interior merchants to abandon the trade. This led to the breakdown of the kaizhong system and hence the 1492 reform, called kaizhong zhese. Under the new regulations, merchants no longer needed to ship grain to frontier posts; they could purchase salt licenses directly with silver (zhese). The reform also gave salt producers and merchants the right to sell “extra salt,” which had been monopolized by the state along with “quota salt.” The new regulations shifted the center of the salt trade from the northern frontier to the interior merchants of the southern provinces, especially in the Lianghuai region. The salt administration of Lianghuai, covering the vast and densely populated areas of northern Jiangsu; southeastern Henan; and the provinces of Anhui, Jiangxi, Hubei, and Hunan, was headquartered in Yangzhou, which came to be controlled by nearby Huizhou merchants. At the same time, wealthy former frontier merchants, especially those from Shanxi and Shaanxi, now turned themselves into interior merchants. They settled in Yangzhou, as did merchants from Huizhou. The Guangxu (1875 –1908) edition of the Lianghuai yanfa zhi (The gazetteer of the Lianghuai salt trade) lists in total eighty top nonnative salt merchants in Yangzhou active from the Jiajing (1522 – 66) to the Qianlong (1736 –95) reigns. Sixty were from Huizhou, ten from Shanxi, and ten from Shaanxi.8 Huizhou merchants, along with those from the two northern provinces, thus dominated one of the most lucrative trades in late imperial China.9 The supremacy of Huizhou men in Yangzhou was further established with the institution of the gangyun (the salt-conveying flotilla) system in 1617. This system worked for over two centuries until its abolition in 1831

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and reveals not just the characteristics of late imperial Chinese commerce but also the social composition of Huishang. Under the new gangyun regulation, interior merchants who purchased salt licenses earned exclusive rights to salt shipment. They became “transport merchants” (yunshang) and soon turned their rights into hereditary prerogatives that enabled their eighteenth-century heirs to amass enormous fortunes. The shipments were nevertheless carried out on a group basis. Each flotilla incorporated individual tradesmen into an independent corporation to form a shangbang (merchant clique). Gradually, transporters as well as salt merchants were brought together under the single aegis of “head merchants” (zongshang), who agreed to bear the main risks of the trade and took a lion’s share of the profits. Head merchants reported directly to the official salt and transport commissioners.10 The system was typical of China’s “bureaucratic capitalism” of official supervision and merchant management, with its built-in mechanism of corruption. The Qianlong emperor once complained about the extravagance of the Lianghuai salt administration, which spent onethird more annually than the imperial house.11 But this expense, oiling mechanisms of arbitrary levies and haphazard bribes, made the system work. The heart of bureaucratic capitalism, as Frederic Wakeman demonstrates, was “a strong nexus between official and commercial interests.” 12 Officials protected merchants, whose success ensured salt revenues and thus their jobs; merchants fed officials, whose favor smoothed their business adventures. The collaboration between officials and merchants (guanshang yiti) was characteristic of the commercial life of late imperial China and of Huizhou men in particular. The integration of merchant and gentry circles into society at large further facilitated this collaboration. Here lies the secret of how Huizhou men could enjoy such enormous success in the Lianghuai salt business. In addition to their geographical advantage, Huizhou merchants had a firm home base, a gentry-lineage stronghold that enjoyed widespread political networks and vast socioeconomic resources. Modern scholars have clearly shown how Huizhou merchants benefited from the support of their ancestral lineages, especially the political connections of gentry relatives.13 In fact, many merchants were themselves gentry members of prominent local lineages or their descendants. To quote again the sixteenth-century observer Gui Youguang, “gentry families” from mountainous Xin’an all vied to go into trade by “sojourning through the four directions.” 14 The 1659 edition of the Lianghuai yanfa zhi makes a similar observation that “most salt traders of Huizhou were offspring of prestigious lineages” and “had been long steeped in the teachings of the Literary Master [Zhu Xi].” 15 Businessmen from the “native place of Cheng-Zhu” were well educated in a new code of Confucian mercantile ethics, as will be explored shortly. Simply put, Huizhou lineage members knew how to cross the status barrier between

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gentility and commerce; and this crossing made them best equipped to take advantage of the gangyun system and of China’s bureaucratic capitalism in general. The two Lianghuai head merchants during the High Qing, Jiang Chun and Bao Zhidao, epitomized the so-called Confucian merchants (rushang) from prominent Huizhou lineages. Both were versed in the classical learning that enabled them to make friends with scholar-officials in Yangzhou and Beijing, and, for Jiang, even to “befriend” the son of heaven (Qianlong) with his “commoner status.” 16 Another top salt merchant in Yangzhou, Cao Qi, was even closer to the core of state authority. The younger brother of the grand secretary Cao Zhenyong, whose father was aforementioned Cao Wenzhi (see Chapter 1), Cao Qi was so powerful that, as Li Dou noted in the Yangzhou huafang lu, “all people from north of the Huai River relied on him.” 17 These three top Lianghuai businessmen were patrilineally associated with eminent village lineages in Shexian, such as the Jiangcun Jiangs, Tangyue Baos, and Xiongcun Caos. Along with nine other prominent village lineages from the same county, they dominated Yangzhou business. By the High Qing, according to a local gazetteer, representatives from these dozen village lineages “permanently monopolized four of the eight Lianghuai head merchant” positions.18 Linkages were also formed through marriage between these descent groups.19 At the same time, they all produced higher-examination degree holders and high-ranking officials in the Ming and Qing, in addition to wealthy merchants who often purchased official titles to gentrify themselves.20 The Huishang group, shaped by local mountain ecology and conditioned by general economic developments, was fundamentally a product of home lineage culture.21 To begin with, most Huishang capital also came from ancestral lineages. The pioneering Japanese student of “Huizhou scholarship,” Fujii Hiroshi, divides Huishang capital into seven types: that of joint capital, entrusted capital, marriage capital, supporting capital, bequeathed capital, labor-accumulated capital, and bureaucrat capital. Except laboraccumulated capital and bureaucrat capital, the latter of which nevertheless linked merchants to officials (or scholar-gentry), all capital sources were directly kinship related.22 In the salt trade, Shexian merchants relied on the connections of high-ranking scholar-officials from home lineages to influence state authorities and exploit “bureaucrat capital.” 23 Kin also helped poor relatives to embark on business. The Family Code of the Wus in Mingzhou, immediately following the rule aiding bright youth in their book studying (quoted in Chapter 1), spells out how to help young relatives learn a trade: “For offspring who cannot read books or have no land to till but have to embark on commerce, kin should either help them directly or recommend them to other relatives so that they will have a permanent trade to make a living. Never let them idle about to make trouble.” 24 Lineage

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support may well account for the success of many small vendors, who otherwise had to rely only on what Fujii calls labor-accumulated capital.25 Many Huishang businesses were lineage joint ventures, involving extended kinship bonds and networks.26 The aforementioned Jin Sheng noted in the late Ming, “To run a business, men from the two counties [Xiuning and Shexian] take along their [native-place] kith and kin and work together. This is why when one family prospers, not just that family alone gains. If it’s a big business, [the prosperous family] can feed a thousand or a hundred households; if small [it can] still [provide for] up to tens or several households.” 27 Supporting relatives or friends were called zhangji (managers) or huoji (workers), and they often came from home lineages and obeyed lineage rules.28 Wang Daokun described the boss-worker relationship in an epitaph he wrote for the Huizhou merchant Wu Rongrang. At the age of sixteen, Wu started his sojourning career, following his kin to Songjiang in eastern Jiangnan. He established himself quickly and moved to Zhejiang. Inspired by Fan Zhongyan’s Record of Charity Land, Wu Rongrang “established a lineage temple, worshipped the original [Huizhou] ancestors, and set up ritual land.” He called together poor offspring of the home lineage and hired them as huoji. Twice each month, on the first and fifteenth, all workers, numbered in tens, convened to listen to the family injunctions, often read aloud by their paternalistic boss.29 In addition to kinship and marriage bonds, native-place ties also played a significant role in shaping the Huishang group. Gu Yanwu was impressed with the strong native-place consciousness of Xin’an people. Traveling Huizhou tradesmen who found countrymen implicated in lawsuits, Gu noted, would interfere personally and help collect money to support their litigation.30 The same sense of loyalty, further refined, led to the formation of sub-Huizhou groups. Xiuning men controlled pawnbroking, whereas those of Shexian dominated the salt business, and those of Wuyuan excelled at the tea and timber trade.31 These native-place groups and subgroups were necessitated by the intensified commercial endeavors since the mid-Ming as well as fierce competition in the marketplace. For some Chinese specialists in Huizhou history, the process was institutionally embodied in the creation in 1560 of the Shexian huiguan (native-place association) in Beijing, the first business association founded by Huizhou merchants (and scholars).32 The club also provided lodging for Shexian examination candidates in the capital. The dual function of the huiguan again points to the fusion of the gentry and businessmen. The club marked the rise of the group consciousness of what some Chinese Marxist historians have termed the “feudal mercantile clique” (fengjian shangbang),33 bound up by kinship and native-place ties as well as shared values nurtured in their home lineage culture.

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The New Mercantile Ethics and Huishang Social Strategy The rise of Huizhou merchants and their fusion with lineage gentry led to a significant realignment in cultural patterns as well as social structures. Of particular significance was the development of the new merchant code, which contributed to Huishang’s success as much as the aforementioned socioeconomic factors. The code institutionalized Confucianized mercantile ethics that helped regulate their behavior in the market or workplace. But it also encompassed care for home lineage, filial piety, and concerns over female chastity, as well as sensitivity over family pedigree. This last concern nurtured merchants’ ultimate aspiration for upward social mobility, thereby giving birth to what I call “Huishang social strategy.” It was a popular prefecture-wide plan whereby Huizhou merchants secured gentry status by investing commercial wealth into civil service examination training. Lineage gentry helped fashion the code and the strategy, but both were also rooted in the collective consciousness of Huizhou tradesmen. Put together, the code and the strategy told Huizhou merchants not just how to make money but also how to use it, guiding their behavior both in the market and in society at large (or at home). They defined the Huishang way of life, promoted gentry-merchant integration, and made Huizhou a major merchant cradle and an eminent gentry society: a land of gentrified mercantile lineages. With regard to new business ethics, Huizhou was a showcase for the entire empire. An essay by the eminent intellectual historian Ying-shih Yu demonstrates how the changing orientations of the Three Teachings since Tang-Song times contributed to the remolding of mercantile values and the uplifting of the “merchant way” (gudao) in the Ming-Qing epoch. By the late imperial period, the position of merchants had improved dramatically, rising from the bottom of the conventional four-class designation of gentry, farmers, artisans, and merchants to just below the gentry. Yu demonstrates the compatibility of neo-Confucian values, along with the meditative Chan school of Buddhism and neo-Daoism, with new mercantile ethics, which gave priority to “industry,” “frugality,” “honesty,” and “rationalism.” In this “Weberian” study, Yu turns Max Weber on his head. While accepting Weber’s assessment that European-style “capitalism” never developed in China, Yu rejects Weber’s reasoning that religious values were responsible for such a failure (or such a peculiar Chinese experience) and instead finds “irrational” political and legal institutions to be the primary causes.34 This study examines not just the new mercantile ethics but also Huishang social strategy, not just sojourning merchants but also home lineages, not just elite “formal” writings but also local popular culture to demonstrate

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how these paired aspects of Huizhou social history were integrated into a dynamic “mercantile lineage culture.” 35 Such a balancing perspective allows us to see a fuller picture of the development of merchant mentality and its sociocultural consequences. The growing dominance of Huizhou merchants ultimately strengthened, not weakened, gentry rule in their home communities; and cultural values played a vital part in deflowering “capitalistic sprouts” in late imperial China. Key to shaping the Huishang character, and the sociocultural history of Huizhou in general, was not just the rise of merchants but also their integration into gentry and home lineages. This integration accounted for the formation of the new merchant code as well as Huishang social strategy, which in turn led to further integration. By fusing the merchant way with Confucian ethics, the code assured the longterm success of the Huizhou merchants, making them legitimate partners in local lineage leadership. Meanwhile, the strategy (as well as the code) gentrified Huizhou merchants, lessening the tension between the relative role of status and wealth, which could have been the most disruptive force in local kinship society. The code of gentrified merchants also co-opted the condemnation of avarice and even money per se, a feature that came to be represented in both elite discourse and popular culture (including local cults).36 When sojourning tradesmen channeled money to fund lineage institutions and the education of future scholar-officials in their home region, they were following the merchant code and the strategy. The new merchant way, uplifted as it might be, was thus a complement, not an alternative, to the Confucian way (rudao). Mirroring and manipulating the collective consciousness of Huizhou merchants, the gentrified culture of mercantile lineage and popular traditions worked together to limit the vision of the Huishang group and crippled its chance to emerge as an independent sociopolitical force.37 The Huishang business ethics included commonplace character-building or conventional commercial lore with a fundamentally Confucian orientation, incorporating such cardinal Confucian ethics as righteousness, honesty, and trustworthiness. Xie Guangsui, a Qing-dynasty scholar from Mount Huang, attempted probably the most complete formulation of new business ethics in a short handbook titled Merchant Maxims. Xie started his instruction by reasoning in a rather apologetic tone that because most of “our offspring cannot read books to be scholars, nor can they take up farming or craftsmanship, they will necessarily go into trade.” This statement reflected the conventional view of the four social classes that still prevailed in even thoroughly commercialized Huizhou. But Xie moved quickly to caution the youth with thirteen principal virtues, as no one “can practice the mercantile way (shanggu zhi dao) without learning.” These are diligence, honesty, amiability, perseverance, flexibility, resolve, thrift, appreciation of

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life, understanding of reason and righteousness, thankfulness, modesty, uprightness, and prudence.38 Xie Guangsui did not bother to point explicitly to the Confucian nature of his mercantile way, as did other Huizhou people. Even to this day, right at the entrance of Tangyue Bao lineage temple, there is a poster titled “Mercantile Virtues of Huizhou Merchants.” Apparently established by the modern descendants of the Baos, the poster proudly states: While engaging in trade, our ancestors emphasized mercantile virtues. Huizhou merchants formed a commercial group composed of both traders and scholars. “Although engaging in commercial activities, [Huizhou men] were all steeped in the style of Confucian scholars.” In addition, they all paid attention to the cultivation of mercantile virtues. “Treat people with sincerity,” “handle business dealings with trustworthiness,” “make profits with righteousness”—these epitomized the mercantile virtues of Huizhou merchants.

The poster makers go on to illustrate mercantile virtues by listing four concrete rules that guided their forebears: good-quality commodities, fair price, full quantity, and credit. Here is a summary of the commercial ethics the contemporary Tangyue Baos believe their forebears endorsed and practiced. One of those ancestors was the aforementioned Bao Shichen (1660 – 1748), a direct descendant of the mid-Ming scholar-official Bao Xiangxian and the great-grandfather of the Yangzhou head merchant Bao Zhidao. For his reputation as an “honest merchant” (liangu), Bao Shichen earned a fairly detailed biography in his home lineage genealogy. “The Biography of Sir Bao” starts by noting how widely Shichen was respected as “Mr. Integrity.” He lost his mother when he was just five years old and his father upon his capping rite. The orphan walked by himself to Boyang, Jiangxi, on business. On the way, having used up his cash, he husked rice with mortar and pestle for a hotel owner to pay lodging expense. One early morning, a customer left his wallet at the gate while checking out the hotel. Shichen happened to see it on his way to the restroom and immediately turned it over to the hotelier. Not long after, the customer hurried back; and the hotelier returned his wallet, commending Bao Shichen’s “righteousness.” The customer wanted to reward him with some money, which he declined. With high respect for Mr. Integrity, the hotel owner took Bao Shichen on a trip to Yangzhou, which further burnished his reputation. Many people were willing to lend him money or conduct business with him. After he became rich, he paid back all the debts left by his ancestors and bought back their old land and cottage. To requests from friends and relatives, Mr. Integrity always responded favorably, with no condescension. He once said, “To use recklessly what comes along unintentionally is a waste of good fortune, but to be closefisted is to make good fortune worthless, too. I only want to use [money] in a proper way.” Another story concerns an episode in his old age

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when he once traveled with his son across Lake Dongting with cash to help an old friend bail his father out of prison. A storm arose, and his boat began to capsize. Mr. Integrity held onto his suitcase and cried out to his son: “It’s fate that we, father and son, will be buried in the torrent. I only regret that I can’t fulfill what I have promised. [My failure] will lead to the death of another’s parent. I’ll die with grief.” In the end, the storm capsized all boats on the lake but Bao Shichen’s. His biographer, Zhang Dengbiao, concludes the story with a typical Confucian comment: “Merchants engage in trade for profit. Mr. Integrity made profit with righteousness, and eventually built up his fortune. One may pursue a scholarly career to transmit the sayings by ancient sages. But to make money in the market [with righteousness] entails a great heart, too.” 39 Before Bao Shichen’s virtuous career, the official gazetteer on Lianghuai salt administration (1659) had already paid tribute to Huizhou merchants. The “Merchant Customs” (shangsu) section starts by glorifying Huishang virtue and details how “people from near and afar” praised Xin’an men for their “forthrightness and integrity,” “ingenuity and resolve,” and “experience and acumen.” Not least important, the merchants of Huizhou were “generous,” especially when it came time to make donations to set up schools and charities. As descendants of high-status or aristocratic families, Huizhou merchants were adept at the “inherited classics of ancient sages,” which dwelled on “benevolence” and “righteousness.” 40 The account does not explicitly suggest a causal linkage between the family background of Huishang and their Confucian virtue—it was taken for granted. Most Huizhou prominent lineages, including the Tangyue Baos, were indeed descended from pre-Song aristocratic clans who had migrated from the north. Their continuous success in late imperial times was due to two strategies they adopted to adjust to the changing environment from the Song to the Ming, and a skillful alternation between the two thereafter. The first strategy was to use the inherited repertoire to train sons in the Confucian classics for the civil service examinations, as already discussed in Chapter 1. The second strategy was to take up trade or support the commercial endeavors of kinsmen. But they did not engage in commerce until the midMing. According to some recent studies, in the early Ming most Huizhou gentry families still despised trade, and yet by the Jiajing reign (1522 – 66) hardly any prestigious lineages abstained from commerce.41 “Even highstatus families” in mountainous Xin’an “dare to get involved in trade,” the scholar Tang Shunzhi (1507– 60) observed from eastern Jiangnan, with a mildly critical tone betraying the deep-rooted conventional stance toward commerce.42 Tang nevertheless confirms that these prestigious families were shifting their vocational focus from age-old examinations to the newly emerging marketplace. Or, more accurately, they ostensibly no longer drew

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a moral line between the two professions but instead alternated between the pursuit of status and wealth. Blurred professional identities transformed gentry families into mercantile lineages, out of which was born the new mercantile ethic. In sixteenth-century Huizhou, the most prominent spokesman for commerce and the converged gentry-merchant identities was Wang Daokun. This famed scholar-official from a Shexian merchant family wrote numerous biographies and epitaphs for Huizhou merchants, exalting their Confucian virtues and successful business careers. In particular, he commended their equal attention to scholarly pursuits and commercial endeavors. In his home county, Wang Daokun noted that “seven or eight out of ten engage in commerce. Kinsmen take up trade while their bright [sons] are devoted to Confucian learning.” 43 In another passage, he described a man “engaging in commerce and yet behaving himself like a Confucian.” 44 In yet another place, he admired a merchant’s mother, née Sun, each of whose three sons willingly followed her instructions and devoted themselves to becoming either merchants or scholars.45 The highest-sounding tribute Wang Daokun paid to merchants came in an epitaph he wrote for a certain Cheng businessman who was gentrified: “South of the great [Yangzi] river, the capital of Xin’an [Shexian] is noted for its rich cultural tradition. It has been the local custom [for Shexian men] to be either Confucian scholars or merchants, alternating by generations. In short, in what way is a good merchant (lianggu) inferior to a prominent scholar (hongru)?!” 46 The main theme running through Wang’s writings is the convergence of commerce and gentility. For all his sensitivity, Wang Daokun drew upon neo-Confucian traditions as well as Huizhou merchant culture. But rather than rely exclusively on the elitist neo-Confucianism of Zhu Xi, who approached moral cultivation through book learning (although he also emphasized family rituals), Wang Daokun admired the intuitive philosophy of Wang Yangming (1472 –1528) and his Song-dynasty forerunner Lu Xiangshan, who appealed directly to the innate knowledge of people (especially the common folk) and appreciated the social values of each vocation.47 “The four categories of the people differ in vocations but share the same Way,” Wang Yangming preached. He rejected the conventional disdain of tradesmen: “Although vending all day long, merchants are not prevented from becoming sages or worthies.” 48 In the late Ming, Wang Yangming’s teaching of innate morality was quite influential, even in Zhu Xi’s ancestral place. Famous Wang Yangming disciples such as Wang Gen, Qian Dehong, Wang Ji, Zou Shouyi, Liu Bangcai, and Luo Rufang all thronged to Huizhou. There they lectured at various academies on how “the streets are full of sages” and why “people’s daily use is the Way,” attracting a number of local literati.49 Zheng Zhizhen, the playwright of the master Mulian script,

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also appears to have embraced Wang Yangming’s populist approach to internalize Confucian ethics, as will be discussed in Chapter 4. Yet Wang Daokun was even more pragmatic or locally engaged than Wang Yangming, although Yangming was himself a master on the unity of knowledge and action. Wang Daokun championed the tradesmen’s social and moral worth, not so much to advocate Wang Yangming’s philosophical vision of the new four social categories as to set new exemplars by reporting what he believed his fellow merchants were practicing in the market and beyond. By Wang Daokun’s time (if not before), Huizhou merchants were altering the social order by merging into lineage elite, thereby changing the nature of prominent local lineages. Gentry biographers were certainly willing to elevate the status of merchants by acknowledging their Confucian demeanors. Of special interest is the biography of the Wuyuan merchant Li Daqi (1522 – 87), included in the Wanli edition of the genealogy of his home lineage, the Santian Lis. His biography, notably calling Li Daqi a chushi (untitled scholar) but not a merchant in its title, starts with his family background. His grandfather, we are told, engaged in commerce and “stood out in the local community for the wealth.” His father nevertheless wanted Li Daqi, his only son, to pursue a scholarly career. By the time he was ready to take the examinations, however, his father passed away. “Men should commit themselves to the four directions,” Li Daqi said in agony, facing the financial bankruptcy of his household. “What vocation should I take up? If I cannot pick up the red sash [gentry status] to glorify my parents, by starting a business [I’ll] establish myself and bring bounty to my offspring.” Li Daqi then gave up scholarly pursuits and sojourned with his kin on business. He traveled to all metropolitan centers but ended up in Yangzhou, focusing on the salt trade. Not long after, his business increased a hundredfold. With his commercial success, the biographer declares, Li Daqi was essentially “equal to sufeng” (untitled nobility, or “gentry” without examination degrees).50 Of particular significance is the use of the term sufeng. This aristocratic designation dramatically boosted the social status of merchants such as Li. But it also symbolized the changing composition and perception of prominent lineages (wangzu) in local society. When compiling The Renowned Lineages in Xiuning in the early seventeenth century, the gentry author Cao Shuming called the Fenghu Wangs sufeng, specifically noting how the lineage stood out for both scholarly traditions and commercial wealth.51 But all of this tells only half the story (and, as we shall see shortly, I have just told half the story about Li Daqi). The designation sufeng per se implies that certain “untitled” merchants were already culturally gentrified. After all, Li Daqi was a scholar-turned-merchant. Indeed, gentry biographers hardly ever missed a chance to highlight the Confucian character of Hui-

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zhou merchants. For elite biographers, ethical behavior virtually dissolved the boundary between “untitled nobility” and real gentry, which in turn encouraged future Confucian behavior. The biographer of Li Daqi’s cousin Li Dahao, for instance, notes that he convincingly instructed others with his Confucian mercantile method: “[W]ealth grows out of the Way; profit comes along with righteousness.” 52 In another example, the biography of the Xiuning tradesman Wang Hong (1491–1545), also contained in his home lineage genealogy, illustrates his gentrylike deeds by quoting the man of letters Li Mengyang (1473–1529): “[G]entry and merchants pursue different methods but share the same commitments.” The biography of Wang Hong’s elder kinsman Wang Yuan goes even further. “There was no distinction between the four categories of the people in ancient times,” the author argues, “so why should merchants be regarded as inferior to gentry?” Later social institutions did “separate gentry from merchants,” he acknowledged, but he still insisted that “their ways of doing things are mutually compatible.” Wang Yuan, the biographer declares, was none other than “a merchant who acted like a Confucian (gu’er ruxing zhe).” 53 Another lineage genealogy uses an even more succinct phrase, calling the Shexian man Huang Jifang (1499 –1559) “a merchant in name and a Confucian in practice (shangming ruxing).” 54 From the sixteenth century onward, the biographies of “Confucian merchants” filled Huizhou lineage genealogies, county gazetteers, and other elite writings. Gentry authors told these stories to show how the subjects were good and successful, good at both commercial skills and moral inclination and successful in business and beyond. In short, they were what Wang Daokun called “good merchants,” apparently comparable to prominent scholars. Notably, however, the term “merchant” rarely ever appeared in the titles of these biographies, which, as will be discussed later, subtly reflected a deep-seated bias against the merchant vocation, even in this most commercialized region of late imperial China. Herein lies a clue to the other half of the story of Huizhou merchants: their passion to shed their vocational skin and join the gentry class. Before we move on to discuss that passion and the working strategy that fulfilled it, however, we need first to determine the credibility of these gentry or lineage-related biographies. Two sorts of intractable problems arise from these biographical accounts. Both are important, not just because they are key to defining the character of Huizhou merchants and mercantile lineages but also because they will shed new light upon the role of popular culture and Mulian performance. The first problem is whether gentry authors were describing or prescribing Huishang deeds in the marketplace (their Confucian deeds in other respects are much easier to verify). One way to address this problem, I would suggest, is to distinguish the Huishang group from individual tradesmen. At issue is not the individual deed but the collective behavior

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or mentality. The irony of history is that the credibility of an individual story matters little if it tells a larger historical pattern. If we assume that in late imperial China, given its special sociopolitical power structure and Confucian-led culture, gentrified merchants tended to earn more consistent long-term profits, then the collective success of Huishang suggests that they did uphold Confucian mercantile ethics in their business affairs. Indeed, Huizhou merchants themselves, like lineage gentry, understood the benefits of Confucian values in helping their commercial activities. Shu Zungang, a Qing merchant from Yixian, said it best: “There is a grand way (dadao) to get rich—making profit with righteousness but not for the sake of profit.” Like many Huizhou youngsters, Shu started as a small itinerant at fourteen and did not establish himself until he was thirty. On business trips, according to his official biography, he read nothing but the Four Books and Five Classics, “reading them aloud every night up until the sound of the third watch.” The Yixian county gazetteer also records many of his “righteous deeds,” including sponsoring an academy in honor of Zhu Xi in Raozhou, Jiangxi, the place where he conducted most of his businesses. This gentrified businessman summed up his moneymaking insights in most vivid terms: Money is none other than a running stream in spring. Only in spring do streams run. Men who seek wealth in deceitful ways are blocking their own springs; those who are stingy or those who indulge in extravagance are drying up their own streams. People who know that spending money extravagantly is bad but do not understand that being miserly is also a fault simply do not understand this spring-stream theory. . . . Spending money for righteousness not only does not dry up one’s stream, but it enriches one’s spring as well—this is what the “grand way” means.55

The compatibility of Shu Zungang’s thought and accomplishment suggests that biographies of good and successful merchants of Huizhou are collectively creditable. Needless to say, they also were intended to have prescriptive power, influencing others to follow suit. Not every trader, to be sure, understood or practiced this “grand way” to wealth. On the contrary, many individual Huizhou men probably never conducted business with Confucian ethics consistently or at all. This explains why lineage elite, including both gentry and merchants, needed to fashion the new mercantile ethics in the first place.56 Merchants were not a unified class, of course. A sociocultural discrepancy appears to have set small peddlers apart from big businessmen, who presumably had more in common with the gentry. Herein lies the second problem that may arise from the reading of gentrified merchant biographies: How could an elite discourse on commercial morality have an effect on the consciousness of poor vendors? One method is through the mechanism of social mobility, which blurred the division between small itinerants and big merchants. A good example is

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the experience of Shu Zungang. He started his career by sojourning as a poor (though apparently literate) boy but still mastered the Confucian “grand way” to wealth. So did the aforementioned Li Daqi, Bao Shichen, Bao Zhidao, and Hu Guansan, all good merchants who started with meager resources but ended up with enormous success. Thus, social mobility was a factor even in the highly stratified kinship community of Huizhou. Behind the stories of these self-made men, however, lies a fundamental fact: they were all born into prominent local lineages. Descent groups dominated local society not just by virtue of their status and wealth but also due to the sheer number of their kinsfolk, as their populations had expanded enormously by late imperial times. An accurate demographic account of these lineages is still not possible, but we can estimate kinship populations with newly available knowledge. The descendants of most of the eighty-four prestigious descent groups listed in Prominent Lineages in Xin’an (1551) had spread throughout the six counties of Huizhou by the mid-Ming.57 The Xiuning Fans were one of these lineages, though not particularly privileged in the local status hierarchy. According to Harriet Zurndorfer’s calculation, based on the 1600 genealogy for the Xiuning Fans, the number of males born into the lineage during the century from 1475 to 1574, with date of birth known, is 1,160, most of whom appear to have resided in three of nine Xiuning villages (along with 866 first wives identifiable with birth data).58 A more striking example is Hu Guansan’s ancestral patriline, the Mingjing Hus, who were also listed in Prominent Lineages. The 1826 genealogy of Hu Guansan’s branch in Xidi reports nearly three thousand adult kinsmen. And the Xidi Hus were just one of numerous branches of the Mingjing Hus now spread throughout the six counties, including a Jixi branch that eventually produced the famous May Fourth scholar Hu Shi.59 Comparing lineage demographic data with Huizhou’s overall population, which had reached 1.2 million by 1600 and surpassed 2 million by 1820, we can conclude that the descendants of those eighty-four prestigious lineages account for the bulk of the population growth in late imperial Huizhou. And these prominent or gentrified lineages, now thoroughly commercialized and numerically dominating, set the tone for the entire prefecture. Because of their huge size, these kinship groups were internally divided or stratified, generating numerous petty traders, including the aforementioned self-made businessmen in youth. Yet the kinship tie was itself rich fertilizer for cultural assimilation. Small vendors came under influence of the new mercantile ethics promoted by their lineage elders, just as they were often supported with lineage funds by relatives. Indeed, from the sea of small peddlers arose a large number of big businessmen, who excelled in the marketplace by combining personal diligence (and other working ethics), business skills, and what Fujii Hiroshi has called labor-accumulated capital with kin support.60 They thus played a significant role in turning their home patrilines into mercan-

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tile lineages. Small vendors of big surnames, presumably, would also come into contact with their other surnamed peers, thereby spreading the new business ethics among commoners. Perhaps more to the point, local popular culture, too, advocated a popularized version of Confucian commercial morality, as we will see in the following chapters. Steeped in home mercantile lineage culture (as well as local popular culture), the merchants of Huizhou were not just armed with new business ethics but also driven by a burning desire to advance their social status. Collectively, they behaved like Confucians in both the market and in other fronts. The previously cited biography of Li Daqi presents a complete image of the gentrified merchant, showing us not just how Huizhou merchants made money but also how they spent the money after they got rich and where their ultimate concerns resided. After Li Daqi got rich, the second half of the biography tells us, he first enlarged his former residence back home. With the renovation, he said, “I don’t mean to seek an easy life but to bond kin offspring and have them reside together.” The biographer reports that hundreds of kinsfolk appreciated Li Daqi’s concern and did indeed “share the same house” (living like a big communal family?). Li performed other righteous deeds, such as helping neighbors in need and contributing to the construction of bridges, roads, granaries, and Buddhist monasteries. He even burned the IOUs of some men who owed his father or him large sums of money, afraid that their families might not be able to repay the debt. In particular, the biographer insists, Li Daqi was always sumptuous when making offerings to the lineage temple, treating guests and master workers, while he himself lived a thrifty, simple life. Most important, he pushed his sons to fulfill his own childhood dream of examination success. He built a study at his home village, seeing to it that each of his sons studied the classics every day. “My forefathers,” he reminded them, “observed filial piety and brotherly fraternity while working diligently at their chosen vocation [of commerce]; they studied [the classics of] poems and history to abide by propriety and righteousness. Up to my generation I still wear the garments of a merchant. I could not have earned even the lowest official post to exalt ancestral virtue—I cannot leave this world without feeling regret.” But now, he went on, his sons could realize the ancestral aspiration and his own “commitment” to achieve “examination fame” (gongming). His sons, we are told, all followed his injunction and studied hard; they stood out in official schools and eventually became scholar-officials. The biographer sums up the story of Li Daqi (alias Songfeng) with a characteristic commentary: “People like Songfeng either substitute study with trade, thereby securing a solid vocation for their own lives, or substitute trade with study, thereby investing in their children’s future. This is essentially my ultimate aspiration.” 61 This was also the ultimate aspiration of many Huizhou merchants. “We

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must not delay inculcating our offspring [in Confucian learning] as soon as we get rich—what’s the use of merely having money?” said Bao Boting, a Shexian tradesman active in the late Ming. Another late-Ming merchant from Xiuning named Wang Tang did not neglect, even on his deathbed, to remind his five sons of his “unceasing effort” to be “a Confucian man.” This “untitled scholar” (chushi), his biography tells us, was forced to abandon the pursuit of the examination degrees while young, and he now wanted his sons to fulfill his ultimate wish to “glorify our lineage surname” (da wumen) through excelling in classical learning.62 In pursuing their goals of transforming monetary success into examination degrees, Huizhou merchants made concrete changes to the social and cultural landscape of their homeland. They channeled their money and passion toward turning Huizhou into a center of Confucian learning, eventually nurturing a large number of scholar-officials.63 A very large number of sources indicate that Huizhou merchants, like their home lineages, gave strong psychological and material support to their kinsmen and offspring to help them pursue examination fame. During the High Qing, for instance, Yangzhou salt merchants from Shexian donated more than 70,000 taels of silver to repair the famous academies of Ziyang and Shanjian. On one occasion, the head merchant Bao Zhidao contributed 3,000 taels to the Ziyang Academy and 8,000 taels to the Shanjian Academy. Even in the Tongzhi reign (1862 –74), when the merchants of Huizhou were in decline, Shexian businessmen spent 12,300 taels to build a student hall in Nanjing to provide better accommodation to local examination candidates.64 Indeed, in a society where the primary standard of social prestige was not money but literary and political distinction, only success in the examinations and the subsequent winning of official positions could really glorify and “protect one’s lineage” (kang wuzong).65 Especially for those merchants coming from prominent Huizhou lineages, the desire to maintain family pedigree drove them in their pursuit of the gentry status.66 The civil service examinations, however, had become extraordinarily difficult and increasingly competitive. Given the examination quota system, only the brightest boys, the ones who worked the hardest and had both luck and fortune, could possibly win; even among the brightest, most would fail in the end. Huizhou merchants knew full well the difficulty of achieving a scholarly career. In fact, many of them started out as examination candidates; only after experiencing frustration in the classroom or examination hall did they take up trade. The Shexian merchant Wu Ke (1499 –1590), like Li Daqi and so many other Huizhou youngsters, prepared for the examinations in his youth but later gave it up when he realized that “only one out of ten scholars succeeds, while nine out of ten merchants win through.” After jumping into the market, he did indeed earn “a thousand cash” in each of his ten endeavors.67 The risks of the scholarly pursuit compared

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with commercial opportunities led to what may be called the “Huizhou strategy,” by which alternating family generations or brothers pursued either examination fame or commercial wealth.68 Many merchant biographies reveal how Huizhou families put such joint career planning in practice. Wang Daokun said it best: The capital of Xin’an, with one scholar for every three merchants, is indeed a land rich in literary traditions. Just as merchants seek handsome profits, scholars strive for high honor. Only after one has exhausted his effort on behalf of Confucian learning with no result, does he loosen study and tighten trade. Now that he has joined those who enjoy high profits, he prefers his descendants, for the sake of their future, to loosen trade and tighten study. Loosening or tightening [of study or trade] thus alternates with each other so that one can likely enjoy either an income of ten thousand bushels of grain or the prestige of a retinue of a thousand horse-carriages. This can be likened to the revolution of the wheel, with its spokes touching the ground in turn. We Xin’an people are never devoted to commerce (Jiran) alone, but are judicious in choosing our career courses.69

Shexian merchants in Yangzhou and in other places heeded Wang Daokun’s instruction wholeheartedly and put the “judicious” Huizhou strategy into perfect use.70 From 1646 to 1802, fewer than 250 Lianghuai salt-merchant families produced 139 jinshi and 208 juren; many of these wealthy Yangzhou families were patrilineally linked to prominent lineages back in Shexian.71 As for Wang Daokun’s native county, from 1664 to 1904 it produced five Top Examination Graduates (zhuangyuan), 296 jinshi, and nearly 1,000 juren (including Shexian natives registered at home and elsewhere).72 The Huizhou strategy combined with the new merchant code to create the complete image of Huizhou merchants. It created a production and reproduction cycle for local elites, either out of a genuine ideological stance or a pragmatic one to gain real and symbolic power. As a local aphorism nicely put it: “Use [the wealth from] commerce to pursue literary studies; use literary studies to enter officialdom; use official posts to protect commercial adventures.” 73 From a modern perspective, we may call this cycle a social “involution,” although in premodern times it worked perfectly for Huizhou people and therefore made history from their own standpoint.74 The more Confucian Huizhou merchants were inclined to become, the more successful they were in business; the more money they made away from Huizhou, the more degree holders Huizhou produced (and the stronger home lineage institution became). Just as gentry were politically married to the imperial state, the merchants of Huizhou were socially married to the gentry (not to mention their often shared bloodlines); and the two elite subgroups were ethically married to Confucianism. Indeed, it is no coincidence that Huizhou gentry and merchants began to decline concurrently after the 1850s, along with the final breakdown of the Confucian imperial order.75

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The gentry-merchant marriage, however, did not mean the two identities were equal. The more the merchant way was exalted, the more dependent Huishang became on the continuation of their alliance with the gentry, which they did not replace. Ingrained in this marriage was the ambiguous position of merchants, strong and yet subordinate. This ambiguity was made visible in the arrangement of ancestral tablets in lineage temples. According to the lineage rule of the Guixi Xiangs in Shexian, the spiritual tablets of the first ancestor and his immediate descendants within five generations, along with their wives, were erected in the central shrine, never to be removed. Sharing sacrificial offerings with them in the central shrine were scholar-officials and other worthies in the ancestry and the first ancestor of each branch. Their spiritual tablets were also never to be removed. The tablets of those who contributed significant amounts of money or other forms of wealth, in the amount of over one hundred taels of silver—mostly merchants—were never to be removed as well, but they were nevertheless placed in the side shrines. The spiritual tablets of “ordinary” ancestors were removed from the ancestral shrines after the fifth generation.76 This spiritual hierarchy symbolized, with great understatement and authority, the superiority of gentry and the relative inferiority of the uplifted or co-opted merchants in local kinship life. The unequal gentry-merchant relation was also rooted in the subconscious of Huizhou merchants themselves, evidence of which can be found everywhere in Huizhou sources. One example concerns the wealthy Hongs from Shexian, who had been in the Yangzhou salt business since the sixteenth century. Ironically, the Hong lineage was so conscious of its social status as connected with literati that it barred members of other merchant families from taking part in a literary club in its famous Yangzhou Rainbow Bridge Garden, which hosted generations of famed scholars, including Hui Dong (1697–1758), Dai Zhen (1724 –77), Yuan Mei (1716 –98), Qian Daxin (1728 –1804), and Wang Mingsheng (1722 –98).77 The crippled selfimage of merchants was even more striking back in Huizhou. In one of numerous biographies Wang Daokun wrote for Huizhou merchants, he recorded how the salt tradesman Wang Caisheng said to his sons when admonishing them to work hard on Confucian learning, “Don’t follow what [your father] the mean merchant is doing” (wuxiao gu shuzi wei ye).78 Even big businessmen were sensitive to the precariousness of their position and their need for the protection of political power. Hu Guansan, one of the “six wealthiest Jiangnan merchants” of the High Qing, provided generous support to promising local scholars, including the future grand secretary Cao Wenzhi. He also urged his son, Hu Yuanxi, to pursue fame through the examinations. Hu Yuanxi, according to a local legend, was selected as a candidate for the Top Examination Graduate (zhuangyuan) because of the

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influence of his father-in-law, Cao Wenzhi’s son Cao Zhenyong, who at the time was also a grand secretary. But the secret selection was exposed, and Hu Yuanxi ended up with a juren degree. Over the course of the Qing dynasty, Hu Guansan’s ancestral lineage in Xidi continued to produce a large number of examination degree holders. Three out of eight Anhui provincial graduates who, along with twelve hundred colleagues from all over China, signed Kang Youwei’s 1895 “Ten Thousand Word Memorial” to prompt political reforms were Xidi Hus.79 A more subtle example can be seen in the genealogical identification of the late-Ming businessman Zheng Zuo. Like Li Daqi, Zheng Zuo engaged in Confucian learning before he was forced to go into business. Thereafter, he always brought books and “a musical instrument and short sword” on his business trips. The genealogy of his home lineage quoted one of his acquaintances: “Mr. Zheng, although engaging in trade, is actually not a merchant at all.” 80 The deep-seated preference for learning over trade in the emerging merchant capital—an irony in late imperial Chinese history—sheds new light on Wang Daokun’s question: “In what way is a good merchant (lianggu) inferior to a prominent scholar (hongru)?” To begin with, this passage is often quoted out of context, for the author immediately added that merchant Cheng, the subject of Wang’s epitaph, and Cheng’s Shexian partners in Zhejiang salt trade “ordered their sons and offspring all to return to [the pursuit of] Confucian learning.” 81 Wang Daokun was clearly speaking of his beloved “judicious” Huizhou strategy. As a scholar from a merchant family, he had no regret for his own career choice. He apparently was able to feel equally satisfied in the two vocations. But many Huizhou men were not as lucky as he was. A large number of scholars-turned-merchants (or traders who supported their relatives in pursuit of a scholarly career) appeared to feel psychological distress due to the divergence between their fate and their aspirations. So Wang Daokun assured them that commerce was probably the most effective way to reach gentry status, for their families if not for themselves. At the same time, he massaged their egos with his appreciation of their worth and their value for mercantile lineages in mountainous Huizhou, thereby helping to negotiate the merchant-gentry tension in local communal life. However, hidden inside Wang Daokun’s statement are certain prevalent assumptions about commerce, betrayed in his reference to “good merchants,” and especially his adamant tone.82 In both Confucian and popular culture, shang (merchant) is often modified by jian to make the term jianshang (unscrupulous merchant), and tong (copper coin) is often followed by chou to make the term tongchou (the stink of money). (By contrast, shu, or book, is often followed by xiang, or aromatic.) The denigration of commerce has been a constant theme throughout Chinese history but was par-

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ticularly notable in the late Ming and thereafter, most strikingly embodied in the condemnation of money fever, a movement that began to gain momentum over the course of the sixteenth century.83 The money madness of the late Ming was rooted in the monetization of silver, a result of the sixteenth-century Single Whip fiscal reforms that combined service and land taxes into monetary payments. Everyone now desired money, circulated mainly in the form of copper coins but symbolized by gold and silver, which had become indispensable in daily life and even to a successful examination career. As narrated in the late-Ming novel Illustrated Complete Story of Han Xiangzi, small vendors squeezed under the city gate in the early morning waiting for its opening, while “figuring on peddlery in the hope of making more money.” 84 The late-Ming scholar Li Xu reported that even “men of letters,” not to mention tradesmen, “all gazed at property.” 85 Xue Lundao (1531–1600?), a lyricist of Wang Daokun’s time, wrote one of the most strident lampoons of the money craze in an essay called “On Money”: For you [money] people climb mountains and cross seas; For you people look for tigers and leopards; For you people risk their lives; For you people sell their bodies. For you people become villainous; For you people become ungrateful; For you people forget filial piety and contrition; For you people forget loyalty and trustfulness. For you men’s hearts are distressed and minds upset; For you men’s dreams are disturbed and spirits overburdened.86

Vernacular literature joined to make a chorus of attack at avarice. The lateMing play Han Xiangzi Immortalizes Han Yu, thematically related to the novel Illustrated Complete Story of Han Xiangzi, is a good example. Written in the Yiyang musical style and particularly popular in the Huizhou region, the play even ridicules the great Tang-dynasty scholar Han Yu, a real cultural hero who had for centuries exemplified Confucian morality and learning, for his “greed” for “glittering gold and silver.” 87 This plot might mirror the fact that a large number of scholars, and especially those from Huizhou, were seeing opportunities opening up in the market and going into trade, after experiencing frustration in their quest for examination success. Indeed, in no place was money fever more manifest than in Huizhou. Especially during the reigns of Longqing (1567–72) and Wanli (1573– 1619), this emerging merchant capital of the Ming empire became deeply polarized. A sarcastic account from the 1609 gazetteer of Shexian tells it all: “The number of those who gained wealth from mo (trade, the lowest vocation) increased, while the number of those who gained wealth from ben

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(farming, the most fundamental vocation) decreased. The rich became richer, and the poor poorer. . . . Gold’s decrees ruled Heaven, and the money god loomed over Earth.” 88 For outsiders, the polarized Huizhou was a symbol of commerce, and its merchants, sometimes simply referred to by the two most populous surnames of the prefecture, Cheng and Wang, became targets of satire.89 This outside attack was fueled in part by an anxious jealousy over Huishang dominance in the commercial world but was more deeply rooted in a widespread distrust of the merchant class as a whole. Ling Mengchu (1580 – 1644) makes fun of a Huizhou pawnbroker in his widely read collection of short stories, Slapping the Table in Astonishment: The First Cutting. Pawnbroker Wei, so the story goes, was just a small shopkeeper when he first came to Nanjing. But this “demon-like money grubber” (aicai de mojun) has all kinds of unscrupulous ways to make a profit. He forces the scholar Chen to pawn his lakeside manor house at nearly half the proper price. Chen, a profligate playboy in the famous Qinhuai quarter of entertainment, has no way out but to curse the pawnbroker as a “Huizhou dog” (Huigou). Later, however, the scholar’s wife, the virtuous woman Ma, helps him win back the house from the crooked Huizhou man, and Chen, transformed in the process, eventually succeeds in the examination hall.90 In the eighteenth century, outsiders continued to attack Huizhou men, the quintessential merchants. The playwright Shen Qifeng (b. 1741), in a tale called “A Philistine’s Instructions” (Bifu xunshi), starts his story with a simple, nameless identification of his main character, “a certain wealthy elder from Xin’an.” This Xin’an man often boasts that he has “magic methods” to get rich. One day several men knock on his door for instruction. “The magic is not supposed to be transmitted,” the old man tells them, “but if each of you brings one hundred cash coins as the fee for our talk, I shall show you.” That night the magic-seekers return with the cash. After they are seated, the old man starts his instruction, “It’s not difficult to seek wealth. You first do away with outer predators (waizei) and then inner predators (neizei)—here is about half the way by which each family can take off.” What are outer and inner predators? The magic-seekers press for more details. “There are five outer predators,” the old man says, “they are the eye, ear, nose, tongue, and body,” and “the five inner predators” refer to “benevolence, righteousness, propriety, intellectual integrity, and trustworthiness” (ren yi li zhi xin). The five outer predators are all costly, the philistine continues with his reasoning, because everyone wants to enjoy life through satisfying each of these human organs. And the five inner predators are even more costly, because a man invested with these Confucian ethics can hardly save any money. If one can get rid of the desires of the five human organs and the dictates of the five ethics, the old man assures his lis-

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teners, one can make a million cash as easily as turning a palm. This is the “magic” the Xin’an elder has to offer to his pupils, who, their instruction complete, all stand up and leave coins on their seats. But the coins turn into the ash of spirit money as soon as the philistine shoots a glance at them. He swears at the magic-seekers, “I have tried my best to instruct you. How could you play such a trick on me?” They reply, “Your instruction is nice indeed. But we are afraid that it can hardly work in the human world. It can only be used to instruct demons.” Upon saying this, the magic-seekers all turn into demons. They tell the old man that in Hell “there are forty-eight thousand demons waiting for your instruction. Please go with us right now.” The astonished philistine has no choice but to follow the demons to Hell for punishment—being reincarnated retributively into a “poor ghost” suffering forever in the netherworld.91 Shen Qifeng’s lampoon is noted for its appeal as a didactic framework of supernatural retribution. It was not new, of course. In Wang Daokun’s time, Zheng Zhizhen probably did it best in his script of the popular Mulian performance, which invoked the power of demons and gods to convey, among other orthodox values, the condemnation of avarice and a popular version of commercial ethics, as will be explored in Chapter 4. In the sixteenth century, however, the most focused denunciation of money is probably Plum in the Golden Vase (Jinpingmei), one of four masterworks of the late-Ming novel. For all its sensual details concerning the erotic taste of late-Ming literati, Plum in the Golden Vase is, in its broadest outline, a story about the harmful consequences of money, meted out according to the rule of karmic retribution. The protagonist of the novel, the merchant Ximen Qing, is an archetypal antimodel, illustrating how self-indulgence in sex (and other vices), made possible by money, will retributively lead to disaster. It was most likely written by no less a prominent scholar than Wang Shizhen, a friend of Wang Daokun.92 Wang Daokun must have been aware of the novel, which was printed in Huizhou (see Chapter 1). It was in this cultural atmosphere that Wang Daokun, and indeed so many other Huizhou gentry writers, took pains to compliment their fellow merchants on their virtue. In the same mood as he referred to “good merchants,” Wang announced, “We Xin’an people are never devoted to commerce alone,” stressing a Confucian orientation to prevent outside denigration. Although elevating the merchant way, however, Wang Daokun hardly ever mentioned “merchant” in the title of the biographies or epitaphs he wrote for Huizhou businessmen, preferring the term chushi (untitled scholars), thus highlighting the gentry origin of his subjects. So did most other merchant biographies contained in local genealogies.93 Official county gazetteers of Huizhou include numerous merchant biographies as well, but they are scattered in the sections on Confucian virtues, such as filial piety

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and righteous deeds. There is no single section titled “Merchant Biography” in these county gazetteers.94 This omission was one of the most unambiguous signs indexing the ambiguous position of merchants in local lineage society. Herein lies the reason why Huizhou merchants were actually more Confucian than the Confucians, practicing all kinds of “righteous deeds” to polish their image. Highlighting these righteous deeds, gentry writers disclosed their sensitivity to the moral qualities of “good merchants,” a sensitivity sharpened by the widespread assumption about the inherent immorality of tradesmen. Wang Daokun’s reference to “good merchants” took place in this intellectual context and should be appreciated in its light. Ostensibly, he seemed to be equating “good merchants” with “prominent scholars,” but the adamant tone betrayed a deep-seated hesitancy about the status of merchants. A good merchant was by no means equal to a prominent scholar in the deepest consciousness of Wang Daokun. Neither were they equal in the collective mind of other gentry biographers or Huizhou merchants.95 Yet the biographers’ emphasis on the moral character of merchants was not just a tactic to ward off criticism. These gentry writers were also building the new merchant code in a positive way. Viewed from this perspective, the late-Ming condemnation of avarice served as a complementary part of the code. Huizhou merchants were at once commended and admonished, socially elevated and subordinated. The Confucian value system shaped the new mercantile ethics just as it fashioned the diatribe against money fever. This diatribe debased the self-image of Huizhou merchants, making them all the more fanatic in pursuing gentry status, thereby accelerating the construction of Huishang social strategy. Confucian ethics prepared Huizhou men to leave home and excel in the marketplace, raising their social worth, while their upward-mobility aspiration led them back to their home lineages, making them yield to the gentry. Indeed, sixteenth-century lineage consolidations involved not just the writing of genealogies, the construction of ancestral halls and corporate estates, or the perfection of ancestral rites and patriarchal authority but also the development of the new merchant code and Huishang social strategy. The Huizhou mercantile lineage thus formed became the home institutional base of both gentry (scholar-officials) and sojourning tradesmen, whose cooperation set the contours of local communal life and culture. In sum, we may define the Huizhou mercantile lineage from three angles, all of which matured over the course of the sixteenth century. Institutionally, the kinship settlement of a patrilineal lineage in Huizhou was often identical with a village, which nevertheless was sufficiently large to include people of different surnames (mainly tenants and bond-servants) who settled in the peripheral areas surrounding the dominant lineage within the

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village. Socially, the Huizhou lineage was gentry dominated but also thoroughly commercialized. It gained its wealth mostly from the commercial sector, thereby providing significant latitude for merchants to prosper and even to share the communal leadership. Culturally, it was Confucian oriented but allowed important leeway in which popular beliefs and rituals could flourish. Popular Mulian performance, as I will argue, was an important aspect of Huizhou mercantile lineage culture.

Nuclear Families and Female Fidelity One manifestation of the intensified mercantile lineage culture in sixteenth-century Huizhou was the emerging cult of female marital fidelity. The concern over the sexual purity of women took various guises and was described by various common expressions. A maiden who maintained her chastity until marriage was zhen; a wife who was devoted to her husband throughout her life and did not remarry after his death was jie; a woman who died to prevent rape or who committed suicide to follow her deceased husband was lie. In the popular mind the cult was symbolized by suicide, often through hanging, a heroic act that was simply called by the composite term jielie (firm integrity or chastity martyrdom). The virtue of firm integrity was a norm common to both men and women, but it had been radically engendered in neo-Confucian thinking during the Song and in practice during Ming-Qing times so that chastity became a fundamental requirement of womanhood.96 This gendered duty was particularly fervent in Huizhou. Table 2.1 illustrates the dramatic increase of the cases of female jielie in Shexian during the second half of the Ming dynasty. It is revealing to compare Shexian county to Quanzhou prefecture in Fujian, another center of the female chastity cult (where both Mulian performance and the influence of Huizhou merchants were prevalent).97 From 1368 to 1624, Quanzhou recorded 57 cases of women suicides, slightly more than one-third the number recorded in Shexian’s 1624 gazetteer. Toward the end of the Ming dynasty, the number of martyred women rose dramatically in Quanzhou, as its 1763 gazetteer recorded 152 female suicides for the period from 1522 to 1644 (which should be read as the Ming dynasty, for the figures are cumulative). Still, the Quanzhou suicide cases were significantly less than the 191 cases the county of Shexian alone produced.98 Indeed, nowhere was the cult of widowhood more fanatical than in Huizhou. Our native informant Zhao Jishi did not boast when he said, “Women with firm integrity are most numerous in Xin’an; one county here has more than half the number other provinces have produced.” 99 Cheng Ting made a similar observation in his 1718 travel diary that began Chapter 1 herein. But it was a genuine outsider named Li Weizhen, a Longqing

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table 2.1 Chaste and Martyred Widows in Shexian Editions of Local Gazetteers (year)

Lifelong Widows

1175 1460 1502 1566 1609 1624 1644

0 2 59 105 198 208 596

Suicides Suicides of Betrothed of Widows Maidens

0 3 0 20 95 140 174

0 0 1 1 6 8 17

Total Suicides

0 3 1 21 101 148 191

Source: Largely constructed from Ju-k’ang T’ien, Male Anxiety and Female Chastity, p. 46. Note: Figures are cumulative.

(1567–72) jinshi degree holder from Hubei province who, deeply impressed with Shexian women’s fidelity and frugality, called the county “the women’s Zou-Lu.” 100 Ju-k’ang T’ien has documented the cult of women’s conjugal fidelity and suggested four underlying factors in its formation around the time of the mid-Ming, the most notable of which seems to be what he calls “male anxiety,” the distillation of an intrinsic moral sense to a fanatical level by an anxious class of literati ever frustrated in the civil service examinations.101 Ju-k’ang T’ien may have failed to prove causative links between “male anxiety” and “female chastity,” 102 but his evidence does point to a synchronization between mounting pressure upon Confucian literati from the examination hall (and probably from the commercial market as well) and sudden prevalence of widow suicides over the course of the sixteenth century. I have no easy solution to establish their causal linkage except calling attention to Zheng Zhizhen, a frustrated scholar who compiled and rewrote popular Mulian performance to promote female virtues, among other Confucian ethics (see Chapters 4 and 5). In any event, this literati anxiety, along with other factors noted previously, was a universal phenomenon, and female chastity was a concern intrinsic to all patrilineal societies. It was the rise of mercantile lineage culture, I would suggest, that drove Huizhou to become the epicenter of devotional widowhood. On a visible level, sojourning tradesmen were hypersensitive about the loyalty of their wives while away from home, as vividly refracted in the Hanged Woman scene of Mulian performance and related local cult

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symbolism (to be addressed in Chapters 5 and 6). Beneath this visible anxiety lurked the invisible ways in which sojourning men changed the local family fabric. Various forms of individual families populated Huizhou’s broad landscape of kinship settlements. These included occasionally huge communal families but more frequently large families with three generations living under the same roof. But the most dominant form was the nuclear family, consisting of a couple with or without children (including those detached from three-generation families whose second generation split in both residence and property). This social composition led to what Tang Lixing calls the small-family-and-large-lineage pattern of the region. Based on his study of late imperial lineage records of the four branches of the Fang descent group scattered in three counties (two of which were in Zheng Zhizhen’s home county, Qimen), Tang Lixing suggests that two factors contributed to the family-lineage pattern. In this hilly area, the limitations of arable land reduced the average size of the individual family, whereas the natural increase of population augmented the size of a lineage, which was itself a product of the local mountainous ecology. More important, as more and more men left home for business, often immediately after their weddings and returning home only “once in three years” (according to a local saying), birthgiving ages tended to be high. For the Fangs, descended from one of Huizhou’s most prestigious clans, women were, on average, 23.67 sui and men, 32.5 sui when they had a first child, although Tang Lixing’s data suggest that early marriage was still widespread. High birth-giving ages naturally led to a low birthrate, which combined with the moderate life span of the recorded Fangs (male, 53.5 sui, and female, 55 sui) to make the nuclear family a norm. At the same time, commercial development encouraged small households, as brothers tended to divide the family property while their parents were still alive. In late imperial times, about 65 percent of all family units of the four Fang branches were nuclear families.103 With the extended-family structure and ethics being undermined, sojourning merchants joined gentry in strengthening home lineage institutions, trying to fix the social problems created by their economic behavior. One of the most notable results was the tightened control (and care) of kinswomen. Left behind in nuclear families, the wives of sojourning men were vulnerable to sexual threat or enticement, both because they were lonely and because—when situated in single-couple households—women tended to escape the physical presence of patriarchy to monitor their sexuality. The only effective way to assure or protect the loyalty of lonesome women was to appeal to the larger lineage. This in part explains why merchants were so eager to consolidate home kinship institutions through the building of corporate estates, the compilation of genealogies and moral handbooks, and the construction of ancestral halls and memorial archways. Lineage es-

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tates, often attached to ancestral halls, were set up in part to take care of widows. The four editions of the Fang genealogy (1560, 1744, 1812, and 1905) Tang Lixing used in his case study of the family-lineage pattern were all compiled with significant input from the kin merchants.104 Tang did not bother to indicate whether all of these Fang genealogies include biographies of exemplary kinswomen. But we know that many Huizhou genealogies did contain biographies of kinswomen with remarkable virtue.105 In daily life, women were caught in a thick web of orthodox images. Illustrated moral handbooks, such as Female Exemplars and Records of Model Women, were handily available.106 A more constant moral pressure came from the landscape surrounding them. The merchants of Huizhou enthusiastically built memorial archways (paifang), one type of which honored kinswomen committed to chastity or marital fidelity.107 Seven huge memorial archways, two built in the Ming and five in the Qing, still stand at the entrance to Tangyue (see Figure 1.5). Two of these were constructed to ritualize devoted wives (and mothers) of the Tangyue Baos. It is indeed no coincidence that Huizhou was famous for having produced, to use the popular terms, the “three manys” (many filial sons, many chaste women, and many memorial archways) and the “three uniquenesses” (unique lineage temples, unique resident houses, and unique memorial archways). The paifang, like the Huizhou-style ancestral hall, symbolized Huizhou mercantile lineage culture. Shrinking families within an enlarging lineage had other social consequences, one of which was to generate a major segment of opera audience. The lonesome women of Huizhou cherished opportunities for operatic entertainment (see Chapter 6). They also had more leisure time to enjoy plays than women in other regions, as they were normally well provided for by their sojourning husbands and had fewer chores within nuclear families. But the sixteenth-century gentrification of Huizhou mercantile lineage also remolded local popular culture. This process was most evident in the transformation of Mulian ritual opera performance. As the following chapters will show, Mulian conveyed concerns central to local mercantile lineages, including new business ethics, filial piety, and female chastity. The popular medium of ritual opera helped turn these values into widely shared social norms in local kinship community. Before we turn to Mulian, however, let us first take a brief look at the history of Chinese drama in general and Huizhou’s ritual opera and religious tradition in particular.

Opera and Religious Tradition In the countryside, Chinese drama had been popular for a millennium, although its rise in the Song dynasty and its maturity in various

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operatic genres in the Ming are often attributed to commercial development and urban life.108 Nor was it performed only for ordinary villagers or petty urbanites. Chinese elites very much enjoyed operas themselves, although they often found different styles appealing. In the late Ming, many high-ranking officials and prominent scholars had their own private troupes. These included Li Kaixian, Pan Yunduan, Shen Shixing, Zou Diguang, Qian Dai, He Liangjun, Tu Long, Bao Hansuo, Qi Zhixiang (Qi Biaojia’s brother), Feng Mengzhen, Zhang Dai, and Ruan Yuanhai, to name a few.109 Many literati were also drama critics or musicianplaywrights, such as Wang Daokun and his Huizhou friend Pan Zhiheng (1556 –1622), and there were numerous famous playwrights, from Tang Xianzu (1550 –1616) to Li Yu (1611–79).110 Merchants, of course, played a significant role in promoting the fashion of opera performance. Hou Fangyu (1618 –55), one of the well-known “four lords” of Jiangnan, reported how Huizhou merchants in Nanjing sponsored rival shows: they hired two famous troupes to stage at the same time and in the same location a literary opera about corrupt late-Ming politics called Mingfeng ji, attracting numerous eminent literati and beautiful courtesans.111 Some elites did from time to time condemn the “vulgar” or “folksy” features of operatic performance. But the more adroit move was for them to instill didactic elements into popular plays that entertained the common folk. Confucian literati often took over and reformed entire popular literature genres. Tanaka Issei, the Japanese authority on the history of Chinese ritual opera, has called the elite appropriation and transformation of folk styles, followed by the emergence of new popular genres, “a leading characteristic of Chinese [cultural] history.”112 In late-Ming southern China, the two most important opera genres were Yiyang and Kunshan (or Kunqu), roughly representing popular and elegant tastes, respectively. Under the influence of the Yiyang musical style and, to a lesser degree, the Kunshan, important regional operas began to take shape in southern Anhui, such as the Huizhou, Chizhou (or Qingyang), Shitai, and Taiping genres. These genres, like the Yiyang and the Kunshan, were all named after their birthplaces. They were all variants of what has been called the “Yiyang system,” enormously popular in the prefectures of Guangxin (covering Yiyang county) and Raozhou, in central and northern Jiangxi, and in the prefectures of Huizhou, Chizhou, and Taiping, in southern Anhui.113 The leading Ming-dynasty playwright, Tang Xianzu, and the famed musician Wang Jide (d. 1623) acknowledged the rise of these popular genres but were a bit uncomfortable with their “vulgar” features.114 Another playwright, Li Yu, expressed his antipathy to the Yiyang genre in strong terms: “Throughout my life, I detest the likes of Yiyang and Siping the most. Whenever I encountered the performance of them, I ran away immediately.”

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When Story of the Western Wing was staged in the Yiyang musical style, however, Li Yu went to see it and actually enjoyed the famous Yuan-dynasty play. “Even though the music is bad,” he explained, “the script is not altered—it is still the complete, unaltered Western Wing.” 115 Li Yu here unwittingly touched upon the secret of the great popularity of the Yiyang, and indeed of all other genres within the Yiyang system, since the sixteenth century. The Yiyang system had its own repertoire of vernacular scripts, but over the course of the sixteenth century its performers developed certain new techniques that enabled them to take over virtually all literary scripts composed for the Kunshan (except the Huansha ji, a romance about the legendary beauty Xishi authored by Liang Chenyu [1521– 94]).116 One such technique, gaidiao gezhi, allowed players to simply alter an old musical style and sing to their own tune. “[The Yiyang] has no musical scores and is based on local customs,” the Qing musician Li Diaoyuan later noted; “one sings and many follow.” 117 This method allowed performers to incorporate literary scripts either inherited from the Song-Yuan repertoire or composed for the Kunshan musical style.118 Another development was the use of gun, or rolling tunes. Vernacular lines of dialogue, either spoken (gunbai) or sung (gunchang or gundiao), were inserted before or in the middle of the poetic sections of literary scripts, thereby making them intelligible to country folk. Still another new method was cuoyong xiangyu, which allowed Yiyang players to use local dialectal terms to make their performances intelligible and enjoyable to local audiences.119 These techniques popularized Yiyang dramas and facilitated the interaction between literati and local folk culture. They also paved the way for the rise of new local operas, including the Huizhou and Chizhou musical styles (HuiChi diao), which employed the Yiyang techniques. Mulian, one of the most frequently staged operas in the Huizhou region, was an example of the HuiChi (or Yiyang) musical style.120 With the formation of these new genres, the Huizhou region became a center of opera performance and a melting pot of various operatic styles. “The most fashionable of Huizhou customs,” the late-Ming Shexian Chronicle reports, “is to build stages and watch operas.” 121 In 1600, for instance, thirty-six opera stages were erected in the eastern suburb of Shexian county seat to celebrate the New Year. “It was indeed unique within four seas to celebrate the New Year in such a magnificent manner,” Pan Zhiheng proudly noted after the celebration; “even in Xin’an this was hardly seen.” 122 On these stages troupes enacted plays mostly in the Hui-Chi or Yiyang musical styles, but some troupes came from eastern Jiangnan (to presumably perform the Kunshan scripts).123 The rise of the Hui-Chi genres is also reflected in several important collections of playlets in the Huizhou and Chizhou styles compiled during the Wanli reign (1573–1620).124 The

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compilers called the two styles “the southern and northern Huizhou and Chizhou elegant music, fashionable throughout the realm” or “the gundiao music fashionable within the seas.” 125 Even Kunshan dramas, which were also in fashion in Huizhou, could hardly compete with these new genres.126 The designation of the two popular operatic styles as “elegant” was another manifestation of the blending of folk and elite cultural forms. And this fusion now had a textual base. Some Wanli operatic collections, notably Categorized Selections of Various Musics (Qunyin leixuan), included scenes from both the Kunshan and Hui-Chi. The fusion of Kunshan and Hui-Chi opera styles led to a transitional musical genre called by a composite term, the “Kun-Yi” (Kunshan and Yiyang), which was instrumental to the formation of the famous Anhui Opera (Huixi). Unlike the Kunshan and Yiyang, which were characterized by a lyric pattern (qupai), the Anhui Opera featured the banqiang, a clapper musical style that was developed in two places, Shipai of Anqing prefecture on the northern side of the Yangzi River in Anhui and in Shitai of Chizhou prefecture on the southern side of the river. This new operatic style was not widespread until Huizhou merchants brought its troupes (Huiban) to Yangzhou and other metropolitan centers. In the High Qing, the Anhui Opera was enormously popular and enjoyed by all social classes.127 One of the greatest fans of the Anhui Opera was the Qianlong emperor, who came to Yangzhou on one of his southern tours. The head merchant Bao Shufang, Bao Zhidao’s son, gathered the best actors from four famous Huiban troupes—Sanqing, Sixi, Yangchun, and Hechun—to stage the best Anhui Opera scripts for the emperor. Qianlong was so pleased that he handwrote a pair of couplets for Bao Shufang: “This loyal and filial lineage is marked with unmatchable pedigree / This Jiangnan community is distinctively beautiful under Heaven.” The emperor then brought back to Beijing those Anhui Opera actors, whose performance in the capital was an instant success. In this way Anhui Opera spread north and, in time, contributed to the making of Beijing Opera, which also featured the clapper musical style.128 Huizhou merchants, needless to say, continued to contribute to spreading Anhui Opera and other genres. Li Dou (1749 –1817) divided Qing theater into two large categories: the Kunshan dramas, which made up the “elegant style” (yabu); and all others, including the Yiyang and Hui-Chi, which fell into the folksy section of “messy music” (luantan) or “flowery styles” (huabu).129 This meticulous observer of eighteenth-century Yangzhou mentioned seven famous troupes in this metropolitan center, and at least four of them were owned by Huizhou merchants: the Elder Xu, the Virtuous Music, the Spring Platform, and the Kunshan Company. The Kunshan Company was the most famous of all Kunshan troupes in Yangzhou;

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and the Spring Platform, created by the Lianghuai head merchant Jiang Chun (1721– 89) from Shexian, another of Qianlong’s favorites, was the largest “folksy” luantan company in southern China.130 The troupes of Huizhou merchants were good at both the “elegant” and “flowery” operatic styles, for their owners were wealthy enough to train or hire the best actors of various musical styles from all of China.131 Back in Huizhou, both merchants and their home lineages took the lead in sponsoring operatic performances. As in the cities, gentry (scholarofficials) and wealthy merchants in Huizhou, including Pan Kan (Pan Zhiheng’s grandfather), Wu Wenqian, Wang Jixuan, Wu Yueshi, and Cao Wenzhi, all had their own private troupes, whose performances must have been shared by their lineages.132 Unlike urban commercial theater, however, operas in local lineage-based villages were often staged in conjunction with religious rituals on the occasions of festival celebrations (although urban temple festivals also featured ritual opera performances). Ritual opera in Huizhou, as in many other places in the south, matured over the course of the sixteenth century, as best evidenced in Mulian (see the following chapters).133 The cost for ritual opera performance was normally high and was often covered by lineage corporate estates (or by the money collected from kinspeople; see Chapter 6). The 1591 genealogy of the Mingzhou Wus in Xiuning noted that “our lineage loves opera performances,” while revealing the enormous cost of festival operas.134 The Dacheng Chengs in Shexian, patrilineally related to the Censhan Chengs, stipulated in 1738 in the lineage rule that income from ritual land should be earmarked to cover the expense of religious dramas staged in the first and sixth months.135 The 1937 Shexian gazetteer admits that festival celebration with ritual operas was a countywide fashion: “The competitive festivals of inviting the gods (yingshen saihui) to watch ritual operas cost a fortune every year. This has been the case since the Ming dynasty, and is still in fashion today.” 136 Ritual opera, by definition, was offered to the gods in order to secure their protection and blessings, and performances often featured a procession to amuse the gods or exorcise ghosts.137 Many handwritten lineage documents (wenshu), stored in the History Department Library of Nanjing University, describe the ritual societies organized by Huizhou lineages in late imperial times. These include Zhushenghui bu (Register of the SageWorshipping Society), containing numerous lineage papers, or what may be called “community covenants,” signed by lineage leaders, running from the late Ming to late Qing. The Register describes how the Wus and Wangs in three Xikou villages in Xiuning organized ritual operas and processions in honor of their patron deity, Wang Hua. The first document, dated 1602, announced that Xikou households had a “bumper crop” and “multiplied abundantly,” all “because we believe in divine protection.” They scheduled

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a districtwide procession in the spring (on the fifteenth day of the first lunar month, that is, the Lantern festival) in honor of Wang Hua and his divine retinues, demanding that “households of gentry and merchants provide the money” and “households of farmers and craftsmen provide the labor” needed to stage the procession.138 Such a religious procession must have involved opera performances, as revealed in later documents contained in the same Register. In 1640, the Sage-Worshipping Society restated the previous agreement, but this time clearly noted that the opera be presented on “the outer stage if it’s sunny” or “within the [ancestral] hall if it’s windy and snowy.” The same directive was again confirmed in a lineage paper signed in 1674.139 In 1703, all the constituent households of the society agreed to add 30 percent more grain to the original one hundred ju (with one ju equaling one hundred jin?) to cover the expense of two operas in honor of their patron deities, adding that “drums must be beaten for three times to inform each household” to participate.140 The Register shows that lineage elites of both the gentry and merchants were committed to ritual opera performances and that lineage leaders integrated all kin on such ritual occasions. The Register’s 1674 document even specified that each household light a lantern and move slowly into the procession and that the head of the society (huishou) call the roll and fine violators.141 The 1733 Family Code of the Wus in Mingzhou included a similar rule that all kin assemble to conduct rites for worshipping the earth god and exorcising the xiangli (village ghosts).142 A more detailed account came from the 1809 Chengyang sanzhi (the gazetteer of Shexian’s Jiangcun village), portraying the Jiang lineage’s ritual opera celebration on the Lantern festival or Upper Primordial: The Lantern Matter: Around the Upper Primordial of the first month, each branch ancestral hall sets out lanterns and holds a feast. Passionate devotees prepare gongs, drums, and musical instruments. This is called “greeting the lanterns” (hedeng). On the thirteenth and fourteenth days, each branch ancestral hall presents lanterns to hang on the altar of the earth god. The lantern positions [for each branch] are clearly established, and are not to be altered. On the evening of the sixteenth day, each branch ancestral hall sets up two huge candles, weighing ten jin or more. Wood holders are used to support the candles, which are wrapped at the base with red gauze shaped like a six-turret lantern, with thin candles alight inside. These are then carried in procession, led by small lanterns of all colors. This is called “following the lanterns” (congdeng). The entire village gathers (hecun qiji) to offer sacrifices to the altar of the earth god. The old name for this was “procession with candles” (youzhu). The procession circles the village, with candles lighting the area for several li around, and spectators gather like flocks. If it rains, the procession will be rescheduled. On the thirteenth, fifteenth, and the day of “procession with lanterns” [that is, the sixteenth day] of the first month, there are morning offerings. The family in charge of the festival hangs out lanterns and sponsors opera performance for the

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longevity of the gods of earth and grains. The performance always lasts until the next morning. The Procession with the Gods: On the fifteenth day of the first month, [the Jiangs] carry the gods of the earth and grains in procession, accompanied by the Yueguo of Wang [Wang Hua]. The statues of all the deities worshipped in the village are also carried in the procession that follows. Various kinds of colored banners and horse-carriages parade through the village. This is called “parading the gods” (youshen) to expel [the spirits of] plagues and epidemics.143

Thus all the villagers of Jiangcun participated in the lantern procession, which featured a ritual opera offered to the earth god and its anthropomorphic proxy, Wang Hua. As in the case of the Xikou’s Sage-Worshipping Society, here is evidence of the cultural integration promoted by ritual opera performances. Other annual festivals also called for ritual operas, including the New Year, the Qingming festival, Middle Primordial (Zhongyuan, on the fifteenth day of the seventh month), and Lower Primordial (Xiayuan, on the fifteenth day of the tenth month).144 In addition, ritual operas were staged during weddings and funerals.145 Two of the most popular occasions for ritual opera performances in Huizhou, as in many other places, included the spring requesting and autumn requiting rites in honor of the earth god (chunqi qiubao), as noted in the aforementioned Chengyang sanzhi.146 In Shexian at least, the more emphasized of the two was the thanksgiving performance after the autumn harvest to honor and amuse the earth god.147 Ritual operas were also staged on the birthdays of the gods, including Guandi (a popular variant of the wealth god), Wenchang (the tutelary deity of the literati), and Buddha, as practiced in various worshipping societies (hui) established by the Kang lineage in the village of Shixi in Qimen.148 In the village of Liudu, also in Qimen, the prominent Cheng lineage organized thirty-three worshipping societies in the Qing dynasty.149 Most of these societies were to amuse what Tanaka Issei calls the “outer gods,” but ritual operas were also staged on the birthdays of the “inner gods”—the celebrated ancestors of local lineages.150 In Huizhou, popular deities included apical ancestors of the two most prominent surnames in the entire prefecture, Cheng Lingxi and the aforementioned Wang Hua, who protected the region in the chaos of the Chen dynasty (557– 89) and the Sui-Tang transition, respectively. The zealous participation of Shexian and Xiuning people in the New Year celebration was in part due to a popular belief that Wang Hua and Cheng Lingxi were both born in the first month.151 Huizhou lineage rituals, then, featured not just Confucian ancestral rites but also religious dramas staged to amuse popular gods and spirits, and the two belief systems were mutually reinforcing. In a sense, ancestors and spirits were more important than living people. Some local sources claim that

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kinsfolk hardly consumed chickens and goats before they were offered to ancestors and that merchants viewed building lineage temples as more important than building residence quarters.152 The people of mountainous Huizhou, noted the 1502 prefecture gazetteer, were “caught in the web of yin-yang geomancy and eager to cater to ghosts and spirits.” 153 Women, in particular, were superstitious about spirits (which, after all, was a reason for the cult of widowhood, as we will see in Chapter 5).154 Quarrels and lawsuits grew out of the local obsession with geomancy in locating good grave sites.155 But geomancy was premised not just on superstition. It was indeed also a consequence of the neo-Confucian emphasis on funerals, closely connected with ancestral worship. Cheng Yi, for instance, urged people to avoid “five shortcomings” in the grave location. Zhu Xi, too, stressed that graves must be carefully selected so that they would be “permanently secure” and ancestors’ “bodies remain intact and souls unmolested.” 156 Cheng Yi and Zhu Xi unwittingly promoted popular belief in spirits by fashioning geomancy as well as the ancestral cult (see more in Chapter 3). Lineage rituals were often also mingled with Buddhist or Daoist rites, or both; some descent groups seem to have used corporate estates to cover Buddho-Daoist rites.157 In 1826, for instance, the Xidi Hus in Yixian called in Buddhist monks from Mount Huang to recite sutras for three consecutive days, a rite that was to conclude the compilation of their branch genealogy. And before staging the celebratory ritual that lasted for nearly six weeks, the prominent Hu lineage first held a procession in honor of Wuchang, a local popular cult that originated in Daoist liturgies.158 Although official gazetteers stress that locals followed Zhu Xi’s rule not to involve Buddhist clergy in family rituals,159 they often reveal that the opposite was the norm. The 1873 Qimen gazetteer reluctantly admits, “Although funerals are based on the Literary Master’s Family Rituals, Buddhist rites are occasionally used.” 160 The 1771 Shexian gazetteer is more critical of the “fashion” of having forty-nine-day funerary rites, denouncing the Buddhist custom as “illegitimate” (feizhi).161 A later edition of the gazetteer is not so critical of the popular custom. It simply notes that monks are often called in to recite sutras during the seven-week funerary rites.162 Trying to explain away this non-Confucian behavior, Xu Chengyao, a Shexian native who passed the 1904 jinshi examination, notes in his Chats on Shexian Matters, “Huizhou does not follow the teachings of Buddhism and Daoism. Buddhist monks and Daoist priests are used only in rituals.” 163 The local religious landscape partly explains the influence of Buddhist and Daoist rites in Huizhou. The famous Mount Jiuhua (Buddhist) and Mount Qiyun (Daoist) are both in the Huizhou region. Jiuhua had been dominated by Daoist worship before 781, after which Dizang Bodhisattva

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became its primary guardian deity, thereby turning it into one of the socalled four great holy mountains of Buddhism in China. Numerous famous literati, from Li Bai (701– 62) to Wang Yangming (1472 –1528), visited the holy mountain and left behind commending poems. Jiuhua was particularly renowned in late imperial times. The Wanli emperor donated a large amount of silver to rebuilding its temples, and the Kangxi emperor handwrote a golden plaque reading, “Jiuhua Divine Aura.” By the Qianlong reign, Jiuhua boasted some three hundred temples, monasteries, and nunneries accommodating more than three thousand monks and nuns and attracting more than one thousand pilgrims every day. A High-Qing observer noted that “the pilgrimage to Jiuhua is most popular under Heaven.” 164 Qiyun, also one of the so-called four great holy mountains of Daoism in China, was especially popular in the sixteenth century, thanks to the endorsement of the Jiajing emperor. In the reigns of Jiajing and Wanli, more than one hundred Daoist temples and nunneries were built on the mountain. In 1577, Wang Daokun built a hall there for Wenchang, an originally Daoist deity who had long become a patron deity of literati. Soon, two of Wang’s famous friends, Hai Rui and Qi Jiguang, made pilgrimages.165 Interest in Qiyun also extended to common folk, who made pilgrimages to the Daoist divine mountain, with opera often performed along the way. In 1581, the famous Zhejiang scholar Feng Mengzhen (1546 –1605), accompanied by his friend Pan Zhiheng, made a pilgrimage to Qiyun and noted, “It is widely believed that the third day of the third month is the birthday of Lord Yuan [a Daoist deity]. Coming along from near and afar, pilgrims blocked the roads and filled the cottages. For three consecutive days, Yiyang troupes were invited to perform operas to amuse the gods.” 166 Religious tradition on Qiyun was both popular and eclectic. The spiritual landscape of the mountain conveyed the magic power of the supernatural in rewarding goodness or punishing evil, premised on Buddho-Daoist and popular beliefs in ghosts and gods. The historian Tan Qian (1593– 1657) noted that Qiyun was divided into a Mount for Goodness and a Mount for Evil: “The Qiyun Peak, in Xiuning county, was renamed Mount in the Jiajing reign. The Daoist Xuantian Taisu temple was established on [Qiyun, called] Mount for Goodness or Mount for Evil. Mount for Goodness is husband, Mount for Evil is his wife. Separate offerings of sacrifices [to them] will cause misfortune; together, good fortune will follow.” 167 Below the Xuantian Taisu temple, we learn from other sources, is located the Dongyue temple for worshipping the Great Emperor of Eastern Peak. According to the Yunji qiqian, a Song-dynasty encyclopedia about the Daoist pantheon, “The Lord Dongyue Taishan (Mount Tai) leads five thousand nine hundred deities. As the leading god of hundreds of ghosts, [Dongyue] controls the death and life of human beings.” Various attendants of the

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Eastern Peak were housed in the Dongyue temple on Qiyun, including Buddhist King Yama, infernal judges, and numerous demons. Qiyun culture was syncretic, and in Ming-Qing times when Daoism became the leading force on the mountain, pilgrims still chanted “Na-mo-a-mi-to-fo,” a salute to Buddha Amitabha.168 Perhaps no place in late imperial China was more naturally endowed to nurture cultural syncretism than Huizhou. Local lineage culture was characterized by syncretism, as were the beliefs of Huizhou merchants. A Huizhou pawnbroker named Cheng Yunzhang (1602 –51) led a campaign in Jiangnan advocating the unification of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism in an attempt to “overshadow” Lin Zhao’en (1517–98), the founder of the late-Ming “Three-Teachings Cult.” 169 And Cheng Ting, in his 1718 journey to Censhan village, first visited the earth-god shrine and paid tribute to Buddha before offering sacrifices to the Cheng ancestral hall.170 Censhan village, like the larger prefecture of Huizhou, was saturated with Three-Teachings syncretism and popular beliefs in ghosts and spirits. But this eclecticism by no means suggests an “insoluble dilemma” between gentry leadership and the not altogether dependable Confucian belief and ritual behavior of their kinsfolk, as some modern scholars have suggested.171 This study argues that, as Huizhou merchants helped strengthen gentrified lineage culture, popular religious beliefs and syncretism could be used to enhance Confucian teachings. The best scenario illustrating this mechanism is Mulian ritual opera, routinely performed to both common folk and prominent mercantile lineages, often in the folksy style Cheng Ting witnessed in 1718. Mulian was itself an enactment of Huizhou mercantile lineage culture. To this staged version of Huizhou history we now turn.

Part

Two

the script

3

The Mulian Legacy

According to a local legend, Zheng Zhizhen was blind when he wrote Mulian Rescues His Mother: An Opera for Goodness in Shanxi village in Shitai county. The Guanyin Bodhisattva, so the story goes, was deeply moved by the moral value of the Opera for Goodness, so she restored Zheng’s sight. But later on, he added to the script a scene called “A Monk and a Nun Meet,” in which the monk Benwu and the nun Jingxu meet and fall in love with each other while “Descending the Mountain.” The scene was considered an offense against decency, and Zheng went blind again. Some companies, such as the Tongle troupe in Shitai county, proscribed its performance with the hope that Zheng might someday regain his sight in the otherworld.1 The playwright had suffered an eye disease since youth, but he was not blind when he wrote the Mulian script.2 Nor was the love story that offensive. In fact, Zheng did not write a scene titled “A Monk and a Nun Meet,” although Benwu and Jingxu do “meet” in the scene “A Monk Descends the Mountain,” which follows the scene “A Nun Descends the Mountain” in his script.3 But he was not the first to tell the story. Indeed, it was often performed independently in his time.4 And far from presenting an indecent story, Zheng Zhizhen managed to maintain his moral principles when incorporating the story into the Mulian opera. While retaining the sarcastic entertainment value of a monk-nun romance, he had the “lewd monk” Benwu and the “promiscuous nun” Jingxu be caught by demon-bailiffs and sent to Hell to suffer, along with Mulian’s sinful mother.5 Local mythmakers seem not to have understood the playwright. Yet the legend of blind Zheng, unfounded as it may be, gives an inkling of the local concern with the moral fitness of Mulian performance. Even the author of the massive Opera for Goodness was thought to suffer if he inserted something impure into the opera. In spite of this legend, Zheng Zhizhen, like his Mulian opera as a whole, was highly regarded in local Huizhou society, and especially in his native village, Qingxi (“Pure Stream”), in Qimen.6 We can perceive this regard in the rituals enacted in honor of Zheng by the local community after his

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death, which celebrated his literary work while referencing his personal history. In his youth Zheng styled himself Gaoshi (“lofty rock”) after the name of a horse-shaped rock in a small islet at the entrance of Qingxi. According to a local story, he often sat on that rock reading Confucian classics, dreaming about future examination success. In commemoration of Master Gaoshi, the Qingxi Zhengs routinely commissioned the Mulian opera, and the performances (held every three years on the Zhongyuan festival in the mid-seventh month) followed certain rules. According to the recollection of Zheng Cunxiao of the Zheng lineage, before the performance, the Zheng kinsmen first conducted a rite to welcome Zheng Zhizhen’s spirit (jieshen). They went to Zheng Zhizhen’s favorite islet and arranged an altar to make offerings in front of that horse-shaped rock and then carried his spirit tablet to the lineage ancestral hall, Xuluntang. The opera was then staged in front of the lineage temple. Its gate board reads, “A Prominent Family of the Situ [official],” which was supported by a pair of couplets: The Mulian story presents numerous marvelous spectacles to herald fortune and elude adversity, tantamount to the whole Spring and Autumn Annals. Master Gaoshi is so far-sighted in encouraging goodness and punishing evil, [as if he were] giving ten moral lectures.7

Why was Zheng Zhizhen’s libretto likened to the Spring and Autumn Annals, one of the five Confucian classics, and its performance viewed as a “moral lecture”? Why did Zheng, steeped in Confucian learning since his youth, choose to write an opera about one of most popular figures of Chinese Buddhism? The answer lies partly in the history of Mulian literature. By Zheng Zhizhen’s time, the Mulian mythology, first introduced into China from India around the third century c.e. with the Buddhist sutras, had developed into a popular tradition represented in various literature and performance genres. The literature on the Mulian story is enormous, and its evolution is complex. In the long process of its development, however, we can identify two distinctive phases representing two different epochs. The first, evolving from initial sutras to the late-Tang “transformation text” (bianwen), conveyed popular Buddhist values and reflected the concurrent sinicization of the Indic Mulian myth. The second phase, represented in the genre of ritual opera and codified in Zheng’s script, marked the Confucian transformation of the popular Buddhist tale. Part 2 of this book focuses on the second transformation and how it reflected sixteenth-century Huizhou society and Chinese culture in general. To set the stage for exploring Zheng Zhizhen’s contribution in the following chapter, here we must first delineate the main stages in the evolution of Mulian literature before Zheng Zhizhen.

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The Chinese Transformation of an Indic Myth Mulian, like many popular characters in Ming-Qing vernacular literature, had ancient origins. What differentiated Mulian from endogenous heroes such as Wu Zixu or Guan Yu was his Indic origins.8 Given its foreign genesis, the Mulian story was first sinicized before it could possibly take root in Chinese culture. This process, not without confrontation between Buddhist and indigenous values, started around the third century in a series of translated sutras, including the Yulanpen Sutra described in the following discussion. The process further unfolded through the “transformation texts” and other popular narratives of a later era and paralleled the initial syncretization of Mulian literature. These processes of sinicization and syncretization deepened through new and more popular genres, in particular, ritual operas, in the post-Song period. However, especially after the late Ming, these trends were overshadowed by Confucianization and secularization. The Yulanpen Sutra is normally attributed to the venerable Dharmaraksa (Zhu Fahu, ca. 265 –313), who translated it from the Sanskrit into Chinese.9 The three-page piece nevertheless uses distinctive Chinese phrases such as xiaoshun (filial devotion), daoyan (divine eyes), and liuzhong qinshu (six sorts of relatives).10 In the sutra, Mulian, after obtaining the godly power of “six penetrations,” saw with his “divine eyes” his departed mother suffering among “hungry ghosts.” To save his mother, Mulian rushed back to the Buddha, who revealed to the filial son, “The roots of your mother’s sins are deep and tenacious. It is not within your power as a single individual to do anything about it, even though the fame of your filial devotion moves heaven and earth.” The Buddha then instructed Mulian: On the fifteenth day of the seventh month, when the assembled monks of the ten directions release themselves, for the sake of seven generations of ancestors and your current parents in distress, you should gather food of one hundred flavors and five kinds of fruit, basins for washing and rinsing, incense, oil lamps and candles, and mattresses and bedding; take the sweetest, prettiest things in the world, and place them in a bowl and offer it to the assembled monks, those of great virtue of the ten directions.

The Buddha also decreed that the assembled monks chant prayers and practice meditation before receiving the food. On that very day, Mulian’s mother gained release from the retribution of suffering as a hungry ghost. The Buddha preached: All disciples of the Buddha who practice filial devotion must in every moment of consciousness maintain the thought of their parents and seven generations of ancestors. Each year on the fifteenth day of the seventh month, out of filial devotion and

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compassionate consideration for the parents who gave birth to them and for seven generations of ancestors, they should always make a yulanpen (or yulan) bowl and donate it to the Buddha and Sangha to repay the kindness bestowed by parents in nurturing and caring for them. All disciples of the Buddha must carry out this law.11

Mulian’s rescuing of his mother is merely an episode in the sutra, whose main theme is Buddha’s founding of the Yulanpen ritual. But the episode was key to setting up the Yulanpen ritual in China.12 Making offerings to monks with a yulanpen bowl was from the beginning associated with delivering one’s parents or ancestral souls from their sufferings among “hungry ghosts.” Although the phrase “hungry ghosts” (preta in Sanskrit) was originally an Indic notion, its translation to egui appealed to the Chinese taste and imagination.13 Gui in the term egui (or the composite guishen), like filial devotion (xiao), with which it was always closely connected in the ancestral cult, was deeply rooted and widely diffused.14 Even Confucius, considered agnostic by neo-Confucians and modern scholars alike, mentioned guishen many times in the Analects, despite his ambivalent attitude toward spiritual beings.15 On one occasion Confucius urged his disciples to “respect guishen but keep aloof from them.” On another he honored the ancient sage-king Yu for “using himself coarse food and drink, but displaying filial piety to guishen.” 16 The notions of spirits and filial piety, touched upon in the Mulian episode of the Yulanpen Sutra, were central to the Chinese ancestral cult, which was based on the mutual spiritual dependence of living descendants and dead ancestors. The Mulian episode would eventually integrate the Yulanpen ritual into Chinese culture. The fifteenth day of the seventh lunar month (or in ancient times, some day around the seventh moon) marked a number of significant conjunctions in the Chinese calendar. It fell between the summer solstice and the autumn equinox and was associated with ripening and sending provisions to ancestors. “In this month there takes place the inauguration of autumn,” noted the “Monthly Ordinances” of the Book of Rites, “and the farmers present their grain. The Son of Heaven tastes it, while still new, first offering some to the ancestral temple.” 17 In pre-Qin documents such as the Shijing (Book of Songs) and Zuozhuan (Zuo Commentary on the Spring and Autumn Annals), such a ritual was called chang: to make offerings to ancestors and let them “taste” new crops (or meat).18 Although the autumn chang rite was only one of the “rituals of the four seasons,” the essence of all rites was to offer sacrifices to the ancestors. Indeed, the character for rites (ji) was composed of the elements for rou (meat), shou (hand), and shi (spiritual tablet of ancestor), thus literally meaning to offer “meat” with the “hand” to requite ancestors.19 In Confucian culture, the rites were epitomized by filial piety (xiao) and propriety-and-ritual (li, or ritual-and-propriety). Fan Chi, a student of Confucius, asked his master about being filial. Confucius re-

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plied, “When your parents are alive, comply with the rites in serving them; when they die, comply with the rites in burying them; comply with the rites in sacrificing to them.” 20 The Yulanpen Sutra came from India; but the Yulanpen festival and some of its social values corresponded to Chinese culture, which was nevertheless overshadowed by its distinctive Buddhist purpose. Not long after the inauguration of the Yulanpen festival, a Daoist holiday set on the same date appeared in an Edict of Xiaowen Emperor of the Northern Wei (reigned 471–99). This holiday carried a typical Chinese name, the Zhongyuan (Middle Primordial), one of the Three Primordials (Sanyuan) of the Upper, Middle, and Lower. The Three Primordials, set on the fifteenth day of the first, seventh, and tenth month, respectively, may have been derived from the Daoist notion of the Sanguan (Three Officers of Heaven, Earth, and Water).21 The main figure of the Zhongyuan festival was the Officer of Earth, an important Daoist deity responsible for absolving human sins.22 This Daoist notion paralleled the message in the Yulanpen Sutra: the “deeply-rooted sins” of ancestors such as Mulian’s mother could be absolved with a Yulanpen ritual. In the post-Tang era, the fifteenth day of the seventh month was often identified with the Daoist name of Zhongyuan, whereas the main theme of the festival was more and more associated with the Buddhist tale of Mulian rescuing his mother.23 Few sources record the actual observance of the festival, either as Yulanpen or as Zhongyuan, before Emperor Wu of the Liang (Liang Wudi) officially sponsored and personally participated in the festival rituals in the capital (present-day Nanjing) in 538.24 With Liang Wudi’s involvement, the celebration of the holiday expanded from religious temples to lay society, although popular observances must have preceded the imperial endorsement. At work in the process was mutual influence of the Yulanpen and Zhongyuan traditions.25 Yan Zhitui (531–91), in his well-known Family Rules of the Yan Clan (Yanshi jiaxun), urged his offspring not to discontinue the Yulanpen ritual on the Zhongyuan festival.26 In the reign of Empress Wu Zetian, a whole set of imperial rites took shape for celebrating the festival, such as the 692 imperial Yulanpen ritual ravishingly portrayed by Yang Jiong (650 –94) in “Yulanpen Rhapsody.” Although Yang Jiong titled his poem “Yulanpen,” the imperial ritual in this account highlighted Daoist symbols and ancestral worship.27 The mingling of Yulanpen and Zhongyuan rituals continued after Wu Zetian in the Tang, but not without confrontation. In 844, right before the notorious persecution of Buddhism in 845, the Wuzong emperor ordered that Buddhist sacrifices be moved to the Xingtang Temple and offered to Daoist Celestial Venerables and that the “hundred surnames” (common people) go to the Xingtang to watch the Daoist-styled ritual on Zhongyuan.

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“Who wants to watch it?” the common people responded, snubbing the imperial order. They cursed the emperor for having proceeded to “seize the Buddha’s sacrifices to offer to ghosts and gods (ji guishen).” 28 This episode, which probably reflected a Buddhist bias, indicates how some contemporaries disdained the Zhongyuan rite.29 It also indicates the tension between the coexisting ritual formats of Yulanpen and Zhongyuan during the Tang. Among ordinary people, offerings to the Buddha (that is, the Yulanpen rite) seemed to be more popular than offerings to “ghosts and gods” in the Zhongyuan rite, or even the ancestral rite (as the guishen could also refer to the ancestral souls).30 The process of synthesizing the Yulanpen with endogenous traditions was therefore not a smooth one. As we will see, the fifteenth day of the seventh month became a fully synthesized and sinicized religious festival only in the Song and especially in the post-Song eras, when jizu (sacrifices to ancestors) and Daoist rites of rangshen (offerings to the gods) and jiaogui (relieving of the ghosts) were routinely held as a syncretic ritual on the Zhongyuan festival. This process of both synthesization and contention between the Yulanpen rituals and the endogenous traditions of the Zhongyuan holiday is also reflected in the evolution of Tang Mulian literature.31 Around the late Tang, a new genre of vernacular literature developed out of sutra lecturing, that of popular chantefable narratives, including the “transformation text” (bianwen), which had a significant impact upon post-Song fiction, drama, and other storytelling genres such as baojuan, southern tanci, and northern guci.32 Similar storytelling genres such as “popular lectures” (sujiang), “sung texts” (changwen), and “tales of conditional origins” (yuanqi) often cause confusion in defining the bianwen genre. According to Victor H. Mair, bian in bianwen is related to a Buddhist term meaning “transformation,” implying the coming into being of a scene or deity, whereas wen clearly means “text.” He offers a “tighter and narrower definition” of the bianwen as including the following elements: “a specific verse-introductory formula, a connection with picture storytelling, prosimetric form, heptasyllabic verse, vernacular language, and so forth.” 33 With this narrow definition, five out of sixteen extant Mulian manuscripts from Dunhuang may qualify as transformation texts. In Tang times several famous monks lectured on popular bianwen stories, such as Wenshu and Changxiao.34 Through bianwen performance and lecturing, both amusing and didactic, the Mulian story gained a wide circulation among ordinary people. More important, the Dunhuang scripts, although still Buddhist oriented, marked a new phase in the evolution of Mulian literature. The Mulian story was now greatly enriched and, in the process, was further sinicized and syncretized. Still, there was tension between Buddhist doctrines and endogenous beliefs.

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The most important of Tang-dynasty Mulian scripts is the Transformation Text on Mahamaudgalyayana [Mulian] Rescuing His Mother from the Underworld, with Pictures, One Scroll (with Preface).35 In this script, Mulian’s original name (before his conversion to Buddhism) is Luobu (turnip), which sounds like a Chinese nickname. His mother, called Madame Qingti, has earned a brief biography, and so has his father, Fuxiang.36 All the elements of a core Chinese family are now present, and the story conveys a compassionate love and concern among the family members. The Buddha, of course, told Mulian of the whereabouts of his departed mother, but his father, now living happily in the Celestial Palace for his accumulated virtue, also plays a role in informing his devoted son of Qingti’s previous sins and current sufferings in Hell. The story still focuses on Mulian’s journey through the underworld to search for his mother, which occupies about 90 percent of the script. Eventually, with the help of the Buddha, Mulian succeeds in saving his mother, but she has to pay a heavy price for her sins, as the law of karmic retribution requires. Qingti is turned into a “black dog” before resuming a human body and going to the “Western Buddha Land,” not to mention her earlier sufferings in the Avici Hell as a “hungry ghost.” 37 The founding of the Yulanpen festival occupies just a fraction of the thirty-page transformation text, but some key notions merely hinted at in the three-page Yulanpen Sutra are now substantiated. Most notably, the theme of filial devotion is candidly championed in Mulian’s strenuous journey in the underworld. Madame Qingti touchingly calls Mulian “my filial and obedient son” (xiaoshun’er), while the great disciple of Buddha “chokes and sobs with his tears falling like rain” for his mother’s sufferings, acting like a typical Chinese devoted son.38 To a Chinese audience, a devoted son’s journey to save his mother from the depths of the underworld made more sense than simply a plot of spiritual traveling in Hell.39 But to the bianwen performers, filial piety could also be used to popularize Buddhism. “Under Heaven, what is the most important thing?” Mulian asks, and then answers it himself, “It is the affection of one’s parents and their kindness most profound; You, oh Tathagata, are the compassionate father and mother of all living beings; I beseech you to illuminate this ignorant and trifling heart of mine!” 40 Indeed, Buddhism needed to be sinicized first through the value of filial devotion, as it was central to both the Chinese family and Confucian culture. This process characterized initial syncretism in medieval China and paved the way for further synthesis.41 By the late Tang, the Buddhist embrace of filial piety appears to have been taken for granted, as shown in the Mulian transformation text and other Dunhuang popular narratives.42 The main concern of the Transformation Text is not the abstract idea of

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filial devotion, however. The drama lies in Mulian’s epic journey in the dark realm, which is now portrayed in terrifying detail. The text also briefly mentions Heaven (where Fuxiang stays and Mulian visits before going down to Hell, and where Qingti eventually achieves rebirth), partially a domain of endogenous religions and imagination. Although the subplot describes Fuxiang living happily in Heaven as a reward for his virtue of believing in Buddhism, the Transformation Text focuses more on Hell, and Fuxiang’s story is provided primarily as a contrast to the frightening sufferings Qingti bears in Hell as punishment for her previous sins.43 Hell consists of such landmarks as the Watthellwedo River (Naihe), the Knife Hill and Sword Forest Hell, the Copper Pillar and Iron Bed Hell, and Avici Hell, the deepest of all hells composed of seven compartments. Numerous deities staff this fairly complex inferno, from the lowliest ox-headed jailers and messengers, such as shan’e tongzi (“Good-and-Evil Boys” responsible for reporting good or bad behavior of people), to head wardens, such as King Yama, Ksitigarbha (Dizang Bodhisattva), the General of the Five Ways, and the Daoist Magistrate of Mount Tai (that is, the Eastern Peak). In his journey through the underworld, Mulian sees frightening scenes of crying sinners either being forced across the great Watthellwedo River with “white bones” hanging from the Watthellwedo trees or being made to embrace hot copper pillars that burn away their chests. Eventually, he finds his mother, with her body nailed down with forty-nine metal spikes on an iron bed in the deepest compartment of Avici Hell.44 This medieval vision of the underworld, a Buddho-Daoist pantheon in the making, was still distinctively Buddhist, conveying what Stephen Teiser calls “the ethics and cosmology of Chinese Buddhist folk religion.” 45 Through explicit lectures from King Yama and other underworld functionaries, as well as Madame Qingti’s own confessions, and through some examples of hells corresponding to particular kinds of sinful deeds, the Transformation Text demonstrated for its audience the law of karmic retribution, contrasting evils (e) with virtues (shan), both of which were the major precepts of Buddhism and, later, of Daoism as well.46 To illustrate karmic retribution, the Transformation Text identifies Qingti’s sins, although not very explicitly. Before Luobu takes a business trip to another country, he disposes of the family wealth and asks his mother to arrange vegetarian food for the Buddhist Trinity and beggars. Madame Qingti is rather stingy and, after her son leaves, hides away the riches. When Luobu returns, moreover, she deceives him. “As you charged me, I held vegetarian feasts that shall bring us blessings,” she lies. For this sin, Qingti falls into the Avici Hell, where she endures much suffering.47 Most notably, ji guishen (“making offerings to the ghosts and spirits”) is among the sinful deeds Qingti has committed. Clearly, Qingti’s sins are

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defined by Buddhist morality. “The things which I said deceived heaven and denied hell,” Qingti confesses upon seeing her son in Hell, “I slaughtered pigs and goats on a grand scale to sacrifice to the ghosts and spirits (ji guishen). My only concern was for the pleasures of the moment. How could I have known that on these infernal paths they flog departed souls?” 48 In medieval times when the notion of guishen was closely associated with popular Daoist cults, the term ji guishen may have been a stereotyped curse used by Buddhists. It criticized a ritual tradition that was different from the Yulanpen rite, mainly the Daoist Zhongyuan rite or, to a lesser degree, ancestral offerings that included meat.49 In 844, the term ji guishen was used by the “hundred surnames” to insult Emperor Wuzong for moving sacrifices for Buddha to a Daoist temple. Madame Qingti’s “offerings to the ghosts and spirits” and her related non-Buddhist sins are disparaged even more severely in the Mulian Legend (Mulian yuanqi) than in the Transformation Text. The Mulian Legend, another important script of Dunhuang popular prosimetric narrative, was the topic of lectures usually given on the day before a formal sutra lesson.50 “Every day [Qingti] slaughtered [animals],” Mulian was told upon his returning home from his business trip, “to make offerings to the ghosts and spirits (jisi guishen). Whenever the Three Honored Ones came to her house [for alms], she utterly humiliated them all.” 51 The Legend is shorter but more overtly moralistic than the Transformation Text. Notably, it ends by mentioning the archetypes of Chinese devoted sons, such as Dong Yong, Guo Ju, Meng Zong, and Wang Xiang, to enhance the image of Mulian as a devoted son.52 In both the Mulian Legend and the Transformation Text, however, two fundamental aspects of the ancestral cult, filial piety and jisi guishen (characteristic of ancestral rituals), are apparently not very well integrated with each other. In short, the Yulanpen ritual was still in contention with endogenous Chinese religions in the late Tang. This contention continued even after the performance of transformation texts was abandoned in the Song.53 There are very few extant Mulian scripts dating from the period between Dunhuang popular narratives of the late Tang and Zheng Zhizhen’s opera of the late Ming. One of them is the 1251 popular lecture text on the “Mulian Rescues His Mother” sutra, slightly shorter than the Transformation Text.54 The popular lecture further reflects the sinicization and development of the Mulian story. Mulian’s mother, the fourth child in her natal family, is now given a Chinese surname, Liu, and two servants, Yili and Jinzhi. Quite strikingly, jisi guishen is still one of Madame Liu’s sinful acts. But the charge of “making offerings to the ghosts and spirits,” which would vanish in new literature of Mulian drama, seemed to bear new meanings in the Yuan dynasty, in light of concurrent developments in the tradition of the Zhongyuan festival. Whereas

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in the late Tang, criticism of Lady Niladhi (to call Mulian’s mother by her Indian name) reflected the determination of Buddhists to spread the Yulanpen ritual, in Song-Yuan times the charge against Madame Liu sounded like a nostalgic cry. In the Yuan text, Mulian needs to ask Buddha a simple question: Why should the Yulanpen ritual be held on the fifteenth day of the seventh month, instead of on the thirteenth or fourteenth? He receives an underlined answer that might well indicate what was overshadowed if not forgotten altogether in the observance of the festival rituals of the time: On this date “all monks emerge from their summer retreat.” 55 By the Song-Yuan period, indeed, observance of the fifteenth day of the seventh month had synthesized the sacrifices to ancestors to inform them of a harvest (jixian gaocheng), Daoist offerings to the gods and departed spirits (rangshen jiaogui), and the Yulanpen ritual. The cultural shift can be gleaned from Meng Yuanlao’s (ca. 1235) description of “the Zhongyuan festival” in the Northern Song capital Kaifeng: The fifteenth day of the seventh month was the Zhongyuan festival. For several days before, the markets sold items for the dark world. . . . In the most crowded places such things as fruits, produce, and flowering plants were sold, and The Sutra of Mulian, the Most Honorable was printed and sold. Bamboo poles were split to form tripods, three or five feet tall, and at their tops were fashioned spaces for lamps. They were called Yulanpen bowls. Clothes and money for the dark regions were placed on top and then burned. After the seventh night, performers from “fenced theaters” (goulan) staged the “variety play” (zaju), Mulian Rescues His Mother. The performance lasted until the fifteenth day with increasing spectators. On the day before Zhongyuan, washed leaves were sold; when sacrifice was offered, they were spread out as lining on the tops of tables. Balls of hemp and grain were also sold; they were attached to table legs with the intention of informing the ancestors of the autumn ripening. . . . On the fifteenth day ancestors were offered vegetarian food (sushi). As soon as it was light out, [hawkers] sold husks of rice, going from house to house calling out their wares. This was also intended to announce autumn ripening to the ancestors (gao qiucheng). . . . Those who had [buried relatives recently in] new graves outside the city walls went there to worship and to sweep them off. Carriages and horses came from the palace and Daoist temples to visit graves. Directors from each temple sent ten monks to the Bureau of Sacrifice to set up a grand assembly, where mountains of spiritual money were burned, sacrifices were made for war dead, and rites (daochang) were performed for relieving the unattended souls (guhun).56

The Yuan-dynasty scholar Chen Yuanjing, quoting Meng’s observations into his own note on the Zhongyuan rituals, divided Meng’s long paragraph into five sections and added subheadings: xian xianzu (sacrifices to ancestors) was the subtitle for the opening passage; ji fumu (making offerings to parents) was the subtitle for the section in which the Yulanpen ritual was mentioned; and gao qiucheng was the subtitle for the section in which that

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term was originally used.57 By Song-Yuan times, the fifteenth day of the seventh month had become a normal Chinese festival. It was now ready, in theory at least, to be called the “ghost festival.” 58 The Yulanpen rite, and indeed the Mulian tale per se, had become an integral part of Chinese culture.

The Beginnings of Mulian Religious Drama As Meng Yuanlao first suggested, another important development in the twelfth century was the rise of a new performance genre of the Mulian tale. The Mulian play was most likely nurtured in the context of the syncretized rituals of xian xianzu, ji fumu, or gao qiucheng Meng Yuanlao described in the same account. However, not much hard evidence has survived about Mulian drama in the Song-Yuan period. Mulian specialists nevertheless largely agree that before Zheng Zhizhen produced his script in the late sixteenth century, significant development must have occurred in Mulian operatic performance.59 Scholars have also developed hypotheses to make sense of the origins of Mulian ritual opera. Tanaka Issei, by comparing the structure of Mulian operatic performance with a Daoist rite he attended in 1982 in Singapore (where Mulian is also popular), has called Mulian “a chaodu opera,” with chaodu meaning “to release souls from purgatory.” Tanaka believes that Mulian opera originated in the interregnum between the Northern and Southern Song, from the following two ritual occasions. First is the gongde rite, that is, a chaodu service staged by Buddhist or Daoist specialists to deliver the souls of the ancestors of rural wealthy people; and second is the Daoist taiping jiao rite, performed to release wandering or unattended spirits so that they would not disturb the tranquillity (taiping) of rural communities. Notably, Daoist priests now preached the Buddhist story of Mulian’s journey through hells to rescue his mother, a theme that was central to the ceremonies performed to deliver either ancestral spirits or wild ghosts. In the process, the scope of both rituals expanded, and actors were called upon to stage plays. This process, according to Tanaka, is the very beginning of Mulian ritual opera, and indeed, of the genre of Chinese ritual opera itself. Gradually, the unattended spirits of “ten thousand kinds” feared by the country folk were incorporated in these rituals. These spirits ranged from frustrated scholars to overworked merchants, from market wanderers to tilling farmers, and from secluded monks to sojourning singers; their previous lives in the human world were turned into the stories of the enlarged and ever-enlarging Mulian opera.60 Tanaka Issei appears to have been inspired by Meng Yuanlao’s account of the Zhongyuan festival. Performances of the Mulian “variety play” in Song times, however, could hardly have lasted for eight days and eight nights, as Meng’s note seems to imply. This new genre, like Chinese drama

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in general, was still in embryonic form in Meng Yuanlao’s time. According to Wang Guowei, the eminent scholar who pioneered the study of the history of Chinese opera, “The Song variety play is characterized mainly with farce, and is not different from the Tang farcical play. But the roles are more notable, and the spectacle is slightly more complex. Still, [the Song variety play] cannot be performed together with song and dance. It is still far away from genuine opera.” Here Wang was referring to imperial palace performance. In market towns, the Song variety play was characterized by folk performance of baixi, including acrobatics.61 Zhou Yibai suggests that Chinese drama originated with the baixi, which first appeared in the Han dynasty (206 b.c.e.–220 c.e.) and became popular in Tang-Song times. Other scholars focus on the origins of Chinese drama in rituals (Wang Guowei), on the transformation texts and Tang-Song puppet plays (Sun Kaidi), on Tang dancing farce (Ren Bantang), or on Indic influences (Xu Dishan).62 The truth probably lies somewhere in-between these different lines of interpretation. Mulian literature evolved from Indic sutras, through the transformation texts, to ritual opera, retaining the baixi and farce performance —this evolution has prompted scholars to call the Song Mulian variety play “the mother of Chinese drama.” 63 While giving birth to Chinese drama, Mulian performance itself continued to mature within the evolving context of Chinese opera and of ritual observance. The Song variety play was mainly a northern genre and evolved into the famous Yuan-dynasty zaju, which, unlike its Song forerunner, is not “varied” (za) at all and, as one expert suggests, should simply be called Northern Drama (beixi) to distinguish it from Southern Drama (nanxi).64 The Yuan genre involves ke (performance), bai (dialogue), and qu (song), but most “variety plays” are composed of only four acts and are thus still quite short.65 The golden age of Chinese opera as a performing art that captivated men and women of every social status did not come until the Ming, especially in the south in the sixteenth century. At the same time, Mulian performance was also migrating from north to south, as explained next. The Mulian operatic tradition appears to have originated in the north, although the Mulian story did not develop into an independent operatic genre there. In Shanxi, for instance, elements of the Mulian story were incorporated as scenes into the saixi (festival ritual operas) and duixi (teamperformed operas) or were featured as parts of other stories, such as the Monkey and the Guanyin Bodhisattva, most notably narrated in the Journey to the West.66 Tao Zongyi of the Yuan dynasty mentioned a Mulian text written in the Jin-dynasty dramatic genre (yuanben), Da Qingti (Beat Qingti).67 There is also a similar scene concerning Qingti’s suffering in the nether region in a 1574 ritual opera repertoire, newly discovered from Nanshe village in southern Shanxi.68 Thus far, only one full-length Mulian operatic script has been uncovered in the north, the Yicheng version from

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Shanxi titled Mulian jiumu (Mulian rescues his mother).69 It cannot be verified whether this undated script, probably of the late-Qing or earlyRepublican era, is descended from a late-Yuan variety play with the same title. The Yuan zaju script is no longer extant, but its two-line subtitle suggests the fusion of Guanyin and Mulian: “Being benevolent Guanyin immortalizes [Mulian?]; practicing filial piety Mulian saves his mother.” 70 It was in the south that Mulian operatic performance came into its own in the development of Southern Drama. After the fall of the Northern Song, many actors migrated to the south, especially to the southeastern coast of Zhejiang and Fujian, and probably brought northern Mulian plays with them. These migrants, by adding Song ci poems and southern folk ballads to Northern Drama, created a new performing genre, Southern Drama, in Wenzhou, Zhejiang, in the 1130s. Also called Wenzhou zaju or simply xiwen (opera), Southern Drama has been viewed as the first mature Chinese opera genre.71 It was characterized by realism and religious passion, and the two themes often exerted influence upon each other.72 By the mid-Ming, Southern Drama had spread throughout China and overshadowed Northern Drama.73 In addition, as the famed Jiangnan scholar Zhu Yunming (1460 –1525) acknowledged, Southern Drama developed into four major genres with their own distinctive music styles, all named after their places of origin: Haiyan and Yuyao of Zhejiang, Kunshan of Jiangsu, and Yiyang of central Jiangxi.74 The Yiyang genre deserves particular attention, as it had a large number of vernacular scripts in its own repertoire. Moreover, Yiyang performers developed new techniques that enabled them to stage literary chuanqi scripts, making their performance intelligible and entertaining to the local folk audience, as already noted in Chapter 2.75 Popular in the Huizhou region (northern Jiangxi and southern Anhui), the Yiyang further gave birth to new local genres, such as the Huizhou and Chizhou operatic styles. These genres all featured Mulian performance.76 Some specialists have recently suggested that a distinctive Mulian operatic genre took shape in the south during Song-Yuan times. In Ming times, they argue, this genre linked Southern Drama in the southeastern coast to Yiyang opera in the southern inland of Jiangxi and Anhui.77 According to elderly actors in Jiangxi, the Yiyang style originated from Daoist performances of Mulian. In Yiyang county, located in central Jiangxi and close to one of the “four great Daoist mountains,” Longhushan, professional Daoist priests had Mulian staged using Daoist tunes when performing daochang (rites for relieving the souls of the dead). Local lineages also enacted Buddhist rituals, and on those occasions amateur actors staged Mulian using Buddhist tunes. As in the north, Mulian was often performed along with the religious stories of Monkey and Guanyin. But it also incorporated stories of historical heroes, now deified and invested with supernatural power. These human heroes had been popularized in the storytelling tradition, which

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later developed into dramas or novels, including Journey to the West, Romance of Liang Wudi, Story of Yue Fei, Investiture of the Gods, Water Margin, and Romance of the Three Kingdoms. This development paved the way for the emergence of a new operatic genre in the Yuan-Ming transition period, called liantaibenxi, a series of many operas staged together in multiday and multinight performances. The series, mixing up religious themes and secular concerns, rituals and operatic entertainment, was often simply called Mulian liantaibenxi (Mulian operatic series). Differing from the eastern Yuyao, Haiyan, and Kunshan, the operatic styles to which the literary chuanqi libretti were tuned, the Yiyang style featured the performance of the Mulian operatic series.78 Most specialists believe that by the sixteenth century, Yiyang performance of Mulian had become an important tradition in Jiangxi and its surrounding areas, including Huizhou. It must have greatly amplified the Mulian story, but the series per se was probably not yet well integrated. No full-length script for the southern series survived, or perhaps no one had attempted it before Zheng Zhizhen’s libretto in the late sixteenth century.79 Performed with Buddho-Daoist rituals and mingled with famed historical figures, however, the Mulian story must have been further syncretized and secularized by the mid-Ming. It must have been somewhat Confucianized, too. Wang Yangming (1472 –1528), the great Confucian philosopher from Yuyao in eastern Zhejiang, is believed to have said that Mulian’s “language is not as flowery as that of the Western Wing, but [Mulian] nevertheless contains more filial piety and righteousness than the Western Wing. This is to establish the teachings through the way of the gods (shendao shejiao).” 80 Zheng Zhizhen acknowledged that his work was based on the previous traditions. In the beginning of the third volume of his script, the playwright announced, “This is the newly edited Story of the Filial Son in Search of Mother (Xiaozi xunqin ji). Who among the audience will not be terrified? [I] have searched the actual performances and, based on the preceding compilations, tuned them to the operatic patterns.” 81 His nephew Hu Tianlu, in a 1582 postface to Zheng’s script, also confirmed a textual source of Zheng’s work. “In his leisure days,” Hu noted, his uncle “took the Mulian zhuan (Mulian tale) and compiled it into the three volumes of the Opera for Goodness.” 82 Operatic performances of the Mulian story clearly existed around Zheng Zhizhen’s time. Still, by scripting popular Mulian performance into a three-volume libretto, Zheng Zhizhen made a significant contribution to the evolving tradition of the ritual opera. More important, as we will see in the following chapter, he constantly used a Confucian criterion in compiling popular tales that were characteristic of the sixteenth century. Zheng Zhizhen remolded popular Mulian performance, and his script marked a new tradition.

4

The Confucian Transformation of the Mulian Tradition

The Chinese transformation of the Indic Mulian story lasted six or seven centuries, from Buddhist sutras through the Tang transformation texts to the Zhongyuan rituals in Song-Yuan times, and this transformation continued even after Zheng Zhizhen’s Opera for Goodness was printed in 1582. But more important, this first full-length Mulian script codified the Confucian transformation of the popular ritual opera performance. The playwright not only remade the Mulian legend per se but also incorporated a large number of stories about ordinary people of the sixteenth century. The social values represented by these secular stories, like those in religious Mulian mythology, had an extraordinarily powerful appeal. Confucian ethics were combined with religious sentiments and performing or ritual arts to form a seamless whole, signifying the coming-of-age of what I call “popular Confucianism.” The roots of this transformation can be found in the new economic, social, intellectual, and religious trends of the sixteenth century, all of which were particularly manifest in Huizhou, as discussed in earlier chapters. Indeed, Huizhou provided the social and cultural context for Zheng Zhizhen to make a decisive impact on Mulian performances. This chapter first discusses the background of the playwright and the structure of his script. It then analyzes the essence of Zheng’s new Mulian tradition, especially its mixture of Confucian values with the power of the demons and gods. This popular ethico-religious discourse, as I will demonstrate, reflected Huizhou mercantile lineage culture in particular and the intellectual climate of sixteenth-century China in general.

The Playwright and the Script Zheng Zhizhen was one of millions of Ming-Qing Confucian students who studied hard but failed in the civil service examinations. Born into a local elite lineage, Zheng was immersed in the Confucian classics in his youth and also excelled at history and literature. He “enjoyed talking

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about poetry,” notes the Comprehensive Gazetteer of Anhui, and “also practiced operatic music.” One may imagine that the young Zheng “Gaoshi” sat every morning on his namesake “lofty rock” reading Zhu Xi’s Elementary Learning until he knew it by heart. This treatise, as noted in Chapter 1, was often used in preparation for youngsters to pursue the literati goal stipulated in the Great Learning, namely, “cultivating the self, regulating the family, administering the country, and establishing peace under Heaven.” At the age of twenty, he joined the local gentry as a student of the imperial county academy (shengyuan). At school, he distinguished himself among his classmates and viewed himself as “versed in both polite letters and martial arts.” Harboring great expectations for the future, this bright and diligent student had everything but luck. Over a period of thirty years or so, he was frequently frustrated in the examination hall. After he failed the 1567 (or 1564) provincial examination, he finally decided to give up.1 Despite his examination failures, however, he was deferred to by local society, both for his personality and his scholarship. “Highly gifted but frustrated,” the genealogy of his lineage and the gazetteer of his native county said of Zheng; “[people] of his time had great sympathy for him.” Local elites awarded him a plaque inscribed with the phrase, “shengshi qiru” (a venerated scholar of a prosperous age). Known as “a filial son and a faithful friend,” Zheng made friends among the gentry, including scholar-official Chen Zhaoxiang, the poet Ni Daoxian, and the scholar Hu Tianlu, all of whom later wrote prefaces or postfaces for Zheng’s Mulian script.2 The respect Zheng Zhizhen enjoyed in local society may in part explain why his examination failures did not turn him into a rebel or a forerunner of Wu Jingzi (1701–54), the unconventional scholar who wrote a novel satirizing examination culture after failing the examinations (as well as for other reasons).3 Our playwright appears to have practiced geomancy, but he never turned against his youthful aspirations, as revealed in a fascinating episode in his Mulian libretto.4 The story concerns an arrogant xiucai (popular term for a shengyuan scholar), a self-proclaimed atheist who is interrogated by demons and gods (guishen) in the tenth hall of Hell for his disbelief in their existence. Eventually, the atheist gives in and turns into a believer. He is therefore sent back to the human world, still as a xiucai, with the admonition from the demons and gods: “Don’t be cocky, extend your virtue and aptitude. We hope you’ll pass all the examinations and become a first-rank official.” 5 Like Zheng Zhizhen, this “arrogant,” or rather “ardent” (kuang), xiucai views himself as good at both “polite letters and martial arts.” 6 He sings to Cakravartiraja, the king of the infernal tenth hall: “Everyone admires my natural endowments, my talent is unmatchable. It’s easy to command a big army. Heaven harbors sympathy with my failure. I understand why I’m still unknown in my forties.” 7 The playwright was try-

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ing to console himself: if he cannot succeed in the examinations in this life, he will wait for the next. Zheng Zhizhen was not portraying a megalomaniac here, but arguably was depicting himself, with a heart in anguish. Chen Zhaoxiang noted in a preface to his friend’s script, “I read the Opera for Goodness and learned how sad Master Zheng has been!” 8 The episode of the ardent xiucai also gives a hint of the mental (if not spiritual) transformation undergone by Zheng Zhizhen, perhaps as a consequence of his examination failure. The fictional agnostic xiucai turns into a theist. So did the playwright, turning as an adult to the otherworld, an eclectic realm of Buddho-Daoist beliefs and popular religion. Ye Zongchun noted in his 1612 epitaph for his father-in-law, “Frustrated in the examination hall many times, [Zheng Zhizhen] still adhered to the dao but wrote his treatises from within the ‘forest’ (linjian).” 9 Although the dao in this context refers to Confucian moral principles, linjian implies a Daoist attitude of withdrawal.10 This was a typical literati posture after failure in the examinations or in official careers. As an old saying has it, a man might be “a Confucianist in office and a Daoist out.” 11 But our playwright responded to the situation of being “out” in his own way. “In case one cannot make a contribution to the state,” Zheng Zhizhen said to his friend Hu Tianlu, ardently and arrogantly, “why not set a moral standard and establish a discourse to transmit instruction for offspring under Heaven?” 12 He himself continued to be a devoted son and a faithful friend to “set a moral standard.” And by composing the Opera for Goodness, he established an ethico-religious discourse “for offspring under Heaven.” Zheng Zhizhen lived up to Mencius’s ideal of “the true man” in a way that reflected both his personal experience and the general climate of the time. We will see how Huizhou mercantile lineage culture and the internal transformation of neo-Confucianism affected Zheng Zhizhen. Here we first briefly consider the religious renaissance of the sixteenth century, as this was a most visible feature of his script. For instance, one of the most important deities of sectarian religion, the Venerable Eternal Mother, appeared for the first time in the sixteenth century. Another example was the cult of Tanyangzi, a young woman visionary immortalized by the prominent scholarofficial Wang Shizhen (1526 –90).13 The most pervasive growth in religious practice, however, was the maturation of lineage culture, characterized by ancestral worship (as well as the rise of the female-chastity cult), in Huizhou in particular. The ancestral cult, as already explored in the previous chapters, was in part nourished by popular belief in the spirits and gods.14 Most notable was the mid-Ming rise of local pantheons, often headed by celebrated ancestors of local lineages and worshipped in actual Mulian performances (see Chapter 6). This religious upsurge was by no means isolated to folk superstitions. Many Ming-Qing scholars, facing the extraordinarily

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competitive civil service examinations, turned to the supernatural in hope of divine blessings, ignoring Zhu Xi’s teaching on atheism. As illustrated in the late-Ming novel, the Journey to the South, the god Huaguang was worshipped by students aspiring to examination success as well as by merchants.15 Zhu Yuanzhang, the founding emperor of the Ming dynasty, also believed in spirits. His top adviser, Song Lian (1310 – 81), even argued that Confucian scholars who “point to ghosts and spirits as unknowable” also “come close to betraying the Confucian classics.” 16 Zhu Yuanzhang offered sacrifices to “unattended ghosts,” dividing these intangible wandering spirits into twelve categories. In 1370, he further ordered that Litan (ghost altars) be built throughout the empire, from the capital down to every village, leading to the construction of millions of ghost altars all over the realm.17 Central to the religious renaissance was the syncretism of the Three Teachings and popular cults, which became a dominant feature of lateMing culture, in the south in particular.18 Most representatives of each teaching now proclaimed the unity of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism, which was encouraged by the Ming emperors. Zhu Yuanzhang wrote an essay “On the Three Teachings” and thus lent weighty support to eclectic forces in society.19 So did his imperial descendants. The Jiajing emperor (reigned 1522 – 66) was particularly fascinated with Daoism, fostering considerable attention at court on Daoist skills, such as prayer writing. Some half of the sixteen Ming emperors died after taking Daoist elixirs of immortality. However, the Wanli emperor (reigned 1573–1619), under the influence of his devout Buddhist mother, contributed to what has been described as a pendulum swing of Buddhist restoration in the sixteenth century. Wang Yangming, the leading philosopher of Ming neo-Confucianism, went to Mount Jiuhua (in the Huizhou region) twice to study Chan Buddhism, and his followers showed a marked interest in mystical experience of the Chan tradition.20 Yuan Huang (1533–1606), a Confucian scholarofficial from Wang Yangming’s home province, Zhejiang, under the influence of a Buddhist monk, came to advocate Daoist moral guidebooks (ledgers of merit and demerit) to encourage goodness and reproach evildoing. In his autobiographical essay, “Determining Your Own Fate,” Yuan claims that his success in the examinations and even the birth of his first son were the result of ledger use; and he drew on the five Confucian classics to justify his belief in supernatural retribution.21 The “four great Ming monks”—Zhuhong (1535 –1615) of Zhejiang, Zhenke (1543–1603) of southern Jiangsu, Deqing (1566 –1623) of Anhui, and Zhixu (1599 –1655) of southern Jiangsu (who once preached Buddhism at Mount Jiuhua)— were all Chan Buddhists with strong syncretic leanings.22 The heyday of syncretism was marked by the rise of the Three-Teachings Cult, led by the Fujianese Lin Zhao’en (1517–98) with several thousand disciples.23 But for

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Lin Zhao’en, the Three Teachings were ultimately unified under Confucianism. Lin believed that “the Three Teachings are identical” (sanjiao yizhi) ontologically and epistemologically, but in practice the Three Teachings were “unified into one by returning to Confucianism and honoring Confucius.” 24 So it was for Zheng Zhizhen, Lin Zhao’en’s contemporary. In the late sixteenth century, perhaps no one could have done a better synthesizing job than this committed Confucian scholar from the “Southeastern Zou-Lu,” the land of the famous Daoist Mount Qiyun and Buddhist Mount Jiuhua. For our playwright, the synthesis of Buddhism and Daoism, as well as belief in “ghosts and gods,” provided not an alternative to Confucianism but a complement. As the arrogant xiucai does not give up the pursuit of examination fame after turning into a theist, Zheng Zhizhen did not lose his Confucian commitment to the ordering of social life even after he withdrew from the examinations and became religious-minded. Zheng employed a new approach, however. He was attracted by the Buddhist story of Mulian’s rescue of his mother. The operatic performance of the story, probably based upon segments of “folk” manuscripts, was then popular in Huizhou and called for a systematic script.25 The result was the three-volume Mulian opera, which Zheng composed for “exhorting goodness” and “inculcating virtues through [performed] images.” 26 Indeed, this script best illustrates the Confucian syncretism of the frustrated but still “prominent scholar” (shiru) in local society.27 Popular syncretism (including belief in demons and gods) characterizes the first full-length Mulian script, which in turn characterizes the mental transformation Zheng Zhizhen underwent after failing in the examination hall, as his friends Chen Zhaoxiang and Ni Daoxian noted in their comments on Zheng’s script.28 But no one said it better than the playwright himself: In my youth I studied Confucius and cherished the high ideal of the Spring and Autumn Annals. It is regrettable that my scholarship did not conform to conventional fashions, and my aspirations were not fulfilled. I then became tired of the examination hall, and my mind wandered in the realm beyond. While staying in Shanxi village in Qiupu [Shitai county], I compiled stories of Mulian’s rescue of his mother and edited them into three volumes of Opera for Goodness. I set it to music and songs so that people with ears are all able to hear it, and set it to images so that people with eyes are all able to see it. With this, not only can the average people comprehend [the meaning of] parting and reunion, sorrow and joy, rise and fall, encouragement and punishment. Even foolish men and foolish women (yufu yufu), being terrified and with a deep sense of pity, will also be moved to tears. Being inspired and awakened, they will understand [the meaning of my opera]. Isn’t it an additional aid to the exhortation of the good?! . . . When Pangeng moved to Yin, people were hardly suited to a new living situation. [Pangeng] therefore frightened them with the way of the gods (shendao) —this is what Pangeng had to do. I studied Confucius,

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but my learning has no use for this world. So I [have chosen to] frighten people with the way of the demons (guidao)—this is what I have to do. As you know, after being frightened, people will be awakened and willing to reshape [themselves], and then become good. Now my heart, with my aspiration to follow Confucius, can be slightly consoled.29

Here is a statement of Zheng’s Confucian outlook, which was nevertheless mingled with his new interest in “the realm beyond,” a syncretized spiritual world. Needless to say, this eclectic stance guided the writing of his script. But if Zheng’s spiritual world can be defined by the Mulian opera, this committed Confucian scholar still redefined the tradition of Mulian performance. Zheng Zhizhen’s Opera for Goodness is composed of one hundred scenes, according to its table of contents. It is divided into three volumes, designed for a three-night performance, the most popular format at the time.30 Each night starts with a short opening scene, outlining its main contents and announcing its instructive and moral intentions. For instance, at the beginning of Volume Two the audience is told, “Operatic performance [serves to] uphold ethical instructions, long songs [are intended to] move human hearts.” 31 All three volumes end happily, epitomizing the aesthetic optimism of traditional Chinese literature.32 The script is written in a refined vernacular prose, laced with classical allusions in its dialogue, with a substantial number of poems tuned to various popular music patterns. It was not a literary work accessible only to the educated, however. Zheng Zhizhen wrote for ordinary people, even though he did not give up his own standards. Mistaken characters in the script are all homophone mistakes, most likely resulting from the printing rather than the composing process.33 Indeed, homophone errors make little difference to the audience. But the script is readable both in terms of its literary value and its portrayal of social life. The main story line is still about Mulian’s rescue of his mother, but other roles, including Mulian’s father, Fu Xiang; Mulian’s fiancée, Cao Saiying; and servants of the Fu house are also vividly characterized. The second half of the opera appears to be an extension of the Mulian “transformation text” description of the underworld (with expanded functions of Hell), whereas the first half is concerned with contemporary secular society, especially the family of Fu Luobu (the original and secular name of Mulian) and their surrounding world. The first volume starts with a jubilant New Year’s celebration and a longevity party for Mulian’s father. Fu Luobu, a devoted young son, takes good care of his parents and the zhengchang rituals to ancestors. His father, Fu Xiang, is a scholarly elder who obeys the “Mandate of Heaven” by giving out generous alms. His mother, Liu Qingti (or Liu Sizhen), is a worthy lady who has spent half her life in assisting her husband (scene 2). One day in

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the early spring, a Buddhist monk (seng) and a Daoist priest (dao) come over to pay tribute to Fu Xiang for his reputation of giving generous charity.34 After showing the two guests through halls of the Fu house, the (Confucian) Leshan Hall, the (Buddhist) Guanyin Hall, and the (Daoist) Sanguan Hall, Fu Xiang talks to the two about the sacred books, the Buddhist Huayan jing, the Daoist Daode jing, and the Confucian Four Books and Five Classics. They agree that the Three Teachings have developed different approaches to the same goal—the “cultivation of the mind” (scene 3). At the same time, two nuns come to visit Madame Liu, who gives them some alms. The nuns try to talk her into practicing Buddhism and “cultivating the mind.” Madame Liu appears to be a bit reluctant to follow them (scene 4). The script then shifts to the larger community surrounding the Fu family, including various poor people. Fu Xiang asks Luobu and his servant Yili to give charity to them (scene 5). After these scenes portraying various aspects of contemporary social life, the script shifts from this world to the otherworld. The Daoist Three Officers of Heaven, Earth, and Water report Fu Xiang’s benevolence to the heavenly court. The Jade Emperor is deeply moved, issuing an edict to immortalize Fu Xiang (scene 6). Ending Fu Xiang’s earthly life, King Yama registers him in the city-god temple of his native town, Wangshe (scenes 7 and 8).35 While burning incense in the yard and making blessings to the emperor, people, and the state, Fu Xiang suddenly faints (scene 10). He realizes that he will soon “return to spring and earth” (that is, die), so he enjoins Luobu and Madame Liu to give generous alms to the sengdao and common people, obey the Daoist Three Officers, eat vegetarian food, and pray to Buddha and read sutras. Madame Liu swears to follow her husband’s injunctions (scene 11). Luobu, in deep grief, arranges to have Buddhist monks and Daoist priests perform the funeral rite for his father. It turns out to be a Daoist funeral, involving rites for releasing various types of “wandering ghosts,” including those of prisoners, hanged women, drowned girls, and people who died of starvation or were killed by tigers or snakes (scene 12). After the funeral, Fu Xiang ascends to Heaven as an immortal (scene 13). Abruptly inserted here are two popular scenes about the romance between the monk Benwu and the nun Jingxu (scenes 14 and 15), discussed in the opening episode of Chapter 3. Perhaps Zheng Zhizhen wanted to switch the audience’s attention to the darker side of human society, because the governing theme of the opera is both to encourage goodness and punish evil. Fu Xiang is immortalized for his virtuous deeds. While ascending to Heaven, he sees the horrible sufferings of evil people in Hell. The two entertaining scenes of the monk-and-nun romance are followed by Madame Liu’s violation of her husband’s deathbed injunction. At first, Madame Liu

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is still quite reluctant when her brother Liu Jia and her female servant Jinnu tempt her into eating meat; but eventually she gives in. To avoid arguments with her son, she sends Luobu, together with the loyal servant Yili, out to do business (scenes 16 and 17). What follows are stories about bad people that unfold both in Luobu’s hometown and on his travels. First, two swindlers named Zhang Wuyou and Jia Yiren cheat Luobu (scenes 18 and 19). Then, Madame Liu, having finally agreed to eat meat, sends her male servant Antong out to buy pork, goat, fish, and poultry. Antong argues over the prices with a local vendor (scene 20). On the road, Luobu finds Zhang Wuyou and Jia Yiren lying dead, having been killed by Lord Thunder and Mother Lightning for their swindling (scenes 21 and 22). At home, Madame Liu is feasting on forbidden food and watching a puppet play featuring a song called “Ten Not-So-Dears” (Shi buqin; scene 23). Instigated again by the evil Jinnu, Madame Liu humiliates monks by sending them meat buns after “a monk and a priest” and a nun admonished her for eating meat (scene 24). Moreover, Madame Liu, this time instigated by her evil brother Liu Jia, orders the Fu family’s tenant farmers to burn down the Huiyuan bridge and the zhaifang hall (where monks are fed with vegetarian food; scene 25). She refuses to listen to Elder Li, an old friend of Fu Xiang, who comes over to remind her of her husband’s deathbed injunctions and try to talk her into observing the Confucian “three obediences” (sancong) of women (scene 26). On the road, two Daoist priests condemn greed, while praising Luobu for “sacrificing wealth to righteousness.” For his virtue, Luobu earns the protection of the two popular gods of wealth, Hanshan and Shide, who help conclude his business transaction so that he can return home quickly (scene 27). On his way home, Luobu is captured by a group of bandits led by Zhang Youda and Li Chunyuan. But Guanyin shows up and rescues Luobu by converting the bandits, who later become Mulian’s “ten friends” (scenes 28, 29, and 30).36 Back home, Madame Liu misses her son very much, for Luobu has been away for three years (scene 31). Finally, Luobu returns home, and the first volume ends happily with “the reunification of mother and son” (scene 32). The second volume starts with a longevity party held for Luobu’s mother. At the party, the pious Luobu proffers his father’s exhortation: “There are clearly spirits and gods under Heaven, our morals stress the ethical relationships with the emperor and relatives. . . . Be loyal and filial. Provide alms for Buddhist monks and Daoist priests, the orphaned and the poor. Eat vegetarian food and worship the gods.” He proposes to repair the Huiyuan bridge and the Buddhist vegetarian hall, to which his mother agrees (scene 2).37 Now, Madame Liu appears to repent for having broken her vows. She orders Jinnu and Antong to bury in the yard the bones of an-

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imals she has eaten to prevent a quarrel with her son. But the earth god and the stove lord are watching (scene 6). Luobu, of course, continues to practice charity, giving alms to monks and priests, a blind person, a poor devoted son, and a prostitute and even her procuress, who, with Luobu’s help, eventually turn to the Buddha and become nuns (scene 7).38 Meanwhile, the stove lord and the earth god are preparing to punish Madame Liu for having “deliberately violated her vow [to obey her husband’s deathbed injunction], profaned the Daoist Three Officers, and eaten the five types of meat.” The stove lord reports Madame Liu’s sins to the Jade Emperor, who orders Yama to end her life. Yama thereupon dispatches his demon-bailiffs to capture her soul (scenes 9, 10, and 11). In the yard, Madame Liu makes a false vow to Luobu that she has never violated her husband’s injunctions, but the earth where Jinnu and Antong have buried bones suddenly breaks open, and the bones are all exposed. Madame Liu faints, with blood pouring out of her qikong (seven orifices— eyes, ears, nose, and mouth; scene 12). Luobu immediately calls in a physician (scene 13), but the will of Heaven is inexorable. The city god has already registered Madame Liu (along with the monk Benwu and the nun Jingxu). She soon dies a deserved death, for she has “profaned ghosts and spirits.” The city god decrees that Madame Liu be sent to Hell to suffer (and Benwu and Jingxu be turned into an ass and a pig, respectively; scene 14). The death of Madame Liu is the climax of the second night’s performance and more dramatic than her husband’s departure the first night. Subsequent scenes are mostly about the journey of her soul through the underworld and about Luobu’s journey to the Western Paradise to rescue his mother. Before setting out, Madame Liu’s soul revisits the Fu house (huisha); it can enter the house only through the roof, not through the door, because the door gods do not let this evil woman in (scene 15). After the huisha, Madame Liu’s soul is brought to the Broken Money Mountain. In the dark realm there are three mountains made of different kinds of “money” for three different types of people: the Golden Money Mountain for the best people, the Silver Money Mountain for good people, and the Broken Money Mountain for evil people (scene 16).39 At home, in deep mourning for his mother, Luobu is likened to one of the well-known twenty-four exemplars of filial devotion. He paints a portrait of his mother, putting into it all his love for her (scene 17). To test his devotion, one of Guanyin’s companions, Shancai (Sudhana), incarnated as a “wild Daoist,” stains the portrait. The beautiful Dragon Maid, another companion of Guanyin, also shows up to test Luobu’s virtue by trying to seduce him. Luobu responds to the seduction by reminding her of the Confucian “four virtues and three obediences” (side sancong) of women. Satisfied, the Dragon Maid rewards him with a poem written on a lotus leaf, from

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which he learns that Madame Liu has fallen into the inferno. The poem also indicates to Luobu that Guanyin will help him, but he needs first go to the Western Paradise to meet Buddha in order to rescue his mother (scene 18). In the underworld, demon-bailiffs bring Madame Liu to the Slippery Oil Mountain, for in her previous life she used “fat” instead of “pure” oil to light the lantern in front of the Buddha. The mountain is so “slippery” that no one can possibly climb it—in falling, one’s body will be smashed to pieces (scene 19). In the human world, an imperial edict arrives awarding Luobu the position of prefect due to his filial piety and righteousness (scene 20). Luobu declines the offer, as he is determined to go to the Western Paradise to save his mother (scene 21). In the underworld, Madame Liu is brought to the Looking Home Terrace (wangxiang tai) built for good people so that they can see their hometowns after they pass away. But Madame Liu cannot see her home, for like other evil people with “black hearts,” “black clouds” block her vision (scene 22). In the human world, Luobu decides to break off his engagement with Miss Cao Saiying to ready himself for the journey to the Western Heaven; he enjoins Yili to take care of the Fu house and Miss Cao and to continue the tradition of charity (scenes 23 and 24). When Luobu sets off, Guanyin orders four heavenly marshals—Ma, Wen, Zhao, and Guan—to capture a White Ape, who, after being tamed, blazes a trail for Luobu (scenes 25 and 26). On the road, Luobu worries about how to carry both Buddhist sutras and the portrait of his mother (symbolizing, of course, the Confucian value of filial devotion), which should be put in the front of the carrying pole. Eventually, he decides to carry the pole crosswise so that neither end is behind his back (scene 27). In the underworld, Madame Liu is being brought to the Naihe Bridge. There are separate bridges in the inferno for three types of people: the Golden Bridge for filial sons, loyal officials, and chaste women; the Silver Bridge for Buddhist monks and nuns, Daoist priests, and lay believers; and the Naihe Bridge for evil people.40 No one can cross the Naihe Bridge safely, and those who fall off are attacked by copper snakes or iron dogs (scene 28). In the human world, in the Black Pine Forest, Guanyin shows up, incarnated as a beautiful girl to test Luobu’s determination. When he again does not weaken, Guanyin gives him advice for the rescue of his mother (scene 29). In the underworld, Madame Liu, along with her brother Liu Jia, is brought to the “Gate of Heaven” (which is the “Gate of Hell” for evil people), where she watches the loyal official Guang Guoqing, the devoted son An Yuming, and the chaste woman Geng Xinzhen being elevated to Heaven while she herself waits to fall into Hell (scene 30).41 The remaining scenes concern Luobu’s journey to the Western Heaven, including “Crossing the Icy Lake,” “Climbing Fire Mountain,” and “Crossing Sand River” (scenes 31, 32, and 33),42 analogies to which can also be found in the Jour-

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ney to the West. The second volume ends happily with Luobu’s reunification with his “ten friends” in the Western Heaven and with his conversion to Buddhism. Luobu is now renamed Damuqianlian, that is, Mulian (scene 34). The third night’s performance starts with a lecture on the Way given by the living Buddha to Mulian (and his “ten friends”). “The Buddhist way is the Confucian way,” the Buddha announces; “Buddha lies in one’s mind.” He advises Mulian to meditate, after which he will learn the whereabouts of his mother (scene 2). In the human world, there is another New Year’s party, this time at the house of Luobu’s fiancée, Cao Saiying. Not long afterward, Saiying’s father, Vice Minister of Revenue Cao Xianzhong, receives an imperial edict. Xianzhong (“devoted loyalty”), joined by his son, sets off to bring provisions to the army, which is being harassed by “barbarians” on the western frontier. Only Saiying, with her servant Meixiang and her stepmother, stays home (scene 3). In the underworld, Madame Liu runs into her servant Jinnu (scene 4). By now, Mulian has completed his meditation, and he is able to see his father living happily in Heaven while his mother is suffering in Hell. To help Mulian rescue his mother from Hell, the Buddha gives him two divine tools: a pewter staff that can unlock all the doors in Hell and a pair of straw sandals whose wearer can fly through the inferno (scene 5). The stories that unfold thereafter concern Mulian’s heroic journey through the ten halls of Hell, his fiancée’s bitter lot in this world, and her equally heroic commitment to Fu Luobu. Although Zheng Zhizhen’s version of the “ten halls of Hell” (scenes 6, 7, 11, 14, 16, 20, 22, 25, and 26) expands on the medieval account of the inferno as described in transformation texts, the function of Hell has been altered to punish people who have committed secular sins, as will be discussed later. The entirely new story of Miss Cao, like many others, reflects both Zheng Zhizhen’s taste and Huizhou mercantile lineage culture (see Part 3). On the day of the Qingming festival, on her way to sweep the grave of her mother, Miss Cao runs into Lord Jia. Attracted by her beauty, Jia sends a matchmaker to Cao’s stepmother, who accepts his proposal to marry Saiying. But Miss Cao is loyal to Luobu. She runs away and cuts off her hair to become a nun (scenes 8, 9, 10, 12, 13, 15, and 18). On his way back from the western frontier, Cao Xianzhong, his son having been killed in battle, runs into his daughter in her nunnery. He is sorely grieved. Still, he commends Saiying for her commitment to Luobu (scene 19).43 Mulian’s journey in the underworld is not without difficulty. During his search in the first five halls, Mulian fails even to see his mother. Only after he flies back to Buddha (scene 17) and receives forty-nine (7 times 7) “divine lanterns” can he see his mother in the sixth hall (scene 20).44 Fu Xiang

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also tries to save his wife but does not succeed (scene 21). Eventually, Mulian learns from the king of the tenth hall that his mother, according to the law of karmic retribution, has been turned into a dog in the human world, and Mulian returns to this world to look for her in her canine form.45 At this critical point, Guanyin shows up again, telling Mulian where to find his mother: in front of the “lofty rock” in the islet at the entrance to Qingxi (the playwright’s home village; scenes 26 and 28). Upon seeing Mulian, the dog runs to Cao Saiying’s nunnery, so Mulian is able to find not only his mother but his fiancée as well (scenes 29 and 30). The third and final volume ends happily in a great Yulanpen ritual held on the Zhongyuan festival.46 Mulian, along with his “ten friends,” Miss Cao, and Yili, stages the ritual to bring his mother to salvation and, in the process, to relieve all “wandering spirits and wild ghosts” (guhun yegui; scenes 31, 32, 33, and 34). The Jade Emperor awards various titles: Mulian’s mother becomes “Madame of Exhorting Goodness”; his father, “Great Master of Exhorting Goodness”; Yili, “Guard of Celestial Gates”; Miss Cao, “Celestial Maiden of Chastity and Integrity”; and Mulian, “Great Bodhisattva of Benevolence and Filial Piety.”

An Ethico-Religious Discourse Zheng Zhizhen’s script differs substantially from previous versions, including the Tang-dynasty transformation texts, the Yuan-dynasty lecture text on the “Mulian Rescues His Mother” sutra, and Yuan-Ming Mulian “precious scroll” texts, which are all distinctively Buddhist documents. The Mulian story is now fully sinicized. The script combines stories about secular social life and the religious otherworld in a harmonious way, confidently juxtaposing and discussing Hell and Heaven, supernatural beings and human ethics, entertainment and inculcation, and goodness and evil. This symmetry of opposing forces represents aesthetic and philosophical principles that were central to Chinese culture. More important, the Mulian tradition is now thoroughly Confucianized. At issue is not just the dramatic expansion of the Mulian story, from a thirty-page transformation text to a three-volume operatic script. Nor is it just the change in genres, from the lecture format to ritual opera performance (which is nevertheless significant for further popularizing the story, as will be discussed in Part 3). The issue that distinguishes Zheng’s script from all previous Mulian texts is the new socioreligious values represented in the newly enriched and newly added stories. Reflecting the intellectual climate of sixteenth-century China in general and Huizhou mercantile lineage culture in particular, Zheng Zhizhen remade the Mulian tradition by perfecting a Confucian ethico-religious discourse.

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The governing theme of the script is quanshan cheng’e: to encourage goodness and punish evil according to the law of supernatural retribution. In the simplest terms, the law was based on the belief that a supernatural force inevitably recompenses human behavior in a rational manner: it rewards certain good deeds and punishes evil ones. Such a view of supernatural retribution is often attributed to the Buddhist and, later, Daoist traditions.47 However, the concept of moral retribution or fate has been a fundamental aspect of Chinese thought since the beginning of recorded history. It dominates Zhou-dynasty documents, including those later incorporated in the Confucian canon of the Five Classics, namely, the Book of Documents, Book of Songs, Book of Changes, Book of Rites, and Spring and Autumn Annals (and its commentaries). The idea that humans are responsible for doing good for its own sake seemed to start with Confucius (551– 479 b.c.e.), and especially with Mencius (fourth century b.c.e.). This line of thinking, however, did not become orthodox until the formation of Cheng-Zhu neo-Confucianism in the Song. The agnostic position was highlighted in the philosophy of Zhu Xi and continued in the ideas of Wang Yangming.48 Yet the view of “fate” as moral retribution continued to prosper in popular culture as well as in the minds of Confucian literati. The lateMing revival of interest in the Five Classics contributed to the rise of Qing intellectualism (evidential scholarship) and helped justify popular belief in moral retribution. When Confucian scholars reconciled their belief in the supernatural with the orthodox line of Zhu Xi’s neo-Confucianism, they could always appeal to the tradition of the Five Classics, as Zheng Zhizhen (and Yuan Huang) did in the late sixteenth century.49 The concept of “goodness” or “evil” is certainly not foreign to Confucian concerns. Confucius once remarked to Laozi, “Goodness and duty are indeed natural to man. . . . To have a heart without guile [is goodness] / To love all men without partiality [is duty].” 50 Of greater consequence for later Chinese thought is the position of Mencius, who argued for the essential goodness of human nature. In the Song dynasty, Zhu Xi recorded “good exemplary deeds” (shanxing) of historical figures in the Outer Chapter of Elementary Learning to “substantiate Lijiao (Establishing the educational process), Minglun (Clarifying human relationships) and Jingshen (Being serious about self-cultivation).” 51 Understandably, Zhu Xi’s remote disciple Zheng Zhizhen preferred to cite Confucius (but not the Buddhist or Daoist traditions) to justify his composition of An Opera for Goodness: Confucius appreciated the essence of the Three Dynasties, but was not in a position to carry out his political teachings. Therefore, drawing on the history of the State of Lu, [he] compiled the Spring and Autumn Annals to commend goodness (baoshan) and reproach evil (bian’e). If goodness is commended, people will love to do it. If evil is reproached, people will be frightened and avoid doing it. Therefore, it is said, “Confucius completed the Spring and Autumn Annals and struck terror into hearts

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of rebellious subjects and undutiful sons.” This is not to frighten people with power; this is rather [based on] the Way of the mind of our people. . . . But those who can be frightened with the Way still possess the aptitude of average people. Foolish men and foolish women inferior to the average are obscured, and those the Way cannot frighten are of great number. Moreover, society is under intense change, and ancient standards [of manners and morals] are daily on the decline.52

So Zheng Zhizhen encouraged goodness and frightened people away from evil in “the way of the demons and gods.” He shows how the demons and gods engineered rewards and punishments, while at the same time uses Confucian criteria to define goodness and evil. This seamless convergence of Confucian values and the syncretic pantheon of the organized and popular religions characterizes the ethicoreligious discourse of the first full-length Mulian script. Guishen (“demons and gods” or “ghosts and spirits”) watch people all the time, in Heaven, on earth, and in the underworld, examining their tiniest acts and innermost thoughts for hints of evil. No one can escape the supernatural overseers. “Blue heaven cannot be cheated, demons and gods know every scheme as soon as it enters one’s mind,” Lord Thunder and Mother Lightning sing right before they set out to punish the two swindlers Zhang and Jia. “We urge you not to commit any misdeed, as no [evil] person can escape from [the punishment] of Mother Lightning and Lord Thunder.” 53 When a demon-bailiff accuses Madame Liu of making false vows on her way to Looking Home Terrace, she murmurs in fear: “How could the nether world know everything I’ve said?” To this the demon-bailiff replies: “Haven’t you heard that a whispered conversation in the human world sounds like thunder [in the otherworld]?!” 54 Later, Madame Liu learns from her own sufferings in Hell that “inescapable is the net of Heaven-and-Earth, most fearful are ox-headed and horse-faced [demons].” 55 The Chinese guishen world was fundamentally a hierarchical bureaucracy patterned after the earthly one.56 At the top, as reflected in Zheng’s script (and other novels and dramas), was the Jade Emperor, originally a Daoist god, supported by numerous Buddho-Daoist deities (including the kings of the ten infernal halls), semihuman and semisupernatural heroes (including the four heavenly marshals), semifolk and semiofficial deities such as the city god and earth god, down to the stove lord and the lowliest ox-headed, horse-faced, and snake-bodied jailers and demon-bailiffs. (In actual performance of Mulian in local communities, as will be seen in Part 3, this ecumenical pantheon was replaced by a localized one; but the two were isometric in terms of their hierarchical structure.) 57 “The laws governing yin (the dark realm) and yang (human society) are identical,” the infernal judge and demon-bailiffs announce in one voice right before they outline the Yama kings of the ten infernal halls and the main institutions they

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staff.58 By linking the yin and yang realms with the same structure and rules, the purgatorial Hell looks enormously frightening, particularly for the poor and weak—the vast majority of the “foolish men and foolish women.” 59 Certain established expressions about the omnipresence of demons and gods were popularized through Mulian performance and exerted a tremendous impact upon the consciousness of ordinary people, according to an early-Republican gazetteer of Qimen county.60 The most important examples of these popular beliefs include the following three: (1) “If Yama decrees that [you] die in the third watch, [you] cannot survive to the fifth.” (2) “The demons know every scheme as soon as it occurs to one, blue Heaven cannot be cheated. Good or evil will be responded in the end, [retribution] will come along sooner or later.” (3) “The demons and gods are shapeless and voiceless, and people don’t see or hear [them]. But remember that evil will be severely punished. Never scheme.” 61 Most frightening in Zheng’s script (and even more so in the performance) is the description of the punishments meted out to various types of evil people in the inferno. The dark world is dramatically expanded, and it is no longer distinctively Buddhist. Added to the Naihe Bridge, mentioned in the medieval Mulian transformation text, are new infernal landmarks, such as the Broken Money Mountain, the Slippery Oil Mountain, the Looking Home Terrace, and the Gate of Hell. (Some of these infernal landmarks, as their names imply, reflected socioeconomic developments from the late Tang to the late Ming and signified new sociocultural meanings that might especially appeal to Huizhou people.) The purgatorial hell itself was an eighteen-tiered complex composed of ten halls, ruled by ten Yama kings (shidian yanwang). The concept of the ten kings of the Chinese purgatory was not new; it was already in place in Song times.62 But its complete, or nearly complete, presentation in a ritual opera appears to have been a new development.63 King Qinguang of the first hall rules the Hill of Knives and Forest of Swords; King Chujiang of the second controls the Copper Mill and Iron Tilt Hammer. In the third hall, King Songdi is in charge of the Bed of Nails and the Lake of Blood; in the fourth, King Wuguan commands the Cauldron of Oil and the Copper Pillar. The lord of the fifth hall is perhaps the most frightening—King Yama rules the Iron City with the Mirror of Karma (yejing), which can dispense the karmic retribution based on one’s deeds, thoughts, and words in a previous life. But the deepest inferno is the Avici, ruled by King Biancheng of the sixth hall, housing the Body-Saw and Tongue-Cutter. In the seventh, ruled by King Taishan, we find the Black City of Shadowy Fiends with the Fire Wheel; in the ninth, headed by King Dushi, are the Iced Water and Black Wind. Finally, King Zhuanlun of the tenth is responsible for meting out retribution: evildoers are reborn into animals, whereas good people are reborn as humans.64

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figure 4.1 Unfilial son Zhao is being judged in the first hall of Hell. Source: MLZZ, 3.12b.

Zheng Zhizhen reformulated the function of Hell. The inferno in his Mulian was designed mainly to punish evil people who committed sins that contravened the Confucian cardinal virtues. In Zheng Zhizhen’s version of purgatory, the first evil person who deserves punishment in the first hall is an unfilial son surnamed Zhao. Zhao even beats his parents when drunk. “Without your father, how could have you been born? Without your mother, how could have you grown up?” King Qinguang grills Zhao before ordering demon-bailiffs to beat him. “Demon-bailiffs,” all demon-bailiffs shout in one voice upon hearing this order from King Qinguang, “throw this evil man to the Hill of Knives and Forest of Swords to lacerate his body.” At this point Zhao cries out, “I am an example for those un-filial sons still living in the human world” (Figures 4.1 and 4.2).65 The second evil

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figure 4.2 The Forest of Swords in Hell. Source: MLZZ, 3.13a.

person facing the bodily laceration is Madame Qian, an irreverent woman who often beats and curses her parents-in-law. Being told of her fate, she says, “I am an example for irreverent daughters-in-law.” After this episode, Madame Liu is brought to the first hall. Because she has committed a special kind of sin (as described later), she must suffer all kinds of torment throughout the ten halls of the eighteen-tiered Hell.66 In the second hall, before Madame Liu shows up, a rapacious wine shopkeeper and a lascivious adulteress are being thrown into the ten-thousand-pound Copper Mill and thousand-pound Iron Tilt Hammer and are being ground into dust (Figure 4.3). Shopkeeper Sun murdered one customer for his money, and adulteress Li killed her own husband after she committed adultery.67 In the third hall, after Mulian’s mother saw evil people being scorched on the Bed of

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figure 4.3 The ten-thousand-pound Copper Mill in Hell. Source: MLZZ, 3.16a.

Nails (Figure 4.4) and their scorched bones being thrown into the Lake of Blood (Figure 4.5), a chicken-thief, gluttonous woman Xi Zaizhen, is thrown into the Lake of Blood.68 The scene in the fourth hall is simpler than earlier ones, but no less frightening: a male arsonist and a female thief are fried in the Cauldron of Oil (Figure 4.6).69 Most awe inspiring is the yejing mirror in the fifth hall, commanded by the black-faced King Yama, the best-known and most terrifying of ten infernal kings. Zheng Gengfu, an infernal criminal (guifan) accused of taking liberties with his stepmother, complains to Yama of having been unjustly charged. Yama orders him taken to the Mirror of Karma (Figure 4.7). What the mirror reveals is that Madame Wang, Zheng’s stepmother, has framed Zheng. She deliberately daubed honey on her hair, then invited Zheng to

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figure 4.4 The Bed of Nails in Hell. Source: MLZZ, 3.24b.

join her in the garden near his father’s tower, and meanwhile secretly plotted for his father to watch them. Seeing bees flying over her hair, Zheng ran over to drive them away. But his father was outraged by this seeming impropriety and immediately ordered Zheng to kill himself. Learning the true story, Yama sends the wronged filial son to Heaven and orders to Hell the soul of then forty-year-old Madame Wang, who, according to the infernal register of human life, could have lived for sixty-two years.70 Another case of injustice being corrected through the divine mirror concerns the devout woman Chen Guiying. Accused of adultery by her mother-in-law, Shen, Chen killed herself rather than expose the true story: Madame Shen was having an affair so she forced Chen to follow suit. Naturally, the devout woman is elevated to paradise, while Shen is locked in the Iron City to suf-

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I

figure 4.5 The Lake of Blood in Hell. Source: MLZZ, 3.25a.

fer.71 The divine mirror turns purgatory into the ultimate court, which is at the same time the supernatural execution ground. No human can possibly hide from divine justice. In the following five halls, attention shifts back to the sufferings of Madame Liu and Mulian’s effort to rescue her. But the message is already clear by now: evil people who commit sins in this world will be punished in the otherworld. As Zheng Zhizhen’s city-god character states, “People are foolish—they are not devoted to their parents; they do not believe in divine power. So we let Mulian go to the dark realm looking for his mother, traveling through the tiered Hell to show people [how the supernatural punishes evildoers].” 72 To those sins condemned by Buddhist teachings, Zheng Zhizhen added new crimes, including murder, theft, and arson, crimes that

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figure 4.6 The Cauldron of Oil in Hell. Source: MLZZ, 3.39a.

were against traditional Chinese law and threatened the peace of local community.73 Most notably, he also emphasized sins that violate Confucian teachings, such as a son’s unfiliality, a daughter-in-law’s irreverence, and a wife’s infidelity. This Confucian shift is probably best embodied in his identification of Madame Liu’s sin, which is critical to justify her punishments in the dark region and, in a sense, the entire Mulian performance. Zheng Zhizhen’s reformulation must be based on the previous definition of her sin, of course. For instance, although he never uses the Tang term ji guishen (see Chapter 3),74 Madame Liu’s meat eating is a sin, in keeping with the Tang transformation text. In late imperial times, however, eating meat was hardly considered a sin by the majority of the Mulian audience. Obviously aware of

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figure 4.7 The Mirror of Karma in Hell. Source: MLZZ, 3.44a.

this anachronism, Zheng Zhizhen makes Madame Liu complain to the demons and gods many times about this (which sets the stage for formulating her “real” sin). “Under Heaven, who else didn’t eat meat,” she complains to a demon-bailiff on the way to the Looking Home Terrace. “Why should only Liu Sizhen be fiercely tortured?!” 75 The audience made similar complaints, as expressed in couplets (xilian) pasted on the Mulian stage. Eight xilian of this kind, all from the Huizhou region, are extant.76 The famous literary critic Jin Shengtan (1608 – 61) is believed to have authored the original one, which he wrote after he watched a grand Mulian performance in Nanling: This old geezer [Fu Xiang] lavished but a few coins on food and alms for the monks; giving him a few extra years of life would

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have been sufficient. [Instead,] he was escorted into Heaven by the Golden Boy and the Jade Maiden: [even] the Jade Emperor favors the rich over the poor. That old biddy [Madame Liu] sneaked a few slices of meat, breaking her vegetarian vows; a slap or two in the face would have been enough. [Instead,] she was dragged down to Hell by ox-headed and horse-faced demons: [clearly] Yama cares more for animals than humans.

To this pair of vertical couplets Jin added a horizontal aphorism: “Ridiculous!” 77 The social sentiment mirrored in the couplets partly explains why new charges were added to Madame Liu’s sin account as early as during the Yuan dynasty. In the lecture on the “Mulian Rescues His Mother” sutra, she not only eats meat but also beats monks and makes a false vow to deceive her son (the last of which is in part inherited from the Tang transformation text).78 Violence, sacrilege, and perjury certainly make Madame Liu more punishable and are repeated and further substantiated in Zheng’s script. Madame Liu is now made to “burn down the vegetarian hall of monks,” “burn monks to death,” and “kill dogs to make buns to feed monks.” 79 What is entirely new in Zheng’s script, however, is Madame Liu’s violation of her husband’s deathbed injunction, which is treated as the greatest of all of her sins and the most deserving of punishment. Here the city god once again acts as a messenger, accusing Madame Liu of having “violated her husband’s injunction, been profane to the gods, killed dogs and eaten meat,” for which she must be “tortured in the tiered inferno.” 80 To enhance his Confucian sensibility, Zheng Zhizhen has Fu Xiang’s good friend Li Houde admonish Madame Liu, reminding her of her husband’s deathbed injunction, her son’s will to obey it, and the “three obediences” for women: to her father as a daughter, to her husband as a wife, and to her son as a widow.81 Zheng Zhizhen’s reformulation of Madame Liu’s sins reveals his personal preferences, but the new formulation could have survived only if it appealed to the audience—Huizhou lineage kinspeople. So did the entire Mulian performance. Our playwright was influenced by previous literature and contemporary operatic performance of Mulian, but his script is a new product, reflecting Huizhou culture and, especially, local lineage culture. Scene 29 in the second volume, “Black Pine Forest,” as already mentioned in Chapter 1, is set in High Crimson Peak in western Qimen, the home county of the playwright. His home village, too, is given a special role in illustrating the law of karmic retribution. It is in front of Zheng Zhizhen’s “lofty rock,” at the entrance to Qingxi, that Mulian finds the canine incarnation of his mother.82 And in front of an inn at the estuary of the Qingxi River, Yili sees the incarnation of Madame Liu’s evil brother.83

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The influence of Huizhou lineage culture is almost omnipresent. Upon hearing the distressed Yili repeating neighborhood gossip about her violation of vows, Madame Liu overreacts by ordering her son to penalize the servant according to the jiafa (family or lineage rules), which he has violated by talking about his mistress, even if only privately.84 In the scene titled “Robbers Remolded,” upon learning that a group of bandits is coming over to loot the Fu house, Madame Liu urges Fu Xiang to call upon “local militia.” She reasons that “our family has given financial help to the poor, and everyone appreciates [us].” But Fu Xiang, seeing that “the whole lineage is alarmed and worried” (juzu youjing), refuses to take defensive action. He says to Madame Liu, “[H]ow can we harm the villagers simply for protecting our wealth!” 85 Metaphors of social ties drawn from mundane Huizhou lineage life also applied to the otherworld. Mulian, having frequently been frustrated in his search for his mother in the first seven halls of Hell, is relieved in the eighth upon meeting an infernal warden named Liu Chuanfang, who happens to be a native of Wangshe, Mulian’s hometown. Seeing the possibility of getting his help because they both share “the same ancestor” (gongzong), Mulian tells him that he also comes from Wangshe, and his mother was born to “the Liu lineage under that paifang.” 86 The paifang memorial archways, like the chaste women and devoted sons whom they were built to commemorate, were of course the distinctive landmark of Huizhou (see Chapter 2). As mentioned previously, in Zheng’s version of the otherworld, loyal officials, filial sons, and chaste women are treated as the highest class of good people, to be followed by Buddhist monks and Daoist priests. Only good people have the privilege of seeing their home villages on the Looking Home Terrace, which was not an unimportant reward for kinspeople from Huizhou (Figure 4.8). Numerous celebrated ancestors, like other supernatural beings, were also watching the village-lineages in this beloved Shangri-la, day and night, from the otherworld. Zheng Zhizhen’s ultimate Confucian concern to reward virtue and punish evil mirrors the shan and e books maintained by local kinship groups.87 He theatricalized the ethical values most championed by local lineages, while at the same time giving them a divine aura and popular appeal. Virtually all Confucian cardinal virtues are advocated, and the characters who represent them all eventually ascend to Heaven. Mulian, or rather Fu Luobu, is above all a filial son. His filial devotion is not just symbolized in Mulian’s epic journey to save his mother from Hell but more concretely embodied in Luobu’s family life described in the first two volumes of the script. Mulian’s shamanistic power is rather less impressive than the moral authority of his filial devotion. Even armed with two divine tools—a pewter staff and a pair of straw sandals—Mulian is frequently frustrated in his search for his mother in the underworld. It is his “filial mind,” the versatile Guanyin tells

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figure 4.8 The Looking Home Terrace (wangxiang tai). The Jade Maiden escorts a good man and a devoted woman to the Terrace, while a demon bailiff blocks Madame Liu from ascending it. Source: MLZZ, 2.49b-50a.

the audience, that “moves Heaven and Earth” and thus enables him to rescue his mother.88 Here Zheng Zhizhen turns around the formulation of the Tang Mulian transformation text, which uses filial piety to popularize Buddhism, not vice versa. Needless to say, filial devotion, the ethical premise of the ancestral cult, was central to Huizhou lineage culture. “Filial piety is the foremost among the one hundred deeds,” states Luobu.89 The Daoist Celestial Master Zhang makes a similar statement, “Filial piety is the root of one hundred deeds.” 90 The exactly identical lines are stipulated in certain Huizhou lineage rules to encourage filial devotion.91 As Mulian spends sixteen years in rescuing his mother,92 Cheng Qilu of the early Qing, a devoted son from the Cheng lineage in Censhan where Cheng Ting witnessed Mulian performance in 1718, built a thatched cottage beside his mother’s grave and lived there for fourteen consecutive years until he died there.93 As Mulian braves all hardship in ten infernal halls to save his mother, Huizhou filial sons (as well as daughters-in-law), besides taking good care of their parents (and parents-in-law) in ordinary times, were willing to cut them-

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selves to make medicine for their ailing parents.94 Long lists of exemplary filial sons of local lineages, and of devoted chaste women, can be found in every edition of Huizhou gazetteers.95 Female chastity was also central to Huizhou patrilineal lineage culture and had been since the sixteenth century, when a large number of kinsmen left home for business for prolonged periods. The addition of a new story line of Miss Cao as a fiancée of merchant Luobu mirrors concurrent Huizhou mercantile lineage culture. As Chapter 5 will demonstrate, the chastity of Miss Cao is perhaps more distinctively a Huizhou phenomenon than Luobu as a filial son (if not as a merchant). The righteousness of the servant Yili, too, was critical to mercantile lineage culture; and the image conveyed new meanings as well. When Luobu is about to leave for the Western Heaven, Yili suggests that he bear the hardship of the journey on behalf of his master. To this Luobu disagrees, but entrusts to him the Fu household. After Luobu leaves, Yili is devoted to the charity programs Luobu has enjoined him to carry out and takes good care of Miss Cao after she becomes a nun.96 Yili seems to act like a retainer or manager of lineage estates (guanjia or zhangji), widely used in Huizhou by both lineages and wealthy merchants. Huizhou audiences, especially the bond-servants (who were involved in Mulian performance in various ways, as will be discussed in Chapter 6), might imagine that a servant as loyal as Yili could be promoted to the position of an estate manager and eventually be immortalized in Heaven. In sharp contrast, the evil servant of Madame Liu, Jinnu, is eventually punished in Hell. The formulation of Yili and Jinnu clearly helped enhance the control by lineages over their bond-servants. The image of a benevolent Fu Xiang also suggests the influence of Huizhou lineage culture. A Confucian elder who champions Buddhism and Daoism, Fu Xiang gives generous alms to monks and poor neighbors and sponsors the construction of bridges and Buddhist vegetarian halls. In these respects he appears to act like a lineage head, using lineage corporate wealth to assist poor kinsfolk in the neighborhood and to maintain good relations with local religious communities.97 Zheng Zhizhen’s script, in terms of its ethical values, can also be seen as a popular theatricalization of Zhu Xi’s Elementary Learning. Elementary Learning is a major neo-Confucian treatise, widely used by Huizhou lineages in the education of their sons, conceivably including our playwright. The core of this moral handbook is the second chapter, “Clarifying Human Relationships” (Minglun). In this chapter, Zhu Xi uses historical figures to expound the “five constant virtues” of filial devotion, loyalty, female obedience and chastity, brotherly love, and faithfulness. For Zhu Xi, these were the five “heavenly principles” (tianli) that guided the “five relationships” (wulun), those of parent-child, lord-subject, husband-wife, elder-younger

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brothers, and friend-friend.98 Like Zhu Xi’s historical exemplars, Luobu and later Mulian, Miss Cao, Yili, and other characters in Zheng’s script exemplify the “constant virtues” of filial devotion, chastity, loyalty, righteousness, and faithfulness.99 Little wonder that Chen Lanru (jinshi 1552) likened Zheng’s Mulian to the Wulun quanbei ji (A complete story of the five human-relationship values), a Confucian play composed by the highranking scholar-official Qiu Rui (1420 –95).100 The “agnostic” Zhu Xi, however, would certainly have rejected Zheng Zhizhen’s approach, for Zheng appealed to the power of the demons and gods and used the Buddhist tale of Mulian (although the author of Family Rituals might not have opposed the popular format of ritual opera). Zhu Xi, like Confucius and other neo-Confucians, did not deny the existence of the spirits; neither did he openly affirm it. What he opposed was the belief that the supernatural was capable of punishing and rewarding, as well as the involvement of Buddhist clergy in funerals and rituals.101 By using the power of the demons and gods (guishen) to convey Confucian ethics, Zheng Zhizhen departed from his neo-Confucian mentor (as well as from the authors of previous Buddhist Mulian texts). The religious-minded Zheng Zhizhen was aware of this departure. While advocating the belief in demons and gods, he frequently referred to the Confucian ritual tradition in both his preface and the script to justify his position on the supernatural. Right before judging the soul of Madame Liu, the city god reproaches the nun Jingxu and the monk Benwu for their profanity: “The Duke of Zhou and Confucius made regulations for rites to requite ancestral progenitors exactly because the guishen are powerfully efficacious.” The city god goes on to state, “Benefiting from Heaven and Earth, [we] perform jiaoshe rites to honor the Lord on High; protected by ancestors, [we] perform dichang rites to offer sacrifices to progenitors.” 102 A demon-bailiff sings a similar song while waiting for the soul of Madame Liu to revisit the Fu house, “Only our way of the guishen shines like the sun and stars. The Duke of Zhou and Confucius regulated the sacrificial rites so that people would worship [guishen] for ten thousand generations. If there are no guishen, how could the sages Zhou and Kong [the Duke of Zhou and Confucius] have possibly fooled people [with rituals]?!” 103 The infernal judge is made to raise similar questions, “If officials don’t believe in guishen, why do they first visit the temple of the city god? If scholars don’t believe in guishen, why do they first visit the temple of Confucius? Which house in this world does not offer incense in its main hall? Which grave does not have spirit money?” 104 With these rhetorical questions, Zheng Zhizhen was trying to convince his audience that he was just adopting an old Confucian tradition with his belief in demons and gods. Truly, Confucians had long recognized the need for ethico-political cults. An early Confucian commentary on the Book of

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Changes states, “The sages devised guidance by the way of the gods, and [the people in] the empire became obedient.” 105 A more formalized teaching of Confucian “socioreligious ethics” (lijiao), as Kwang-Ching Liu suggests, started with the Han dynasty. It included such concepts as divine Heaven, the yinyang forces, and the Five Phases. In Tang-Song times, neoConfucian thinkers further elaborated upon these concepts, infusing them with Buddhist and Daoist metaphysics, though hardly any Confucian would publicly admit to this borrowing.106 Zhu Xi’s ritualism, especially his emphasis on ancestral sacrifices, was probably the best example of the neoConfucian ethico-religious approach. Outside the Confucian tradition, a similar ethico-religious discourse, albeit still in embryonic form, can be traced back to the twelfth century in two neo-Daoist treatises, the Tract of Taishang on Action and Response and its companion text, the Ledger of Merit and Demerit of the Taiwei Immortal.107 These older traditions noted, we would fail to grasp the historical significance of Zheng Zhizhen’s ethico-religious approach if we took his rhetorical questions at face value. To begin with, the questions were probably aimed at a special audience. There was no need for our playwright to convince “the foolish men and foolish women” of the existence and magic power of the guishen—they were already “eager to cater to the demons and gods.” 108 Yet he apparently felt the need to deflect possible criticism from certain members of the local gentry who ostensibly still subscribed to Zhu Xi’s “agnostic” line of thinking (including probably the young Zheng Zhizhen himself), as well as county officials who normally loathed the large gatherings at a temple performance, seeing in them the potential for social unrest.109 The strongest criticism of Mulian that I have thus far discovered from Huizhou lineage documents, albeit from a later era, may help illustrate the case, as the critique was in part due to Mulian’s role in “summoning spirits.” The eighty-seven-year-old Chen Shilin of Tengxi village in Xiuning, in his 1751 Jiachuan zhibao (The utmost precious [admonitions] transmitted through the family), told his readers that once in his youth his father slapped his face upon his returning from watching an opera performance. He went on to note: “My village does not invite over relatives when operas are staged. . . . [When the occasion came,] operas had to be performed by famed troupes; [we] would not have Mulian staged. . . . Mulian actors are mostly jobless people who use the performance to make money. It not only wasted our wealth but also summoned ghosts.” Chen Shilin then illustrated his point by supplying anecdotes of a man who had drowned after being possessed by evil spirits while watching Mulian and of a performance on “the eighth day of the fourth month” (that is, the Mulian opera) that had led to fires in the village. Chen ended his account with a strong commentary that smacks of the conventional critical attitude of local officials toward opera performance:

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As the previous stories have clearly shown, opera performance does not benefit but only harms people. However, the misled old-fashioned benefactors refuse to be awakened. How pathetic it is! Opera performance is by no means a good custom. It not only creates the potential for theft and fires but also bewitches the youth, making them neglect their proper work. How harmful it is! But this custom has transformed people, and opera performance prevails everywhere. As for Mulian, its detriment is especially deep. It is really difficult to ban it. We’ve got to have someone with authority who understands the Way, otherwise no one can possibly reform the custom.

Chen’s strong denial of Mulian, of course, only betrays how popular the performance of the ritual opera was in his own village as well as in other places. And Mulian’s influence can be found even in his Jiachuan zhibao. On its front page, for instance, we see a Mulian-like, ethico-religious pair of couplets: Heaven does not betray good people, and books give boon to people’s chances for three generations; Good or evil will be rewarded in the end, and right or wrong will be self-evident sooner or later.110

More important, Zheng Zhizhen adopted the old politico-religious approach in a creative way. Both the socioreligious concerns and the ritual opera medium he employed to express them were new, as well as popular and directly relevant to his Huizhou audience. We can glean from Zheng Zhizhen’s own preface a keen awareness that conventional method (such as the ethical approach developed by Zhu Xi) was no longer adequate in the sixteenth century, when, to paraphrase Zheng Zhizhen, society was under intense change, and ancient standards of manners and morals were daily on the decline. It was even irrelevant for the “molding” of “foolish men and foolish women.” Our playwright thus appealed to the supernatural power of demons and gods and turned to the popular genre of ritual opera to advocate Zhu Xi’s ethics. Ritual opera performance was undoubtedly more forceful and widely enjoyable than the reading of Zhu Xi’s Elementary Learning (and even the observance of his Family Rituals). Elementary Learning worked as a formal moral regulation for “the world of light”; Zheng’s Mulian used the power of “the world of shadows” to manipulate “the world of light.” Elementary Learning focuses on elite education; Zheng’s Mulian focuses on the popular inculcation of elite social values, addressing the spiritual needs of the masses in a manner suited to their tastes. Indeed, for the majority of Huizhou common folk, nothing was more enjoyable than operatic celebrations, and nothing was more fearsome than demons or more awesome than gods. Zheng Zhizhen told his friend Chen Zhaoxiang that “manipulating” or “molding” (yin) was more effective than

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“regulating” (zhengqi) and giving formal “instruction” (jiaohui) in the transformation of popular customs. For this reason, he turned to Buddhism, then “seriously worshipped” by ordinary people, and scripted the Mulian performance for the purpose of moral remolding.111 His son-in-law Ye Zongchun put Zheng’s intention in more concrete terms: With “divine retribution, magic demons, tuned songs, and dancing puppets,” Zheng Zhizhen expressed Yili’s “loyalty and industry,” Miss Cao’s “firm integrity,” and Luobu’s “filial devotion” so that Buddhism would “return to Confucianism.” 112 This integration of Confucian norms and popularly worshipped religions into ritual opera performance is the essence of Zheng Zhizhen’s ethicoreligious approach. But Zheng Zhizhen’s ethical values were not just a mechanical repetition of Zhu Xi’s formulation. In addition to addressing general sociopolitical concerns, his script portrayed contemporary society and mirrored intellectual and religious ferment of the sixteenth century. Herein lies another facet of the originality of his Mulian. We have seen how his religious drama reflected the kinship values newly emphasized in sixteenthcentury Huizhou. The Opera for Goodness also represented two other interrelated facets of Huizhou’s emerging mercantile lineage culture — commercial morality and the cult of female chastity—both of which the playwright expressed in religious terms.

Popular Commercial Morality Zheng Zhizhen was himself first made by sixteenth-century Huizhou culture before he remade the Mulian tradition. The playwright secularized his ethico-religious discourse while mirroring the social life of contemporary Huizhou, particularly its intensified commercial activities. We see this, for instance, in the scene where the Fu servant Antong needs to find a broker of the local yahang guild to get a good deal on meat for Madame Liu. The broker he finds is named Lü Pinqi, each of the three characters in the name consisting of several “kou (mouths),” signifying in a sardonic way that this broker has a glib tongue. Lü tries to get Antong a reasonable price from a local butcher. As usual, the butcher is “too covetous,” so the broker tells him that “tan (avarice) looks like the character pin (poverty).” The butcher responds that “your ya [of yahang] looks like wu (penniless) if you change the direction of the character’s leg.” 113 In the scene “Crossing the Black Forest,” Guanyin tries to seduce Luobu in the guise of a beauty, unwittingly revealing a typical Huizhou phenomenon when she tells him that “my husband has been away home for four or five years [engaging in trade].” 114 Fu Luobu’s merchant career, mentioned only in passing in the Mulian

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transformation text, is now substantiated. Like so many youngsters of Zheng Zhizhen’s native prefecture, Luobu reluctantly leaves home for Suzhou, the commercial center of Jiangnan, about 150 miles northeast of Huizhou.115 On the road, two swindlers cheat him, but Lord Thunder and Mother Lightning punish them and protect the honest Luobu. He sees on his way a shepherd boy, a mountain monk, and an old fisherman, all symbols of peaceful country life away from the busy, noisy, and often corrupt city (also implying the playwright’s attitude of withdrawal). Each time, Luobu sighs deeply, showing his concern for his mother, Yili, and the Fu house. In the end, he sings a song that expresses his admiration of country values: “This shepherd boy is the same as that mountain monk and old fisherman, as they have nothing to do with fame and fortune. For profit as small as a fly head I have been forced to travel, sleeping in the dew and eating in the wind.” 116 Although Luobu cares little about wealth, his contemporaries are all crazy about money. Commanded by Guanyin, the paired gods of wealth that were especially popular in the Suzhou region, Hanshan and Shide, descend to help Luobu. They turn into Daoist priests, singing a long ballad, or what may be called an “Ode to Silver,” similar to Xue Lundao’s “On Money” (quoted in Chapter 2). The first two parts of the ballad read as follows: Priest A: Silver, you are a panacea in this world. For you people forget sleeping in the night and forget eating in the day. For you people travel east and west all year long. For you people sleep in the dew and eat in the wind, with their hair turning gray. For you people traverse rivers and lakes heedless of flood dragons. For you people climb mountains and enter forests heedless of tigers and leopards. Ah, silver! Without you in the pocket, it would be extremely difficult for anyone to open his mouth to ask for help. Priest B: Not just that. For you the grace of parents often decreases. For you brotherly feelings often recede. For you good friends can hardly be trustful companions. For you good scholars can hardly be honest officials. Moreover, for you even chaste girls can be seduced and good strategy can be subverted. Ah, silver! Without you in the bed, heroic men cannot get rid of women who are no longer beautiful.117

The two divine priests conclude the long ballad with an instructive commentary: “Money and wealth, after all, are not dependent on man’s schemes. How regrettable it is that people use tricks to compete for wealth. They don’t know that the source of getting rich lies within the mind (fangcun).” In the midst of money delirium, Luobu stands out because he regards “benevolence and righteousness” as “worth one thousand [ounces of] gold.” As Luobu is willing to “sacrifice wealth to righteousness,” Hanshan and Shide convince the audience, “Heaven will repay him one hundred times over in the dark realm.” 118 In the end, the two gods of wealth fulfill their promise by helping Luobu, the good merchant, make money.

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The honest Luobu is juxtaposed here to the profiteers who “use tricks to compete for wealth,” with Luobu protected by divine forces, in contrast to the two swindlers killed by Lord Thunder and Mother Lightning. In addition to modeling an exemplar of the prototypical good merchant via the characterization of Luobu, Zheng’s Mulian incorporates one of the most complete denunciations of money fever in sixteenth-century China, a popular ballad tuned to the melody “Lotus Petals Fall” (Lianhua lao), also known as the “Beggar’s Song.” While Madame Liu is having meat and wine, served by Jinnu, a beggar, along with a priest, a monk, a nun, and two players, sings to her the ballad subtitled “Ten Not-So-Dears” (Shi buqin): 119 Dearest Heaven sometimes is not so dear, Actually Heaven is often not so kind. Since everything is predestined by Heaven, Why is there such difference between the rich and the poor? (Chorus) Ah, lotus, lotus petals fall. Dearest Earth sometimes is not so dear, Actually Earth is often not so kind. In the Yangzi River the waves behind drive on those before, One layer of yellow earth buries one layer of people. (Chorus) Ah, lotus, lotus petals fall. Dearest parents sometimes are not so dear, Actually parents are often not so kind. If their kids don’t see to their every need, They mutter and grumble all the time. (Chorus) Ah, lotus, lotus petals fall. Dearest brothers sometimes are not so dear, Actually brothers are often not so kind. In their youth, they’re best of buddies, When grown, they fight over every piece of family property. (Chorus) Ah, lotus, lotus petals fall. Dearest wife sometimes is not so dear, Actually a wife is often not so kind. When her husband passes on, She paints her face and marries another guy. (Chorus) Ah, lotus, lotus petals fall. Dearest son sometimes is not so dear, Actually a son is often not so kind. His parents are buried at the foot of Southern Mountain, But how many times a year does he visit the grave? (Chorus) Ah, lotus, lotus petals fall. Dearest daughter sometimes is not so dear, Actually a daughter is often not so kind. If her wedding dowry isn’t big enough,

Transformation of the Mulian Tradition She beats her breast and stamps her feet and won’t leave home. (Chorus) Ah, lotus, lotus petals fall. Dearest daughter-in-law sometimes is not so dear, Actually a daughter-in-law is often not so kind. Parents-in-law treat her like their own daughter, She treats them like passing strangers. (Chorus) Ah, lotus, lotus petals fall. Dearest uncles and aunts sometimes are not so dear, Actually uncles and aunts are often not so kind. They say nice things to your face, Behind your back they rake up your faults. (Chorus) Ah, lotus, lotus petals fall. Dearest friends sometimes are not so dear, Actually friends are often not so kind. When you’re loaded with money and wine, friends flock to you in droves, When you’re down and out, there’s not a soul to be found. (Chorus) Ah, lotus, lotus petals fall. These “Ten Not-So-Dears” are indeed not so dear. Today, I tell it to you straight: in this world, if you want to be treated well, money alone is the only thing that’s dear. (Chorus) Ah, lotus, lotus petals fall. Jinnu: How is it that money’s so dear? If Heaven has money, Heaven is kind: burn some spirit money and say a few prayers and Heaven bends its will to you. If Earth has money, Earth is kind: use money to buy some land and Earth is there at your disposal. (Chorus) Ah, lotus, lotus petals fall. If parents have money, parents are kind: when they’re warmly clothed and well-fed, they naturally are happy. If brothers have money, brothers are kind: it’s easy for them to acquire land and so they don’t fight over it. (Chorus) Ah, lotus, lotus petals fall. Money makes a wife respect her man; money makes a son respect his dad; with money a daughter happily goes off to wed; with money a daughter-in-law doesn’t get mad. (Chorus) Ah, lotus, lotus petals fall. With money uncles and aunts become congenial; with money all friends turn into soulmates. And so you see that money is like your own flesh and blood; so you see that money is the very root of life. (Chorus) Ah, lotus, lotus petals fall. If you have money, you have power: even those relatives you ignore will go out of their way to endear themselves to you. If you don’t believe me, you have but to look at the toasts at this

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the script banquet— cup after cup of wine is raised to you with money. (Chorus) Ah, lotus, lotus petals fall.

After this song, Madame Liu gives the beggar some money, to which he responds: “Thanks to her mistress for this gift of a meal and silver. You will see how this thousand-li wanderer spreads your good name ten-thousandli wide.” By incorporating the “Beggar’s Song” and other popular ballads into Mulian, Zheng Zhizhen assimilated elements from both high and lower culture (the staging context of the song appears to be a tanghui, or “salonstyle” performance, enacted within the family home, of the kind popular among the wealthy and privileged of late-Ming Jiangnan). The “Beggar’s Song” vividly portrays how the intrusion of money undermined the established social order and ethics (and in this sense, it could also be read as a satire of Confucian human relationships). Although appealing mainly to the feelings of ordinary people, it also mirrored elite concerns over the subversive consequences of the new money economy. In the sixteenth century, nowhere was this commercial subversion felt more keenly than in the “Southeastern Zou-Lu,” a stronghold of neo-Confucian orthodoxy and the homeland of a prominent merchant group. Like other contemporary critics of avarice, Zheng Zhizhen satirized materialism from a neo-Confucian perspective, while at the same time co-opting popular values. As Huizhou merchants were urged, and were urging themselves, to “get rich” in a Confucian “grand way”—“making profit with righteousness but not for the sake of profit” (cited in Chapter 2)—Zheng Zhizhen urges the audience to “get rich” by cultivating “the mind.” If they act “benevolent and righteous” as Luobu does, they will earn divine blessings. These Mulian scenes intertwine Huizhou mercantile lineage culture, Confucian commercial ethics, and even the condemnation of money per se to form a popular discourse on business morality.120 What distinguished the popular discourse is the role the divinity plays to establish Confucian mercantile ethics in the new context of the sixteenth century. In contemporary Huizhou, commercialization had reached such a magnitude that conventional methods were not powerful enough to contain the money fever, and supernatural power was needed. In Zheng’s script, Lord Thunder and Mother Lightning kill evil people, including unfair brokers, swindlers, and “the unfilial and the disloyal.” 121 Two demon-bailiffs sing to Madame Liu while taking her to the Broken Money Mountain: “In the human world people are crazy about riches; in the nether world the net is so tight that money cannot buy its opening.” “The character qian (money) is composed of one jin (gold) and two ge (dagger-axes),” the demon-bailiffs continue, “with the benefit of gold comes the harm of dagger-axes.” 122 Close to the end of the third volume, right before seeing

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his father’s animal reincarnation, Madame Liu’s nephew Liu Longbao sings a popular song urging men to curb their desire for “wine, women, wealth, and wrath” (jiu se cai qi), the sins for which his father was punished in the dark region. The passage concerning “wealth” reads as follows: “I proffer to people this exhortation: Don’t scheme to make money. Money and wealth are determined by fate. If you are too avaricious to have a sense of shame, you will encounter disaster as soon as money reaches your home.” 123 At the beginning of the first volume, a deprived evildoer finally realizes the self-destructive consequence of his wrongdoing: “To gentlemen in the human world I proffer this exhortation: haves or have-nots, wealth or poverty, is always determined by Heaven. If you scheme to do evil, you can cheat humans but you cannot cheat Heaven.” 124 These messages were multivalent, but they were also publicly shared. Popular commercial morality appealed in different ways to people with different social status in Huizhou lineage hierarchy. For the local gentry, say, a lineage head, it signaled a warning to those “have-nots”: never “scheme to do evil” for making money. If you do, the supernatural will mete out punishment. But karmic retribution also gives promise. In the otherworld there are three “money mountains” waiting for you. If you are good, you will see the Golden Money Mountain or the Silver Money Mountain; if you do evil, you will be shown only the Broken Money Mountain. The same message, of course, targeted both merchants and the have-nots. Merchants would be happy to see that by handling business deals fairly or in the Confucian nonavaricious “grand way,” they would earn the blessing while alive and be able to see the Golden Money Mountain and Silver Money Mountain in the afterlife. With this logic, merchants could turn the critique of profit making into a defense of Huizhou mercantile culture. If wealth is determined not by human effort but by Heaven as a reward for virtue, then success in the commercial world was a manifestation of goodness. As noted in Chapter 2, experienced lineage elders and Huizhou merchants expected that “good merchants” would sooner or later make their fortunes. For the vast majority of “foolish men and foolish women,” the otherworldly promise of money mountains and the critique of riches seemed to betray a “contradictory consciousness” about wealth.125 On the one hand, satire of money delirium naturally appealed to “have-nots.” On the other hand, they probably also desired to see in their next lives the Golden Money Mountain or the Silver Money Mountain and to avoid the Broken Money Mountain—they had seen too much “broken money” in this world. But Zheng Zhizhen’s popular discourse on money was itself paradoxical. It condemned money fever yet stipulated that “good people” would see money mountains in the otherworld. This otherworldly reward mirrored money delirium in a more profound plane, shared by all three social groups deep in their “contradictory consciousness.”

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Was Zheng Zhizhen’s mind characterized by this “contradictory consciousness” as well? His script, first circulated in manuscript form, was printed to meet popular demand. The publishers (or a certain Shexian printer named Huang Ting) appeared to be aware that the publication would result in a profit.126 For instance, they often enhanced the marketability of the Opera for Goodness by using fashionable cover designs (Figure 4.9). Ironically, however, the motif illustrated in Figure 4.9 could at the same time be profoundly “anticommercial,” for it portrays the deepest

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ambition of Confucian literati: official promotion based on examination success. In any case, we cannot assert that the compilation and composition of the script were motivated by possible commercial profit. Even if the printing of the Mulian script (and a geomancy handbook) eventually did help Zheng “Gaoshi” make a living, his mental world was not much different from that of numerous Huizhou scholars-turned-merchants, especially in terms of their ultimate aspiration for status advancement. Like his beloved “arrogant-and-ardent” xiucai scholar, Zheng Zhizhen would in his next life try again to be what Wang Daokun called a “prominent scholar” (hongru) rather than a “good merchant” (lianggu), pursuing examination fame rather than jumping into the commercial sea to amass a fortune. Needless to say, even “foolish men and foolish women” knew that fortune would follow fame gained in the examination hall, but the “emolument” generated that way was fundamentally different from the money acquired in the “dirty” commercial sector. Although harboring his own preferences, Zheng Zhizhen integrated elite concerns and popular values into a publicly shared discourse on wealth and commercial morality. This discourse contributed to the new merchant code that was being developed in his homeland and thereby helped earn Mulian a particular currency in the emerging merchant capital of Ming China. The popular commercial ethic was an entirely new theme in Mulian literature.

figure 4.9 (opposite) The original cover design for Zheng Zhizhen’s script (ca. 1582). It appears to depict a popular motif of late imperial prints, Blessings from a Heavenly Official (Tianguan cifu). The central figure could also be a Confucian scholar, who is himself receiving blessings from a deer (lu) and an ape (yuan). The word lu is homophonic to the character that means “official emolument,” while the word yuan is homophonic to the character that means “round,” implying “successful.” From the pictorial arrangement we can read the playwright’s deep-seated fantasy about examination success. This “anticommercial” motif is nevertheless embedded in a print with significant commercial value; and the seeming paradox nicely captures the spirit of sixteenth-century Huizhou. It is not clear who designed the print. If the designer was the publisher, the design’s motif still needed to reflect the content of the script. The cover design, however, like the script it helps to illustrate, may come from “[Zheng] Gaoshi Studio” (Gaoshi shanfang), as clearly indicated by the four large characters on the top of the print. The phrase on the right reads “newly compiled Mulian Rescues His Mother: An Opera for Goodness”; the phrase on the left reads “Wanli [reign], corrected and enlarged in the early winter.” The print is damaged on the right and bottom sides. This cover design, not included in the Guben xiqu congkan version of the Opera for Goodness (i. e., MLZZ), was used for a different version published around 1582. Source: Anhui Provincial Library; courtesy Mao Gengru.

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It combined with many newly emphasized kinship values discussed previously to make the Opera for Goodness a truly new tradition. Zheng Zhizhen’s images, including various deities and even ghosts in a syncretically amplified pantheon, presented positive or negative symbols of Confucian norms and religious precepts, which nevertheless reflected new meanings in the sixteenth century. Zheng Zhizhen’s Mulian was a distinctive product of sixteenth-century Huizhou lineage culture, a culture that was quickly assimilating growing commercialization as well as popular religious developments. This is the reason, in my opinion, that Zheng Zhizhen’s descendants called the Opera for Goodness the Spring and Autumn Annals, a living history of Huizhou mercantile lineage culture.

The New Mulian Tradition and the Rise of “Popular Confucianism” The new Mulian tradition, by integrating neo-Confucian ethical concerns and popular religion, reflected not just Huizhou mercantile lineage culture but also the general intellectual climate of sixteenth-century China. This integration marked the perfection of “popular Confucianism,” a distinctive value system that grew out of neo-Confucianism and the developments in religious syncretism, cultural media, and social institutions. We will explore how social forces informed actual performances of Mulian ritual opera in Part 3. This section considers Song-Ming neo-Confucian shifts and their influence upon Zheng Zhizhen, discussing how the new Mulian was probably the era’s most effective representation of popular Confucianism and how the cultural discourse differed from that of neo-Confucianism. Neo-Confucian premises had changed by the sixteenth century. Intellectual vigor shifted from the Cheng-Zhu school of principle to the Wang Yangming school of the mind. Whereas the former remained the state orthodoxy and continued to attract the attention of most scholars aspiring to office through the civil service examinations, the latter provided the inspiration for most active schools of thought in the second half of the Ming dynasty. Wang Yangming’s contribution was to identify a new source of moral knowledge, with which he was able to popularize the notion of Confucian sagehood. Zhu Xi insisted that goodness could be found only in the process of zhizhi (to extend innate knowledge) and gewu (to investigate things): through exhaustive investigation into the principles of things and prolonged study of the Confucian classics. Wang Yangming questioned this elitist approach, arguing that principle could be best sought in the self or in the mind (xin), the “good knowledge” of moral nature (liangzhi). By equating principle with the mind and the mind with the universe, he internalized exter-

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nal norms. For him, the social ideal was based on moral self-reformation, not on any radical change in social relationships. One need only follow the promptings of innate “good knowledge,” without letting it be obscured by selfish desires that alienated humans from their moral nature and the universe. The way to sagehood was open to all, the common folk as well as the learned scholar.127 For him, “there is a Zhongni [Confucius] in every man’s mind.” The only difference between Confucian sages and common people is that the former can naturally “extend the innate knowledge of the good” (zhi liangzhi) whereas the latter cannot, because their minds are “obstructed by selfishness and blocked by human desires.” 128 It is therefore not easy to reform the moral self for “foolish men and foolish women.” “It’s easy to destroy the predators in the mountain,” Wang Yangming admitted, but “it’s rather difficult to destroy the predators in the mind.” 129 For him, one way to address the problem was to emphasize the unity of knowledge and action. “Good knowledge” must have practical consequences, just as valid action must be guided by knowledge. Wang Yangming and his followers used the simplest terms to illuminate one of the most elusive neo-Confucian concepts, zhizhi gewu: “to know what is good and what is evil is zhizhi; to do good and to eliminate evil is gewu.” 130 To spread Confucian ethics to common people, Wang Yangming looked to the “village lecture” (xiangyue).131 Seeing the development of new cultural media, he proposed to use vernacular plays to help the common folk “extend the innate knowledge of the good.” Wang Yangming once suggested that Confucian literati “use the present repertoire of operas, but get rid of all the indecent terms and tunes, and only take stories about loyal officials and filial sons. [Rewrite these operas so that] every ignorant person can easily understand them, inciting his innate knowledge of the good in an unconscious manner. This should be useful to transform popular morals and customs.” 132 The neo-Confucian shift from the elitist to populist approach was completed by the Taizhou school, founded by Wang Yangming’s radical disciple Wang Gen (1483–1541). The Taizhou school drew its adherents from all levels of society and further popularized Wang Yangming’s notion of sagehood. A commoner himself, Wang Gen believed that principle, or the Way, lay not in abstruse texts but in the needs of daily life and feelings of common folk. “The streets are full of sages,” he declared. His follower Luo Rufang (1515 – 88) went one step further, as he completed the shift from focusing on the mind to the body. “In just one body [of any person, we can find] a sage in his complete shape,” Luo said. This position justified his statement that “the sages and worthies are in certain respects not as good as ‘foolish men and foolish women.’” 133 Luo’s disciple Zhou Rudeng (1547–1629?) went still further, claiming that anyone can become a sage

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“instantly” (dangxia) if the person responds to every changing situation spontaneously, as a result of the person’s inborn knowledge of the good. Zhou Rudeng once asked a disciple whether he believed in “dangxia.” “Yes, I do,” replied the disciple. “Then, are you a sage?” “Yes, I’m a sage, too.” Upon hearing this rather hesitant answer, Zhou loudly rebuked his disciple, “A sage is a sage, why add ‘too’?!” 134 By focusing on the daily needs of the masses, Taizhou thinkers tended to justify people’s material desires, thereby loosening orthodox norms. Eventually, this radical wing of Yangming philosophy helped generate the iconoclastic stance of Li Zhi (1527–1602), who shaved his head to become a monk, thereby symbolizing his departure from neo-Confucian conventionality.135 Even for this most unyielding critic of Cheng-Zhu orthodox thinking in the late-Ming world, however, the Three Teachings ultimately converged in Confucianism.136 In any event, the Taizhou message was dialectical; so was its effect upon Chinese culture. For Wang Gen and his followers, the real urge was to popularize Confucian ethics in an age of intense socioeconomic change. This intention can best be seen in a Wang Gen myth widely circulated among his followers. According to the tale, Wang Geng had a dream at the age of twenty-nine in which he saw the sky collapsing; thousands of people were fleeing, crying, wailing, and calling for help. At this critical moment, Wang Gen “raised his arms and held up Heaven,” restoring order to the disarrayed sun, moon, and stars. The relieved people were so grateful that thousands knelt to the savior Wang Gen.137 The story can be interpreted as a reflection of the economic and social upheaval of the period; Wang Gen and his followers were determined to “hold up the collapsed sky” and “restore order” on the earth. For them, the way to maintain the Confucian social order was to bring sagehood down to ordinary people. In public lectures, Wang Gen preached the Confucian values of filial piety and familial harmony, frequently referring to the Six Injunctions of the founding Ming emperor. At home, Wang Gen was so filial that when his father suffered from hemorrhoids, Wang went so far as to suck his father’s anus to alleviate the pain. He also suggested that the Ming government select filial sons from throughout the realm and reward them with an imperial audience and testimonials of merit, publicizing their virtues “to teach the unfilial.” 138 In short, Taizhou zealots built upon Wang Yangming’s philosophy to popularize Confucian ethics and carried it out with religious fervor. They turned the sage into a commoner, only to elevate the common folk to sagehood; their moral philosophy seems to have freed humans from external bonds, but in fact they reasserted Confucian virtues. In characteristic neoConfucian terminology, “heavenly principles” (tianli) must be popularized to control “human desires” (renyu). Ultimately, Zhu Xi’s school of principle and Wang Yangming’s school of the mind reached the same goal through different routes.

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We noted in Chapter 2 the prevalence of Wang Yangming’s philosophy even in Zhu Xi’s ancestral place. After his longtime pursuit of examination success, Zheng Zhizhen became an earnest student of Zhu Xi. But he was also exposed to Wang Yangming’s teaching on the mind, which had been influenced by Chan Buddhism and religious syncretism. In his Mulian script, a Daoist priest says, “The mind and the universe, Buddhism and Confucianism, are identical.” An even more powerful mouthpiece for Zheng Zhizhen’s Wang Yangming–like philosophical preference is the city god, who announces that “Celestial Paradise is not far or near, it is right in the human mind” and “divine efficacy (shenming) lies in the mind.” Most revealing of all, at the end of the third volume, Mulian and other monks are made to announce that “the mind consists in Buddha; and Buddha in the mind.” 139 Zheng Zhizhen’s friend Ni Daoxian made a precise summary in the very beginning of his preface to Zheng’s script: “[H]eavenly principles lie in the human mind.” 140 Zheng Zhizhen stated his goals in writing a Mulian script more straightforwardly in his own preface. He did not intend to “frighten people with power”; his Mulian was rather based on “the Way of the mind of the people. . . . Foolish men and foolish women inferior to the average are obscured, and those the Way cannot frighten are of great number. Moreover, society is under intense change, and ancient standards [of manners and morals] are daily on the decline.” 141 So he made “an additional aid to the exhortation of the good,” 142 in addition to other local Confucian institutions, including ancestral rites, village lectures, the maintenance of lineage books of good and bad behavior, and so forth. Zheng’s philosophical assumptions echoed Wang Yangming’s school of the mind, as his intent smacked of the Taizhou concerns over the concurrent moral crisis. By invoking the power of demons and gods to reward or punish, however, Zheng Zhizhen apparently departed from Wang Yangming in terms of his philosophical or religious underpinning. Wang Yangming, like Mencius and Zhu Xi, held that people should be virtuous for virtue’s sake but not for personal gain, a position that was central to his philosophy of intuitive “good knowledge.” 143 Moreover, Zheng Zhizhen appealed to popular ritual opera performance (which nevertheless echoed Wang Yangming’s suggestion of reformulating popular plays to convey ethical messages). By adopting a format that was readily intelligible to common folk, Zheng greatly broadened the scope of his moral persuasion. Ritual opera was particularly attuned to the religious imagination and moral inclination of ordinary people or, in Huizhou, the mass of kinsmen and kinswomen living under lineage institutions. To them Mulian was performed, not read. It was not simply preachy didacticism, but staged with religious rituals and operatic entertainment. The specter of supernatural retribution was felt through the presence of the hordes of ever-watchful demons and gods. Mulian per-

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formance thus was a reflection of concurrent popular religion, as well as Confucian norms. By remolding Mulian performance, Zheng Zhizhen dramatically extended Wang Yangming’s populist approach, making it more powerful and more appealing to “foolish men and foolish women,” and thereby created his version of “popular Confucianism.” This popular Confucian discourse differs from “elite” or philosophical neo-Confucianism (including the populist theory of Wang Yangming and Wang Gen) in terms of its overtly supernatural message, popular media, audience, and agents. “Popular Confucianism” was fundamentally cultural, not intellectual or philosophical (in the sense of these terms when contrasted with the “cultural”). It was embodied not in philosophical treatises but in symbols, images, and stories, mainly conveyed through performance or reading of vernacular literature or religious tracts and the cultural environment (such as the paifang archways and ancestral halls), and thus was more pervasive. Popular Confucian discourse was not a strictly defined intellectual trend or ideological school but “an octopus . . . one ungainly whole,” to borrow Clifford Geertz’s characterization of “culture.” 144 This cultural discourse was mainly targeted at common folk (so a popular saying of the period reads, “Talk to upper classes with moral nature; talk to lower classes with karmic retribution”), but it was readily shareable by all people, including local elites.145 The agents of “popular Confucianism” were not systematic neo-Confucian theorists, as Zhu Xi or Wang Yangming were, but local scholars and merchants. They were key mediators of elite Confucian and popular local cultures—they sponsored social action, owned material vehicles that conveyed “popular Confucianism,” or made it directly (in the case of novelists and playwrights such as Zheng Zhizhen). The popular discourse was at once comprehensive and specific: comprehensive in terms of its incorporation of Buddhism, Daoism, and eclectic local cults; specific in terms of its ultimate concerns over Confucian ethics. But not all Three Teachings (or elements of popular religion) could participate on an equal footing in this ungainly octopus. In Zheng Zhizhen’s scheme, filial sons and chaste women were placed higher than monks and priests, both on earth and in Heaven.146 Zheng Zhizhen was not alone in making late-Ming “popular Confucianism”; Wang Yangming’s populist approach was widely employed to address the problem of moral decline in the context of the developing money economy. The ethico-religious discourse embodied in Mulian was also present in other genres of late-Ming vernacular literature and popular religious tracts. Two similar cases were morality books and the ledgers of merit and demerit. Both genres were rooted in aforementioned Song-dynasty Daoist treatises, the Tract of Taishang on Action and Response and its companion, the Ledger of Merit and Demerit of the Taiwei Immortal, but did not

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achieve a wide vogue until the late sixteenth century. Morality books taught people to do good and avoid evil by invoking the law of karmic retribution. According to Catherine Bell, morality books promoted “a popularized form of Confucianism,” universalized in part by means of certain Daoist and Buddhist concepts, but they also included a “truncated imagery of more sectarian forms of religious piety.” 147 These popular texts worked out a simplified Confucian moral ethos, defining exemplary behavior and common moral failings in various social roles, often with pictures illustrating rewards and punishments.148 As such, they could be appreciated regardless of social status or religious belief. The ledgers of merit and demerit, also based on a belief in supernatural retribution, are “how-to” books. They list good and bad deeds, describing specifically which deeds one should do to earn rewards and which deeds will result in punishment. The great center of ledger production during the Ming-Qing transition period was southeastern China, especially those regions that experienced great socioeconomic upheaval, including Anhui, Jiangxi, Jiangsu, Zhejiang, and Fujian (the regions where Mulian culture was prevalent). Ledger authors came from all levels of the scholar-to-official hierarchy. They used the system of merit accumulation initially for their own moral improvement, but later also for the inculcation in common folk of values supportive of social order. Whereas Joanna Handlin suggests that ledgers indicate a popularization of the ideal of sagehood, Cynthia Brokaw links ledger use to elite responses to socioeconomic problems in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, defining these moral guidebooks as “a ‘Confucianized’ version of a system originally associated principally with Buddhism and Daoism.” 149 Needless to say, all morality books (including ledgers) were syncretic in approach. From the sixteenth century onward, Confucian social ethics were supported by the culture at large, more than ever before by mainstream Buddhism and Daoism and by popular religion. According to a loose definition of morality books, the genre could also include vernacular novels and dramas (and many other types of popular literature) with strong moral messages.150 Novels and operas matured in the sixteenth century; and they were arguably the most effective means to convey Confucian values as well as religious syncretism. By the sixteenth century, popular religion had been dramatically amplified and syncretized, including the spirits of the dead or ancestors; old and new deities of Daoist and Buddhist origins; apotheosized historical heroes; and various ox-headed, horse-faced, and snakebodied demons, as most completely illustrated in the late-Ming religious handbook, Illustrated Compendium of the Deities of the Three Religions and Their Origins.151 Such an encompassing pantheon of guishen (spirits and gods) could affect virtually every aspect of human life; and it continued to develop through modern times. Accordingly, all Chinese, as the late-

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nineteenth-century Western observer de Groot noted, were engaged “every day in a restless defensive and offensive war” against malevolent spirits as well as in praying for blessings from the gods.152 In the sixteenth century, and indeed throughout late imperial times, most playwrights and novelists turned to the spiritual world for inspiration. The enchantment with the spirits and gods dovetailed with the fashion of operas, which were often staged with rituals honoring the deities or exorcising ghosts. Generally speaking, there are four categories involving the supernatural in traditional Chinese drama. The story in which a deity is sent back to earth for a mistake he or she committed in Heaven is called zhefan; the immortalization of a human being for his or her virtue is called dutuo; the determination of one’s fate by Heaven is called mingding; and the punishment of an evildoer in Hell according to karmic retribution is called baoying.153 From the late Ming onward, indeed, spirits and gods became the stock imagery of Chinese drama.154 As an old saying has it, “If there is not enough [plot] for operatic performance, just add gods and immortals.” 155 The leading Ming dramatist, Tang Xianzu (1550 –1616), believed that opera was effective in moving people because it “produces tiandi (Heaven and Earth) and guishen (spirits and gods).” 156 But just as the ultimate concern of religious syncretism was Confucian, supernatural power was used to convey conventional social morality. Chinese opera, like Chinese literature as a whole, is ultimately moral.157 For Tang Xianzu, the thrilling power of the performed images of spirits and gods lay in their capacity “to reinforce firm devotion of subjects to the emperor, to mediate compassion between father and son, to cultivate fraternity among brothers, to generate love between husband and wife, and to develop faithfulness among friends.” 158 The famed Qing drama theorist Jiao Xun (1763–1820) noted that Chinese theater, especially that of the popular “flowery” style (huabu), “is mostly concerned with loyalty, filial piety, chastity, and righteousness (zhong xiao jie yi). [These folksy stories] are extremely touching. Their vocabulary is straightforward, intelligible even to women and children; their tone is forceful, arousing the spirit of the impassioned.” 159 The rural stage, in particular, featured these popular Confucian plays.160 The four masterpieces of the late-Ming novel, too, popularized Confucian values. Andrew Plaks has developed a neo-Confucian interpretation of Plum in the Golden Vase, Journey to the West, Water Margin, and Romance of the Three Kingdoms, suggesting that, “for all their links to earlier narrative sources,” these four masterworks should “be considered primarily as products of late-Ming literati culture.” 161 Perhaps more accurately, like the contemporary Mulian ritual opera, they reflected the coming-of-age of the popular Confucian discourse in the sixteenth century. As already touched upon in the previous chapters, each of the four masterworks is related to

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Mulian in one way or another. Whereas Mulian and Journey to the West exerted mutual influence upon each other in many ways, stories from Three Kingdoms and Water Margin were often staged in daytime in conjunction with the ritual opera enacted at night, and the sarcastic attitude toward money in Mulian coincides with the central theme of Plum in the Golden Vase. But none of these novels (except, perhaps, Journey to the West, if only in terms of its subject matter) are as overtly religious or as closely linked to staged rituals and thus as powerful and deeply rooted in local customs as Mulian (see Chapter 6). And as a product of both Huizhou mercantile lineage culture and the sixteenth-century Chinese intellectual and religious climate, Zheng Zhizhen’s Mulian incorporated concurrent socioethical concerns more completely than (or with emphases different from) any of these literary masterworks. The sixteenth century is one of the pivotal periods in China’s socioeconomic and cultural history. The century witnessed the rise of a monetary economy and the subsequent undermining of traditional social structures and values. Discernible efforts were made in all walks of life to popularize Confucian ethics, which led to a massive remolding of popular culture: from Wang Yangming to Wang Gen, from the great flowering of lineage culture to the formation of a new merchant code, from the village lecture movement to the cult of female marital fidelity, from the rising vogue of moral handbooks to prevalence of vernacular literature, from Three Teachings syncretism to local cults such as Wuchang (see Chapter 6), from the four masterworks of the Ming novel to the new Mulian opera. These were not insular strands but, rather, connected cultural undercurrents of a great transformative age. The popular Confucian discourse was a great chorus of the sixteenth century. Upon its final formation, the discourse came to dominate Chinese culture throughout the late imperial period, even after Wang Yangming’s school of the mind was discredited and gradually died off after the fall of the Ming house, as popular literature and performance that conveyed it continued to prevail up through the early decades of the twentieth century. Mulian Rescues His Mother: An Opera for Goodness was born into this sixteenth-century context of vast economic, sociocultural, religious, and intellectual change. Drawing on the medieval Mulian legacy and religious drama tradition, Zheng Zhizhen produced a landmark work, a quintessential embodiment of “popular Confucianism” that mirrored all of the important late-Ming changes. It integrated Huizhou mercantile lineage culture and Wang Yangming’s moral philosophy, elite concerns and popular beliefs, and Confucian ethics and religious syncretism into a seamless whole. Zheng’s friend Ye Liusha called An Opera for Goodness “a unique piece (juexiang) of theater.” 162 Ye’s comment was complimentary, but not entirely

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accurate. The first full-length Mulian script was not “unique,” but simply the greatest of its kind. Zheng Zhizhen was only one voice in the late-Ming popular Confucian chorus, but was also the loudest. Popular Confucian discourse was most completely represented, most effectively transmitted in the medium of ritual opera, most forcefully conveyed with the power of demons and gods, and most deeply rooted in local society by Mulian. As we will see in Part 3, Mulian performance was institutionalized in local festival celebrations, with full support from local lineages and merchants. The opera was routinely staged to amuse the deities (including the ancestral spirits) and exorcise ghosts, especially the hanged ghosts of chaste women, a spiritual being that was most characteristically associated with mercantile lineage culture in Huizhou. By authoring one of the best pieces of the sixteenth-century popular Confucianism, our playwright “set a moral standard and established a discourse to transmit instruction for offspring under heaven.” Zheng Zhizhen remade the tradition of popular Mulian performance, thereby exerting an enormous influence upon local popular culture and the consciousness of ordinary people in Huizhou and beyond. As an early twentieth-century gazetteer of Qimen county said of its native son, “Since Master Zhu [Zhu Xi] gave lectures in our Huizhou prefecture, from the Song to the Qing the Ziyang [Zhu Xi] school has been continuously transmitted for more than seven hundred years. Furthermore, with the emergence of Jiang [Yong] and Dai [Zhen], the Wan school of evidential scholarship spread all under Heaven. But it was Zheng [Zhizhen] who dominated the mind of the middle and lower layers of society for the past three hundred years.” 163

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5

An Integrated Tradition: Mulian Scripts and Female Chastity

Did Zheng Zhizhen really “dominate the mind of the middle and lower layers of society” for three hundred years? One way to address this issue is to compare Zheng Zhizhen’s Opera for Goodness with later Mulian scripts that were used in actual performance in local villages. A careful reading of various versions of Mulian scripts reveals that the broad outline of the opera changed little over the course of the Qing dynasty, in spite of variations in the story line or structural arrangement. All versions conveyed Confucian values with eclectic pantheons, namely the ethico-religious discourse first codified by Zheng Zhizhen. Even certain new developments deepened the cultural integration of this discourse along social and regional lines. It appears that Zheng Zhizhen’s script was a master copy, patterning later scripts or manuscripts of the ritual opera performance. But the integration of Mulian performances should not be attributed to Zheng Zhizhen alone. The Confucian remolding of popular Mulian culture was not a one-man campaign. A more profound social mechanism was Huizhou mercantile lineage culture, embodied in both the scripting and staging of the opera in local communities, the two interrelated processes to be addressed in this and following chapters, respectively. Here we will first compare Zheng’s script with two expanded “folk” manuscripts of a later date, found in local villages of the Huizhou region, the Changbiao and Boyang versions. We will proceed in two phases: a general comparison of the three versions in terms of textual structure and socioreligious values, followed by a focused analysis of the representation of womanly virtue in these texts. In Mulian performance, the value of female chastity, like other Confucian ethics, was conveyed by reference to the supernatural. The social force behind this ethico-religious discourse on gender relations, however, was the mercantile lineage institution.

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Textual Integration: From Printed Script to Staged Manuscripts Zheng Zhizhen’s Opera for Goodness was in high demand soon after he completed a rewrite based on actual performances. His nephew Hu Tianlu notes in his 1582 postface to the first printed edition of the play, “Enthusiastic benefactors came from a thousand li afar to seek the manuscript. Hand-copying could not meet the demands. A wood block was thus engraved [to print the manuscript] for those who sought it.” 1 Within a few decades, the play was reclaimed by uneducated audiences, in Huizhou and beyond. We have noted Qi Biaojia’s (1602 – 45) criticism of the Opera for Goodness and his report of its folksy performance in villages in eastern Jiangnan.2 Zhang Dai (1597–1689), a passionate scion from another prominent eastern Jiangnan gentry family, reported that his uncle once selected some thirty “actors from Huizhou and Jingyang” to stage a Mulian opera in Shaoxing, Zhejiang. Notably, the performance lasted three days and three nights, the format formalized by Zheng Zhizhen, attracting more than ten thousand spectators.3 Performers, needless to say, helped spread the Mulian tradition as well as Zheng’s script. They probably influenced Zheng Zhizhen even before he scripted the opera. As a local saying put it, “The Mulian originated in Huansha, was written [by Zheng Zhizhen] in Qingyou [that is, Qingxi], and performed [with acrobatics] in Limu.” 4 In addition to these three villages in western Qimen county, according to some field reports, many other villages in Qimen and neighboring Shitai counties organized their own “Mulian troupes” soon after Zheng Zhizhen’s script was printed. These include, in Qimen county, the Mashan (village) troupe of Ruokeng (district), the Lixi troupe of Penglong, the Qiaoxi troupe of Zhukou; and, in Shitai county, the Dayukeng troupe of Languan, the Gaotian troupe of Dayan, and later the Tongle troupe of Shanxi (village). These troupes often staged Mulian in other places, thereby bringing Zheng Zhizhen’s script to the counties of Xiuning, Yixian, Wuyuan, and Guichi, and then to Shexian, Jingde, Jixi, Nanling, Jingxian, and Fanchang of the Huizhou region. From the Mulian center in Huizhou, the play spread throughout southern China to Jiangsu, Zhejiang, Jiangxi, Fujian, Hunan, and Sichuan.5 This process of diffusion produced new Mulian scripts. The Gaochun version from Jiangsu and the He Yuzhai version from Sichuan, like many later librettos, are based on Zheng’s script.6 While exhibiting their own regional styles, these versions, like their master copy, all feature the Mulian story proper (Mulian benzhuan). Some of them are much longer than Zheng’s script, incorporating the so-called hua Mulian (miscellaneous stories not related to the Mulian story proper), such as the story about Mu-

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lian’s grandfather. Mulian performance was probably incorporated into distinctive local traditions in various regions. One specialist has classified Mulian performances in the Qing dynasty into five regional styles, marked by different operatic styles and local customs: those of the Puxian in Fujian, of the Chenhe in Hunan, of the Chuanju in Sichuan, of the Shaoju in Zhejiang, and of the Yiyang-Qingyang in the Huizhou region (southern Anhui and Jiangxi).7 Despite their differences, these scripts all feature the same socioreligious discourse by using the supernatural power of an eclectic pantheon to convey Confucian ethics.8 On a stele erected in 1631 in front of the Puxing temple in Pushi, Hunan, for instance, we see this inscription: “Every year on the Zhongyuan festival, the Yulanpen ritual is held to release the souls of the dead. . . . Mulian is staged [to proffer] loyalty, filial piety, female chastity, and righteousness.” 9 Another example of this discourse is found in the five volumes of a Mulian manuscript from Qianliang village, Zhejiang, hand-copied in 1937, which simply use five stereotyped Confucian terms as their titles: Ren (benevolence), Yi (righteousness), Li (propriety-and-ritual), Zhi (intellectualism), and Xin (faithfulness).10 This general picture of Mulian integration is the starting point for our comparison between Zheng’s script and two later manuscripts from villages in the Huizhou region, the 1871 Boyang version from Boyang county in northeastern Jiangxi and the 1868 Changbiao version from Changbiao village in Shexian county. Oddly enough, these two late-Qing librettos from the Huizhou region differ from Zheng’s script more than manuscripts from other regions do, such as the He Yuzhai and Gaochun versions.11 Both are anonymous manuscripts that were staged only in their own locales, not printed for wide circulation.12 Most likely, they are collective works, the products of a long negotiation between performers and audiences and handed down through the generations. Ever enlarging, these two librettos are not as smoothly organized and written as Zheng’s. But both the Boyang and Changbiao scripts are, in essence, expanded versions of Zheng Zhizhen’s Opera for Goodness. The Boyang version consists of seven volumes (each with a happy ending), totaling 187 scenes.13 The first volume has a new plot, concerning Mulian’s grandfather Fu Rong, who lived in the time of Liang Wudi (Emperor Wu of the Liang, reigned 502 – 49). Fu Rong was mean and rapacious and soon passed away. By contrast, his son Fu Xiang was an ardent believer in Buddhism and a generous practitioner of charity. Liang Wudi was willing to give up the throne to practice Buddhism, but the evil Empress Xi got in his way, and she was eventually punished in Hell. When Liang Wudi gave out ninety thousand liang of silver to build the great Buddhist Boluo Temple, Fu Xiang followed suit to contribute ten thousand liang. Fu Xiang was ordered to escort the money to the Western Land, where the Buddha

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gave him a turnip (luobu) flower. Upon returning home, Fu Xiang was rewarded a high-ranking position, Grand Master of Remonstrance, and his wife bore him a son, who was named Luobu. The remaining six volumes of the Boyang version are largely similar to Zheng’s three-volume script, with some changes in the sequence of scenes, some of which are expanded.14 In terms of the textual structure, the Changbiao version is closer to Zheng’s script than the Boyang version is. The Changbiao manuscript is also divided into three volumes covering the Mulian story proper, with 153 scenes in total.15 But Changbiao village used to have a thirteen-volume “Mulian series” (Mulian liantaibenxi). Besides the current three-volume version, which is called the “formal opera” (zhengxi) as it is about the Mulian story proper, there were nine additional volumes about popular legends, such as the Tripitaka’s journey to the West, Guanyin, and Yue Fei. The thirteenth volume is concerned with Liang Wudi and, according to the extant table of contents, is similar to the first volume of the Boyang version.16 In terms of socioreligious values and the story line of the Mulian legend proper, both the Changbiao and Boyang versions are fundamentally similar to Zheng’s script. Like all other popular Mulian operatic scripts, the two later versions feature the ethico-religious discourse to exhort and reward goodness and to excoriate and punish evil.17 Needless to say, demons and gods are everywhere and are of the same eclectic nature. The account of the ten halls of Hell in the two folksy manuscripts, for instance, is remarkably similar to Zheng’s.18 So are names of infernal landmarks, such as Broken Money Mountain, Slippery Oil Mountain, Looking Home Terrace, Naihe Bridge, and Gate to Hell.19 The Boyang and Changbiao versions also have three infernal bridges with the same functions: the Golden Bridge to reward loyal officials, filial sons, and chaste women; the Silver Bridge to reward Buddhist monks, Daoist priests, and lay devotees to Buddhism and Daoism; and the Naihe Bridge to punish evil people.20 Even the people punished in Hell are the same: besides Madame Liu, her evil brother Liu Jia, her evil servant Jinnu, and the notorious monk-and-nun “couple,” we find the undutiful son Zhao (named Zhao Buyi [“no righteousness”] in the Boyang version), the irreverent daughter-in-law Qian, the murderer Sun, and the lascivious woman Li, along with the chicken-thief Yu Zaizhen (named Xi Saiying in the Boyang version), and the evil stepmother Madame Wang (who frames her stepson Zheng Gengfu).21 The first two types of evil people to be punished by Lord Thunder and Mother Lightning are still “unloyalunfilial” and “immoral-unethical.” 22 Buddha in the Boyang version declares that “among one hundred virtues filial piety is the most important, among five kinds of ethics the parent-child relation is most vital”; and Luobu sings in the Changbiao version that “spirits and gods clearly exist in heaven and on earth; human ethics certainly concentrate on the relations of ruler

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and subjects and of parents and children. If someone is ignorant of the efficacy [of divine beings] in the otherworld, how can he be a filial person?” These two passages, most characteristic of the ethico-religious discourse of Mulian performance, are identical to those in Zheng’s script.23 Indeed, similar statements of ethico-religious values are everywhere in the Boyang and Changbiao versions, and numerous statements are directly copied from Zheng Zhizhen. In these scripts, virtue and evil are still defined according to the moral categories first codified by Zheng Zhizhen. In both the Boyang and Changbiao versions, Fu Xiang is still a Confucian elder, who is devoted to the Three Teachings syncretism and eager to give out charity; 24 Yili is still a righteous servant of the Fu house; Miss Cao is still a Confucian girl who, courted by Lord Jia, recommits herself to her engagement to Luobu. The play’s leading male role, of course, is still a devoted son, who in ordinary times takes good care of his parents and at a critical point braves the inferno to save his mother.25 By the same token, the villains Jinnu and Liu Jia are still guilty of instigating Madame Liu to eat meat. Most characteristically, Madame Liu’s most serious sin is still defined as violating her husband’s deathbed injunctions, a formulation that is stressed by the demons and gods repeatedly and even more dramatically in the later folksy versions than in Zheng’s script.26 Immediately after Madame Liu breaks her vow, it is still Elder Li Houde who reminds her of her husband’s injunction and admonishes her with the Confucian “three women’s obediences.” 27 In a stronghold of kinship society, only such moral norms would have appealed to the majority of local kinspeople. This explains why the two later versions of Mulian, like their master copy, frequently refer to landmarks of local lineage landscape, such as ancestral halls and paifang (memorial archways for devoted sons and chaste women).28 The same social mechanism accounts for the endorsement of commercial morality in the two folksy versions, which at the same time satirize money fever. In the Changbiao version, Luobu is still a good merchant who views “benevolence and righteousness” as “worth a thousand [ounces of] gold” and cares “little about money.” 29 Avaricious people, on the other hand, are criticized and punished. In the Boyang version, Buddha and Guanyin ridicule how “lay people are so foolish that they live just for money.” 30 King Yama even tortures a local earth god for greed in a previous life.31 Most notably, the characteristic “Ode to Silver” is sung again in the Changbiao version, and the most sardonic “Beggar’s Song,” “Ten Not-So-Dears,” is featured in both the Changbiao and Boyang versions.32 This time, however, two popular variants of the god of wealth (not their incarnated images, two Daoist preachers, as in Zheng’s script) sing the song satirizing both “gold and silver”; and the “Beggar’s Song” is sung to Fu Xiang, not to Madame Liu.33

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Based on these similarities, it appears highly likely that Zheng Zhizhen’s script served as the master copy for both the Boyang and Changbiao versions. Comparing the scripts, we see slightly different names for the identical characters, altered contexts in which the same (or similar) ballads are sung, or modifications in language. Both folksy versions “vulgarized” Zheng’s script, and expanded sections are written in colloquial, even coarse language. Especially in the Changbiao version, comedic but obscene jests and coarse insults are inserted, such as “your mother farts” and “fuck your mother.” 34 We see this vulgarity in the scene called “A Monk and a Nun Flirt with Each Other” (Sengni xiangtiao). In the Boyang version, the monk says to the nun when she turns back to look at him, “Why are you looking at a monk? There are not many things we monks have [to be looked at]. Taking off a worn-out cap from head, [we are] guang tutu (bareheaded); taking off trousers from legs, [we are] tutu guang (naked; the term also implies the penis head, which looks like the bare head of monk).” 35 In the Changbiao version, the monk even thinks about touching the nun’s thigh and making love to her.36 Here the Confucian didacticism of Mulian seems to have shaded over into indecent entertainment. Nevertheless, the monkand-nun scene is a very complicated phenomenon that defies simple characterization in terms of both the intention of the players or playwrights and the effect upon the audience.37 In the end, the monk and the nun are tortured along with Madame Liu in Hell, thus eventually reaffirming the same social norm embodied in Mulian’s devoted fiancée and other Confucian women in the play.38 The language used in the monk-and-nun scene also suggests that both the Boyang and Changbiao versions are genuinely “folksy,” or more accurately, they mix up both elite concerns and folk sentiments. These scripts contain numerous erroneous characters, and not all of them are homophone mistakes. Some errors, such as dun (escape) being written as jin (close) and mao (pretend) written as gu (bone), were clearly caused in the process of handcopying, because the graphs look alike.39 Still, unattributed classical allusions are frequently used in the newly added colloquial sections, as well as the sections directly copied from Zheng’s script. For instance, we see poems by Han Yu and Liu Zongyuan in the Boyang version; and a poem by Wang Anshi, a passage from the Analects, and a passage from the Mencius in the Changbiao version.40 It is common sense that the ordinary people obtained their knowledge about Chinese history, even if often distorted or mythologized, through operatic and storytelling performances. After all, Mulian was often staged with operas about famous historical figures such as Guan Yu, Yue Fei, and Liang Wudi. Generally speaking, the Mulian opera was expanded in three ways in later texts. First, one scene could be made longer or even split into several

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scenes. For instance, scene 5 of Zheng’s first volume, concerning the Fu house’s practice of charity, is developed into five scenes in the Boyang version; scene 4 of Zheng’s third volume is six pages in length, whereas its Changbiao counterpart covers thirty pages.41 Second, short episodes could be developed into independent scenes. The story of the chicken-thief, a short episode in Zheng’s script, is featured in a scene called “Maji” (Curse the chicken[-thief]) in later versions.42 Most important is the third method of expansion, the development of new images or stories that had nothing to do with the main story line of the original opera.43 Two sets of new stories deserve particular attention: those of Emperor Wu of the Liang and the Hanged Woman. Operas or scenes about Liang Wudi, along with other popular legends, had been staged together with Mulian before Zheng Zhizhen’s script. Perhaps because the Ming Code proscribed “performance of emperors and empresses and ancient sages,” 44 Zheng did not incorporate Liang Wudi into his script.45 But the story continued to be popular among local audiences, especially in the Huizhou region, indicating influences other than Zheng’s upon later Mulian librettos.46 Perhaps an “oral” tradition of Mulian performance existed, as some Chinese scholars suggest.47 Or perhaps Mulian performers referred to the written tradition, including the vernacular novel Romance of Liang Wudi, which had appeared by the late Ming.48 Besides deepening the opera’s secularization, the Liang Wudi story lent a touch of historicity, which might be an attraction for performers and local audience.49 Set in a specific historical context, the Mulian story conveys a sense of real events: the “demons and gods” and “Heaven and Hell,” like the story of the historic Liang Wudi, are all real happenings, not religious fantasy. Evil is really punished in Hell, and virtue is really rewarded in Heaven. The demons and gods of the popular ethico-religious discourse were more effective at frightening evildoers and encouraging good people.

Thematic Integration: From a Confucian Girl to the Hanged Woman The new image of the Hanged Woman (nüdiao) in post–Zheng Zhizhen versions of Mulian is of great sociocultural significance and deserves a systematic analysis. The Hanged Woman performance varies in different regions but shares the same story line: a woman is resolved to hang herself after being accused of adultery by her husband, only to be rescued by divine force because she is in fact a faithful wife.50 Performed in addition to scenes with Mulian’s devoted fiancée Miss Cao, the Hanged Woman is central to later Mulian performances. To the audience, these heroines were no less im-

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portant than the Mulian heroes. Love affairs naturally appealed to the audience, both men and women, presenting a more attractive or “sexy” theme than filial piety or commercial morality. In terms of embodied social values, the Hanged Woman performance popularized the ethico-religious discourse in a more dramatic way than Miss Cao did, who only cuts off her hair and hides in a nunnery to maintain her chastity. Like the story of Liang Wudi, the Hanged Woman illustrates how new variations from Zheng’s original script could contribute to the integration of Mulian performances. But the evolution from Miss Cao to the Hanged Woman also reflected the developments in the female chastity cult and Huizhou mercantile lineage culture. The part of a heroine, Miss Cao in Mulian, is required by the very structure of Song-Yuan Southern Drama (nanxi) and Ming chuanqi operas, in which both sheng (hero) and dan (heroine) should be present. The nanxi and chuanqi operas were marked by themes of religiosity and romance, but pure romantic passion (qing) did not become a dominant operatic theme until the sixteenth century, when the cult of qing emerged in Jiangnan urban culture.51 Philosophically, it was partly inspired by the Wang Yangming school of the mind (xin xue), as xin represented both the affective heart and rational mind.52 Many playwrights in the qing camp traced their intellectual heritage to the Taizhou school. Tang Xianzu, for instance, was a student of Luo Rufang (1515 – 88), a third-generation disciple of Wang Gen who had deep faith in the goodness of humankind.53 Along with Tang Xianzu, other leading playwrights of the late Ming and early Qing, including Li Yu, Hong Sheng, and Kong Shangren, were all obsessed with the new theme.54 Together they made the romantic drama the hallmark of Ming-Qing theater, whose stock characters included the “literary genius and beautiful woman” (caizi jiaren) and the “spirits and gods.” As a proverb puts it, “Nine out of ten chuanqi operas are concerned with romantic love.” 55 The pioneer of the romantic drama, testifying to the forging of the cult of qing, was Tang Xianzu’s Peony Pavilion. Soon after its first appearance in 1589, seven years after Zheng Zhizhen’s Opera for Goodness, Peony Pavilion was hailed as the embodiment of qing par excellence. Its instant success was due to the attractiveness of its teenage heroine, Du Liniang, who is determined to pursue passionate love in defiance of social constraints, both in this world and the next. Compared to theatrical romances of “the genius and the beauty,” Zheng Zhizheng’s Miss Cao looks out of place. Her story is hardly about romance, but rather asceticism, conveying the neo-Confucian norm of female chastity. In neo-Confucian texts, a woman with firm integrity (jielie) is often likened to a loyal official. “A loyal minister does not serve two rulers; a chaste woman does not have two husbands,” Zhu Xi said in Elementary Learning.56 Zheng Zhizhen used the same formulation in his Opera for

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Goodness. Cao Xianzhong, upon seeing Miss Cao in a nunnery, says to his daughter, “The human mind is sustained by the Three Bonds: A minister fulfills his loyalty, a son fulfills his filial piety, and a wife fulfills her marital fidelity.” To this his daughter responds, “I have long heard that a maiden with firm integrity never marries a second husband.” 57 This Confucian girl was a staunch image in the repertoire of the concurrent female chastity cult (see Chapter 2). How then do we explain the paradoxical popularity of the “ascetic” Miss Cao in light of the contemporary cult of romantic “beautiful women”? One way to address the paradox is to make a distinction between authorship, intended audience, and social context. Romantic dramas featuring qing, most of which were written by famed literati, were intended to win the plaudits of fellow sophisticates in urban centers rather than the cheers of foolish men and foolish women, whereas Mulian was intended mainly for rural areas. More important, however, I would suggest that the cults of jielie and qing were two sides of the same coin of the neo-Confucian ethic of womanly virtue, reflecting both the “democratization” of the ideal of female chastity and elite alienation from this originally “highbrow” discourse. The tradition of writing biographies of chaste women and women’s didactic handbooks started from the Han dynasty (206 b.c.e.–220 c.e.) in Liu Xiang’s Biographies of Virtuous Women and Ban Zhao’s Admonitions for Women and continued to develop in subsequent dynasties.58 But the notion of female chastity probably did not have a significant impact until the Song dynasty, when certain neo-Confucian philosophers, notably Zhou Dunyi and Cheng Yi, incorporated a gender hierarchy into their understanding of the cosmic order.59 Classic Confucians, Mencius for instance, conceived a reciprocity of the relationship between husband and wife, as well as those between father and son, ruler and subjects, and between brothers and between friends. The neo-Confucians accentuated unilateral obligations, regarding the five human relationships as principles linked to yin and yang. Although yin and yang complement each other, yin was considered more constricted. “Yang often also comprises yin,” said Zhu Xi, “but yin cannot comprise yang.” Women, who as yin never had an opportunity to become yang, were now placed in particularly disadvantaged position.60 Female chastity was originally an elitist ideal. In 1426, a beautiful nineteen-year-old girl surnamed Guo, betrothed to one of the first Ming emperor’s grandsons, hanged herself after her fiancé died. Emperor Xuanzong (reigned 1426 –36) honored her for her virtue. Seven years later, Duke Zhu Youdun (1379 –1439), another grandson of the first Ming emperor, wrote a play titled Chaste Maiden Zhao in Her Dream Reunites with Her Betrothed After His Demise. It concerns a virgin who hangs herself after the

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demise of her fiancé, to whom she was engaged before her birth. This was the first play on the subject of martyred chaste widows (or fiancées) and, like maiden Guo’s suicide, had a significant impact upon the imperial court. In the late 1420s, one of Zhu Youdun’s sisters-in-law committed suicide, and when the Duke himself died in 1439, his wife and six other high-ranked ladies took their lives to follow him to the netherworld.61 Despite the elite origin of widowhood, however, the Ming imperial house began to take concrete measures to honor faithful women from among the common people, intentionally excluding elites from receiving awards. This preference dramatically “democratized” the elite discourse on chaste widowhood and encouraged its practice among ordinary people, elevating female chastity into a cult by the sixteenth century.62 Awarded by the state to a widow of firm integrity, a testimonial of merit (jingbiao) or an archway (paifang) brought glory to a whole lineage and even a whole region. Virtuous women became objects to be counted, rather than venerated, in gazetteer lists that grew ever longer in late imperial times.63 In Huizhou, as already noted in Chapter 2, many genealogies included female biographies. Wang Daokun, too, wrote biographies of seven Huizhou widows, whose virtue he emphasized with regional pride.64 As a result, the Anhui scholar Fang Bao (1668 –1749) reported that “farmers in the country and children in the market are now all aware of this motto, ‘to starve to death is a small matter, but to lose one’s chastity is a great matter indeed.’” 65 This “democratization” of the elite discourse on chaste widowhood ultimately alienated some Confucian literati in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, however.66 Whereas common folk and elite moralists alike disparaged widow remarriage, some prominent scholars, such as Gui Youguang (1506 –71) and Mao Qiling (1623–1716), began to question the value of widow martyrdom. These critical scholars were participating in a debate against conventional moralists, with both sides wielding the Confucian teaching of ritual-and-propriety (li), based on their different interpretations of Confucian classics such as the Book of Rites.67 Elite critics condemned the suicide of betrothed “widows” in particular.68 Mao Qiling denounced the fanatic practice as “violating li,” and Chen Que (1604 –77) pointed to the “impure” motivation of these female martyrs. Most betrothed girls and widows who committed suicide did not “really die for chastity,” said Chen Que, but just for “buying [fame],” which he denounced as “vanity, vulgarity, and ignorance.” 69 This impure lijiao discourse also alienated the leading playwrights of the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. They immersed themselves in the theme of qing (romantic passion), partly as a protest against the “hypocrisy” of neo-Confucian moralizing and the Buddhist prohibition of renqing (human emotions).70 But the cult of qing, like Wang Yangming’s school of the mind, was itself multivalent, reflecting contrasting ideas. For example, many late-Ming ro-

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mance writers argued that Confucian principles could be sustained only through qing. Feng Menglong proclaimed in the Anatomy of Love that “she who is without qing cannot be a faithful wife to her husband.” 71 More revealing is Li Xiangjun, the female protagonist of Peach Blossom Fan, a celebrated play written by Confucius’s descendant Kong Shangren. Li Xiangjun marries Hou Fangyu right after he fails in the examination hall, demonstrating the purity of her love. Her image represented the “traditional court” (jiuyuan) of the famous Qinhuai quarter in Nanjing, where courtesans maintained their chastity until meeting their soul mates. It was in sharp contrast to the women of the Nanjing “southern market” (nanshi), who were merely prostitutes.72 With or without Confucian overtones, connotations of qing could range from sexual passion to fervent self-sacrifice. Tang Xianzu distinguished between bad, “unnatural” jiao qing, the lowly desires of vanity, avarice, and self-indulgence; and good, “sincere” zhen qing, the devoted and lofty emotions. As Tang Xianzu insisted, good qing was the basis for devoted love, as well as loyalty and filial piety. Along these lines, Hong Sheng believed that “the loyalty of ministers and filial devotion of sons can be nurtured only by qing”; and his contemporary Meng Chenshun declared that only “dutiful men and chaste women” could fulfill romantic love.73 This Confucian understanding of qing ultimately led romantic literati to return to a theme elaborated upon in Zhu Xi’s Elementary Learning, namely jielie (firm integrity), which was applied to both men and women and informed both chastity and qing. Like Zhu Xi and romantic literati, Zheng Zhizhen often mentioned loyal officials, filial sons, and chaste women in the same breath. Indeed, marital fidelity was the wife’s quintessential virtue, the conjugal metaphor for loyalty and filial piety: the wife followed her husband, just as the minister remained loyal to the emperor and the son obeyed his father. Together they constituted the Confucian Three Bonds, which laid the common foundation for the works by both romantic playwrights and Zheng Zhizhen. Whereas Zheng Zhizhen’s Miss Cao symbolized “ascetic” chastity, the “beautiful women” in Ming-Qing theater represented devoted love. The “beautiful women” are romanticized and idealized (and somehow alienated) chaste women; their qing is the affective and passionate expression of their jielie. Sincere qing can thus be seen as pure or “chaste” love, uncontaminated with “vanity, vulgarity, and ignorance.” The flexible linkage of the concepts of jielie and qing enabled both “beautiful women” and “chaste widows” to coexist, alongside loyal officials and filial sons, as cultural heroes of Confucian society. But it was not just on the stage that the fidelity of wife to husband was explicitly compared to the loyalty of minister to ruler. Love and loyalty were interwoven in real life as well, especially during the Ming-Qing transition period. Devoted or “chaste” courtesans such as Li Xiangjun mediated ro-

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mance and politics, and Ming loyalists often called themselves “faithful wives” of their dynasty.74 In Zheng Zhizhen’s home prefecture, officials were willing to die for the Ming, just as women were for their husbands. Upon the fall of the Ming house, the Shexian native and high-ranking official Ling Yiqu, after surviving one suicide attempt, hung himself, as had the last emperor of the Ming.75 The 1693 Wuyuan county gazetteer noted that Huizhou women fleeing bandits “declared themselves ‘vessels of cedar,’ swearing to die rather than lose their chastity, determined to follow their husbands in death.” 76 It is no coincidence that later folksy Mulian librettos also likened Miss Cao to loyal officials and filial sons.77 The Three Bonds were the norms for both elite and popular cultures, for both men and women. In Mulian performance, female chastity and jielie were further dramatized through references to the punishment of evil and the reward of virtue in the afterworld. In Zheng Zhizhen’s text, a chaste widow emphasizes her fidelity as she is shown through the Golden Bridge to Heaven, along with the loyal official Guang Guoqing and the filial son An Yuming. After singing a short ballad praising devoted widowhood, the widow introduces herself to the audience, “I was Geng Xinzhen. My husband passed away when I was young without a son. Greedy for money, my stepmother forced me to remarry. I was willing to use a sharp knife to send myself to the yellow spring [commit suicide].” The widow with firm integrity is therefore honored in Heaven.78 Later Mulian versions continue to use Madame Geng, as well as Miss Cao, to feature women’s virtue of sexual integrity. But the Hanged Woman referenced not only the power of heavenly judgment itself but also popular belief in ghosts. The image mingled the value of jielie with the exorcism of the Hanged Ghost, one of the most frightening spirits in the mind of ordinary people, and of ordinary women in particular.79 Through cleansing the malicious influence of hanged-women ghosts, the performance must also have helped chasten the local sexual environment. This combination rendered the Hanged Woman scene particularly intense or relevant, especially given the ethico-religious discourse of Mulian and its function of ghost exorcism. Even though the Hanged Woman had no linkage whatsoever with the main story line of Mulian family, it became one of the central scenes in later Mulian performance.80 In the Boyang version, the protagonist of the Hanged Woman scenes is Madame Jin, whose husband, Wang Xiao’er, is featured as a sojourning tradesman or a small vendor. Wang Xiao’er leaves home for business so frequently that Madame Jin, now thirty-six years old, still has no son (which seems to mirror the high birth-giving ages in the Huizhou region discussed in Chapter 2). She makes an offer of a gold hairpin to two Buddhist monks in the hope of bearing a son (scene 17, “Monks Get a Gold Hairpin”).81 On

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his way home, Wang Xiao’er runs into the two monks, who ask him for alms. As Wang’s donation is meager, the monk compares him with a woman “living in that thatched shed” who was willing “to give me a gold hairpin, feed me, and let me sleep [in her home].” Wang recognizes the hairpin and suspects his wife of having had a sexual liaison with the monk. The sojourning man is furious, saying, “I thought that my miserable woman always endures sufferings at home. How could I anticipate that she would ruin my family’s name. I’ll go back and beat her to vent my rage.” Upon returning home, he beats his wife with no mercy (scene 18, “Beating Wife upon Returning Home”). At this point, Madame Jin is prepared to undergo the most appalling ordeal to defend her reputation. She resolves to hang herself, as would be expected by the Mulian audience, who was immersed in a culture that stressed the utmost significance of sexual purity for women and who knew the desperate response upon losing it (or just being rumored to have lost it).82 At this critical juncture, the God of Lightning, Puhua, descends from Heaven to intervene (scene 19, “Puhua Comes to the Earth”), while the spirits of people who died in various ways (by poison, drowning, stabbing, and hanging) begin to fight among themselves to “change body” with Madame Jin in the hope of being reborn as a human being (scene 20, “The Hanged Spirit Shows Up”; and scene 21, “The Hanged Spirit Sighs in Despair”). As Madame Jin is hanging herself, Puhua bursts onto the stage, drives the Hanged Spirit away, and says to the unconscious Madame Jin, “Listen to me, Jin. I, this deity, come here to rescue you. In the future you’ll have men of goodness and women of faith (shannan xinnü) as your offspring.” Rescued and recovered, Madame Jin sings, “I’ll have a son to carry on [our family surname],” while Wang Xiao’er expresses his gratitude to Puhua (scene 22, “Madame Jin Hangs Herself”). In scene 23, “Showing the Magic Power,” Puhua ordains various ghosts: (Sings) I am a venerated deity in Heaven, Puhua the God of Lightning from the nine-tiered heavens. I’ve received three edicts from the Jade Emperor to examine good and evil people in the human world. Drowned Ghost, raise your head and take a look around. (Sings) These are all men of goodness and women of faith. Don’t wail, don’t hurt them. I raise my steel whip, (Sings to the Drowned Ghost) Go three thousand and eight hundred li away, never look back. Go! Poisoned Ghost and Stabbed Ghost, raise your heads and take a look around. (Sings) These are all men of goodness and women of faith. Don’t wail, don’t hurt them. Here I raise my steel whip—go three thousand and eight hundred li away, never look back.

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the performance Go! Hanged Ghost (diaosanggui), exhort the audience under the stage—I’ll release your soul instantly.

In scene 24, “Puhua Expels the Hanged Ghost,” the Hanged Ghost exhorts the audience: “Men and women, elder sisters and younger sisters, listen to my exhortation. Women should follow the Three Obediences and the Four Virtues. Get up early to heat water and attend your mother-in-law with a cup of tea. It is said that the hostess of a family alternates over time—a daughter-in-law will someday be a mother-in-law.” The Hanged Ghost goes on to make exhortations about maintaining good relationships between parents and children, between sisters-in-law, between husband and wife, and between neighbors. The Hanged Woman piece concludes with the Hanged Ghost leaping off the stage. Pursued by Puhua, the Hanged Ghost runs away from the audience, symbolizing the expelling of ghostly influences. The performance enacts a ghost exorcism and expresses its moral content through the dialogue of the Hanged Ghost and Puhua. As long as the audience contains “men of goodness and women of faith,” various kinds of malicious spirits, the Hanged Ghost in particular, will “go three thousand and eight hundred li away”—they will not harm good people. In case they do, powerful gods such as Puhua will show up to keep them at bay. The Hanged Woman story, however, also conveys some sympathy toward women, especially in the Changbiao version. The Changbiao Hanged Woman is named Chen Jinlian, who, by giving two monks her gold hairpin, wishes for a son, for longevity for her husband, and for a harmonious family life. Her husband, named Dongfang Liang, is made to be a drunkard and gambler, who wants to use his wife’s hairpin to gamble, and who, upon learning that she has given away the hairpin presumably as a love token, beats her and thus forces her to hang herself in despair. Puhua, not the Hanged Ghost, proffers the moralistic exhortation to the audience and also narrates the previous life of the Hanged Ghost, who was not devoted to her parents-in-law or respectful to her husband and thus deserved to hang herself.83 As her husband is a more negative figure, Chen Jinlian becomes more sympathetic. Notably, however, no punishment for Dongfang Liang is explicitly mentioned in the opera. More important, the wronged Madame Dongfang, like the wronged Madame Jin, deserved sympathy, not because the Confucian value of female chastity embodied in her desperate suicide was wrong, but because she was a loyal wife who had been falsely accused. The tragedy is that in late imperial Huizhou, there was hardly any other alternative for mistreated women like Madame Dongfang or Madame Jin, even after the Qing court began in the eighteenth century to criticize widow suicide as a way to escape Confucian family responsibilities.84 The only solution was to appeal to the supernatural for protection. Just as Wang

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Xiao’er’s anger was in part a fictional projection of traveling merchants’ anxiety over the sexual fidelity of their lonely wives, the divine “justice” was in part a projection of the fantasy of the Hanged Woman’s female audience. It provided psychological relief and a promise of just treatment for women who abided by the normative gender values (albeit a promise that was not necessarily kept in real life).85 Even remarried widows, not to mention unfaithful wives, were thoroughly stigmatized in local society, although widows could legally remarry.86 The 1693 Xiuning gazetteer notes that “remarried women are disgraced; they must not get out through the main gate, and their carts must not come close to the house.” The account goes on to report that widows who remarried were treated like beggars, with the crowds of children following behind “clapping their hands and throwing stones” to humiliate them. In this climate, we are told, Huizhou widows, called the “not-yet-dead” (weiwangren), devoted themselves to caring for their children and parents-in-law or simply committed suicide “by hanging, by knife, by poison, by fasting.” 87 One such suicide case concerned the betrothed Fang Shengying, who lived in Shexian in the Longqing reign period (1567–72), when Huizhou witnessed a sudden upsurge in the cult of female marital fidelity. Upon hearing that her fiancé had died, the fifteen-year-old Fang cut off her hair and resolved to starve herself to death. At their wit’s end, her parents beseeched her would-be mother-in-law to help dissuade her. The maiden then told them that she wanted to go to the home of her deceased fiancé so that she could offer sacrifice to his spirit and wait upon her would-be mother-in-law. On the day of her departure, the betrothed “widow,” wearing mourning garments, was taken in a covered cart to her fiancé’s tomb, where several thousand spectators had gathered. Hundreds of her fiancé’s kin came out to welcome her in tears. Upon arrival at the tomb, however, she was found dead—in the cart she had seized a moment of privacy to strangle herself.88 Another story links its protagonist even to the founding emperor of the Ming dynasty. It concerns a Shexian beauty, a certain widow Jiang who had once saved the life of Zhu Yuanzhang when he fought a battle in Huizhou as the leader of a rebellious army. After being enthroned, Zhu wanted to “thank” the widow. So he picked her to be one of his concubines, thereby unwittingly forcing her to hang herself rather than lose her marital fidelity.89 This hanged-woman story is a little sarcastic, and the irony seems directed against Zhu Yuanzhang, perhaps the most autocratic and certainly the “ugliest” of the Ming emperors. But the transformative power of the myth lies not so much in its satire of the pockmarked autocrat as in the shrewd use of the symbol of imperial authority to convey the significance of female chastity. An emperor could have as many consorts as he wanted, but even he was not supposed to deprive a widow of her sexual fidelity. Or, to put it

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the performance table 5.1 Various Categories of Virtuous Women in Huizhou

Dynasties

Chaste widows (jiefu) Martyred widows (jielie) Chaste girls (zhennü) Martyred betrothed maidens (zhenlie) Devoted daughters-in-law (xiaofu) Devoted daughters (xiaonü) Virtuous women (xianshu) Talented women (caiyuan) Total

Tang Song

3 3

Yuan

Ming

Qing

Total

15 6 1

597 192 11 17 15 8 1

3,297 178 96 35 89 43 4 1 3,743

3,912 379 108 53 104 55 5 1 4,617

1 2

1

1

2

8

23

841

Source: Data from Tang Lixing, Shangren yu wenhua de shuangchong bianzou, pp. 121–22. Note: Recorded in the 1827 Huizhou prefectural gazetteer.

in a more relevant way for Huizhou women, a faithful widow should not give up her chastity even for an emperor. The historical Fang Shengying or mythological widow Jiang, like the performed images of Miss Cao and Madame Dongfang, were important assets in the symbolic repertoire of Huizhou lineage culture. The 1771 Shexian gazetteer proudly calls the county “guimen Zou-Lu (women’s Zou-Lu)” and attributes this reputation to both natural and cultural forces, “perhaps because it is kept pure by the spotless atmosphere of the mountains and streams or by the indelible molding of the Cheng-Zhu teachings.” 90 But the ecological environment and cultural tradition could work only through specific social forces. The value of female chastity and thus blood purity, needless to say, was embedded in Huizhou male-centered kinship society. This society generated a large number of “Confucian” women in Ming and Qing times, corresponding to the maturation of lineage institutions. Of 4,617 local virtuous women listed by category in Table 5.1, the overwhelming majority came from the Ming and Qing dynasties. Although chaste women increased dramatically from the Ming to Qing, the number of female suicides did not decrease, if we include both martyred widows and betrothed maidens: 209 suicide cases are recorded for the Ming and 213 for the Qing (up to 1827). This trend partially contradicts the notion that local society positively—real or claimed—responded to the Qing state campaign against widow suicide while promoting the female chastity cult.91 Moreover, the Qing-dynasty vogue of the Hanged Woman performance clearly attests to the discrepancy between Manchu imperial propaganda and popular sentiment.92 Indeed, local society and popular culture func-

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table 5.2 Virtuous Women and Huizhou Lineage-Dominated Communities Lineage-Dominated Communities

Chengkan Dongguan Fengnan Guilin Huaitang Jiangcun Juncheng Lukou Panxi Qiankou Shangshi

Number of Virtuous Women

69 60 66 61 118 106 57 81 41 47 15

Lineage-Dominated Communities

Total

Tandu Tangmo Tangyue Xiaoxi Xiongcun Xucun (1) Xucun (2) Yanzhen Yicheng Zhengcun 21

Number of Virtuous Women

56 46 47 89 84 111 107 255 51 36 1,603

Source: Data from Tang Lixing, Shangren yu wenhua de shuangchong bianzou, p. 126. Note: Recorded in the 1827 Huizhou prefectural gazetteer.

tioned with its own logic, not necessarily always in correspondence with the imperial order. If we look at the Huizhou prefectural gazetteer data more closely, we see that more than one-third of virtuous women (1,603 out of 4,617) were from twenty-one communities, as listed in Table 5.2. These communities were all in Shexian,93 and most of them were home to prominent mercantile lineages, including Jiangcun, Qiankou, Tandu, Tangmo, Tangyue, Xiongcun, and Zhengcun, that were dominant in the Yangzhou salt business.94 Not just patriarchal kinship alone but Huizhou mercantile lineage culture as a whole fanned the value of widow suicide and chastity to a fanatic cult for the entire late imperial era, that is, for both the Ming and Qing. Sojourning merchants, like lineage elders, were attracted to the Confucian ethic of female chastity—and ideology was manipulated to serve practical interest. Given the sojourning nature of their vocation, tradesmen were especially concerned with the loyalty of their lonely wives left at home. Hu Shi, a leading New Culture movement intellectual from Huizhou, mentioned a popular saying in his home prefecture, “A lifelong couple stays together only for three and a half years.” 95 The 1937 Shexian gazetteer confirms this life pattern: “Local custom emphasizes commercial activities. Merchants must travel far away, often return home just once every several years, and in certain cases never return. The departure of the newly-wedded is treated as an ordinary thing.” 96 This custom was already firmly established by the sixteenth century, as

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reflected in both historical documents and popular literature. Xu Guo (1527–96), the future prime minister from Shexian, first saw his sojourning father when Xu was six years old.97 Slapping the Table in Astonishment (Pai’an jingqi), a popular collection of short tales compiled by the Jiangnan man of letters Ling Mengchu (1580 –1644), contains a revealing story about Pan Jia (two homophonic characters of which could mean “Longing for Home”). This scholar-turned-merchant from Tunxi in Huizhou had just married the “delicately pretty” Yao Dizhu.98 They lived in the Pan household for just two months after the wedding when Pan Jia’s father bitterly scolded him, saying, “Look at the two of you so lovey-dovey. Husband and wife can’t just while away a lifetime doting on each other. Why don’t you put your mind to going out to do business?” Pan Jia had no choice but to talk it over with Dizhu. The two of them wept and wept, talking the whole night long. The next morning, Father Pan forced his son to leave home. Yao Dizhu was left behind like a huo guafu or “widow-in-proxy” (a wife with a sojourning husband far away from home), “dropping pearl-like tears” every day. Later, the story goes, she leaves home after being bitterly scolded by her parents-in-law and falls into the hands of a pimp and a procuress. She finally loses her sexual purity to another Huizhou merchant, leading to a two-year-long lawsuit and her eventual reunion with Pan Jia.99 Slapping the Table in Astonishment is, of course, only fiction. According to historical documents, most Huizhou women, unlike Yao Dizhu, maintained marital fidelity as widows or widows-in-proxy and remained devoted daughters-in-law, enduring all kinds of suffering in the process. A certain Yixian beauty, living in the early twentieth century, was widowed just one month after her wedding, and she did not have a mother-in-law to wait upon or brothers-in-law to rely on. The widow was extraordinarily lonesome, although financially she was well provided for with a monthly allowance from the shops owned by her late husband’s family. To avoid any possible rumors about her chastity (according to a popular saying, “Rumors multiply outside a widow’s door”), every evening she locked all the doors at sunset. She sat on the ground in her bedchamber and then threw out a string of one hundred copper coins, with oil light extinguished. In the dark she groped about for the coins until they were all put back to the string. She did this every night until she died at thirty. By then, so the story goes, the characters on the coins had been worn out through handling.100 This string of the erased coins crystallized the emotional bitterness endured by Huizhou women. Out of their sufferings developed a unique art of weeping, wailing with a song. Yixian, for instance, produced a distinctive genre of women’s literature called “weeping songs” (geku ci); when one housewife was crying, other women in the neighborhood often joined in singing “weeping songs.” One of them, “I’d Rather Have Wedded a Farming Lad,” reads as follows:

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Alas, oh, alas! Alas that I married a traveling lad, Year after year I watch over an empty room. Why did I want a high-storied house? Why did I crave a great entrance hall? Night after night I sleep alone on an empty bed. Had I known I’d suffer so much bitterness I’d rather have wedded a farming lad. By day we’d busily work the fields By night I’d lie with my sweet-lad on the flowery bed.101

Huizhou women did not live in purdah; they had their own emotional and sexual needs. The wives of sojourning men were apparently not happy about their marital and sexual lives. Their discontent could be further complicated by the emotional loneliness of life in the diminished nuclear family (see Chapter 2). They made their voices heard through weeping songs; and this was reason enough to make sojourning husbands nervous about the possibility of adultery. The irrational responses of jealous husbands represented in various Hanged Woman scenes clearly index the hypersensitivity of Huizhou merchants in this regard. Moreover, their ambiguous standing in both gentrified kinship society and local popular culture could dramatically sharpen their anxious mood, prompting them to tighten patriarchal control on women’s sexuality.102 As with so many other matters, Huizhou merchants formed a united front with lineage gentry to control their kinswomen by appealing to the neo-Confucian ethic of female chastity. They sponsored the compilation of genealogies, which, like the ones of the Fangs in Wuyuan and Guilin, often include rules obstructing the remarriage of kinswomen. They were enthusiastic about the printing of Confucian books concerning women, including Family Rituals, Classic for Girls, and Illustrated Female Exemplars.103 The following story, recorded in the 1937 Shexian gazetteer, tells how a late-Ming maid died for her husband under the influence of a merchant’s wife who in turn had been influenced by the Biography of Chaste Women: Yin Chun’s wife is surnamed Zhang. Yin Chun, a native of Tandu, is a servant of [merchant] Huang Shiyao, and Zhang is the maid of Shiyao’s mother [surnamed Wang]. Shiyao’s wife, surnamed Cheng, is pretty knowledgeable about the classics and history; her mother-in-law sometimes let her lecture on the Biography of Chaste Women to enlighten the family servants. The maid Zhang always enjoys listening, never showing fatigue. After a year or so, Yin Chun died. Zhang wept and said goodbye to the mother, intending to sacrifice herself. Wang wept too, and let her go, saying, “Alas, you are also thinking of leaving a good name to posterity.” Zhang closed the door to hang herself. Other servants hurried in and saved her. The next day, she went by herself to purchase arsenic in a local market, but the shopkeeper gave her something else to calm her down. She did not die, either. She therefore pre-

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pared herself a coffin, and kept lying in it. Wang pulled her up, saying, “Why don’t you wait upon me for the rest of your life—this won’t damage your integrity. Why do you need to hurry?” Zhang replied in tears, “My commitment is not reversible. I’ve made this decision since I listened to the Biography of Chaste Women.” She kept lying [in the coffin], ate nothing and died.104

The significance of this story lies in the penetration of the value of female chastity into the lower classes. The gazetteer attributed the diffusion to the influence of moral handbooks. But a subtler and more penetrating factor was the general cultural environment. As a way of maintaining control over women, Huizhou merchants helped create a local cultural landscape that conveyed the significance of women’s virtues, including both chastity and obedience. We have seen how the Huizhou landscape was marked by paifang, archways built in memory of kinswomen with firm integrity (along with filial sons and loyal officials). Most archways in Huizhou, like the magnificent lineage temples, were built with the generous donations of merchants.105 The leading Yangzhou salt merchant, Bao Zhidao, for instance, beseeched imperial testimonials of merit to build archways for chaste women of his ancestral lineage, the Tangyue Baos.106 In addition to elevating regional prestige, the paifang had twofold functions that reinforced one another. An archway served to solace lonely souls of widows-in-proxy, compensating for their spiritual and sexual sufferings. At the same time it put pressure on all kinswomen to maintain accepted patterns for their daily and sexual lives. The dual nature of archways applies to other establishments in honor of women as well. Around Bao Zhidao’s time, virtuous women began to be honored in the ancestral halls. During the High Qing, for instance, Jiang Fan, another leading Yangzhou salt merchant from the Jiang lineage of Jiangcun village in Shexian, donated a large amount of money to build ancestral halls in memory not only of zhongyi (male loyalty and righteousness) but also of jiexiao and jieyi (female chastity, filial piety, and duty).107 Some of the lineages that produced large number of the “Confucian” women illustrated in Table 5.1, such as the Tangyue Baos and the Tandu Huangs, began to construct or rebuild shrines for female ancestors (nüci).108 Tangyue’s female shrine, built by Bao Zhidao’s brother Bao Qiyun, is still in good shape (Figure 5.1). The female shrine is notably smaller than the Bao lineage temple that mainly honors male ancestors (see Figure 1.4, which illustrates its front gate). Built on the right side of the lineage temple, which is at the center facing the entrance of the village, the female shrine has no front gate. It can be entered only through a door on the side (Figure 5.2). Just as the hierarchical display of spiritual tablets in the ancestral hall stressed the unequal gentry-merchant relations (see Chapter 2), this side arrangement crystallized the dependence of women on men.

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figure 5.1 The main hall of the female shrine of the Tangyue Baos, Shexian (Qing). Source: Photograph by Qitao Guo.

In addition to archways and temple structures, Huizhou living quarters were designed in ways that encouraged women’s dedication and obedience. Figure 5.3 illustrates the Treading-Fortune Hall (Lüfu tang) in Xidi village, Yixian. This living room of a three-storied house, built in the Kangxi reign, is decorated in typical Huizhou style. Besides the Confucian scroll-couplets, the arrangement of a vase, a mirror, and a clock at the bottom (behind the dining table) symbolizes women’s devotion to their husbands. The meaning is played out through homonymous puns. The character of vase is pronounced “ping” and mirror “jing,” with “pingjing” making up a composite term that means “peaceful”; clock, “zhong,” is a homophone of the word that means “loyalty.” With this arrangement, the merchants’ housewives wished their sojourning husbands “peace” while they themselves maintained their marital loyalty at home (see also the Auspicious Jade Hall [Ruiyu ting] in Xidi, illustrated in Figure 5.4). Normative gender relations were thus enforced in the closeted home on the most intimate level. Huizhou housewives cried out their dissatisfaction in weeping songs, but in normal times they willingly maintained a living-room arrangement that constantly reminded them of their inferior position, enhancing their subordination in their own consciousness. The gender inequality played itself out not just in the symbolic realm but also in real life, both in terms of sexuality and in terms of the differing levels of material comfort enjoyed by women and their sojourning husbands.

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figure 5.2 The side-facing door of the female shrine of the Tangyue Baos, Shexian (Qing). Source: Photograph by Qitao Guo.

Huizhou women were famed for their frugality and diligence. According to the Kangxi prefectural gazetteer, “Local women, in particular, are noted for practicing thrift; they live in the countryside and go without eating fish or meat for several months at a time.” The gazetteer even attributes the locals’ capacity for saving money to the “inner virtue” (neide) of women as well as their hard work.109 Local women “vie with each other to maintain their sexual purity,” reports the late-Ming gazetteer of Qimen county. “There are more women noted for their chastity here than in other counties. They lately have begun to dabble in shamanism and spirits, and practice a vegetarian diet.” 110 By contrast, as noted by Gui Youguang (1507–71), their sojourning husbands were extremely extravagant, wearing expensive clothing

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figure 5.3 The Treading-Fortune Hall (Lüfu tang) in Xidi village, Yixian (Qing). Source: Photograph by Qitao Guo.

and riding in elaborate carriages. Merchants also hired young women to entertain them with music and dance in urban centers.111 Indeed, Mao Zedong’s notion that “four thick ropes” of political, lineage, religious, and matrimonial authority bound Chinese women is hardly exaggerated; and Lu Xun’s narrative of the miserable life of Xianglin’s Wife is not just May Fourth discourse but is also based on women’s real sufferings. In Huizhou, the presence of sojourning merchants further thickened these four ropes. Huizhou women certainly still wielded what Pierre Bourdieu called “dominated power,” and the role of elite women agency (including the mundane living-room arrangement) contributed to patriarchal

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figure 5.4 The Auspicious Jade Hall (Ruiyu ting) in Xidi village, Yixian (Qing). Source: Photograph by Qitao Guo.

authority both at home and in larger lineage. In other words, female agency led women to embrace their own “slavery.” 112 This willing subordination worked best for the interest of kinswomen living under Huizhou mercantile lineage culture.113 From the perspective of sojourning merchants, the maintenance of women’s virtues was key to stabilizing family lineage life at home. But their own presence was the biggest factor that disrupted the normal life of local kinship communities. Sojourning men themselves created social problems and thus the urgency for keeping kinswomen in line. Their destabilizing influence was twofold. With their deep pockets, merchants had the means

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to seduce women, especially widows and lonely wives of sojourning men, as reflected in Yao Dizhu’s story narrated in Slapping the Table in Astonishment. By promoting the money economy and related materialism, they upset the Confucian value system and family lineage structure. Widows were sometimes forced, either by their natal or husbands’ families, to remarry, as a remarriage could often bring a handsome dowry or deprive the widow of the right to be a protector of family property.114 This sex-and-property scenario is mirrored in Zheng Zhizhen’s stories of widows Geng Xinzhen and Chen Guiying (see previous discussion). Chen Guiying represents an extreme case of moral decline in the sixteenth century, as her mother-in-law forced her not to remarry but to prostitute herself and thereby drove her to commit suicide. This scenario may not have been simply an artistic creation. Yang Shen (1488 –1559), a metropolitan jinshi degree holder from Sichuan, recorded a notorious adultery story that implicated a mother-in-law similar to Chen Guiying’s: There was a chaste woman surnamed Tang; her given name was Guimei. She was a native of Guichi in Chizhou prefecture. Upon reaching maturity, she married a man surnamed Zhu. Her husband was both poor and weak. Her mother-in-law was both mean and lascivious. In her youth, [the old woman] had a love affair with a wealthy merchant from Huizhou. During the Hongzhi reign, the wealthy merchant returned to Guichi. Upon seeing the young woman, he took a liking to her. He asked himself, “I’m not sick in the head, so why should I keep up pretenses with this old biddy?” He then secretly bribed the mother-in-law with gold and silk. Having profited from the wealthy merchant, the mother-in-law tried in a hundred different ways to talk the young woman into having an affair; she refused. Being forced, she refused; being whipped, she refused; even after being branded with a hot poker until her whole body was blistered, she still refused. The mother-in-law then took her to court on charges of unfiliality. The assistant prefect, Mao Yu of Cixi, also bribed by the merchant, doubled the torture, almost causing her to die several times. The merchant still admired her beauty; hoping that she would change her mind, he asked her mother-in-law to bail her out of imprisonment. Relatives and friends all urged her to tell the truth [to local authorities]. The young woman said: “If I do so, my reputation would be saved, but that of my mother-in-law would be defiled. That’s not filial piety.” Thereupon, in full regalia, she hanged herself from an old plum tree in the backyard at sunset. At dawn, her mother-in-law, having no idea what happened, was about to go into her room to rouse her. Carrying a mulberry staff, the motherin-law cursed her, saying: “Evil slave, if you had listened to me earlier, you could have had both riches and pleasure. So where do you get off being so self-suffering now?” Seeing nobody in the room, [the mother-in-law] searched and found her beneath the plum tree, and thus learned of her death. The mother-in-law burst into loud sobs. Her relatives stifled their tears saying: “You accused her of unfiliality when she was alive. Now that she’s dead you should be happy, so what’s with the loud crying?” The mother-in-law said: “If she were alive, there would still be hope for me. Now that she’s dead the merchant will definitely renege on the bribes. I’m

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crying for the money and silk, not for this evil slave!” The body [of the young woman] hung on the tree for three days, her face looking alive. Woodcutters and shepherd boys all wept [at the sight of it]. Each year during the rain month, the form of her body can vaguely be seen before it slowly vanishes. Local authorities, because of the involvement of prefectural officials in the case, never [tried to] recommend her [as a woman with firm integrity to receive an official testimonial of merit].115

The story, although critical of the mother-in-law, also implicates a merchant from Huizhou (as well as the local officials). Merchants undermined normative family values; and yet they worked with home lineages to fix the problems they themselves had brought to local family life and gender relations. Concerns such as women’s virtues (as well as filial piety and new mercantile ethics) were mirrored in local popular culture, and most notably in the sixteenth-century transformation of Mulian performance. Zheng Zhizhen made all his performers sing together while “the upper class of good people” of the loyal official Guang Guoqing, the filial son An Yuming, and the chaste widow Geng Xinzhen are being led across the Golden Bridge to Heaven: “As an official he died for loyalty, as a son he died for filial devotion, and as a wife she died for chastity—they’ve bolstered the weakened gangchang (Three Bonds and Five Constant Virtues).” 116 In Zheng Zhizhen’s scheme of things, however, the best symbol of female chastity is undoubtedly Miss Cao. In later performances, the Hanged Woman seems to have overshadowed the leading Mulian heroine, in part because the new image combined women’s virtue with ghost exorcism. But Miss Cao was irreplaceable both in terms of the opera’s structure and of the social needs of its sponsors and audiences (local elites, including merchants, were often behind Mulian performance, as will be demonstrated in the following chapter). Ling Mengchu describes in a sardonic tone how the merchants of Huizhou, extraordinarily parsimonious in normal times, were willing to spend extravagantly to obtain a “black chiffon cap” (that is, gentry status) and “red embroidered shoes” (that is, beautiful women).117 Both these coveted “commodities,” along with the ideal of female chastity, were combined in Miss Cao, the beautiful daughter of a high-ranking official. The image appealed to a common fantasy of Huizhou merchants, that is, to access gentry status through marriage. Herein lies the biggest difference between the leading heroine of Mulian and the beauties of those Ming-Qing romance plays authored by famous literati (such as Li Xiangjun, heroine of Peach Blossom Fan), as well as between their leading heroes. In the romance plays, the hero is almost always a literary genius (occasionally he is a warrior) but is not a wealthy merchant, just as the heroine is always a beauty. The Mulian opera changed this rule. Our protagonist, a paragon of filial devotion, is a good merchant, although he hardly ever does business and ultimately becomes a monk in order to save his mother; and this merchant is

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engaged to a beautiful gentry girl. This stage representation could be read by Huizhou merchants as the triumph of mercantile values or, more accurately, of gentrified mercantile lineage culture. The union of Mulian and Miss Cao symbolizes the marriage of status and money, a fictional version of the Huishang social strategy to gain gentry standing through commerce (or marriage). The image of Miss Cao completes the representation of the primary concerns of Huizhou mercantile lineages, as the union of gentry and merchants was added to female chastity, filial devotion, loyalty (of both officials and bond-servants), and commercial ethics. Huizhou mercantile lineage customs informed the Mulian tradition, constituting a unifying cultural field for Zheng Zhizhen’s script as well as more folksy versions from Boyang and Changbiao. This sociocultural mechanism patterned the evolution from Miss Cao to the Hanged Woman, a development that probably best illuminates the nature of the diffusion of Mulian performance in local Huizhou villages. Miss Cao appealed to big businessmen such as Bao Zhidao, whereas the Hanged Woman might have been a more powerful character for small vendors such as Wang Xiao’er. But both images were integrated into a religious drama that was enormously popular and readily shareable. The exorcism of the Hanged Ghost appealed to local lineage elite as naturally as Confucian ethics or even the fantasy of gaining gentry status appealed to the multitude of common kinsmen and kinswomen. In the end, Miss Cao and the Hanged Woman conveyed the same Confucian norm of female chastity. Mulian diffusion generated new variations, but these variations ultimately worked to enhance the unified value system of Huizhou mercantile lineages.

6

A Shared Culture: Ritual Opera and Mercantile Lineage

The Confucian transformation of Mulian performance and its continuous popularity in late imperial Huizhou depended on the mercantile lineage institution. Zheng Zhizhen left a personal imprint on the Opera for Goodness, but the playwright was himself a product of Huizhou mercantile lineage culture. His product, furthermore, could not have been so popular if it had failed to address the needs of local kinspeople or if local descent groups had not developed certain institutional and material bases for Mulian performance, including corporate ritual lands and ancestral halls (often with a ritual opera stage or with the space to build a temporary one). In Huizhou, Mulian and mercantile lineage culture both matured in the sixteenth century and developed in tandem thereafter. This chapter examines their interaction from yet another angle: the staging of the ritual opera. It first examines popular ritual occasions of Mulian performance, focusing on a special ritual moment that involved, among other local deities, the Wuchang (Five Furies). The Five-Fury Spirits were so popular in Huizhou that the so-called Mulian / Wuchang performance almost became an alternative name of the ritual opera. Highlighting Wuchang exorcism, this operatic ritual best illustrates how Mulian performance was rooted in local kinship religious praxis and how mercantile lineage culture patterned the symbolic representation associated with the ritual opera. Popular exorcism—and Mulian performance as a whole—became a powerful arena by which local lineage elites negotiated various social relations, including—above all— gentry-merchant relations. I will then consider the social constituents of Mulian performance, investigating sponsors, troupes, actors, stages, and audiences to show how local lineages and merchant elites were engaged in the ritual opera. Popular Mulian performance in Huizhou was a cultural institution of mercantile lineages. This social mechanism, along with the popular medium of ritual opera and the ethico-religious messages it contained, made Mulian performance an experience in which all kinspeople, regardless of age, gender, social status, or religious preference, could truly share.

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Ritual Dimensions of the Opera Mulian was a special genre of Chinese drama. It was the oldest and largest of the Chinese theatrical traditions. Zheng Zhizhen’s Opera for Goodness was one of the longest of the Ming literary chuanqi scripts, and later versions from various regions were even longer. Zhang Zhao’s twentyvolume Golden Text of Exhortation (Quanshan jinke) was probably the longest written script in the entire Chinese dramatic repertoire. In the Huizhou region, Mulian performances could last for seven nights or more, though most lasted for three nights.1 This performance convention explains why most Mulian scripts, starting with Zheng’s libretto, consisted of three volumes. The phenomenon is also reflected in popular sayings from southern Anhui, one of which reads as follows: “Making no sound, blowing off no steam, locals know by heart three volumes of Mulian opera.” 2 What made Mulian really special, however, were its ritual aspects and links to local lineages. The opera was always staged at night and integrated into a complex ritual matrix to entertain both supernatural and human beings.3 In some localities, Mulian almost became a synonym for shexi, ritual operas offered to the earth god or the divinity in general.4 This special genre of religious drama was a fundamentally rural tradition that enjoyed full development in the south.5 The performance of the ritual opera required certain material and institutional bases whose development was largely attributable to the kinship organization that was most advanced in the south, in Huizhou in particular. Mulian was staged mainly for important religious occasions. According to the late-Qing edition of the Anhui provincial gazetteer, “In each county of Huizhou prefecture there are frequent performances by Mulian troupes in years with an intercalary month [about every three years].” 6 The Zhongyuan (Middle Primordial) festival (sometimes still called Yulanpen), which fell on the fifteenth day of the seventh lunar month, remained a major celebration calling for Mulian performance, much as it had been the occasion for lecturing on the Mulian transformation texts in the middle period. The Opera for Goodness appears to have been written especially for the Zhongyuan festival, as it ends with a Yulanpen Grand Gathering. This textual arrangement was continued in the later Boyang and Changbiao versions.7 However, the ritual focus of the Zhongyuan performance had notably shifted to recompense the ancestors and popular deities as well as to release souls from purgatory. As the 1873 Qimen gazetteer noted, “To offer sacrifices to ancestors on the Zhongyuan in the seventh month, a Yulanpen ritual is held. In this month of the intercalary year, the opera called Mulian is staged.” 8 More important, the ritual opera was no longer performed only during

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Zhongyuan but on many other occasions as well. Roughly speaking, three types of occasions called for a Mulian opera in the Huizhou region. The first involved important annual festivals, such as the New Year,9 the Lantern festival (Upper Primordial) on the fifteenth day of the first month, and the Qingming on the fifth day of the third month. The second included local temple festival performances, which “took place every month” in the Huizhou region.10 Temple festivals were held mostly on the birthdays of deities, such as the earth god (the second day of the second month), Guanyin (the nineteenth day of the second month), a local Daoist deity called Yangong (the third day of the third month), the Water Dragon (the fourth day of the fourth month),11 and the god of fire (the fifteenth day of the fourth month).12 Particularly important in the Huizhou region was the performance honoring the Wuchang Five-Fury Spirits, often staged on the eighth day of the fourth month, the birthday of the Buddha.13 In Haiyang, Xiuning, according to the 1990 edition of the county gazetteer, Mulian was staged in front of the Wuchang Hall on the first day of the fifth month and also in an open space named the “Mulian field” (Mulian tan) near the city-god temple every three years on the fifteenth day of the seventh month (Zhongyuan).14 The third category comprised all other miscellaneous ritual occasions. In the summer or fall, a Mulian was offered to the divinity (including both ancestral spirits and popular gods) to request or requite a good autumn harvest (called daowangxi [paddy-ripening opera] or qiuxi [autumn opera], respectively).15 When a kinsman was killed in a fight between two local lineages or when a kinswoman committed suicide (often by hanging), Mulian was performed to exorcise ghosts or to deliver the hanged spirit. (The Mulian troupe in Qingyuan village in Wuyuan was simply called the “ghostdancing troupe” [wugui xiban].) In years of natural calamities or pestilence, Mulian was performed to cleanse local communities of impurities. Mulian was often called “tranquillity opera” (ping’an shenxi) enacted to requite the gods for their protection of local communities or “opera in repayment of vows” (yuanxi), one of which was performed on the nineteenth of the third month to requite the goddess Niangniang for protecting children from smallpox. The ritual opera could also be used to celebrate important events, ranging from the funerals for departed elders (locally called tangxi) to the compilation of genealogies, or even the victory over the Japanese invaders in 1945. In late imperial times, according to the 1924 Nanling county gazetteer, local people “staged nothing else but Mulian opera in the competition performances held to requite the gods (baosai choushen).” 16 Most Mulian performances can simply be called shexi or huixi (organized temple or festival ritual operas) and were rooted in the religious beliefs and ritual praxis of local lineage-based villages. In general, a Mulian opera needed to be staged at intervals of five, ten, twelve, twenty, or sixty years (a jiazi cycle) to maintain a good relationship with the supernatural,

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which was believed essential to keep the local community clean and safe.17 According to Wang Shandi, a Mulian performer (still alive in the 1990s) in Lixi in western Qimen, his village began to organize Mulian troupes in the late Ming and staged the ritual opera every five years. Lixi is adjacent to Zheng Zhizhen’s home village, Qingxi (Pure Stream), and the most famous Mulian player in Lixi history, Wang Jinshui (b. 1867), is believed to have had the master-disciple relations traceable directly back to Zheng Zhizhen. By Wang Shandi’s generation, as he recalled, the Lixi troupe staged Mulian three times, in 1929, 1934, and 1939.18 For other lineage-based villages, such as the Yaojie Yaos in Guichi county, the interval between sponsored Mulian performances was a decade. The Yao genealogy noted that the preparation for Mulian took “more than one month to finish.” The descent group first compiled its genealogy in the Qianlong reign and revised it in the Daoguang reign and again in 1877 and 1925, the last edition of which included a Mulian huixi section. It noted in a “modern” or critical tone how Mulian had obsessed the Yaos, criticizing a custom that was popular “not just among our lineage, but everywhere south and north of the Great [Yangzi] River.” 19 The ritual opera offered to the gods at various intervals was called “grand Mulian performance” (Mulian dahui).20 One such performance was staged in November 1930 in Zhongfen village, Fanchang county, which was inhabited by about three hundred households of the Xu lineage. This descent group produced several metropolitan degree holders in the Ming and Qing. Lineage rules dictated that the Xus hold a grand Mulian performance every sixty years to develop “good relationships with the gods, ghosts, and human beings” and that a special new stage be built for the grand performance. The stage built for the 1930 celebration was called Dujiao lianhua tai, a name referring to its lotuslike design, which included a huge tree as its sole footing. The lotus stage, which took an entire year to finish, was threetiered, ten meters high, and located right at the entrance of the village. On the stage were pasted two couplets written by a local scholar named Li Xuexiang: Never mention that the sage’s teaching restrains entertainment: This three-night performance of new costumes shows good people living in Heaven and evil people suffering in Hell; in illuminating the past and admonishing the future, the performance is [as powerful as] weapons in the Spring and Autumn Period. Be aware that the imperial dynasty encourages moral inculcation: This six-decade grand performance displays shields and fans in two wings and stages well-dressed civic and military officials; in playing music and performing opera, a peaceful and prosperous age is beautifully portrayed.

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The leading sponsor of the event was Xu Chongmo, the head of the lineage estate. The performance lasted three days and three nights, with the plays from the Anhui Opera repertoire staged in daytime and Mulian at night. They attracted all the kinsmen and kinswomen of the village (hecun), many of whose relatives also came over to watch. The news of the magnificent lotus stage spread so widely that it even attracted spectators from Anqing, Wuhu, Nanjing, Shanghai, and Wuhan.21 In Huizhou, Mulian operas were also divided into grand and lesser performances. In Limu village, which neighbored Pure Stream, the grand performance was called da Mulian (literally, “beating Mulian”), to be distinguished from yan Mulian (literally, “performing Mulian”). The “beating” performance lasted three or four nights and involved all formalized ritual procedures as well as acrobatics and martial arts, whereas the “performed” Mulian lasted just one night and staged only certain selected scenes and key rituals. According to Wang Dingfa, the most famous Limu Mulian actor, the grand Mulian performance in his village was very costly and involved complex rituals. First, the sponsors and the troupe prepared a written agreement to “determine the opera” (dingxi), specifying the plays to be staged in daytime (with Mulian staged at night, of course), the accompanying rituals, and payments. Next, in the process of “beating” Mulian, the sponsors (individual households or the village-based lineage) went through a period of fasting. In Limu, the whole village abstained from meat ten days ahead of the performance and continued until the scene “Madame Liu Eats Meat” was staged, with a divine label declaring “abstinence” (zhaijie) pasted on the door of each household. Then, upon the troupe’s arrival, an opening rite was performed to “activate” the Wuchang Five-Fury Spirits (qichang). The rite, led by the troupe master, involved setting up seven tablets, along with seven bowls of rice, seven cups of wine, seven eggs, seven joss sticks, and a huge bowl of pure oil (to serve as a lamp) at the outskirts of the sponsoring village.22 After a prayer, a live chicken was decapitated and its head buried with the eggs, upon which were placed the ignited lamp and a bamboo plant with green leaves. The troupe then returned to stage the play, and the master declared the sponsors’ vows. Because it was always presented at night, the performance made the demons and spirits that were everywhere extraordinarily horrifying. The performance was concluded with a rite staged to “dismiss” or “retire” Wuchang (tuichang). After it was paid and the master given an additional “lucky package” (xibao), the troupe burned the seven tablets and took the seven bowls. This concluding ceremony assured the peace and tranquillity of the entire village, purified by the Mulian ritual opera.23

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Mulian / Wuchang Performance Central to Mulian rituals were those involving the Five-Fury Spirits (Wuchang, which in the original usage could also mean a single pentad spirit, that is, a cluster of deities grouped in five). The most detailed fieldwork concerning the Wuchang rites staged with Mulian in the Huizhou region comes from the northeastern corner of Jiangxi, very close to Qimen and Wuyuan counties, where the seven-volume Boyang version of the Mulian script originated. In Boyang and Duchang, as in southern Anhui, local custom dictated that Mulian be performed at intervals of five, ten, twenty, thirty, or sixty years. The ritual opera was also staged on the Zhongyuan festival and on occasions for requiting the gods, honoring ancestors, or expelling ghosts or pestilence. Performed in the Yiyang or Qingyang musical style, the ritual opera was also divided into two types. The grand Mulian (called shenxi [divine drama] or “beating Mulian”) often lasted seven consecutive nights, with the stories from The Romance of the Three Kingdoms staged in daytime. The lesser Mulian (also called hua Mulian [miscellaneous Mulian]) lasted just one night and staged the key scenes of the ritual opera. As in southern Anhui, both performance formats involved rituals in honor of Wuchang. Likewise, mingled altogether in the process were not just operatic entertainment and religious rites but also actors and audience, and the small opera stage and the great stage of the local community. The grand performance required much preparatory work, including the construction of a “head shed” (toupeng, where the organizers or local elite gathered to do the planning and supervising), a temporary operatic stage (caotai), a divine terrace (shentai, where the statues of the deities, brought from local temples, would be placed so that they could enjoy the performance), and a shed called changzha, constructed for the specific purpose of offering sacrifices to the Five-Fury Spirits. Before the grand opera started, a tally noting the Heavenly Stem and Earthly Branch pair for the current year was pasted on the top center of the stage to ensure that the performance proceeded smoothly. As part of their own ritual preparation, all households in the sponsoring village or villages went on a vegetarian diet from the first day of performance until the staging of “Madame Liu Eats Meat.” The first afternoon, amid the deafening sound of gongs, drums, blunderbusses, and firecrackers, two actors went to a village crossroads to dig up a huge jar filled with chicken heads, rice, and tea that had been buried there at the end of the previous Mulian performance. This rite was called “taking out” the Wuchang (quchang). Only then was the first volume of the Three Kingdoms staged. That night, after the five actors impersonating the Five Furies were made up backstage, the Head Fury emerged, chanting an incantation to “mobilize” the Wuchang (qichang), and offering incense, spir-

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itual money, and chicken heads to the Laolang Bodhisattva, the tutelary deity of theater. After the Head Fury drew five “Fury tablets” (changpai) and a Jupiter slab (taisui) to “arouse” the Wuchang (fachang), the Five Furies came onstage, each draped in colorful clothes, wearing a dragon mask and white stockings tied up with straw rope. “Set free” (fangchang) from the stage, the Five Furies descended through two front ladders to the audience, each carrying a Fury tablet and a steel pitchfork, a gleaming sword, or an iron chain. The audience, meanwhile, beat drums, discharged blunderbusses, and set off firecrackers. With the ground lit up by lanterns and torches, the audience escorted the Five Furies to the changzha shed, where they placed the five Fury tablets and the Jupiter slab, along with wine, tea, and various offerings, to “settle” the Wuchang (anchang). The Five Furies then went to the nearby villages, expelling ghosts in each household (guofang), whose families burned incense and spirit money, set off firecrackers, and presented rice candies and cookies to welcome them and then see them off. Afterward, the Five Furies returned to the stage, where the Great Emperor of the Eastern Peak (Dongyue) stood, leading the city god, the earth god, and the four heavenly marshals to welcome them back (jiechang). Dongyue then issued a celestial writ to capture the leading demon Han Liansuo, shouting: “I, the god, have ascended to the stage for quite some time. Why hasn’t Han Liansuo shown up? Let the Commissioners have the Boy [Sorcerers] of the Five Directions (Wufang tongzi) take the writ. Here is a warrant. Bring Han Liansuo to the stage right away.” Taking the celestial warrant, the Five Furies (variants of the Wufang tongzi) set out to search for Han Liansuo, a rice-straw effigy hidden earlier in a nearby graveyard. Upon finding the effigy, they dragged it back to the stage in chains, locking it up underneath at Dongyue’s order. At the same time, they lit the Seven-Star Lamp. At this moment, four horses and one mule ran out to perform the rite of horse-running (paoma) in front of the stage, to be followed by the performance of various acrobatics upon it. Then came “Buddha’s sermon,” whereupon two actors announced the start of the first volume of Mulian Rescues His Mother. Upon the completion of the first night’s performance, the various deities were escorted back to their temples. However, the first-day rituals were not yet complete. In the process of “mobilizing the Wuchang” to dispel ghosts, it was believed, someone in the audience must have been possessed by evil spirits (sha).24 Thus, a person did indeed fall into a prearranged swoon on the spot, foaming at the mouth. Upon seeing this, the Head Fury drew on his palm a magical “dismissingFury tally” (tuichang fu, also called tuisha fu [a “tally of suppressing evil spirits”]), and forcefully slapped the face of the possessed person. Slowly, the person would come to himself, signaling the expulsion of the sha. At this moment, both actors and audience broke into deafening cheers, making a

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great commotion with whistles, firecrackers, the beating of drums, the discharging of blunderbusses, and the clanking of steel pitchforks. It was a catharsis for the whole community, which believed that it would now enjoy peace and a bumper harvest. For the next five days and nights, most of the rituals performed on the first were repeated. On the seventh and last night there followed additional closing ceremonies, including most notably a grand procession led by the Five Furies, in which both actors and audience participated. The parading crowd pulled up the Fury tablets (bachang), which, along with the ricestraw effigy of the demon Han Liansuo, were brought to a graveyard far away from the village and burned. The whole performance was closed with a rite of jiaochang, or “bury” the Wuchang, which entailed filling a large jar with rice, tea, and ten-odd chicken heads twisted off in sacrifices over the past seven days and nights and then burying it at a crossroads, where it would remain until the next grand ritual opera was to be staged.25 A similar cycle of Mulian and Wuchang ritual opera performances was staged in many other places in the Huizhou region as well.26 One of the historical documents best illustrating the Mulian / Wuchang integration is the Incantation Invoking the Deities at the Altar-Ground (Qing tan chang zhou), preserved by the aforementioned Mulian master Wang Dingfa. Though undated, this handwritten script of the liturgy, used before staging the ritual opera for the Wang lineage in Limu, was clearly handed down from late imperial times. After invoking five layers of deities (see following discussion) and offering Wuchang a “dragon rooster,” the liturgist of the Incantation announces: Today, we set up a stage in a certain district of a certain county of a certain prefecture in Jiangnan. A certain village fellow from a certain [lineage] surname promised the gods to sponsor a grand Mulian ritual opera as requital for the gods. . . . Today this promise is to be carried out. This is to wish each and every person a peaceful life. Let men increase a hundred kinds of fortunes and women receive a thousand kinds of blessings. Let the six domestic animals grow fat and healthy, and the five grains grow to assure an abundant harvest.27

At the end of the Incantation, the liturgist repeated two magic tallies wishing for a grand Mulian opera be performed to “protect all agnates of the whole lineage-village,” to “bring good fortune,” and to “ward off misfortune.” 28 For the integration of Five-Fury rituals into Mulian performance, modern annotators conveniently retitled the Incantation “Wuchang Script” (Changshu).29 To sum up, we may note five points about the Wuchang rites: (1) They were fundamentally exorcistic, staged to expel evil ghosts and protect local community. (2) The Five Furies obsessed local people, and local elites were fully engaged in the Wuchang ritual, which often involved all members of a

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certain lineage-based village or several nearby ones. (3) The Wuchang were remarkably ambiguous, often portrayed as the five beastlike fiends in local temple statues or pantheon paintings.30 For locals, Wuchang could have meant either the five gods that were to be “mobilized,” “aroused,” “set free,” and “welcomed” to expel ghosts in the process of exorcism; or they themselves could be the five fierce ghosts that need to be expelled (“taken out,” “settled,” “dismissed,” “buried”). This symbolic ambiguity was also reflected in Mulian scripts from Huizhou villages (see the following section) and even in the official sources categorizing Wuchang rituals. “At the end of the year,” the 1771 Shexian gazetteer noted, “the Daoist liturgists are called in. They dance to amuse the gods, displaying the ‘five blessings’ (wufu) with clothes and helmets. [The ritual,] meant to exorcise ghosts at the end of the winter, is called kechang.” 31 The meaning of the term kechang in this context, however, is ambiguous: it could mean either “to overcome the fury ghosts” or “capable of being furious [gods to expel ghosts].” (4) Ambiguously frightening and divinely powerful as they were, the Five Furies acted merely as the lower-level divine bailiffs, often called “little demons” (xiaogui), who were commanded by upper-level deities in the hierarchy of the Chinese pantheon, such as the Eastern Peak, the city and earth gods, and the Daoist four heavenly marshals.32 (5) Nevertheless, the ritual that was integrated into a grand Mulian performance was often named after Wuchang, and not after other deities. One of the most important ritual moments of Mulian presentation in Huizhou was clearly Wuchang exorcism, or what may be called Mulian / Wuchang performance.

The Changing Symbolism of Wuchang Why, then, were the Five-Fury Spirits so ambiguous and yet so closely entwined with Mulian performance? The symbolic construction surrounding Wuchang was another important field of meaning in which mercantile lineages made good use of local popular culture. Confucian values remolded not just Mulian imageries but also cult symbols, the most down-toearth and popular of which in Huizhou was the Wuchang pentad spirit. This symbol of exorcism underwent significant transformations around the time of the mid-Ming, when it was subordinated to the patron deities of lineages who commanded extensive local pantheons. At the same time, the pentad spirit emerged as a popular variant of the god of wealth, demonic but controlled. This changing symbolism of Wuchang was the subtlest manifestation of the new gentrified merchant code and larger mercantile lineage culture in Huizhou. I analyzed Wuchang and its symbolic world (that is, a particular type of local pantheon) in my previous book.33 Given the centrality of Wuchang to Mulian performance as well as to the larger mercan-

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tile lineage culture, this section recapitulates some basic aspects of popular Wuchang symbolism, focusing on how the Five Furies, especially in the context of Mulian performance, worked to negotiate gentry-merchant and interrelated gender relations. Wuchang appears to be a local folk cult. We find no independent entry of the deity in the official registers of rites or even the popular encyclopedic religious handbooks of the Ming and Qing dynasties.34 However, the first Ming emperor incorporated Wuchang as a subdeity into an imperial rite of military banners.35 This official co-opting appears to have been influenced by the Daoist arrangement of the pentad spirit as a subordinate of Zhao Gongming, one of the four heavenly marshals and the Five Plagues (Wuwen).36 Important elements of Wuchang rituals in late imperial times can even be traced back to the ancient Nuo exorcism, popular in both royal palaces and local society from the Zhou to Tang dynasties. These elements include the participants of boy exorcists (the Boy Sorcerers of the Five Directions in Wuchang rituals), the format of processions, and the rites of searching houses to expel evil ghosts and ripping apart live roosters. Given its exorcistic power, the Wuchang rite was a closely guarded secret among local liturgists, often passed down from father to son or transmitted within the kin group. Yet in late imperial times, Wuchang was popular throughout the southern provinces of Anhui, Jiangsu, Zhejiang, Fujian, Sichuan, Hunan, and Jiangxi. These provinces all had strong Mulian traditions, which helped spread the Wuchang cult. But the widespread worship of Wuchang was also related to the mid-Ming metamorphosis of the official territorial deities (the Chenghuang city god and the Tudi earth god) in local societies that led to the rise of local pantheons. The local pantheon, often headed by the patron deities of lineages who were the anthropomorphic proxies of the Chenghuang or Tudi in local communities, incorporated the Five Furies as the lowest-ranked demon-bailiffs.37 The most popular tutelary deity of Huizhou lineages was Wang Hua, a noble statesman-general who vigorously protected Huizhou during the SuiTang transition and later emerged as the apical ancestor of the most populous and prominent surname in the prefecture. The aforementioned Incantation Invoking the Deities at the Altar-Ground from Limu village invokes numerous deities hierarchically arranged in a five-layer pantheon, on top of which was Wang Hua, called the earth lord (tuzhu). In the bottom layer were the Five-Fury Spirits, who functioned as the divine bailiffs for the extensive Wang Hua pantheon. Other deities invoked, in hierarchical order, include Wuxian (Five Manifestations), Guandi (Guan Yu), Marshal Zhao (Gongming) and his immediate subordinates (the Divine Agents of Hehe and Lishi), a certain tutelary deity of the theater, and the deities normally worshipped in the Dragon Boat Festival (including Qu Yuan).38 Wuxian (or

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Marshal Ma), Guandi, and Marshal Zhao had been popular variants of the god of wealth worshipped empirewide since at least the Ming dynasty.39 Given the regional character of its chief deity, however, the pantheon invoked in the Incantation was localized, differing from the popular ecumenical pantheon headed by the Jade Emperor that was transmitted in vernacular literature, including Zheng Zhizhen’s script (see Chapter 4). Nonetheless, the two pantheons were isometric in terms of their hierarchical arrangement, and they also shared many deities. Except for Wang Hua, most deities invoked in the Incantation are borrowed from the pantheon transmitted in the Opera for Goodness, including Wuchang or the demonbailiffs of the pantheon transmitted in the Mulian script. Zheng Zhizhen did not mention Wuchang in his Mulian script, but demon-bailiffs were everywhere throughout it; most notable were the demons dispatched by the city god, or King Yama, to capture and torture the soul of Madame Liu.40 By the late Ming in actual Mulian performances, these demons were already being called the Evil Ghosts of the Five Directions, an alternative name of Wuchang. While describing a grand Mulian performance staged by the “Huizhou-Jingyang actors” for his uncle in Shaoxing, Zhejiang, famed drama aficionado Zhang Dai (1597–1689) mentioned two scenes that were so terrifying that “more than ten thousand people shouted all at once.” They were “Summoning the Evil Ghosts of the Five Directions” (Zhao Wufang egui) and “Madame Liu Flees the Stage” (with the demon-bailiffs pursuing her into the audience).41 The Changbiao version, too, contains several scenes featuring Wuchang’s journey into this world to punish Mulian’s mother, which best illustrate the dual nature of the Five-Fury Spirits. One of the scenes is called “Evildoings Reported” (Ezou), in which the stove lord presents his reports on the earthly world to the Heavenly Court. Upon hearing of Madame Liu’s evildoings, the Jade Emperor gets so annoyed that he orders the Wuchang, the five “Evil Ghosts of the Eastern Direction, Jia, Yi, Mu, and Li” (Dongfang, Jia, Yi, Mu, Li egui), to capture her soul. In the following scene, however, the Wuchang appear as something like “good ghosts.” Portraying themselves as creatures who have “the look of ghosts but are not ghosts,” the Five Furies announce, [We] wander around every day. Upon running into decent people, we hide ourselves; when we see evil ones, we bring them trouble. We are the Furious Agents of the Five Paths, prominent lords indeed. [Today we show up] simply because the Fu household has for many generations prepared a small sacrifice every three years and a big sacrifice every five years; but now, since Fu Xiang passed away, Madame Liu, the shrew, has secretly eaten five kinds of meat. . . . An imperial edict from the Jade Emperor and a warrant from the Fifth Hall [of Hell presided over by King Yama] to capture her soul have just now arrived.42

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Because these five “Furies from the Underworld” (Yinsi changkuang) have dwelt in the earthly realm for quite some time, they have lost most of their “divine light” (shenguang). “Dragon rooster” in hand, they go to the Great Sage Lord (Dasheng laoye) to borrow some “divine light” so that they can continue to deal with Madame Liu in this world.43 The five ghosts (whether evil or good), used to frighten evil people as well as to exorcise malevolent influences, were at the same time thoroughly controlled. They clearly acted as the low-ranking bailiffs of the heavenly court (the divine counterparts of yamen runners or even village bond-servants), dependent on and under the command of the Great Sage Lord.44 In the context of the script, the name Great Sage Lord seems to be referring either to the city god or to King Yama.45 In the context of actual Mulian performance, however, the Great Sage Lord was most likely the Eastern Peak (the Chinese counterpart of King Yama) or Wang Hua (a Huizhou proxy of the city god).46 In Limu village, on the occasion of Mulian / Wuchang performance, Wang Hua was the chief deity receiving sacrifices, his statue erected front and center on the stage. The operatic couplets pasted on the Limu stage also focused on this Lord of Yueguo: “Yueguo was enfeoffed in the Tang with three thousand households. Temple sacrifice shall be held [for his protection of] Xin’an for billions of years.” 47 The Five Furies were incorporated into the Wang Hua pantheon during the mid-Ming, in part as a result of the construction of local pantheons. According to the 1502 Huizhou gazetteer, the shrine to Marshal Zhao was attached to the Wang Hua temple at the prefectural capital.48 This arrangement domesticated the powerful heavenly marshal but, at the same time, effectively incorporated his subordinate Wuchang into the Wang Hua worship. Other local sources indicate the subordination of Wuchang to another key member of the Wang Hua pantheon, Wuxian (or Huaguang). The compiler of the 1811 Miscellaneous Matters of Xiuning included in that work a late-Ming account detailing popular Wuxian / Wuchang worship in sixteenth-century Haiyang. In this bustling county seat of Xiuning, according to that account, a Wuchang altar was included in the Wuxian temple complex on Zhishan Hill. People representing the five directions carried the deities from the temple in a procession, requesting Wuxian’s blessings and requiting Wuchang’s magic power for answering their prayers during the four seasons.49 Other sources indicate that “the wealthy” and “the established families from the four quarters” made pilgrimages to Zhishan Hill in their worship of Wuxian / Wuchang in the late Ming.50 Wuxian, however, was also the official avatar of Wutong, another diabolical pentad spirit who, initially as a sex symbol, emerged in the sixteenth century as a god of wealth in certain Jiangnan areas.51 Herein lies a clue about the conflation of Wuchang and Wutong, one of the most intriguing

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aspects in Wuchang history, especially given the omission of the Five Furies in the formal writings. I have analyzed local temple arrangements elsewhere to puzzle out how Wuchang superseded Wutong as a popular variant of the god of wealth in sixteenth-century Huizhou (the medieval birthplace of the Wutong cult) and how Huizhou merchants thereafter worshipped Wuchang, not Wutong, as their most relevant patron deity. This supersession may in part solve the puzzle of why, on the one hand, local people insisted that they worshipped Wuchang but not evil Wutong, as well as how, on the other, the two deities converged in popular tales.52 In one of Wuchang’s hagiographic myths, the Five Furies appear as a pentad spirit with mingled demonic and divine characteristics, which robbed the house of Mulian’s father of their valuables: The household of Fu Xiang was very rich. One day five bandits, in red, black, white, yellow, and blue faces respectively, robbed the Fu house, looting a great deal of gold, silver, and a horse, among other things. They let the horse carry the valuables. After going five li, the horse suddenly stopped, speaking like a human: “In my previous life I wore a pair of ‘free straw sandals’ [bai caoxie, that is, the straw sandals for which he did not pay], so I was born as a horse to repay my ‘debt.’ Now that I’ve walked five li, I’ve paid back the debt. I won’t walk any more.” The five bandits were greatly astonished. “This creature was turned into a horse and made to walk five li for having done nothing more than wearing a pair of free straw sandals,” the five bandits said to themselves. “We’ve looted so much that in our next lives, even if we are turned into horses for a whole lifetime, we will be hard pressed to repay our debt!” The five bandits then changed their minds, returning the stolen goods to the Fu house. From that time on, they gave up evildoing, and did only good things for people. After they passed away, people built temples in memory of them; and they were deified as the Wuchang gods.53

In this tale, the Five Furies are unmistakably conflated with the Wutong who, in one of their own hagiographic myths recorded by the mid-Ming scholar Lu Rong (1436 –94), were originally bandits who later turned into good people, and thereafter deified in death.54 The popular myths in which Wuchang or Wutong are presented as a group of five bandits reveal a keen awareness of the subversive consequences of avarice, although Chinese religion did not ban the invoking of the divine aid for economic gains.55 Money was considered “demonic,” powerful but potentially dangerous. The central message of the new Wuchang image was ironic: a popular variant of the god of wealth was arguing against avarice. Such an ethico-religious admonition against money was a powerful manifestation of a theme that echoed in both elite writings and vernacular literature of the late Ming in the symbolic realm: a concern with the corrupting power of greed or money. Sometimes expressed in satires of “money fever,” this ironic anxiety was characteristic of commercialized Huizhou as well as

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late-Ming literature, including Mulian performances. It clearly ran through the consciousness of all social groups, even though different people might have interpreted it in different ways (see Chapters 2 and 4). Here we are getting to the core of a “gentrified” popular Wuchang symbolism. Wuchang was at once worshipped as a god of wealth and subordinated to the lineages’ patron deities as the low-ranking bailiffs of their pantheons. Besides reflecting a paradoxical view of money, this religious arrangement signaled that the ambiguous symbol of money (and ghosts) had to be controlled. By implication, this symbolism could also be taken as a subtle reminder that merchants had to be controlled. Money or merchants were used by the lineage or the lineage gentry, just as the Wuchang were commanded by the tutelary deity of lineages. Wuchang were “good ghosts,” that is, good, but still ghosts, and therefore inherently evil or dangerous. The two faces of the Five Furies are highly reminiscent of Wang Daokun’s portrayal of Huizhou merchants: although Xin’an men had the potential to be lianggu (good merchants), they nevertheless remained merchants, that is, inherently dirty or immoral. Put differently, the lianggu might be merchants, but they were good merchants; likewise, Wuchang might be ghosts, but they were good ghosts. Both Wuchang and merchants were good not only in a moral sense but also in that they were firmly controlled. The lianggu were dependent on the more gentrified elites of their home lineages. Huizhou merchants relied on support from their ancestral lineages for success and channeled a large portion of the money they amassed throughout China homeward. This was what made them good merchants; this was the concrete manifestation of the gentrification of wealth. By the same token, Wuchang was never allowed to be worshipped as an independent deity. It was made obedient to more-civilized deities, all the more so for its dangerous nature. In Mulian performance, the five good ghosts relied on the Great Sage Lord for the divine light that enabled them to stay in this world. The good ghosts were recruited to enhance the authority of lineages’ tutelary deities. This religious order apparently represented a gentry logic, but it was not just an elite conspiracy for controlling popular worship and commercial wealth. Because the hegemonic arrangement helped control the Janus-faced or dangerous Wuchang, it also worked to protect the weak and vulnerable (including women). More important, Huizhou merchants as a group lived up to this gentry logic, a practice that was rooted in their paradoxical selfimage and social strategy. By adopting the demonic-but-controlled Wuchang as their patron deity, they expressed their collective willingness— whether consciously or not—to be subordinated to the lineage gentry. Socially, they obeyed the newly shaped merchant code by practicing various kinds of righteous deeds and making every effort to gain gentry status for

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their offspring. This social behavior channeled their religious sentiment as well as wealth into the patterning of symbolic construction, which in turn affected their mentality. The sharp contrast between the improved or even uplifted position of merchants and the subordinated Wuchang they worshipped indexed a discrepancy between what merchants actually achieved in the social realm and the self-doubt that dominated their deepest subconscious, despite a generous complement of gentry writings regarding good and successful merchants. The subtlest manifestation of this self-doubt, popular Wuchang symbolism nevertheless also signified an exterior critical view of merchants in society at large and the unequal relationship they maintained with the gentry. However, Huizhou merchants’ devotion to Wuchang was more than just an empty symbolic gesture motivated by a shrewd calculation of sociopolitical necessity. Through this cult practice they gained two things, both of which were critically important for sojourning tradesmen. Willing participation in the religious hierarchy of the gentry-dominated lineage helped them secure support from their home lineage and thus ensure both the success of their profit-making ventures in the empire at large and the possibility of future leadership roles in the kinship community at home. Additionally, subscription to the moral codes of Wuchang worship served as insurance for securing the obedience of their wives. These two functions of Wuchang converged in Huizhou Mulian performances. As practiced in the ritual opera performance of this commercialized lineage culture, the local variant of the god of wealth was charged with the duty of catching the soul of Madame Liu, the symbol of the disobedient wife. Herein lies a clue to yet another symbolic dimension of the Wuchang imagery. Lineage elders seem to have entered into a symbolic pact with their “good” sojourning merchants by sponsoring performances of didactic Mulian in which the Evil Ghosts of the Five Directions punished bad women, thereby giving Wuchang an important role in manipulating the gender relations and, in an implied way, local sexual politics. This “pact” may in part account for the mid-Ming shift from worship of Wutong to Wuchang in Huizhou. In this stronghold of mercantile lineages, the community did not need a god of wealth that also cautioned against male sexual intemperance—Wutong symbolized both ill-gotten money and men’s illicit sex.56 Rather, what appealed to Huizhou merchants (and their lineage elders as well) was a god of wealth that policed the lonesome wives left behind at home. The conflation between Wutong and Wuchang was thus symbolically related even in the two pentad spirits’ secondary role as guardian of sexual politics, with a sexually insatiable goblin that signaled a warning against men’s uncontrollable desire shading over into a beastlike fiend that was responsible for policing women’s behavior (and even thought). This

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shift might further explain why the demonic Wuchang was also conceived of as “good,” “protective,” or “cleansing,” especially in the eyes of Huizhou men. By tightening the Confucian yoke on their kinswomen, however, Huizhou merchants enslaved themselves as well, for the oppression reproduced not just the patriarchal sex order but also the whole Confucian hierarchical regime, that is, the gentrified mercantile lineage institution in their homeland. In any event, the transfigured sexual symbolism of the Five Furies was yet another example of the subtle gentrification of the diabolical Wuchang. And this gendered aspect of Wuchang, though important in its own right, was a by-product of the symbolic negotiation of power between the gentry and merchants. Not surprisingly, Wuchang symbolism represented most focally this latter aspect of gentry-merchant cooperation, a cooperation that was based on a shared view of the Janus-faced function of wealth: important but potentially demonic and therefore, of necessity, controlled or channeled to good use. Mulian performance also conveyed the ambiguous view of money mirrored by Wuchang imagery. Mulian, or rather Fu Luobu, was featured as a “good” merchant in both Zheng Zhizhen’s late-sixteenth-century script and the expanded versions from late-nineteenth-century Huizhou villages. This young man contrasts sharply with the representation of many other sojourning merchants, who are all portrayed as caught in a “money delirium.” In the midst of this money fever, Fu Luobu stands out because he regards “benevolence and righteousness” as “worth one thousand [ounces of] gold.” For his willingness to “sacrifice wealth to righteousness,” Luobu wins protection from the god of wealth, whose magic power ultimately helps him make money. Though the opera satirized the money craze, it nevertheless also showed that good people (filial sons and chaste women in particular) could be led to the Golden Money Mountain and Silver Money Mountain in the netherworld. The reward that the good person would acquire in the underworld was visualized in terms of money, which undercut the message that the desire for wealth was bad. The paradoxical discourse on money conveyed in Mulian, as in the image of the Five Furies, reflected in a profound way the contemporary fashion of condemning money (especially in the sixteenth century), as well as the new Confucian merchant code championed by local lineage elites, including businessmen. These dual messages were but two sides of the same coin in Huizhou mercantile lineage discourse. Central to this discourse was an aspiration or admonition to be what Wang Daokun called a “good merchant,” the next best thing to a “prominent scholar.” Often a young kinsman from a local lineage, the “good merchant,” ideally, was devoid of avarice and armed with the new Confucian

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mercantile ethics. Like the sojourning merchant Fu Luobu, in short, he was to make money in a Confucian “grand way.” The experienced lineage elders keenly understood that only such a “good merchant” could earn stable, long-term profit and at the same time be willing to channel that profit back to his home lineage. As they sponsored and watched Mulian / Wuchang performances, Huizhou merchants might well have imagined that only such a “good merchant”—like the filial sons or chaste women portrayed in Mulian operas— could possibly earn Wuchang’s protection of his wealth while alive and see the Golden Money Mountain or Silver Money Mountain after death. It is indeed no coincidence that Wuchang rites were thoroughly integrated into Mulian performance. Mulian intelligibly transmitted various elusive meanings of the deity while Wuchang further enhanced the ethico-religious discourse of the opera. Mulian / Wuchang performance, therefore, staged Huizhou mercantile lineage culture in a most focal and powerful way.

Social Ingredients of the Ritual Opera The gentrification of the Wuchang symbol was one of the subtlest manifestations of the Confucian transformation of popular Mulian ritual opera performance. The depth of that elite remolding of popular culture stemmed from the fact that the performance was firmly anchored in local mercantile lineages. Local kinship communities and their elite members were involved in virtually every aspect of Mulian performance, and in this capacity they inevitably acted as overseers of local popular culture. Given the lineagewide engagement as well as the popularity of the medium of ritual opera, however, the Confucianized Mulian was also widely shared. In the Huizhou region, there were three types of Mulian performance: lineage ritual operas (zuhuixi or tanghuixi), village ritual operas (cunhuixi), and temple ritual operas (miaohuixi).57 Because local social structure made the village (cun) and lineage (zu) nearly synonymous, “village ritual operas” were virtually identical to “lineage ritual operas,” whereas temple performances, staged in honor of Wuxian / Wuchang for instance, involved sponsorship and participation by local lineage and merchant elites.58 It was no coincidence that in Huizhou the revision of lineage genealogies coincided with the temporal intervals of grand Mulian performance, which took place every ten or twenty years.59 In fact, one of the important events calling for a grand Mulian performance in the Huizhou region was precisely the revision or composition of the genealogy. When staged to celebrate the revision or composition of genealogies, therefore, Mulian was sometimes also called the “genealogy drama” (puxi) and often lasted three or seven days, with

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thousands of spectators attracted to view plays from the repertoire of Anhui or Beijing Opera (pingtai) during the day and Mulian at night.60 The lineage was involved, in one way or another, not only in the genealogy drama but also in all other types of Mulian performance. Lineage estates were first established in part to cover the costs of annual festivals that featured “competitive performance” (saihui) of ritual operas to entertain the gods. Festival performances took place frequently and often on a large and extremely costly scale. As a popular Huizhou proverb put it, “Staging Mulian once a year costs three years of good harvests.” 61 Because Mulian helped solidify the spiritual and emotional ties among kinspeople, as well as between the supernatural and human beings, local lineages were eager to organize festival performances.62 Local kinsmen were “obsessed with the ghosts and gods,” noted a mid-nineteenth-century gazetteer of Ningguo, “when temple festivals come for opera performance, [locals] never regret spending all the money saved over several years.” 63 The 1936 edition of the same county gazetteer reported that locals “must invite troupes to stage operas on the occasion of festival performances to welcome the gods (yingshen saihui). Belief in ghosts is popular in the villages. Every ten years a Mulian must be performed on a large scale, lasting three or seven days; and [locals] never regret spending several hundred taels of silver.” 64 Without financial input from the lineages or other corporate sources, it would have been impossible to spend “several hundred taels of silver” on Mulian performance. The same social mechanism obviously informed the construction of the magnificent three-tiered lotus stage by the Zhongfen Xus in November 1930 or thirty-six opera stages by Shexian people on the occasion of the 1600 New Year.65 A recent field report details the organizational process of a 1933 Mulian opera staged in Huansha, a Qimen village adjacent to Pure Stream. The leading lineage, surnamed Cheng, shared the Xulun ancestral hall with fellow villagers surnamed Fu, who, according to a local myth, were descended from Mulian’s father, Fu Xiang. (This myth, by the way, reflected the popular prestige Mulian enjoyed in Huizhou, a place that was extremely conscious of family pedigree.) The village always staged rituals when it suffered disasters, conducting, for instance, a rain-requesting rite to forestall drought in 1832 and a tranquillity rite to ward off pestilence the next year.66 For the 1933 Mulian performance, the Huansha Chengs spelled out certain rules in a set of lineage papers (wenshu), including a piece that might be called a village covenant. The piece first notified all kin and co-villagers that on the twenty-sixth of the eleventh month, 1932, the representatives of the four lineage branches gathered at the home of Cheng Zhende to discuss the matter of the Mulian to be staged the next year. The performance, the covenant announced, was to repay “good vows in order to secure peace for the

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entire lineage, which will be beneficial to all indeed.” The man behind the action was the lineage head Cheng Shiying. Seeing that “dispersed sources of wealth have weakened the village, and shrunken household register reflects a decline in adult men” since the Republic, Cheng Shiying and other lineage leaders believed that the best way to alter the situation was to appeal to the divinity with a ritual opera. “The entire lineage and others will sponsor a Mulian opera,” stated the covenant. And it quickly added, “Cost is a primary concern for this kind of good pledge.” The lineage leadership thus prepared a directive to collect money from the kinsfolk and other covillagers and made a copy of the covenant for each of the four branches.67 The directive stipulated that each adult kinsman provide one dollar, and each kinswoman contribute four pints of rice, both of which requirements were applicable to other surnamed villagers as well. Even animals raised by each household were to be “taxed,” at a rate of sixty cents on the dollar for one ox, and twenty cents on the dollar for one pig. Each lineage branch selected two fee collectors, coordinated by Cheng Shiying. For the performance, a special stage was built in the front inner courtyard of the Xulun ancestral hall. The Mulian performance itself lasted five days and five nights, from the seventh day to eleventh of the tenth month. The Tongle troupe from Jiangxi staged scripts of Beijing or Anhui Opera in daytime, and the Mashan troupe from Qimen’s Ruokeng staged Mulian at night, starting from the story of Emperor Wu of the Liang. In the performance process, the deities from local temples were all moved to the Xulun ancestral hall, and the whole village went on a vegetarian diet.68 The Huansha covenant falls into the category of the Register of the SageWorshipping Society prepared by the two Xikou lineages in Xiuning in the late Ming, although it does not mention specifically the contribution from merchants.69 Huizhou merchants, however, were important players in the lineage sponsorship of Mulian performance. The He Yuzhai version of Mulian, virtually identical with Zheng Zhizhen’s script, was printed in 1884 with the sponsorship of the Sichuan salt merchant Chen Baoshan.70 We have not yet uncovered evidence of this sort from Huizhou.71 Zheng Zhizhen’s script, according to a field report, was printed in part with the donations from locals, but it is not clear whether these donors included merchants.72 The merchants of Huizhou, like their home lineages, nevertheless engaged in Mulian performance, which was an important communal activity. In Qing times, Mulian performance in the county seat of Qimen, as in Xiuning’s Haiyang, involved virtually everyone: ordinary people provided labor, wealthy households gave money, and merchants made financial contributions with particular zeal. Often a temporary bureau (Mulian ju) was formed to handle fund-raising and organize the ritual opera performance.73

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Merchant support of Mulian was determined not only by the communal nature of the performance but also by the social fabric of Huizhou. Merchants and their lineages shared certain social institutions and material bases that were indispensable for the fashion of Mulian performance. The Huiban troupes owned by Huizhou merchants and local prominent lineages originated from the ancient institution of yuepu (serflike musical and operatic performers), an important aspect of the bond-servant system. These actors included punuo (servants performing exorcism) and shenshi (divine lions, that is, lion dancers). In Shexian, one acrobatic feat in Mulian performance was simply called shi (dancing with “lions”), which must have been linked to the shenshi bond-servants.74 The yuepu, like other bondservants (and tenants as well), paid labor services or rent in kind to the lineages to which they were attached. The prominent Shixi Kangs in Qimen had more than 130 households of tenants and bond-servants, as reflected by their lineage documents ranging from the early sixteenth to the late eighteenth centuries. These papers stipulated that bond-servants and tenants provide labor services on the occasions of “capping, wedding, funeral, and ancestral rites,” as well as “various services to temple performances of the entire village” (tongcun shenshe). The Kangs had seven branch ancestral halls, in addition to the lineage temple built in 1547. They also organized several worship societies (huishe) for ritual operatic performances and required their bond-servants and tenants to prepare “all kinds of ritual paraphernalia” and provide “all kinds of services to take care of graves on the mountain and ancestral halls.” 75 Other descent groups saw to it that their yuepu actors were trained to provide services at various lineage ceremonies, including ancestral rites and festival performances of ritual operas.76 According to a late-Ming labor contract, the Hong lineage in Qimen “selected Wang She and others, eight people in total, to learn drum and music.” The contract stipulated that these eight bond-servants “stay at home all the time” so that they could be “called upon every now and then” to provide musical performance as their labor service.77 In the early sixteenth century, a Xiuning musician nicknamed Cha Bashi was even brought to Beijing to play the pipa instrument in the imperial palace.78 The yuepu institution helps account for the perfection of musical and operatic performances in Huizhou. Also falling in the class of menial bond-servants were langhu (humble households with young and strong-bodied men), one of whose labor services was to build operatic stages for the lineage they served. In Qimen, they were also called quantouzhuang, “fist bond-servants” whose martial arts skill qualified them to serve as lineage soldiers or bodyguards. The status of yuepu, langhu, and quantouzhuang, like that of other bond-servants, was hereditary.79 The bond-servant system can be traced back to the Ming dy-

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nasty. According to the 1889 hand-copied Baohetang xuyi geigongshi dingli (Rule on the rewards for the services to the Baohe ancestral hall) of the Mingzhou Wus in Xiuning, their bond-servant system had been in place for “several hundred years.” The lineage rule includes a regulation on “Building Operatic Stage”: “In the spring and autumn when the exorcists (nuoren) arrive, you [langhu] will be ordered to build a stage. As a rule, you will be paid two fen for wine in the spring, but no reward in the autumn.” 80 In the 1940s, the Chawan Wangs in Qimen still owned 208 “humble households,” including fifty-three langhu and fifty-six quantouzhuang households.81 It should be noted that the menial class was itself stratified: in local Huizhou society, the quantouzhuang and langhu enjoyed a slightly higher status than other bond-servants, including yuepu.82 Huizhou merchants possessed bond-servants, too, with wealthy businessmen often commanding them in large numbers. For instance, Shexian merchant Xu owned more than one hundred, and Xiuning merchant Cheng had several dozen family servants.83 The aforementioned Baohe ancestral hall rule stipulated that the households of bond-servants engaging in business away from Mingzhou each pay three fen for wine when the Wu lineage needed to build a temporary suspension bridge, an annual project in the rainy season to link the water-surrounded Mingzhou to the outside world.84 Huizhou bond-servants were not slaves; they had their own households and enjoyed some freedom in selecting their own trades, including business endeavor.85 In fact, some bond-servants even overshadowed their masters by making more money, and the capable were often given some freedom in managing business for their lords. One such bond-servant, named Aji, even earned a biography in the official Ming History. Successful stories of bondservant businessmen were also recounted in fiction, such as Wu Jingzi’s Scholars.86 (This development sheds new light on the image of Mulian’s Yili, the servant of the Fu house who was willing to take the business trip on behalf of Fu Luobu.) Other prominent literati recorded various bond-servant stories as well. In an epitaph written for the father of Xiuning merchant Cheng Suo, Wang Daokun reported that after Cheng Suo’s father died in Yangzhou, his bond-servant took all the money and fled.87 Tang Xianzu, in an epitaph in honor of the parents of his friend Pan Zhiheng, an influential playwright born in 1556 into a Shexian merchant family, noted that Pan’s parents often accommodated sojourning actors to perform operas for Zhiheng. These sojourning actors were similar to yuepu, and they made up Pan Zhiheng’s family troupe.88 Huizhou merchants also trained young quantouzhuang or langhu men to serve as personal bodyguards both in their business travels and at home. Bodyguards, needless to say, were good at fighting. In Chawan village, Qimen, all langhu men aged sixteen to forty-five were required to practice

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martial skills. But this was also a Huizhou tradition. As Gu Yanwu noted, Huizhou was “long noted for its martial talent.” 89 Shexian literati ranging from the late-Ming Wang Daokun to the late-Qing Xu Chengyao made the same observation, noting the “martial and self-assured” character or “the style of martial strength” of their fellow Huizhou men.90 Another local scholar reported in a Wuyuan gazetteer that locals were “unyieldingly aggressive by nature, brave in physical fighting for personal reasons.” 91 The bond-servant system sheds new light on the character of Mulian troupes and their performances in Huizhou. According to a popular saying from the late imperial theatrical world, “Kunshan [is good at] music and Anhui good at martial arts” of operatic performance.92 Mulian always featured performances of baixi (including acrobatics), and any Mulian troupe, perforce, had actors skilled at martial arts or acrobatics.93 Indeed, Mulian actors from Huizhou were famous throughout the realm for their stunts and performance agility. Nalan Xingde (1655 – 85), a metropolitan degree holder who was born to a high-ranking Manchu official family, was impressed with the “martial skills of Huizhou Mulian actors,” who were “as dexterous as the yuanniao birds.” 94 In the early seventeenth century, the drama aficionado Zhang Dai noted a three-day Mulian show staged in Shaoxing by a troupe of some thirty to forty actors. Selected from the Huizhou region, these actors were all “dexterous and strong, capable of acrobatics and martial fighting.” Zhang Dai then gave a long list of the acrobatic feats that were part of the performance, including walking and jumping on an iron rope, spinning tables or vases with feet, turning somersaults, doing handstands, and leaping through fire-rings.95 In the Huizhou region, Mulian was always staged with acrobatic feats as well.96 In Guichi, a county just north of Huizhou, the stage constructed for the sexagesimal grand Mulian opera (huajiaxi) was three-tiered, like the lotus stage built in Zhongfen village. The bottom tier was called yintang or guitang (infernal or ghost hall), the middle tier called yangtang or rentang (human hall), and the top tier called tiantang or shentang (heavenly or divine hall). Mulian scenes regarding human society were staged in the middle tier. The performance shifted to the top tier when Fu Xiang was immortalized in Heaven and to the bottom when Madame Liu was tortured by demons in Hell. The actors were required to turn somersaults to get from one tier to another. Without good acrobatic skills, no one could possibly perform a grand Mulian show. One of the best Mulian players in Guichi, Pan Shuanggui (b. 1887), gained his reputation mainly because of his remarkable martial skills.97 Figure 6.1 illustrates a three-tiered stage built in the early nineteenth century in a vast open field in the county seat of Yixian. The troupes that performed Mulian on this stage included those from the counties of Qimen, Shexian, Shitai, and Jingde; and the most thrilling dramaturgy

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© .WH.f ~ -+.f ( 7t!!7t-+ r"'1 ~' t\. ~ 30 -+~ff j!) o -*"·!W, Jt -14#- t\. ~ 16 -+(1927 -+) ' dJ~-k.X.:t-A..1..~1* 0

figure 6.1 A three-tiered stage in the county seat of Yixian (early nineteenth century). Source: Photograph in 1927. Mao Gengru, comp., Anhui Mulian xi ziliao ji, p. 71.

involved risky acrobatics between the top two tiers marking changes of scene.98 Given the mercantile lineages’ bond-servant system, dexterous performers skilled at acrobatics and martial arts were plentiful in Huizhou. Many descent groups in this area organized their own “lineage troupes” (jiazuban) for Mulian performance, and they were all capable of staging acrobatic feats, including those noted in Zhang Dai’s account.99 The troupe head was normally appointed by the lineage. Some troupes were composed exclusively of the kinsmen who shared the “big surname” of the lineage— outsiders were not allowed to participate. These companies, most named after the home villages, include the Limu and Qiaoxi troupes in Qimen, the Shaokeng troupe in Shexian, and the Dayukeng and Tongle troupes in Shitai county. Some of these companies, according to some field reports, can be traced back to the Ming dynasty.100 Other “lineage troupes” incorporated outsiders. The Changbiao troupe in Shexian, for instance, recruited some co-villagers surnamed Shao, whereas the majority of actors came from the leading Wang lineage.101 The Ziwu Mulian troupe in Xiuning was initially composed of the members of the Wu and Wang lineages that dwelled in

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Ziwu village. It later incorporated actors with other surnames as the troupe expanded.102 Most likely, some of the other-surnamed actors within a certain lineage troupe were drawn from the bond-servant households. In Huizhou, the menials came from three sources: domestic servants, migrants (including sojourning actors), and kinsmen who had violated the lineage rules. They were attached to the lineage at large, or the lineage temple, or to prominent and wealthy households within the lineage.103 Certain lineage-based villages, therefore, commanded bond-servants who shared the big surname of the leading lineage as well as those with different surnames. The Mulian companies in the Huizhou region were often amateur or semiprofessional at best; their size ranged from around ten to several dozen actors (including few actresses).104 The Xinfu troupe in Jingde county had only sixteen performers, whereas in Qimen a company of nine performers staged the entire Mulian opera. In the late Qing, a Mulian troupe in northeastern Jiangxi contained up to forty actors, as did the Dayukeng troupe in Shitai. Their size was similar to that of the famous company of “HuizhouJingyang actors” who staged a three-night Mulian show for Zhang Dai’s uncle in the late Ming. One of the largest was the Wanfu troupe in Nanling, which boasted more than fifty actors.105 In Nanling county, most Mulian actors were drawn from poor households of tenants and bond-servants. These villagers could hardly afford schooling; local elders hoped they could gain some knowledge through learning how to perform Mulian, because it was an “opera for goodness.” In the slack season, outside masters were hired with corporate funds (jizi) to teach the opera. First, each student was given a script. As in the classroom, the master read aloud several lines of the script, which were repeated by the students.106 They proceeded in this way until they mastered the entire script. Then the students were taught musical tunes, followed by a performance as a test. The unqualified were dismissed, and the talented became actors used in performances, which took place in the home village or others when requested. A grand show needed five masters, each paid three dan of rice (150 kilograms); a small Mulian performance (of shadow play) required three, who were paid 100 kilograms of rice each. Rehearsal of Mulian in the slack season by amateur farmers was a local custom in such Nanling villages as Taifeng, Dongtang, Xianfang, Huangji, and Kuihu.107 This pedagogical process may explain why the Nanling version is thoroughly marked with simple musical scores (in three types), suited for the beginning students of Mulian.108 This learning process was not unique to Nanling; nor were Mulian students all poor or illiterate. In Qimen county, lineage-based villages organizing their own Mulian troupe hired masters from outside, often from Qiaoxi village.109 In Shexian, the Changbiao villagers learned Mulian in 1878 from a Shaokang village master nicknamed Wu Yanwu.110 The 1919 Wuhu gaz-

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etteer noted: “Young men of the county good at music who gathered to stage operas are called Ke Troupe.” It then added a footnote: “In recent times, local villagers loved to have Mulian staged during the competition performance for requiting the gods, which lasted seven days at most and occasionally was shortened to one day. Usually boys in the villages were called upon to rehearse [Mulian] before the performance. They offered their skills upon becoming adept.” 111 Children from well-to-do households learned Mulian, too.112 Many actors of the Wanfu troupe, as its key member Xie Changlu recalled, were nianshuren (educated men, somewhat like Zheng Zhizhen), and the troupe was famous both within and without Nanling in the late Qing.113 The county was noted for the reputation that local literati enjoyed performing Mulian themselves; and this was just part of a larger tradition that started in late-Ming Jiangnan: members of certain gentry families, such as the family of aforementioned Pan Yunduan (1525 –1601), took great delight themselves in performing roles from operas as an amusing pastime.114 But Nanling did not become a center of Mulian performance until the nineteenth century, although Wuyuan immigrants had brought the ritual opera tradition to the county by the late Ming.115 By the late Qing, according to the concurrent gazetteer of Jiangnan, “most Mulian actors are Nanling natives.” 116 According to a field report, several dozen Mulian troupes flourished in the six counties of Huizhou in late imperial times. Many of these companies were probably half-professional, frequently requested and paid to stage Mulian by other lineage-villages. They must have performed the ritual opera in their home villages as well. From them emerged from time to time influential companies, such as the Qiaoxi, the Shaokeng, the Changbiao (also called the Exhortation Troupe [quanshan ban]), and the Ghost-Dancing Troupe of Qingyuan village in Wuyuan.117 The Shaokeng and Changbiao troupes went on tour in the winter every year, covering the Huizhou counties of Shexian, Jixi, and Yixian; Taiping and Tunxi in the north; and Kaihua and Chun’an in the east.118 After the autumn harvest, the Wanfu troupe also came to Huizhou and Ningguo prefectures to perform Mulian, as well as to the surrounding counties of Langxi, Jingxian, Tongling, Qingyang, Xuancheng, Guichi, Fanchang, and Wuhu. Most other Mulian troupes consisted of amateur farmers. They offered the ritual opera in the slack season when requested; if not, they stayed home farming land or rehearsing Mulian.119 These amateur or semiprofessional lineage troupes, and their learning process, enhanced the remolding power of Mulian. They made what was being staged more natural (and perhaps also more amusing) to the audience. Not only were performed characters, whether human or divine (such as the filial son, the chaste woman, the righteous servant, the sojourning mer-

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chant, the hanged ghost, the deified Wang Hua or his subordinates, including the Five-Fury Spirits), drawn from local mercantile lineage culture; the performers on the stage were often fellow kinsmen or co-villagers of the audience, including dismissed Mulian students as well as the yuepu musicians and langhu stage builders. They shared, then, not only ethico-religious concerns but also blood or native-place ties. These performer-audience ties, like the rituals staged during the operatic performance, blurred the distinction between stage representation and real life; and the blurring made the operatic embodiment of the audience’s fears or hopes all the more gripping. The Mulian stages contributed to sociocultural integration as well. In the Huizhou region, roughly speaking, there were three types of Mulian stage, all of which indicated the involvement of local lineages in one way or another: stages attached to local temples (miaotai or wanniantai [the tenthousand-year stage]); stages attached to ancestral halls (often also called wanniantai); and temporary “straw stages” (caotai). These stages largely corresponded to the aforementioned three categories of Mulian: temple ritual operas, lineage ritual operas, and village ritual operas. It is common sense that Chinese operas were often performed on the stages attached to local temples.120 In Wan’an, Xiuning, on the sixteenth day of the first month, the wealthiest house of the community welcomed home the Buddha from the Water Dragon temple (constructed in the early nineteenth century) and invited actors to stage Mulian. The performance lasted five days; on the twenty-first day, the Buddha was paraded back to the temple, indicating the end of the ritual opera festival. Locals sponsored a three-day operatic show again on the birthday of the Water Dragon (the fourth day of the fourth month), for which a temporary stage was built in front of the temple.121 Worthy of note is the fact that local lineages were often in charge of the temples of popular deities. In Xiyang, Jingxian county, two “Black Altar” shrines were called jiaguan or “lineage’s monasteries” (to be distinguished from “lineage temple,” that is, ancestral halls that venerated the lineage ancestors). They belonged to a certain Hu lineage, which, divided into numerous branches, occupied several neighboring villages. Each shrine had a ten-thousand-year stage. Every year on the sixteenth of the third month, the Hu lineage branches sponsored ritual operas to amuse Marshal Zhao, the “Black Altar” deity who was popularly worshipped as the god of wealth and exorcism. The performance, staged alternatively on the two shrine stages, sometimes lasted up to twenty days and nights.122 In the northern precinct of the Nanling county seat, on the ten-thousandyear stage of the city-god temple, only the grand Mulian opera was performed, often by the lineage troupes.123 In the Huizhou region, Mulian was also often performed on stages attached to ancestral halls; and the construction of lineage temples, as dis-

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cussed in Part 1, involved significant contributions from merchants. The Hu lineage in Xiaohu village, Xuancheng county, first built a stage onto its ancestral hall in the Ming, and the stage underwent frequent repairs thereafter. The lineage routinely sponsored the performance of Mulian on the stage, along with Anhui Opera scripts, on a large scale every ten years and on a small scale every five years.124 In Zhulin village, lying between Qimen and northeastern Jiangxi, a permanent stage was built in front of the Yuqing ancestral hall. Erected in the eighteenth century, the stage was one hundred meters square and two meters high, with viewing stands on both sides. In 1900, the Lili troupe performed Mulian on the Yuqing stage.125 This kind of evidence corrects the assumption, widely shared by the Mulian specialists in China, that in Qimen county, Mulian was performed on the lineage ancestral temple stages only in the three villages of Qingxi, Limu, and Huansha.126 In fact, not only was Mulian often enacted on the stage attached to ancestral halls but amateur performers also practiced Mulian and martial arts in ancestral halls, in Changbiao village, for instance.127 In some areas, the Mulian “lineage ritual opera” was mixed with “temple ritual opera.” In the county seat of Jingde, for example, Mulian was performed first in the ancestral hall of the Lü lineage and then in the Guanyin temple, and the procession, led by the actors who played the Five-Fury Spirits, started from the Lü ancestral hall and ended up at the Guanyin temple.128 Although the ancestral hall performance of Mulian was most likely to commemorate the compilation or revision of the lineage genealogy, it had more to do with ancestral worship. As noted above, Zhongyuan festival Mulian performances in Qimen were part of sacrifices offered to ancestors in local villages. This tradition is recorded in other local gazetteers as well as field reports. According to the 1936 Dangtu gazetteer, “There are special actors who only perform Mulian. They use the Mulian Rescues His Mother script and stage the selected [scenes] in one night, or the complete script in three nights. They are all natives of Huyang in Guanyu, staging Mulian to sacrifice to ancestors and fulfill vows.” 129 In Jingde county, and in Huizhou’s Xiuning and Qimen as well, before the staging of Mulian, the communal heads, the troupe, and the households that sponsored the ritual opera to repay a vow, kneeled to ask the ancestral spirits, along with local deities (including Wuchang), to help exorcize demonic influences of ghosts.130 Just as Mulian performances honored Zheng Zhizhen in his home village, in Qiaoxi (about ten li from Pure Stream), the Mulian actors of the lineage troupe worshipped Hu Tianxiang as the primary master of Mulian, a Mingdynasty ancestor who the genealogy of the Qiaoxi Hus claims authored the first Mulian script (or, according to a local legend, coauthored it with Zheng Zhizhen). Whenever the Qiaoxi troupe staged the ritual opera, its actors first went to Hu Tianxiang’s grave to offer sacrifices.131 For Huizhou

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as a whole, the best evidence about the mingling of Mulian and ancestral rites is probably the localized pantheon invoked in the Mulian / Wuchang performance, a pantheon that was headed by Wang Hua, the apical ancestor of the Wangs and the protective deity of all Huizhou people. A major scene in the Opera for Goodness is the funeral of Fu Xiang. In the process, Fu Luobu also tries to release various “wandering souls” (guhun), spirits of people who died in prison or by drowning, starvation, or hanging. At the end of the script’s third volume, the exorcistic rite releasing “wandering souls and wild ghosts” is staged again, in a Grand Yulanpen Gathering where Mulian’s family members are all immortalized.132 This script arrangement, and especially its actual performance, would have promoted the ambiguous linkage between ancestral souls and guishen (ghosts and gods) in general. Nevertheless, ghosts were believed capable of ominously impacting ancestral souls dwelling in lineage temples. Herein, probably, lies a religious impetus to the change in popular location for Mulian performance. Over the course of the Qing dynasty, in most Huizhou villages, Mulian appears to have gradually shifted from the lineage ancestral hall stage to the temporary “straw stage,” especially after the Hanged Woman became one of central scenes.133 I would also suggest that this shift served to accommodate a larger audience, for the temporary straw stage, like the three-tiered lotus stage built in Zhongfen village in 1930, was usually located on a large open ground, either at a threshing floor or around the village entrance.134 The shift therefore might well have been an important arrangement to promote lineage integration, as it corresponded to the continuous expansion of kinship communities in the Qing. A huge lineage in the Huizhou region, such as the Xidi Hus, might have had thousands of taxable kinsmen by the High Qing.135 It was a popular custom to build a Zhongfen-like stage for Mulian performance in the Huizhou region.136 In the counties of Qimen, Yixian, Shitai, and Nanling, the construction of a special stage, including the composition of xilian (couplet pairs pasted on each side of the stage), was an integral part of a grand Mulian performance.137 This tradition can be traced back to the late Ming at the latest, as Zhang Dai rather casually mentioned that his uncle built a “huge stage” while recruiting a troupe of HuizhouJingyang actors to perform a three-night Mulian, for which he wrote two pairs of xilian.138 A recent field report lists nineteen xilian from the aforementioned Huansha village alone, most of which were concerned with Mulian and pasted in ancestral halls or local temples honoring popular deities as well as on opera stages.139 Whereas lineage elites authored the xilian, local langhu bond-servants must have been required to erect the straw stages for Mulian performance. In Nanling, as noted previously, Mulian actors were mostly amateur farmers. They rarely built the temporary straw stage

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themselves, nor did they offer the performance to make a living. Nanling troupes staged Mulian only when requested, often in the slack season when both performers and audiences had leisure time. When requested by a large lineage or a prominent branch within a lineage, they would be paid about one hundred jin of rice each per night. When requested by a small lineage, the pay was less, and they would perform for free when requested by relatives or friends. In any case, the sponsoring side was obliged to build a stage for the performance. No ticket was ever sold to a Mulian performance, which was open to everyone to watch. Because the straw stage was always erected on a large open ground, the audience often reached several thousand.140 Although an ancestral hall Mulian, like an ancestral rite (which was often integrated into the ritual opera), tended to be a shared representation within a certain lineage, a straw stage (or temple stage) performance was public, open for those both outside and inside the sponsoring lineage to watch. Mulian performance often drew people from all walks of life to watch. A late-Qing pair of stage couplets from Qimen reveals the composition of the Mulian audience: Two lineages cosponsor a grand Mulian show, attracting watchers and listeners—men and women; elders and children; those such as gentry, farmers, craftsmen, and merchants; and sorcerers, physicians, monks, and priests. Mountains of people and seas of people—so crowded and bustling is this human world. One divine staff strikes open Hell, releasing ghosts great and small—smoking and gambling ghosts; ghosts of womanizers and the mistreated; ghosts of orphans, widows, widowers, and elders; ghosts of the crippled, the deaf, the disabled, and the ailing. Ghostly spirits and ghostly demons—hurriedly they vie with each other to pass through the Ghost Gate of the underworld.141

The couplet pair juxtaposes two realms, ghost hordes on the stage attracting a swarming audience of various people. This juxtaposition can be traced to the late Ming. As Zhang Dai noted, thirty or forty actors his uncle recruited from the Huizhou region generated a similar commotion in a threenight Mulian show: There were heavenly gods and earthly deities, Oxhead and Horseface, the Ghost Mother of Death Gate, yakshas and rakshas, saws, grindstones, and three-legged cauldrons, the Knife Mountain and Icy Pond, the Sword Tree in Yama’s palace, and the Iron Wall and the Blood Lake, all just as they are in the transformation picture of Wu Daozi. Tens of thousands were spent to construct them in paper. The audience was very uneasy; under the light of the lamps, their faces had a demonic quality. In suites like “Summoning the Evil Ghosts of the Five Directions” and “Madame Liu Flees the Stage,” more than ten thousand people shouted all at once.142

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The intensity of the audience’s response accounts for the magnetism of the play and the large number of spectators. In fact, the performance of the inferno was so appalling that, according to a pioneering Chinese scholar in Mulian studies, comics were needed to soften the horror.143 This informed observation sheds new light upon the incorporation into the ritual opera of some comic scenes, such as the monk-and-nun romance and “Madame Wang Curses the Chicken.” Among the Mulian audience, women and local elites deserve particular attention. As they were positioned on opposite ends of local lineage hierarchy, their participation best testifies to the shared popularity of the ritual opera. Yao Tinglin, born into an official family in Shanghai in the late Ming, in his Linian ji (Annual records) noted that in the third month of 1644, his mother wanted him to go to her hometown, Zhoupu (near Shanghai), with her to watch Mulian.144 Women must have been a significant segment of the audience for the grand Mulian performance sponsored by Zhang Dai’s uncle, for the huge stage he built had “ladies’ viewing stands” (nütai) on all four sides.145 Back in the Huizhou region, the Mulian stage often included women’s viewing stands as well.146 In Nanling county, as the Qing poet Liu Kaizhao noted, women watched Mulian.147 In Xidi village, Yixian, where Mulian was frequently performed, women were enthusiastic operagoers, and the Hu lineage leadership made efforts to separate them from the male audience. A poster erected in front of the Xidi stage directed “Men left and women right” to prevent the mixing of sexes in the audience. More than one hundred ladies’ seats were placed at both sides of the stage, and for a certain donation Xidi women could request arrangement of a special seat.148 After all, the Opera for Goodness targeted both “foolish men and foolish women.” This master copy of Mulian performance includes scenes and songs that had special appeal to women. Particularly popular was the “Three Great Afflictions” (San daku), a long ballad Madame Liu sings to an infernal judge while being tortured in the third hall of Hell. The popular song focuses on the three greatest sufferings women must endure: pregnancy as a daughter-in-law, raising children as a mother, and spiritual abandonment as a wandering soul after death (as women rarely received sacrifices from their offspring).149 According to the Republican edition of the Qimen gazetteer, the “Three Great Afflictions” had become the “Bible” for local women.150 These female sufferings were greatly intensified in the merchant capital of late imperial China, because most Huizhou women were lonely wives of sojourning tradesmen, with an overextended and inhuman lineage guarding over their familial and sexual lives. However, at the same time many merchants’ wives were well provided for. They were also culturally sophisticated, usually receiving some education before marriage (see Chapters 2 and 5). Even in the 1990s, especially among once prominent mercantile lineages, one can still find old women with bound feet reading

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thread-bound books.151 Huizhou women had the delicate mind, as well as leisure time and emotional need, to appreciate dramatic performances. And now, they found their voice heard via Mulian performances, often enacted to entire kinship communities, open for everyone to watch (except for pregnant women in certain localities). All Mulian scripts, especially the anonymous ones, should be viewed as resulting from an interaction between the playwrights and the audience. Viewed from this perspective, the context of the “Three Great Afflictions”—sympathetic toward women but sung by an evil lady—seems to reveal the contradictory consciousness of the audiences, especially given the opera’s emphasis on womanly virtues. Perhaps while incorporating the popular ballad, Zheng Zhizhen intentionally had Madame Liu sing it. This role assignment of the song, however, continued in later scripts of the ritual opera, suggesting the acceptance of the arrangement by the audience, including women.152 Mulian performance thus worked the other way around: its socioreligious values found their way into the consciousness of mercantile lineage kinswomen. Ironically, one reason for local officials to ban Mulian, and ritual opera performance in general, was precisely the mixing of men and women in an audience who were not dispersed at night, as was evident in the bans issued by the Shexian magistrate Fu Yan in the early seventeenth century.153 In the case of Mulian, however, when compared to constant performances, official bans were rather infrequent, and the occasional ban probably betrays what Max Weber called “shrewdly self-serving tolerance” of Confucian scholarofficials toward practices in “magic” and popular worship.154 In any event, elite involvement in Mulian made official opposition futile in the long run (this involvement, of course, also included measures taken to prevent, such as in Xidi, the mixing of sexes among the audience). Local elites, including both gentry and merchants, were themselves in the audience, as were their wives and daughters. In the Huizhou region, as shown earlier, local elites sponsored, directed (by heading the “Mulian Bureau” and leading sacrifices offered to the deities), watched, and sometimes even personally participated in Mulian performances. Even non-Huizhou elite, such as Zhang Dai’s uncle and Nalan Xingde, also enjoyed Huizhou Mulian. In Nanling, according to a field report, wealthy households were willing to let their children learn Mulian. When literati got together, they often sang Mulian lines for entertainment. When the ritual opera was to be staged, they went to watch either by boat or by sedan. So familiar with Mulian were local gentry that if a line was incorrectly spoken or sung, they would immediately correct it in a loud voice.155 The elite interest in Mulian was in large measure determined by its social and religious merits. In addition to cleansing local communities of ghostly

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pollution, the communal performance of the ritual opera helped consolidate the collective spirit of villagers and enhance the solidarity of kinship groups. For shopkeepers, the temple performance at county seats or market towns helped attract more customers for their goods or services. Most important, Mulian helped strengthen the moral fiber of locals, conveying ethical lessons and religious precepts by threatening the watchers with punishment for human misdeeds. Local lineage elites were keen to see the ethico-religious values of the ritual opera. Like all Mulian scripts, most stage couplets (xilian), written by local literati, focus on the ethico-religious discourse of the ritual opera. We have seen the xilian pasted on the Zheng lineage temple in Zheng Zhizhen’s home village and on the huge lotus stage in Zhongfen. The following two fall into the same category. The first was written during the Ming-Qing transition for a Nanling Mulian performance: Sutras are transmitted in spite of retribution. Incorporating a legend from Buddha’s old works, one must realize the matching of the principles governing the dark realm and human world. The ghosts and gods are by no means nonexistent. Staging the story of the Liang Dynasty, one must distinguish the two opposing routes of good from evil.156

The second pair is from Jingde county, just north of Huizhou: Fortunate people and sinful people, virtuous people and evil people—all people are ultimately judged by retribution and heavenly principles will shine forth. Unwilling ghosts and drowned ghosts, hanged ghosts and longtongued ghosts—all ghosts shall be driven away by the earth god and none will be allowed to stay.157

Mulian was truly an Opera for Goodness, or, more accurately, an opera for both exhortation to goodness and punishment of evil. For local lineage elites, as for Zheng Zhizhen, the means of exhortation and punishment was to appeal to the supernatural power of demons and gods, whereas the criterion of goodness and evil was ultimately Confucian. Zheng Zhizhen concludes his script with two lines: “Mulian opera for requital (xiyuan) ends in three nights; the merit of almsgivers in the nether world lasts for ten thousand generations.” The Changbiao and Nanling versions, however, end with a pair of couplets reading: “Mulian opera for requital ends in three nights; fully represented are the four characters of loyalty, filial piety, chastity, and righteousness.” 158 The closing poem of two “folk” versions summarizes Mulian’s central theme even more precisely than Zheng Zhizhen did. This improvement might be directly attributed to individual playwrights. Behind them, however, was the process of social interaction between performance and audience, including both lineage elite and kinsfolk.

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This process, in other words, involved the interaction between cultural representation and social forces. Mulian ritual opera was rooted in the mercantile lineage, the dominant social institution in Huizhou. Viewed from virtually all aspects of its performance—ritual occasions and religious symbols, sponsorship, troupes, learning process of actors, stage locations, composition of audience, as well as the scripts and their ethico-religious values—Mulian was a kinship tradition. This social underpinning in part explains why the new Mulian first took shape in Huizhou, why Zheng Zhizhen could virtually unify its performance, and why the ritual opera was fashionable mainly in the south where lineage organization was highly developed in late imperial times. Popular Mulian performance in Huizhou was a mercantile lineage discourse, widely shared among different social groups within kinship communities.

Conclusion

Zheng Zhizhen’s scripting of a popular Mulian performance in the late sixteenth century marked the completion of a significant transformation that had been taking place in Huizhou society and culture. His Mulian Rescues His Mother: An Opera for Goodness transformed more than the ritual opera and local popular culture. By Confucianizing a tradition associated principally with Buddhism, Daoism, and folk religion, Zheng Zhizhen perfected a powerful new medium to buttress and enrich local mercantile lineage culture. It featured a fully developed ethico-religious discourse, conveying Confucian values with the omnipotent power of demons and gods by the means of now-matured ritual opera. Through the godly encouragement of goodness and punishment of evil, the new Mulian conveyed established sociopolitical norms with a series of familiar popular images, invested with new meanings. For instance, the filially pious Luobu, or Mulian, now also represented ethical business practice; Miss Cao, while signifying the newly emphasized ideal of female chastity (more dramatically embodied in the Hanged Woman in later scripts), now subtly engendered Huizhou merchants’ ultimate aspiration for status advancement; the syncretic Confucian scholar Fu Xiang now stood also for the model of a benevolent lineage head; the loyal servant Yili exemplified devoted management of a wealthy household; the “five bandits,” eventually deified as the Five Furies, conveyed an almighty warning against rampant greed; and the sacrilegious Madame Liu was now punished for newly highlighted disloyal widowhood. Amusing and yet didactic, intelligible and yet manipulative, comic and yet frightening, otherworldly and yet mirroring this world, the Confucianized Mulian appealed to the cultural tastes and spiritual needs of local kinsmen and kinswomen. Its images and symbolic meanings mirrored and enhanced Huizhou mercantile lineage culture. This new Mulian was destined to be popular throughout late imperial times. Fundamental to this popular tradition is the trio of institutions (and human agents, including audience), messages, and media, which largely accord with the subject matter we have dealt with in the three parts of this book. Each part of the triad testifies to a culture that was profoundly inte-

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grated, although not homogeneous.1 Particularly important is the social mechanism by which, to quote Mary Douglas, “the power of social structures” generates “symbols of their own.” 2 The new Mulian was created socially, and its performance continued to be grounded in specific social processes. Here we encounter what the historian J. H. Plumb has called “perhaps the greatest problem which any historian has to tackle,” that is, the “process by which ideas become social attitudes.” 3 In the case of Huizhou Mulian, the process by which ethico-religious ideas became social attitudes was initiated by the Confucian scholar Zheng Zhizhen (himself a product of Huizhou mercantile lineage culture in general and popular Mulian performance in particular), carried out by both gentry and merchant lineage elites who routinely sponsored the ritual opera and prepared the necessary groundwork for its grand performances, actively assisted by numerous second-rate playwrights, script copiers, and amateur or semiprofessional performers of lineage troupes, and completed (if often unconsciously) by millions of “foolish men and foolish women” who, living under the kinship regime, eagerly watched and participated in performances. Once created, however, Mulian performance took on autonomous power, legitimating and enhancing the social relations and ethico-religious values that created it. In Qimen and Shitai counties, when a Mulian was staged, people simply turned to Zheng Zhizhen’s script.4 In places where its printed version was not available, performers made copies by hand, which could very well explain why there are so many differently named versions of Mulian in the Huizhou region. These manuscripts, like the Boyang and Changbiao versions, further popularized and expanded Zheng’s work. Whereas the added or reincorporated story about Liang Wudi historicized the Mulian myth and thus made otherworldly fantasy look real, the new image of the Hanged Woman further enhanced the ideal of female chastity through an ethico-religious mode of persuasion. Most significant, however, the Mulian story proper codified by Zheng Zhizhen was copied virtually everywhere, directly or indirectly, not only in Huizhou but also in other Mulian centers. In its birthplace, the new Mulian represented and popularized Huizhou mercantile lineage culture. More extensive and powerful than the “lineage rules,” the ritual opera staged many aspects of the daily and spiritual life of local kinspeople.5 Accordingly, it can serve as a living history of Huizhou lineage culture, a culture that was gentry led and yet thoroughly commercialized, Confucian-oriented and yet replete with eclectic folk beliefs and ritual practices. Mingling lowly and lofty sentiments, Mulian performance was one of the most deeply rooted manifestations of lineage integration in late imperial Huizhou. For performance participants, however, staged messages could be multivalent. There were two scenarios, generally speaking, in which the com-

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monly available Mulian tradition or images could be differently appropriated. One included the differences between various scripts within the same ritual opera genre or of various genres; and the other, the multivocality of a given performance or of a given message. Easily discernible (as there are not many profound discrepancies) are the variations between Zheng Zhizhen’s master copy and later scripts that arose naturally in the long process of Mulian diffusion, as shown, for example, in the different scenes regarding the romance between the monk and nun. This story, often staged as an independent playlet, nevertheless had little to do with the main concern of Mulian per se, although both monk and nun were eventually punished along with Madame Liu in Hell. The more popular a text is, the more open it is to various kinds of subcultures, and the more multivalent it is to audiences of different social statuses and cultural tastes. Herein lies the reason why the message on condemning money delirium, for instance, could be perceived in various ways by, say, a lineage head, a merchant, or an impoverished kinsman within the same kinship group (see Chapter 4). Still, the message was widely shared; as a public discourse it contributed to the newly shaped mercantile ethics regardless of how differently it might have been interpreted. Like certain messages or images, the Mulian performance could be appropriated as a whole on different occasions for different purposes. It could be staged to celebrate a festival, to seek the divine protection of local lineages and to requite the ancestors or the popular deities, to exorcise spirits (the Hanged Ghost, for instance), to commemorate an important moment such as the genealogy compilation or even the 1945 victory over Japan, or simply to attract more audience and consumers to a temple fair in a local market town. Alternatively, when a grand Mulian performance simultaneously commemorated more than one of these occasions, each purpose could be used or emphasized in various ways by different audience members. In spite of all these variations, the most profound message conveyed through Mulian performances consisted of a single ethico-religious discourse that appealed to all Chinese people regardless of their social status or religious preference. (In places where sociocultural and material conditions were not ready for grand performances of Mulian, notably most regions in northern China, there were other genres or religious symbols, such as Guandi, to fill the gap, conveying similar ethico-religious values.) Variations of a seemingly more profound nature are generally expected to have existed between the various genres of the Mulian story. Most notable might be the baojuan (precious scrolls), for this chanted genre was closely associated with sectarian cults and popular especially in the turbulent period spanning the late Ming and the early Qing. These sectarian tracts, however, feature the same ethico-religious mode employed by the rit-

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ual opera. A good example is the Precious Legend of the Inferno (Youming baochuan), a baojuan-related text printed in 1889 but most likely inherited from previous chanters of the Mulian story. The recited text conveys through the power of demons and gods not only filial piety (as exemplified by its protagonist, Mulian) but also other cardinal Confucian values: “the Five Ethics of benevolence, righteousness, ritual-and-propriety, wisdom, and faithfulness,” along with loyalty, brotherly love, and a sense of shame. Most striking, while exhorting the Three Obediences and Four Virtues for women, the Infernal King (Mingwang) of the text declared Madame Liu’s violation of her husband’s deathbed injunction to be the most sinful act she committed.6 Here we have an excellent case of how the same ideas penetrated different genres linked with different socioreligious communities. Eventually, Mulian became “popular,” or enthusiastically shared, even in the imperial palace. The script was later rewritten by Zhang Zhao (1691– 1745), a metropolitan degree holder from the south who served the Qianlong emperor as the minister of justice and the head of the Music Department. Zhang Zhao’s script, the Golden Text of Exhortation, happens to be the longest drama in Chinese history, composed of ten books, twenty volumes, and 240 scenes. Beautifully written (and magnificently performed), this imperial version further elaborated upon the ethico-religious discourse first codified by Zheng Zhizhen.7 Situating the Mulian story in the Tang dynasty, Zhang Zhao promoted loyalty to emperor above any other Confucian value, making Hell serve mainly to punish rebels and disloyal or dishonest officials. He constantly put loyalty above filial piety. When one of the heroes of this further historicized version of the Mulian myth talks about filial devotion, for instance, what is really on his mind is political loyalty, for in the end the hero, himself a loyal official, announces that “loyal officials must come from filial families.” Loyal officials, needless to say, were eventually all immortalized in the Heavenly Palace.8 This political emphasis is conceivable because the script was composed specifically for palace performance. Zhang Zhao’s emendations notwithstanding, at its core the Golden Text still featured Zheng Zhizhen’s ethico-religious discourse. That this discourse was widely shared was due not just to its own integrating force but also to the fact that it was performed, in other words, communicated by a combination of verbal, visual, and musical media. Visual images reinforced spoken and sung words with a different sort of communication that did not depend on literacy or schooling. As long as people had eyes and ears, as Zheng Zhizhen stated in his preface to An Opera for Goodness (quoted in Chapter 4), operatic messages came across very much in the manner face-to-face encounters had always brought messages to the attention of ordinary people in everyday life. Simply put, staged images were intelligible to everyone, including the vast masses of “foolish men and

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foolish women,” for whom the Mulian, like most other operas, was intended. The great Qing-dynasty scholar Zhao Yi once wrote a doggerel to console himself for his “ignorance” of “folksy local plays,” regarding which he found his servant-boy to have gained a great deal of knowledge: “I an elder have read a thousand volumes / but it is my servant-boy who is conversant with things past and present.” 9 Of course, the historical knowledge Zhao’s servant-boy acquired from operas was often distorted or mythologized, yet the moral lessons they conveyed were not fundamentally different from what a schoolboy learned from history books, Confucian classics, or Zhu Xi’s Elementary Learning. What distinguished opera from these formal or discursive genres, however, was the emotional and entertaining value it generated through public performance.10 The significance of musical performance, fundamental to both ritual and later opera, can be traced back to Confucius, who said: “To alter styles and replace customs, no means is more effective than music.” 11 Music and operas entertained people and thus were more effective than formal schooling in conveying ethico-religious values as well as historical knowledge. The seventeenthcentury scholar Liu Xianting likened opera and the novel (which was often performed by actors or recited by storytellers) to the six classics, calling the new popular genres “the big key to turning around the world”: “If the sage rises again, he cannot rule [the world] without relying on them.” 12 Mulian differed from many other plays, however, in that it was staged in a ritual matrix, often both to amuse the gods and to exorcise the ghosts. During the performance, deities and demons swarmed over the stage, at times erupting into the audience and rushing out into the surrounding fields or streets. A Mulian spectator from the Huizhou region said, “[We] love but also fear to watch; the more frightened we are the more we want to watch.” 13 Mulian, staged with incomparable force, was full of horror, but it also included many comic scenes and was often performed on important occasions or annual festivals. Festivity combined with terror to create an atmosphere that was at once tense and joyful, in which moral values and religious precepts could be absorbed unconsciously. Mulian was somewhat similar to Zhu Xi’s family rituals in the sense that both conveyed ethicoreligious messages through molding by appealing to audiences’ emotional and spiritual subconscious. At the same time, the Mulian messages were also explicitly vocalized, which helped elucidate the staged images and rituals. Mulian was in a sense the theatricalized form of both Family Rituals and Elementary Learning. It “illuminates [socioreligious] norms through operatic performance,” the late-Ming drama aficionado Zhang Dai concluded in his long description of the ritual opera performed by HuizhouJingyang actors in Shaoxing.14 Mulian was by no means an isolated strand of late imperial culture. Us-

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ing opera performance to convey normative ethics was characteristic of traditional Chinese theater as a whole, including both elegant and lowbrow plays. A contemporary example comes from Taiwan. On April 4, 1993, Gu Zhenfu, the head of Taiwan’s high-placed, albeit nominally unofficial, organization to handle China-Taiwan relations, stated, “When I was six years old [in the 1930s], my father taught me pingju [Beijing Opera]. He said to me that I should never forget that I am a Chinese, and that the values of loyalty, filial piety, chastity, and righteousness of pingju are the essence of Chinese civilization—never forget that I am a Chinese!” This apparently emotion-charged statement was uttered in an effort to defend his father, who was being attacked by the Democratic Progressive Party as a “Taiwanese traitor,” for Gu’s father, a former high-ranking official, tried to maintain good relations with Japan when Taiwan was colonized by the Japanese. This attack, needless to say, implied that Gu Zhenfu was now plotting to sell Taiwan to China; and Gu made his statement right before he left for Singapore to meet his China counterpart.15 What interests us here, of course, is not current Taiwan-China politics, but Gu’s assessment of traditional Chinese theater, and especially the way in which it was made. Gu Zhenfu made the comment at a critical moment when his reputation was at stake, assuming it as a self-evident fact acceptable by its fiercely hostile audience. This assumption made his appraisal ten times more convincing than a scholarly treatment illustrating the permeation of Confucian ethics in traditional Chinese theater.16 The common cultural ground shared by Gu Zhenfu and his fierce critics is Confucian ethics, identified with “Chineseness” in Gu’s statement. This identification has a long history. One of its first articulators was the all-powerful Zhu Yuanzhang, although this founding emperor of the Ming dynasty did not live to see how dramas became the best medium to convey what he believed to be the essence of Chinese civilization: Confucian norms of the Three Bonds and Five Relationships.17 But not all traditional Chinese operas conveyed Confucian ethics with the power of demons and gods; not all traditional Chinese operas were sponsored by lineages; not all traditional Chinese operas were performed with rituals. The Huizhou Mulian was a tripartite construction: a ritual opera in form (or cultural medium), an ethico-religious opera in terms of value (or message), and a mercantile lineage opera vis-à-vis social context. It is the totality of these three facets of Mulian that renders it meaningful as the quintessential manifestation of “popular Confucianism.” 18 Mulian performance was the most comprehensive, most powerful, and most deeply rooted representation of the popular Confucian tradition. This tradition was derived, in part, from neo-Confucianism but was already widely disseminated among various social groupings and, in the process, transformed. In other words, the Confucian intellectual construct was

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altered by its cultural representation. Zheng Zhizhen, one of the great culture heroes in the making of the sixteenth-century popular Confucianism, was influenced by both Zhu Xi and Wang Yangming (with his populist approach, as discussed in Chapter 4), and his script became the canonical text for all later operatic renditions of the Mulian story. But the Confucian ethics conveyed through Mulian incorporated the supernatural powers of folk and Buddho-Daoist “demons and gods” to drive their messages home to an audience composed of elites and commoners alike. Popular Confucianism therefore reflected not only the internal transformations within the neoConfucian tradition but also the concurrent development of religious syncretism and local cults. The Huizhou Mulian is a case study of just one story cycle in the vast repertory of vernacular and religious literature that popularized Confucian values, a trend that seems to have started in the Song dynasty but did not reach its full flowering until the late Ming. This process paralleled the development of new political, economic, and sociocultural patterns. Central to the process was the emergence of new dominant social forces and new cultural media. The new dominant class, including both local gentry and merchants, was created and expanded by the new centrality of the civil service examination to official recruitment and the emerging commercial economy during Ming times. These new elites, like the state, were strongly interested in spreading Confucian values and were responsible for creating or reshaping new social organizations such as the lineage.19 They also, either through their individual efforts or through their new social organizations, made great contributions to the development of new cultural media that matured over the course of the sixteenth century, such as vernacular literature and operatic performance. The sixteenth century was pivotal in the making of popular Confucianism, which, like the epoch that made it, was replete with apparent paradoxes. The rise of a monetary economy began to undermine conventional social structures and norms. It was at this time that men from Huizhou spread throughout the realm, amassing enormous fortunes, while kinship infrastructure and culture underwent massive restructuring, spurred largely by the wealth channeled back into the region by gentrified merchants. One of the most remarkable by-products of the commercial economy was the money craze, which was eventually contained by Confucianized mercantile ethics as well as Huishang ultimate aspiration for status advancement. Another by-product was the development of the printing industry and popular literature. All of this paved the way for the trend of “robust sensuality” and the related cult of love, but ironically also the cult of female marital fidelity. Popular religion also flourished in this era of the “floating world.” The demonic Wuchang, for instance, emerged as a new variant of the god of wealth, which was nevertheless thoroughly contained within the multi-

218

Conclusion

layered local pantheon. This symbolic arrangement simultaneously signaled the protection of good merchants and a warning against avarice. These pairs of apparent paradoxes were deeply linked, working together to create the popular Confucian ethico-religious discourse most saliently embodied in Mulian performance. Enlightened beliefs and darker cults had struggled throughout Chinese history.20 With the perfection of the popular ethico-religious discourse in the sixteenth century, however, those clashes might have lost their cultural relevance, except when linked, in popular rebellions or counterinsurgency, to political struggles for power or survival. The discourse was itself the product of a long process of negotiations— or battles, if one wishes—between high and lower cultures. Both sides peacefully coexisted in Huizhou Mulian, each having had to compromise, as folk religion and popular performing arts combined with orthodox values to form a seamless whole.21 What was there left to fight for, except perhaps the purity of the discourse per se? The subsequent Qing state, to be sure, would continue to police popular religious symbols and ritual norms, and Confucian purists would strive ever more zealously to decontaminate rites, in part for having seen in them an impure mode of popular Confucianism: this would lead to the formation of Qing intellectualism and pure ritualism.22 Yet these ritual classicists of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries were greatly outnumbered and overpowered by less ideologically pure but more practical literati such as Zheng Zhizhen, in the cultural or symbolic realm, and especially at the local level.23 Locally engaged, socially informed, and politically astute, these local literati could always justify their eclectic approach by appealing to the legitimate tradition of the Five Classics, which themselves conveyed an embryonic belief in spiritual beings and moral retribution. Indeed, the moral commitment of a great majority of local elites was neither so pure, nor was it eroded by the critical edge of evidential scholarship. Local elites in Huizhou, the birthplace of a major school of Qing evidential scholarship and the ancestral home of Zhu Xi’s ritualism, instead developed a new kind of cultural commitment to the impure but workable popular Confucianism. For them, it functioned perfectly well in grappling with local issues and audience, thereby becoming a dominant cultural trend, one that was simply too powerful to be stopped. This popular Confucian tradition indexes how profoundly elite ways of thinking had changed under the pressure of popular culture and how thoroughly elite engagement in popular culture had transformed local folkways. At the same time, the Confucian transformation of popular culture also legitimated folkways. The mutual penetration of elite and popular culture brings into serious question the methodological tendency to see culture on a vertical plane, neatly divided into a hierarchy of “high,” “middle,” and

Conclusion

219

“low” tiers.24 Certain messages or images of Huizhou Mulian—that is, its “cultural vocabulary”—might have been appropriated in different ways by different people, or even by the same person for different purposes under different situations, but its “idiom”—the popular Confucian ethicoreligious discourse—was shared by virtually each and every Huizhounese regardless of his or her social status. Popular Culture in Late Imperial China, edited by David Johnson, Andrew J. Nathan, and Evelyn S. Rawski, “posits an underlying unity to Chinese culture in the mid-sixteenth to early twentieth centuries,” as Catherine Bell observes, “but it hesitates to determine of just what this unity consisted. Indeed, that is the question that animates the whole work.” 25 One way to solve this puzzle, I would suggest, is to look at popular Confucianism. This ethico-religious discourse was the idiom of traditional Chinese popular culture. The Confucian tradition was not just a state orthodoxy or an intellectual construction but a cultural discourse deeply rooted in local society. Confucian values thoroughly penetrated the symbolic and ritual realms via Mulian performances, shaping the consciousness and behavior of the vast majority of Huizhou and Chinese people. Herein we see the significance of the concept of “popular Confucianism” for understanding the social history of late imperial China. Indeed, the contribution of this book lies not just in the elaboration of the new ethicoreligious discourse but also in the analysis of Huizhou commercialized kinship society, and the two are intrinsically interconnected. Above all, I have sought to elucidate the complex but often orchestrated relations between changes in the cultural realm and historical changes among social groups, kinship institutions, and intellectual climate within the local setting. This type of localized, sociocultural approach illuminates the historical mechanisms that brought about the integration of elite and folk sentiments within a popular performance genre and thereby lifts Mulian out of its exorcisticdramatic-ethnographic milieu to make it relevant to the concerns of the social historians of late imperial China. Mulian was staged to amuse the gods and exorcise ghosts, thereby promoting operatic entertainment as well as popular religious precepts and ritual practices. However, local elites sought to make effective use of the ritual opera precisely for its capacity to penetrate the spiritual and mental world of the common folk. Facing a social crisis brought about by rapid commercial development and perceived moral deterioration, both gentry and merchant Huizhou elites turned Mulian into a subtly powerful vehicle by which to convey orthodox social norms among ordinary kinsmen and kinswomen. Such norms included conservative family values, Confucian mercantile ethics, and the ideal of female chastity. Particularly important to the process was the assimilation of commercial wealth and merchant culture into local lineage establishments, which pre-

220

Conclusion

conditioned both the scripting and staging of Mulian. Lineagewide performance of the ritual opera in turn consolidated kinship solidarity. Indeed, the gentrification of commercial wealth was a social prerequisite for the Confucian transformation of local popular culture as well as for the integration of mercantile lineage culture as a whole. The development of commerce and popular culture ultimately strengthened Huizhou gentry society and enhanced Confucian values. Mulian was both a product and producer of Huizhou mercantile lineage culture. Herein we are completing a circle, both historical and scholarly, which starts with gentrified kinship but then concentrates on lineage merchants and popular culture, only to find ourselves arriving at a better understanding of gentry society and Confucian traditions.

appendix

!

Extant Mulian Operatic Scripts

This Appendix is not intended to be exhaustive; it lists important Mulian operatic scripts from various regions that I have read or consulted. An asterisk (*) indicates that the script is from Huizhou or its surrounding regions. For a more complete list of extant Mulian operatic scripts, see Mao Gengru, Mulian ziliao bianmu gailŸe, pp. 260 Ð371. Chaolun ben Mulian ⬢ⱐ቏ᲿⳐ (Jiangsu). 3 ben ቏. 1939. Annotated by Huang Wenhu 㓳 ᄽ ⚛ . Taibei: Caituan faren Shi Hezheng minsu wenhua jijinhui, 1994. Diaoqiang Mulian xi Xianfeng Gengshen nian chaoben ⦲⌠ᲿⳐ໵٬⩴಑ᮭ౺༯ ቏ (the Qianliang version, Zhejiang). 5 juan ֱ. 1860. Annotated by Zhao Ming ⊤ᆙ. Taibei: Caituan faren Shi Hezheng minsu wenhua jijinhui, 1997. Gaoqiang: Mulian zhuan ㋧⌠: ᲿⳐЗ (the Chongqing version, Sichuan). 4 vols. 1957. In Chongqing shi chuanju yanjiusuo, comp., Sichuan Mulian xi ziliao lunwen ji ߈ఛᲿⳐ໵⫏ᅆ⧄ᄽゝ, pp. 267Ð372. Compiled and published by Chongqing shi chuanju yanjiusuo. Chongqing, 1990. Jiangsu Gaochun Mulian xi liangtou hong taiben ᖶ♫㋧ᛘᲿⳐ໵қㆊ₏⎔቏. 1 juan ֱ. 1935. Annotated by Mao Gengru ⑏≧⑰. Taibei: Caituan faren Shi Hezheng minsu wenhua jijinhui, 1997. Jiumu ji: Mulian xi ᄗᕒ⥆: ᲿⳐ໵ (Zhejiang). Reprinted in Zhejiang xiqu chuantong jumu huibian: Shaoju ᙢᖶ໵ሧЗ⃥ԮᲿഎℶ: ₺Ԯ, vol. 8. Compiled and printed by Zhongguo xijujia xiehui Zhejiang fenhui et al. Shaoxing, 1962. Mulian ᲿⳐ (the Chaolun version, Jiangsu). 3 ben ቏. Hand-copied, 1939. *Mulian jiumu: Yiyang qiang liantaibenxi ᲿⳐᄗᕒ: ೢぬ⌠Ⳑ⎔቏໵ (the Boyang version, Jiangxi). 7 juan ֱ. 1871. Reprint, Jiangxi sheng ganjutuan, 1982. Mulian quanhui ᲿⳐҚሳ (Shanghai). 1 juan ֱ. Annotated by Li Ping ቦ౹ and Li Ang ቦᆍ. Taibei: Caituan faren Shi Hezheng minsu wenhua jijinhui, 1995. *Mulian xi ᲿⳐ໵ (the Langxi version, southern Anhui). Hand-copied, 1936. *Mulian xi: Gaoqiang ᲿⳐ໵: ㋧⌠ (the Changbiao version, Shexian). 3 vols. Handcopied by Wang Yousheng ᪗̨ᮝ in 1957, based on an 1868 manuscript. *Mulian xi juben ᲿⳐ໵Ԯ቏ (the Nanling version, southern Anhui). 3 vols. Handcopied, 1957. Mulian zhuan: Gaoqiang ᲿⳐЗ: ㋧⌠ (Sichuan). 3 vols. Comp. He Yuzhai ̬⋀ 㕒, based on the 1884 and 1903 versions. In Chuanju chuantong juben huibian ఛԮЗ⃥Ԯ቏എℶ. Sichuan: Sichuan Renmin chubanshe, 1958. Mulian zhuan: Qiju gaoqiang ᲿⳐЗ: ṀԮ㋧⌠ (Hunan). In Hunan xiqu chuan-

222

Appendix A

tong juben ᜙֡໵ሧЗ⃥Ԯ቏, vols. 34 and 35. Changsha: Hunan sheng xiqu yanjiusuo, 1982. Puxian xi Mulian jiumu ⒘ˢ໵ᲿⳐᄗᕒ (Fujian). HandÐcopied in the 1950s. Annotated by Liu Zhen ԰Ṵ. Taibei: Caituan faren Shi Hezheng minsu wenhua jijinhui, 1994. Shaoxing jiuchao jiumu ji ₺⎟⎡༯ᄗᕒ⥆ (Zhejiang). 2 juan ֱ. 1883. Annotated by Xu Hongtu റલߧ. Taibei: Caituan faren Shi Hezheng minsu wenhua jijinhui, 1997. Shaoxing jiumu ji ₺⎟ᄗᕒ⥆ (Zhejiang). 8 juan ֱ. 1958. Annotated by Xu Hongtu റલߧ. Taibei: Caituan faren Shi Hezheng minsu wenhua jijinhui, 1994. *Wannan Gaoqiang Mulian juan ᲋֡㋧⌠ᲿⳐֱ (southern Anhui). 3 juan ֱ. 1908. Compiled and annotated by Zhu Jianming ቒ೘ᆙ. Taibei: Caituan faren Shi Hezheng minsu wenhua jijinhui, 1998. Yangqiang Mulian xi ぬ⌠ᲿⳐ໵ (the Gaochun version, Jiangsu). 3 vols. Comp. Jiangsu sheng jumu gongzuo weiyuanhui, 1957. Zhang Zhao ೺ᤫ. Quanshan jinke ըۧ⸉Ấ (Beijing). 10 vols. Reprinted in facsimile in Guben xiqu congkan jiu ji ‫מ‬቏໵ሧ‫ל‬Ӥʪゝ, ser. 9, no. 5. Beijing: Guben xiqu congkan biankan weiyuanhui, 1959. *Zheng Zhizhen ⶎ ʠ ᫂ . Mulian jiumu quanshan xiwen Ჿ Ⳑ ᄗ ᕒ ը ۧ ໵ ᄽ . 3 vols. 1582. Reprinted in facsimile in Guben xiqu congkan chuji ‫מ‬቏໵ሧ‫ל‬ ӤӮゝ, ser. 1, vols. 80 Ð 82. Beijing: Guben xiqu congkan biankan weiyuanhui, 1955 Ð59.

appendix

"

Huizhou Ancestral Halls (ca. 1500 Ð1644)

Date of Construction

Name

Choronym-Lineage

County

1542

Zhangshi zongci ೺ᕿશṚ

Shaocun Zhang ₺ቩ೺

Shexian

1542

Zhenjing Luo Dongshu xiansheng ci ⪬ヿ⇵ቺ⎧҅ᮝṚ

Chengkan qian Luoshi ‫ࠆا‬Ԋ⇵ᕿ

Shexian

1542

Hengcha Huangshi citang? ᑲᐌ㓳ᕿṚࡩ

Hengcha Huang ᑲᐌ㓳

Wuyuan

pre-1545

Chengshi zongci? ỄᕿશṚ

Shanhe Cheng ُۧỄ

Qimen

pre-1545

Renshan Chengshi zhici? ˒ୀỄᕿᄄṚ

Shanhe Cheng ُۧỄ

Qimen

1522 Ð 66

Wansigong zhici ┋߈ҝᄄṚ

Tangyue Bao ፨⬤㍚

Shexian

1522 Ð 66

Wushi zongci? ‫ؖ‬ᕿશṚ

Wutian Wu ‫ؖ‬᮪‫ؖ‬

Xiuning

1522 Ð 66

Wangshi zongci? ᖾᕿશṚ

Choushu Wang ổࣁᖾ

Shexian

1522 Ð 66

Zhucun tang ┮એࡩ

Xinguan Bao ᅘ㈀㍚

Shexian

1522 Ð 66

Zhoushi zongci ‫ش‬ᕿશṚ

Chengxi Zhou ࡆ⣫‫ش‬

Jixi

1522 Ð 66

Jiangshi citang ▽ᕿṚࡩ

Baita Jiang ᱺࢡ▽

Qimen

Mid-Ming

Zhanshi zongci ⦅ᕿશṚ

Qingyuan Zhan ๸᜺⦅

Wuyuan

Mid-Ming

Yeshi zongci ᏈᕿશṚ

Nanjie Ye ֡⠞Ꮘ

Xiuning

Mid-Ming

Xushi zongci ⥓ᕿશṚ

Jianzhou Xu ៼జ⥓

Jixi

Mid-Ming

Sunshi zongci ચᕿશṚ

Guzhu Sun ‫מ‬ᾈચ

Yixian

1585

Panshi zongci ៊ᕿશṚ

Dafu Pan ञ〯៊

Shexian

1605

Xiangshi zongci ㅮᕿશṚ

Guixi Xiang ጅᝏㅮ

Shexian

continued

Appendix B

224 Date of Construction

Name

Choronym-Lineage

County

1607

Zhaoyin tang ⊤Ṳࡩ

Xiuning Cha ̆૫ው

Xiuning

1615

Zhengshi zongci ⶎᕿશṚ

Zhengcun Zheng ⶎቩⶎ

Shexian

pre-1619

Dunben ci ᄦ቏Ṛ

Xixinan Wu ⣫ᝏ֡‫ؖ‬

Shexian

pre-1619

Simen ci ߈⿧Ṛ

Xixinan Wu ⣫ᝏ֡‫ؖ‬

Shexian

1573Ð1619

Shu Yuqing tang ⎧ㇷ๸ࡩ

Pingshan Shu ଩ୀ⎧

Yixian

1573Ð1619

Xulun tang ᄝρࡩ

Shitan Wu ᵲ៛‫ؖ‬

Shexian

1573Ð1619

Chengshi zongci ỄᕿશṚ

Linxi Cheng ⎈ᝏỄ

Shexian

1573Ð1619

Wushi da zongci ‫ؖ‬ᕿञશṚ

Xixinan Wu ⣫ᝏ֡‫ؖ‬

Shexian

1573Ð1618

Mingjing Hushi zongci? ᆙ⃻⋟ᕿશṚ

Shangchuan Mingjing Hu ʀఛᆙ⃻⋟

Jixi

1626

Zhushi zongci ቒᕿશṚ

Yuetan Zhu ሶ៛ቒ

Xiuning

1628

Simu ci ඎᴑṚ

Xixinan Wu ⣫ᝏ֡‫ؖ‬

Shexian

1628 Ð 44

JingÕai tang ᄪ฻ࡩ

Xidi Mingjing Hu ⣫⳴ᆙ⃻⋟

Yixian

pre-1628

Xushi zongci ⥓ᕿશṚ

Chengdong Xu ࡆቺ⥓

Shexian

Source: Zhao Huafu, ÒMingdai zhongqi Huizhou zongzu tongzhi de qianghua,Ó pp. 221Ð23. Note: This list is by no means exhaustive. For instance, it does not include some of the lineage temples I have mentioned in the text, such as those built by the Gulin Huangs in 1522, by the Shixi Kangs in 1547, and by the Shaxi Lings in the Jiajing reign (1522 Ð 66). The list nevertheless clearly demonstrates the rising vogue of constructing lineage ancestral temples in mid- and late-Ming Huizhou.

appendix

#

Homophonic and Graphic Substitutions and Sardonic Characters in Mulian Scripts

(1) Homophonic substitutions in Zheng ZhizhenÕs script (MLZZ):

dao

Homophonic substitutions

Original characters

ӷ

Ϊ

gu

ゞ

ᯎ

li

Ӵ

サ

qu

‫ח‬

৊

yuan of yuanlai

ℳ͗

‫͗׆‬

(2) Sardonic characters in Zheng ZhizhenÕs script (MLZZ): kou ‫( ם‬mouth) in each character of LŸ Pinqi ‫ݽٴآ‬ tan ⪶ (avarice) looks like pin ⪳ (poverty) ya ᧃ looks like wu ఋ (a simpliÞed character meaning ÒpennilessÓ) (3) Graphic substitutions in the Changbiao version (MLCB): Graphic substitutions

Original characters

jin Ⲗ

dun ⳟ

gu ㋉

mao ҭ

Notes

introduc tion 1. Throughout this book, “Huizhou” refers to Huizhou prefecture proper, consisting of six counties. “The Huizhou region” refers to Huizhou and the areas surrounding it, including northeastern Jiangxi and several counties in southern Anhui, such as Nanling, Jingxian, Qingyang, Shitai, and Jianping (present-day Langxi). 2. Li Hanfei, Zhongguo xiqu juzhong shouce, p. 335. 3. Mao Gengru, Anhui Mulian xi ziliao ji, pp. 330 –51; idem, Mulian ziliao bianmu gailüe, pp. 260 –371. The four scripts or manuscripts are MLCB, MLBY, MLNL, and Wannan Gaoqiang Mulian juan. I have also acquired and consulted several other Mulian scripts, including Mulian xi (1937, the hand-copied version from Langxi county, southern Anhui); Mulian, 3 vols. (1925, compiled and handcopied by the monk Chaolun from Gaochun in the southwestern corner of Jiangsu, also known as the Chaolun version); and Yangqiang Mulian xi, 3 vols. (1957, also known as the Gaochun version, Jiangsu; Gaochun county is very close to Langxi). Consult Appendix A. 4. The “late imperial” era covers the period from the late Ming through the Qing up to the early Republic, roughly from the 1550s to the 1930s. See Wakeman, “Evolution of Local Control,” p. 2. 5. Quoted in Teiser, “Ritual Behind the Opera,” p. 207. For the pioneering studies on Mulian in the West, see David Johnson, Ritual Opera, Operatic Ritual. Most essays in this conference volume focus on Mulian skits or playlets performed during funeral rites. 6. Consult Foucault’s “What Is an Author?” for his poststructuralist vision of decentralized authorship, which distributes the power of authorship more widely, focusing not on “the real author” but on “the modes of existence of this discourse.” I will pay attention to both Zheng Zhizhen and the discourse that mirrored the society in which the playwright lived. 7. I have discussed the sources of and approach to popular culture and cultural history in some length in my previous book (Qitao Guo, Exorcism and Money, pp. 12 –18). My understanding of popular culture has been influenced in part by Geertz’s Interpretation of Cultures and Darnton’s Great Cat Massacre, as well as critics of Geertz’s and Darnton’s works, including Biersack, “Local Knowledge, Local History”; Walters, “Signs of the Times”; Chartier, “Text, Symbols, and Frenchness.” Consult also Bourdieu, Logic of Practice. Simply put, I believe that cultural items are at once symbolically autonomous and socially grounded. Accordingly, cultural historians need to balance Geertz’s thick description of symbolic meanings and Bourdieu’s analytical mode of social practices. In the China field, consult the different approaches developed in David Johnson, “Communication, Class, and Con-

228

Notes to Introduction

sciousness”; Hymes, Way and Byway, pp. 1–25; Duara, Culture, Power, and the State; Davis, Society and the Supernatural, pp. 200 –25. 8. See also Hunt, “Introduction: History, Culture, and Text”; Mukerji and Schudson, “Rethinking Popular Culture,” where the authors summarize important studies in popular culture in the disciplines of history, anthropology, sociology, and cultural criticism, including representative works by, among others, Natalie Zemon Davis, Robert Darnton, Lawrence Levine, Clifford Geertz, Marshall Sahlins, Mary Douglas, Pierre Bourdieu, Jürgen Habermas, Raymond Williams, and Michel Foucault. 9. David Johnson, “Scripted Performances,” pp. 42 – 43. 10. According to Brook (Confusions of Pleasure, p. 264), as of 1998 no historian of late imperial China had addressed cultural issues with sustained reference to socioeconomic developments, except Clunas (Superfluous Things). Another exception is Brook’s own work, Praying for Power. E. P. Thompson has proposed a method that “offers to study social process in its totality; that is, it offers to do this when it appears, not as another ‘sectoral’ history—as economic, political, intellectual history, . . . or as ‘social history’ defined as yet another sector—but as a total history of society, in which all other sectoral histories are convened” (quoted in Biersack, “Local Knowledge, Local History,” pp. 92 –93). In the case of the gigantic Chinese empire, Thompson’s “total history” seems to be possible only when it is regionally focused. And yet such a “total history” of one locality, I believe, can also work to illuminate the nature of national or empirewide macrohistory. See also the discussion on the dialectic relationship between local and national cultures in Qitao Guo, Exorcism and Money, pp. 7– 8, p. 8 n.18. 11. Lynn Hunt (“Introduction,” p. 21) offers her answer to Edward Hallett Carr’s classic question, “What is history?” while summing up her introduction to “the new cultural history”: “Essays on the state of the discipline often have a canonical form all their own: first a narrative on the rise of new kinds of history, then a long moment for exploring the problems posed by new kinds of history, and finally either a jeremiad on the evils of new practices or a celebration of the potential overcoming of obstacles. My story line is quite different from Carr’s: where he saw the epic advance of social and economic history, the heroic historian marching hand in hand with the forces of progress, I tell the perpetual romance, the quest without end, the ironic doubling back over territory already presumably covered. By implication, history has been treated here as a branch of aesthetics rather than as the handmaiden of social theory.” Consult also Wakeman, “Telling Chinese History.” 12. This is true especially in English-language literature; cf. Zurndorfer, Change and Continuity. Szonyi’s recent publication on Fujian kinship strategies (Practicing Kinship) is a significant contribution to our understanding of lineage culture. I share Szonyi’s approach to lineage organization, but we differ in our conclusion (which is probably in part determined by our different regional focuses). Whereas Szonyi emphasizes the divergence between the elite kinship model and popularly practiced form, my work demonstrates how the latter was the former in practice. In other words, via elite remolding, popular culture (including local cults) could also work to enhance the gentrified mercantile lineage. I draw on Chinese-language literature,

Notes to Chapter 1

229

Ye Xian’en’s Ming-Qing Huizhou and MQHS in particular, but the main arguments presented in Part 1, and especially their integration into a concept of “mercantile lineage culture,” are my own, not to mention the incorporation of many hitherto overlooked primary sources I collected from manuscripts stored in the Anhui Museum and Provincial Library. Most of these arguments have already been synthesized in my 1994 Ph.D. dissertation (Qitao Guo, “Huizhou Mulian Operas”) ch apter 1 1. Cheng Ting, Chunfan jicheng, 1a–2b. Cheng Ting, self-styled “Ruo’an,” seems not to have been a well-known literary figure. However, he had his essays printed in a collection titled Ruo’an ji, which included his travel diary. See also Yong Rong et al., Siku quanshu zongmu tiyao, 37.46; for a short biography of the poet Cheng Ting, see SXZ, p. 1624. See also Xin’an Censhandu Chengshi zhipu, 5.190a–b. 2. Cheng Ting, Chunfan jicheng, 2b – 4a. The two plays are concerned with the same love story about the famous Tang general Guo Ziyi, albeit in different ways. The playwright of Kunlun was Mei Dingzuo (1553–1619), a native of Xuancheng in southern Anhui. Hongxian stands for Hongxiannü yeqie huangjinhe, written by the famous pioneering playwright of the elegant Kunqu musical style, Liang Chenyu (1521–94). See Zhuang Yifu, Gudian xiqu cunmu huikao, pp. 433–34, 436 –37. 3. Cheng Ting, Chunfan jicheng, 4a. Cheng mentions two lines from a poem about the Tang-dynasty Mulian “transformation text” (bianwen) by Bai Juyi. Bai’s poem is compiled in Ding Fubao, Lidai shihua xubian, 1.21. 4. LHYF, 16.1a–10b, 16.11a–22b; SXZ, p. 157. 5. Censhan, meaning “Cen Hill,” is also called Censhandu, which means “the ford at Cen hill and river” (SXZ, p. 1624; Gujin tushu jicheng, 123.4a). Cheng Ting noted, again with a sense of pride, that the ancient ancestors of the Cheng lineage moved to Xin’an in the Jin dynasty (265 – 420) and in the reign of Yongle (1403–24) moved from Dacheng village, also in Shexian, to Censhan. He also visited the Cheng lineage in Lükou village, in the neighboring Xiuning county, on the twenty-eighth day of the second month (Cheng Ting, Chunfan jicheng, 2b, 3b). Genealogies for the Cheng branches in Dacheng and Lükou (or Shuaikou) are extant, too. See Telford et al., Chinese Genealogies, pp. 181– 82, nos. 1908, 1909, 1914; XNLKCS. The Chengs in Huizhou appear to have formed a kinship network similar to what Ebrey and Watson (Kinship Organization, p. 6.) call a “higher-order lineage,” an “umbrella organization” that ties together several patrilineally related descent groups dwelling in different villages. 6. QXZ, pp. 4, 81. Some key phrases in Yao’s comment are taken directly from the Analects, as are some of Cheng Ting’s account quoted earlier. 7. Qi, Yuanshantang Ming qupin jupin jiaolu, pp. 134 –35; see also idem, Yuanshantang jupin, p. 114. Qi Biaojia might very well have miscounted the number of Mulian scenes here. Zheng Zhizhen’s script, also simply called Quanshan ji (An opera for goodness), is composed of 105 scenes, 5 of which are not mentioned in the table of contents. The shorter title, Quanshan ji, is mentioned in all prefaces to

230

Notes to Chapter 1

Zheng’s text. Huang Shang, the editor of Yuanshantang Ming qupin (p.135), holds that Qi was referring to both Zheng’s script and actual performance in Shaoxing. An undatable “Shaoxing opera” script called Jiumu ji: Mulian xi (The story of rescuing mother: A Mulian opera), of 110 scenes, is almost identical to Zheng’s script, except for some minor structural differences. In 1919 when a publisher decided to print a literary script of Mulian, he noted in the preface that he had obtained it from “a friend from Wu (eastern Jiangnan).” This preface, along with all of the prefaces and postfaces to Zheng’s original script, is included in Cai Yi’s Zhongguo gudian xiqu xuba huibian (2.622). See Chapter 5 for a comparison of various Mulian scripts. 8. Qi, “Qilu,” 15a. 9. Wuyuan is now in northeastern Jiangxi, contiguous to Raozhou prefecture. 10. Southern Anhui consisted of the four prefectures of Huizhou, Ningguo, Chizhou, and Taiping and the subprefecture of Guangde. Southern Anhui, often simply called Wannan, refers to the part of Anhui lying south of the Yangzi River; it was part of South Zhili province during the Ming dynasty. Local people of Wannan often call themselves “Jiangnanese.” Jiangnan was the core of what G. William Skinner calls the Lower Yangzi macroregion (City in Late Imperial China, pp. 212 –16). According to Skinner’s maps (pp. 214 –15), the heart of Huizhou was in the Lower Yangzi region, whereas some of Huizhou’s peripheral areas lie outside Jiangnan. The High-Qing edition of the Jiangnan gazetteer (Jiangnan tongzhi) covers all of Huizhou as well as other prefectures in southern Anhui. The famous late-Ming bibliophile Xie Zhaozhe (1567–1624) simply called Huizhou “Xin’an of Wu,” as the Wu state during the Spring-Autumn and Warring-States periods covered the area later known as southern Anhui (Wu za zu, 4.35a). Xin’an was an alternative name of Huizhou, and “Wu” referred to southern Jiangsu and northern Zhejiang, the heart of Jiangnan. For a brief account of Jiangnan as a cultural center since the midTang, see Elman, From Philosophy to Philology, pp. 7–13. The map of Jiangnan that Elman draws (pp. 10 and 142) includes Huizhou. See also Naquin and Rawski, Chinese Society, pp. 147–58. 11. Chen Huaiquan, “Anhui sheng shi xian ming youlai,” pp. 18 –21; Wu Jianzhi, “Qimen tangu,” pp. 203– 4; cf. Fang Renfei, “Ye tan ‘Huizhou’ mingcheng de youlai,” p. 120. 12. Mount Huang, lying in the north of Yixian, was once called Mount Yi (of Yixian). It was renamed Mount Huang during the Tang dynasty after a popular legend that the Yellow Emperor (Huangdi) had been immortalized in the mountain (Hong Yutu, Shewen, 2b –3a). 13. Liu Yefeng et al., Huangshan shixuan; Zhu Shiying et al., Guren bixia zhi Anhui shengji; Shi Yuqing, Jiuhuashan de chuanshuo. 14. Ni, “Zheng Zhizhen jiguan ji shengzu nian kao,” pp. 19 –20; for Zheng’s native place, cf. Sawada, Jigoku hen, p. 144. High Crimson Peak, densely covered with virgin forest, was the haunt of beasts even in the Ming. In 1410, as a Qimen gazetteer reports (QXZ, pp. 1815 –16), forty-six tigers and leopards were captured near the county seat. The local gazetteer then gives a short biography of a countywide “tiger-beating hero” named Jiang Jun, somewhat like Wu Song, the “tigerkilling hero” in the popular novel Water Margin. Although Zheng’s description of

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“Black Pine Forest” (MLZZ, 2 : 71b –74b) is likely based upon his experience of High Crimson Peak, the outline of the scene, including its very title, may have come from a similar story in Journey to the West. But Journey to the West, in both the dramatic and novel versions, could also have been influenced by the Mulian story. See Ota, “A New Study on the Formation of the Hsi-yu-chi,” pp. 101–5. 15. YXZ, p. 22. The term taoyuan stands for shiwai taoyuan (the secluded spring of peach blossoms), taken from “Taohuayuan ji,” written by the great Daoist poet Tao Yuanming (365?– 427). Shiwai taoyuan refers to a fictitious utopia, connoting the Daoist attitude of withdrawal from the turmoil of the secular world. Some scholars believe that the ecological features of Yixian might have inspired Tao’s piece, as his descendants settled in the county. See Wu Ren’an, “Ming-Qing Huizhou zhuxing wangzu,” p. 19; consult CXAHTZ, 34.1b –2a; QXZ, pp. 233, 236. 16. Even Huizhou, to be sure, could hardly escape devastation in times of great chaos, such as the Ming-Qing transition and particularly the mid-nineteenthcentury Taiping rebellion (Wakeman, Great Enterprise, 2:736; Ye Xian’en, MingQing Huizhou, p. 35). But the mountains did give local people a sense of security during turbulent times. As a local genealogy puts it, “In times of chaos, we are certainly able to protect ourselves with steep caves and mountains and fierce streams” (cited in Tang Lixing, “Ming-Qing Huizhou de jiating,” p. 152). 17. See Zurndorfer, Change and Continuity, p. 18; Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, p. 7; QXZ, p. 235. 18. Brook, Confusions of Pleasure, p. 174. 19. CXAHTZ, 34 : 2b; QXZ, pp. 233–34, 237. The time of the first migration was often recorded in local genealogies, such as Tengxi Chenshi zongpu, 3.1a; Gulin Huangshi chongxiu zupu, 12.20b. 20. Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, pp. 40 – 41. According to Jiajing chongxiu da Qing yitong zhi, Huizhou’s population had reached 2,474,839 by 1820 (Zurndorfer, Change and Continuity, p. 170). 21. For the “homesickness” of Huizhou businessmen dwelling in other places and the “root” consciousness of Huizhou people, see MQHS, pp. 6 –7, 33. 22. Kuhn, Soulstealers, p. 40. 23. Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, p. 6. See also CXAHTZ, 34:2b; MQHS, pp. 3–12. 24. Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, pp. 40 – 41; Park, “Cong Liushan Fangshi,” p. 41. For additional evidence about the linkage between Huizhou’s ecology, overpopulation, and land scarcity, see MQHS, pp. 44, nos. 128 –31, and 438, no. 1340; Zhao Jishi, Jiyuan ji suoji, p. 3167; XXZ, p. 239. A number of famous Ming-Qing literati also commented on the subject. See remarks by Gui Youguang, Wang Daokun, and Dai Zhen cited by Fu Yiling in Ming-Qing shidai shangren ji shangye ziben, p. 85. 25. MQHS, p. 46, no. 136. 26. Empirewide, Xin’an merchants shared their dominance with those from Shanxi and Shaanxi in Ming and Qing times. See Xie Zhaozhe, Wu za zu, p. 312. 27. SXZ, p. 149. For the scope of the trade of Huizhou men, see MQHS, esp. pp. 213–57; Zhang Haipeng and Wang Tingyuan, Huishang yanjiu, pp. 83–313; Fu Yiling, Ming-Qing shehui, pp. 206 –15.

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28. JXZ, p. 81. 29. Zhao Jishi, Jiyuan ji suoji, pp. 3197–98; MQHS, pp. 12 –17. 30. The organizational structure of commercial printing in Huizhou is similar to that in Fujian. See Brokaw, “Commercial Publishing in Late Imperial China,” pp. 49 –92. 31. Zhou Wu, Huipai banhua shi lunji, pp. 19 –33; and the illustration section, pp. 1–136. One can find the seal of Huang Ting, a famous printer from Shexian, on Zheng Zhizhen’s script. See MLZZ, 1.3b. 32. Huizhou had been the ancestral home of Zhu Xi’s family since the mid-Tang up until the time of his father, Zhu Song, who was born in Wuyuan and studied the classics at the famous Ziyang Academy in Shexian. Zhu Xi was born in Youxi county in Jianzhou prefecture, Fujian, where his father was appointed a sheriff in 1128. See Chan, Chu Hsi: New Studies, p. 35. For a thorough study of the native places of Zhu Xi’s ancestors, slightly different from Chan’s account, see Gao Lingyin, Zhu Xi shiji kao, pp. 4 –16. 33. Both Zou and Lu are in present-day Shandong in the north, whereas Huizhou lies toward the “southeastern” part of China. For the Huizhou Chengs’ claim that the Cheng brothers were their ancestors, see, e.g., SXZ, pp. 2507–9, 2509 – 13; and XXZ, pp. 265 – 67, 1139 – 42. Some modern scholars continue to believe this affiliation, including Zhang Liwen, an authority on neo-Confucianism, who cites Ouyang Xiu to back it up. See Song-Ming lixue yanjiu, p. 260; cf. Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, p. 199. Some prefectures in Jiangnan, such as Jinhua, made a similar claim to be “Zou and Lu in miniature” (Bol, “The ‘Localist Turn,’” p. 25). 34. James Liu and Wm. Theodore de Bary believe that the Zhu Xi school became the state orthodoxy in the late southern Song or in the Yuan, respectively. Liu, “How Did a Neo-Confucian School Become the State Orthodoxy?” pp. 483–505; de Bary, Unfolding of Neo-Confucianism, p. 6; consult also Elman, “Formation of ‘Dao Learning.’” 35. Du Weiming (Tu, Wei-ming), Ruxue disanqi fazhan de qianjing wenti, p. 119. 36. Next, Great Learning provided “eight steps” in the cultivation of the gentleman according to the classical ideal of higher education (de Bary, Unfolding of NeoConfucianism, p. 9). We are still not sure whether Zhu Xi actually authored Elementary Learning, although modern scholars tend to attribute it to Zhu Xi. Consult Chan, Chu Hsi: New Studies, pp. 384 –91; Kelleher, “Chu Hsi’s Elementary Learning,” pp. 221–23. 37. There are also different opinions about the authorship of Family Rituals. But modern scholars, again, tend to attribute it to Zhu Xi (Ebrey, Chu Hsi’s Family Rituals, xiv; cf. Twitchett’s “Comment,” p. 624). In this case, the controversy is more significant than that over the authorship of Elementary Learning. See Ebrey, Confucianism and Family Rituals, pp. 193–95, for a heated controversy in the eighteenth century over whether Zhu Xi actually authored Family Rituals. In the HighQing movement of pure ritualism, this handbook became a major text for the literati debate over classical precedents. See Chow, Rise of Confucian Ritualism, pp. 106, 110 –28. 38. Ming huiyao, 51 : 3a–3b.

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39. de Bary, “Chu Hsi’s Aims,” p. 211; Chan, “The Hsing-li ching-i,” p. 543. 40. Zhao Jishi, Jiyuan ji suoji, p. 3196. 41. Chow, Rise of Confucian Ritualism, p. 106. 42. Ebrey, Chu Hsi’s Family Rituals, xiii. 43. See Zhao Jishi, “Xin’an lixue,” in idem, Jiyuan ji suoji, pp. 3168 –76; Cheng Minzheng, “Xin’an wenxianzhi xu,” in SXZ, pp. 2422 –24; XXZ, p. 237. 44. See, e.g., SXZ, p. 213; XXZ, p. 261. Zhu Xi paid formal visits to the tomb of his ancestors in Huizhou three times, and each time he stayed there for several months and won large numbers of followers. See Wang Yinhui, “Zhu Xi lixue zai Huizhou,” p. 96. 45. See Li Linqi, “Huizhou shuyuan lüelun,” esp. pp. 441– 47, for a complete list of 124 Huizhou academies, of which 47 were established in the Song and 77 in the Ming-Qing period. Li more than doubles the academies previously believed to have existed in Huizhou. Li’s number does not include huge private libraries (shuwu) established by local lineages. Cf. Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, pp. 187–99; Zhang and Wang, Huishang yanjiu, pp. 386 – 87. In the early Ming (1375) there were 394 local schools in Huizhou. See HZF, 5.19a; HZZ, 9.18b. 46. SXZ, pp. 2622, 219. “Honoring the moral nature” and “following the path of inquiry and study” are key concepts in the history of Confucianism. The eventual polarity between knowledge and morality, or between history and philosophy, according to Ying-shih Yu, led to the rise of “Confucian intellectualism” as represented in Qing-dynasty evidential scholarship. This school, therefore, developed out of the “inner logic” of Confucianism, and Han learning was not necessarily contrary to Song learning. See Yu, “Some Preliminary Observations.” Ying-shih Yu explores Qing intellectualism more thoroughly in his Chinese-language essay, “Qingdai xueshu sixiangshi zhongyao guannian tongshi,” in Yu, Zhongguo sixiang chuantong de xiandai quanshi, pp. 405 – 86. 47. Huizhou scholars’ balanced attitude toward learning and morality may throw new light on the philology-and-philosophy relation in Qing intellectualism. Cf. Elman, From Philosophy to Philology; Chow, Rise of Confucian Ritualism. 48. In the Ming (from 1371 to 1644) and Qing (from 1644 to 1904), Huizhou produced 392 and 226 jinshi, respectively: 37.8 percent of 1,036 jinshi from all of Anhui in the Ming and 19 percent of 1,189 jinshi in the Qing. The average percentage of Huizhou jinshi in the whole period was roughly 27.8 percent of Anhui jinshi. This calculation is based on information in Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, p. 192, and Ho, Ladder of Success, pp. 227–28. Although the number of Huizhou jinshi declined from the Ming to the Qing, the number of Huizhou juren soared, from 298 in the Ming to 698 in the Qing (Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, p. 192). In 1766, the Anhui population was 23,355,141; in 1820, that of Huizhou was 2,474,839 (Liang Fangzhong, Zhongguo lidai hukou, tiandi, tianfu tongji, p. 396; Zurndorfer, Change and Continuity, p. 170). The data regarding the number of jinshi and juren in Ye Xian’en’s account are probably incomplete. Based on a different method of calculation (see the following chapter), Shexian alone claimed to have produced 296 jinshi and about 1,000 juren in the Qing. This noted, I believe that both sets of data are meaningful in comparison. 49. Zhang and Wang, Huishang yanjiu, p. 389.

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50. LHYF, 16.1a–10b; 11a–22b. 51. Wu Ren’an, “Ming-Qing Huizhou zhuxing wangzu,” p. 28. 52. The contribution of lineage merchants, however, was also key to the making of Huizhou gentry society, as will be explored in Chapter 2. For Tongcheng, see Beattie, Land and Lineage in China. 53. Taga, So¯fu¯ no kenkyu¯, p. 602. 54. Mingzhou Wushi jiadian, 1.3a. 55. Quoted in Liu Miao, “Cong Huizhou Ming-Qing jianzhu,” p. 413, where Liu also quotes a similar rule from the genealogy of the Tangyue Baos in Shexian. 56. See Luan Chengxian, “Yuanmo Mingchu Qimen Xieshi,” pp. 54 –55. Consult also Elman’s Classicism, Politics, and Kinship for the relation between schools of scholarship and elite-kin networking in late imperial Jiangnan. 57. XXZ, p. 237. See also Luan Chengxian, “Yuanmo Mingchu Qimen Xieshi,” p. 52, quoting the Wanli edition of the Xiuning gazetteer. 58. Cited in Taga, “Guanyu Xin’an mingzu zhi,” p. 110. 59. Zhang Chao, “Shewen xiaoyin,” 1a–1b. For the “amateur ideal” of late imperial Chinese elite, see Levenson, Confucian China, 1:15 – 43; cf. Ropp, Dissent in Early Modern China, pp. 36 –37. Wang Shizhen was the leader of the so-called latter seven masters in late-Ming literature after Li Panlong passed away in 1570. Many scholars believe that Wang Shizhen authored the Jinpingmei. Wang Daokun and Wang Shizhen, together with Grand Chancellor Zhang Juzheng, earned the jinshi degree in the same year (1547). The two Wangs (written with different characters) were called the “two Simas” of the Wanli era, for not only were their official ranks as high as those of the ancient Sima officials but they were believed as erudite as Sima Qian and Sima Xiangru of the Han dynasty. In addition to other literary achievements, the two Wangs were both playwrights and experts in drama criticism. See Xu Shuofang, “Lun Wang Daokun,” pp. 59 – 64, 105; Fujii, “Xin’an shangren de yanjiu,” p. 177. Four of Wang Daokun’s operatic scripts are still extant, in Shen Tai, Sheng Ming zaju, vol. 1. Indeed, Shizhen and Daokun were themselves the archetypes of the “amateur ideal.” 60. Tang expressed his feeling about Huizhou in a poem, which ironically is mixed with a sarcastic touch about the famed wealth of this emerging mercantile stronghold. The poem is cited in Zhao Jishi, Jiyuan ji suoji, p. 3172. 61. Wang Yinhui, “Zhu Xi lixue,” p. 97. For the Ziyang Academy, see HZF, 5.20b –21a; HZZ, 9.19a–21b, 9.26a–26b; SXZ, pp. 218 –22. 62. Compiled in MQHS, pp. 37–38, no. 101. 63. XXZ, p. 1141; Zhao Jinshi, Jiyuan ji suoji, p. 3168; Dong Zhongqi, Wuyuan xiangtu zhi, 25b. 64. Cited in Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, p. 200. 65. Ibid., p. 191. 66. Cited in Wang Yinhui, “Zhu Xi lixue,” p. 97. 67. Preface to Congxiu Huizhou fuzhi, compiled in MQHS, p. 39, no. 108. 68. Some aspects of lineage society discussed in this chapter might on the surface appear “conventional,” but they take on new meaning when viewed in light of their relation to merchant culture and ritual opera performance. Huizhou lineage corporate estates and ancestral halls (often built with a ritual opera stage), for in-

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stance, are both manifestations of merchant gentrification and key to the creation and circulation of what I will call the new Mulian tradition. 69. Hui-chen Wang Liu, “Analysis of Chinese Clan Rules.” 70. According to the famous late-Ming scholar, Gu Yanwu, the ancient clan system was in decline from the Qin to early Song, as most “brothers lived separately even when their parents were still alive” (cited in Zuo Yunpeng, “Citang zuzhang zuquan,” p. 98). Consult also David Johnson, “Last Years of a Great Clan.” 71. Hui-chen Wang Liu, “Analysis of Chinese Clan Rules”; see also Ebrey, “Education Through Ritual,” pp. 277–306. 72. Cited in Xu Yangjie, “Song-Ming yilai,” p. 100. An identical statement is included in the 1701 edition of Family Rituals but nevertheless attributed to Cheng Yi (Zhu Xi, Zhuzi jiali, 1.60a). 73. Chow, Rise of Confucian Ritualism, pp. 84 – 85, 102; Ebrey, Chu Hsi’s Family Rituals, xx–xxi. 74. Ebrey, “Early Stages,” pp. 20 –29; consult Chang Jianhua, “Song-Yuan shiqi Huizhou cimiao jizu.” Song neo-Confucians, according to Patricia Ebrey, were probably just responding to and trying to reshape the needs of kinspeople rather than initiating a new kinship system. A key element in the initial development of the kinship system in the Song, Ebrey argues, was “a change in religious ideas and ritual practices related to graves and ancestors” that fostered the development of “group consciousness among local agnates.” She believes that “one of the most important” elements in “the basic repertoire of kinship activities” was ancestral worship at graves during the Qingming festival. Ebrey thus challenges the general model of Chinese kinship development based on British social anthropology, which emphasizes economic and political factors in the formation of lineages and suggests that these lineages then adopted rituals to help strengthen kinship solidarity. 75. Twitchett, “Fan Clan’s Charitable Estate,” pp. 97–133. The genealogies prepared by Ouyang and Su Xun went back only four generations (Bol, “This Culture of Ours,” p. 72). 76. Zuo Yunpeng, “Citang zuzhang zuquan,” pp. 105 – 8; Han Dacheng, Mingdai shehui jingji chutan, pp. 5, 99 –102; consult also Rowe, “Ancestral Rites and Political Authority.” However, when a lineage grew too powerful to be controlled, especially in the Ming-Qing transition, the state would repress it (Zhu Yong, Qingdai zongzu fa yanjiu, pp. 152 –54). 77. Zuo Yunpeng, “Citang zuzhang zuquan,” pp. 97–116; Han Dacheng, Mingdai shehui jingji chutan, p. 126. Arguably, some of these elements of lineage “cultural repertoire” were not entirely new developments in the Ming (Ebrey, “Early Stages”). They all matured, however, around the time of the mid-Ming. Consult Dardess, Ming Society, chap. 4; Elman, Classicism, Politics, and Kinship, pp. 15 –16. 78. See the “Introduction” to, and the chapters by, Keith Hazelton, Evelyn S. Rawski, and Susan Naquin in Ebrey and Watson, Kinship Organization. For lessdeveloped lineage organization in the north, see also Philip Huang, Peasant Economy and Social Change, pp. 234 –35; Duara, Culture, Power, and the State, chap. 4; Brook, Praying for Power, pp. 235 –36. Michael Szonyi (Practicing Kinship, p. 147), quoting Myron Cohen (“Lineage Organization in North China”), demonstrates some interesting similarities between kinship rituals practiced in the north and south.

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79. Except perhaps Michael Szonyi; see his Practicing Kinship, esp. chaps. 5 and 6, for the lineage incorporation of popular rituals; consult also Xin Liu, In One’s Own Shadow, chap. 2, focusing on “kinship in practice.” For a stimulating new study focusing on various lineage and household organizations in Fujian, see Zheng Zhenman, Ming-Qing Fujian jiazu, which Michael Szonyi has translated into English (Family Lineage Organization). In his preface to the volume, Szonyi (pp. 2 – 12) discusses recent Western studies of Chinese kinship. 80. Most zongzu in Huizhou appear to meet James Watson’s definition of “lineage” (“Chinese Kinship Reconsidered,” p. 594): “a corporate group which celebrates ritual unity and is based on demonstrated descent from a common ancestor.” Cf. Szonyi, Practicing Kinship, pp. 4 – 6. Note the difference between lineages and big communal families, or what Ebrey calls “precursors of lineages” (“Early Stages,” p. 30). The big communal family is a domestic unit that has not divided for many generations, although it also features corporate estates, ancestor worship, and genealogies (see also Xu Yangjie, “Song-Ming yilai,” p. 109; Dardess, “Cheng Communal Family,” pp. 7– 8). There were some examples of the big communal family in Huizhou, such as the Wangs in Wukou, Wuyuan, whose 320 kinspeople lived together under the same roof (Liu Miao, Huizhou shehui jingji shi, p. 118). 81. Zhao Jishi, Jiyuan ji suoji, p. 3177. Similar accounts can be found in many local genealogies and virtually every county, prefectural, or provincial gazetteer covering Huizhou; see, e.g., Ximen Wangshi zongpu, 1a; Ling Yingqiu, Shaxi jilüe, 7:n.p.; CXAHTZ, 34.2a. 82. Ling Yingqiu, Shaxi jilüe, 7:n.p. 83. Ibid., vols. 1, 2:n.p. 84. Jiang Dengyun, Chengyang sanzhi, 15.2a. 85. See Ye Xian’en’s field report attached to Ming-Qing Huizhou, pp. 303–28. The report also covers the Mingzhou Wu lineage in Xiuning, whose social composition is similar to the Chawan Wangs’. Cf. Mi Chu Wiens, “Kinship Extended,” pp. 231–54. According to a recent study, the ratio of lineages to villages in Shexian and Xiuning at one point in late imperial times was about 1.3:1 (Liu Miao, Huizhou shehui jingji shi, p. 81). It is not clear if the author makes proper differentiation between cun and zhuang or between the “big surname” and the “humble surnames.” This noted, I should add that not every Huizhou village was dominated by a single “big surname.” According to a recent field report, the village of Xiakeng, Shexian, is now evenly occupied by the households surnamed Wu and Pan, with a number of Xu and four Fang households settling among them. Both Xu and Fang were also prominent surnames in Huizhou, but the Fangs (and probably Xus as well) in Xiakeng were dependent on their ancestral lineages settled elsewhere. See Park, “Cong Liushan Fangshi,” p. 41. 86. Fu Yiling, Ming-Qing shehui, pp. 47–118; see also Mori Masao, “Weirao xiangzu wenti,” pp. 1–5. 87. Fu Yiling, Ming-Qing nongcun shehui jingji, pp. 1–19; Zhang Youyi, MingQing Huizhou tudi guanxi yanjiu, pp. 112 –20, 121– 40; Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, pp. 116 –22, 232 –302. 88. Taga, “Guanyu Xin’an mingzu zhi,” p. 118; Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, p. 158. For Huizhou cun-zhuang settlement, which reflects local lineages’

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concern for security (using geomancy to select village location to avoid outsiders’ invasion or ominous influences from evil spirits), see also Zhang Shiqing, “Ming-Qing Huizhou chuantong cunluo chutan.” 89. The ownership of serfs was technically illegal during the Ming dynasty except for a member of the official class. In practice, however, their use was widespread, in varied forms, not only in Huizhou but also in other places, including Jiangsu, Zhejiang, Jiangxi, Hunan, Hubei, Honan, Guangdong, and Fujian (Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, p. 232; Fu Yiling and Yang Guozhen, Ming-Qing Fujian shehui yu xiangcun jingji, pp. 289 –309; Elvin, Pattern of the Chinese Past, p. 239; Wakeman, Great Enterprise, pp. 616 –23.) In Huizhou, as in many other places, the system of bond-servants continued in the Qing in spite of serf uprisings during the Ming-Qing transition and Yongzheng’s 1723 order to free the serfs. For a new interpretation of Yongzheng’s order, see Sommer, Sex, Law, and Society, chap. 7. That serfs were used in wealthy houses during the Qing is also reflected in fictional literature, such as The Story of the Stone and Mulian operas, as we will see in the following chapters. 90. Wu Ren’an, “Ming-Qing Huizhou zhuxing wangzu,” p. 18; Tang Lixing, Shangren yu wenhua, pp. 6 –12. 91. Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, pp. 90 –96; consult Robert Hymes, Statesmen and Gentlemen for the elite “localist strategy” during Song times; cf. Brook, Praying for Power. 92. Wu Xinli, “Zhongguo de jiapu jiqi xueshu jiazhi,” p. 33; see also Taga, So¯fu¯ no kenkyu¯, p. 62; cf. Telford et al., Chinese Genealogies, p. 23, table 5. It should be noted that southern Anhui, Huizhou in particular, was devastated in the Taiping rebellion, which must have destroyed a large number of genealogies. 93. Taga, “Guanyu Xin’an mingzu zhi,” pp. 99 –100. 94. Zhao Huafu, “Mingdai zhongqi Huizhou,” p. 227. Out of eighty-eight Ming-dynasty genealogies discussed by Taga Akigo¯ro¯ (Chu¯goku so¯fu¯ no kenkyu¯, 1.205 –220), at least thirty-two came from Huizhou. 95. Based on my review of about two dozen among more than one hundred late imperial Huizhou genealogies stored in the Anhui Provincial Library and the Anhui Museum. For the disappearance in the later Tang of the genealogy claiming aristocratic pedigree, see Bol, “This Culture of Ours,” pp. 50 –51. 96. See Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, p. 172. 97. Quoted in Zhao Huafu, “Shexian Chengkan qian hou Luoshi,” p. 79. 98. See Zurndorfer, Change and Continuity, p. 175. 99. “Hu Shi guxiang.” 100. Cao Zhenyong’s preface to Xidi Mingjing Hushi Renpai zupu. According to the biography of Hu Shiliang, the first migrant ancestor of the Xidi Hus (of the fifth generation), the Xidi Hus had three thousand kinsfolk (zhizhong; ibid., 2.3b). See also XNLKCS and Xin’an Censhandu Chengshi zhipu; these two multivolume “branch” genealogies, compiled in the Ming and Qing, respectively, use the same principle of covering all known agnates (including, in most cases, kinsmen’s daughters, wives, and even concubines), rich or poor, dead or alive. 101. XNLKCS, 4a. 102. Cited in Taga, “Guanyu Xin’an mingzu zhi,” p. 101.

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103. Mingzhou Wushi jiadian, preface, 3b. The same reference can be found in numerous Huizhou genealogies. See Zhao Huafu, “Huizhou zongzu citang,” p. 31. 104. Li Yingqian’s foreword, written in 1711, to the Mingzhou Wushi jiadian, preface, 1a. 105. Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, p. 175. 106. Zhao Huafu, “Mingdai zhongqi Huizhou,” p. 237. 107. Ibid, pp. 237– 41. The Mingzhou Wushi jiaji (Family chronicle of the Mingzhou Wus, Xiuning, 1591), for instance, included the Six Injunctions. See Taga, So¯fu¯ no kenkyu¯, p. 684. 108. Following are the Sixteen Injunctions of Kangxi: (1) Esteem most highly filial piety and brotherly submission, in order to give due importance to the social ethics; (2) behave with generosity toward your kindred, in order to illustrate harmony and benignity; (3) cultivate peace and concord in your neighborhoods, in order to prevent quarrels and litigations; (4) recognize the importance of husbandry and the culture of the mulberry tree, in order to ensure a sufficiency of clothing and food; (5) prize moderation and economy, in order to prevent the lavish waste of your means; (6) give weight to schools and academies, in order to make correct the practice of the scholar; (7) extirpate heterodoxy, in order to exalt the orthodox doctrine; (8) lecture on the laws, in order to warn the ignorant and obstinate; (9) elucidate propriety and yielding courtesy, in order to make manners and customs good; (10) labor diligently at your proper callings, in order to stabilize the morale of the people; (11) instruct sons and younger brothers, in order to prevent them from doing what is wrong; (12) put a stop to false accusations, in order to preserve the honest and good; (13) warn against sheltering deserters, in order to avoid being involved in their punishment; (14) fully remit your taxes, in order to avoid being pressed for payment; (15) unite in hundreds and tithings (baojia), in order to put an end to thefts and robbery; (16) remove enmity and anger, in order to show the importance due to the healthy life. Both Hongwu’s and Kangxi’s injunctions are taken, with some slight modifications, from Mair, “Language and Ideology,” pp. 325 –27. 109. Mingzhou Wushi jiadian, preface, 4a. 110. XNLKCS, 5.7a. Kwang-Ching Liu (“Orthodoxy in Chinese Society,” p. 8) translates Confucius’s keji fuli yue ren as “subduing oneself and returning to propriety-and-ritual (li) is benevolence.” Wang Dao was clearly an outsider to the Lükou Chengs. By the fifteenth century, prefaces and postfaces by outsiders had become a standard feature of Huizhou genealogies. This may suggest that private genealogies came increasingly to have public functions. See also Hazelton, “Patrilines,” pp. 148 – 49. 111. XXZ, pp. 282 – 85; Sheji, 5.17–18. 112. See de Bary, “Chu Hsi’s Aims,” p. 211; Übelhor, “Community Compact,” pp. 371– 88. 113. Wang Shouren, “Yangming xiansheng xiangyue fa”; Wei-ming Tu, NeoConfucian Thought in Action, p. 5. 114. Chen Baoliang, Zhongguo de she yu hui, pp. 156 –57. For Lü Kun, see also Handlin, Action in Late Ming Thought. 115. Chen Keyun, “Lüelun Ming-Qing Huizhou de xiangyue,” pp. 44 – 46. 116. HZZ, 2.43a– 45a.

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117. Chen Keyun, “Lüelun Ming-Qing Huizhou de xiangyue,” pp. 45, 47. 118. XXZ, pp. 278, 283; Zhu Xi, Zhuzi jiali, 1.3a. 119. Brook, Confusions of Pleasure, p. 58; Tangyue Baoshi Xuanzhongtang zhipu, 18.2b. 120. Previous discussion in this paragraph, except where otherwise noted, is based on Chen Keyun, “Lüelun Ming-Qing Huizhou de xiangyue,” pp. 46 – 47; see also XXZ, pp. 278, 283. Lineages in other areas in Jiangnan also kept the shanbu and ebu books (see Xu Yangjie, “Song-Ming yilai,” p. 120). 121. XXZ, pp. 283– 84. 122. Zurndorfer, Change and Continuity, pp. 208 –9. 123. Ji Dakui, “Zongfa lun,” in He Changling et al., Huangchao jingshi wenbian, 58.2a. 124. Cited in Rowe, “Ancestral Rites and Political Authority,” pp. 384 – 85. 125. See, e.g., Gulin Huangshi chongxiu zupu, vol. 1; Jiangcun Hongshi jiapu, vol. 14. 126. Xiuning Ximen Chashi ciji. 127. Mingzhou Wushi jiadian, vols. 1, 2, 7. 128. Mingzhou Wushi jiadian, preface, 1a. 129. See Zhao Huafu, “Mingdai zhongqi Huizhou” (pp. 229 –37, 231–34, tables), where Zhao argues that ritual land in Huizhou, still in its embryonic stage during the Song and Yuan periods, did not flourish until the mid-Ming, nor did other lineage institutions. 130. Zhu Xi, Zhuzi jiali, 1.1b –2a; see also Wang Maohong, “Citang kaowu size,” in He Changling et al., Huangchao jingshi wenbian, 54.15b; Langlois, “Authority in Family Legislation,” p. 281. 131. XNLKCS, 5.6a. 132. See, e.g., QXZ, p. 238; JXZ, p. 81; Zhao Jishi, Jiyuan ji suoji, p. 3177. For Zhu Xi’s influence in other regions, see, e.g., Wuxiang xianzhi, 2.21b; the lineage rules of the Liushi zongpu of Jiangyin, Jiangsu (cited in Zhu Yong, Qingdai zongzu fa yanjiu, p. 64). 133. See Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, pp. 46 – 47. 134. Puweng had a younger kinsman named Xu Guo who earned a jinshi degree in 1565 and was accorded a biography in the official Ming History (MQHS, pp. 89 – 90, no. 265). 135. QXZ, p. 1359. 136. SXZ, p. 156. 137. Terms for lineage corporate land differed in various regions. Generally speaking, in Anhui and Fujian, it was most commonly called jitian (ritual land); in Jiangsu and Zhejiang, yitian (charitable land); in Jiangxi, gongtang; and in Guangdong, changzu. The gongtang and changzu also covered expenses for ritual and charity. See Zuo Yunpeng, “Citang zuzhang zuquan,” p. 112; Ke Changji, “Zongfa gongshe guantan,” pp. 33–38. 138. See the table in Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, p. 53. 139. See the tables in Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, pp. 48 –51, 52, 53. 140. According to Xu Yangjie (“Song-Ming yilai,” p. 106), in some Jiangsu and Fujian villages, kinspeople were not allowed to lease corporate land, which was in-

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stead rented out to other-surnamed tenants. Had the kinspeople tilled corporate land, it was feared they could have eventually claimed it as private land. 141. This paragraph, except where otherwise noted, is based on Peng Chao, “Shexian Tangmo cun Xu yinci wenshu yanjiu,” which draws on wenshu (lineage documents), including in this case land contracts as well as lineage rules. 142. A similar mechanism can be discerned in the Fuzhou region as well (see Szonyi, Practicing Kinship, p. 3). 143. Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, pp. 42 –56; Zhang and Wang, Huishang yanjiu, pp. 483– 89. 144. Zhu Xi, Zhuzi jiali, 1.1b. 145. Consult Zhu Xi, Zhuzi jiali, 7.34a. 146. Gu, “Huaying Wangshi zongci ji,” in He Changling et al., Huangchao jingshi wenbian, 58.7b. 147. Chow, Rise of Confucian Ritualism, pp. 99 –105. 148. Zuo Yunpeng, “Citang zuzhang zuquan,” p. 103; Chow, Rise of Confucian Ritualism, pp. 105 – 8, 258; cf. Zheng Zhenman, Ming-Qing Fujian jiazu, pp. 228 –29. 149. Zongci, implying dazong ci (hall of the great descent-line), can be translated as “apical ancestral hall” or “lineage temple.” I will use these two English terms alternatively in different contexts. This noted, I believe that “lineage temple” is probably a better translation, for it implies both the big size of the building and social contents it symbolized, such as lineagewide rituals. 150. See Zuo Yunpeng, “Citang zuzhang zuquan,” pp. 103– 4, for examples from Suzhou, Putian in Fujian, and Guangzhou of independent ancestral halls built around or after the mid-Ming. Zhao Yi wrote an essay discussing the origin and evolution of the term citang in Gaiyu congkao (pp. 691–92). According to this erudite Qing historian, the term first appeared in the Warring States period; in the Han dynasty it referred to the ancestral hall built at the grave site. During and after the Tang dynasty, citang ceased to be used, being superseded by the term jiamiao. After the Yuan, citang was again used, but to refer to the “private temples” of scholarofficials. In Ming-Qing times, it appears that the two terms, jiamiao and citang, were interchangeable, both referring to ancestral halls. 151. Zhao Huafu, “Huizhou zongzu citang.” 152. XXZ, pp. 297–304. 153. Bao, “Dazong ci bei ji,” in Gulin Huangshi chongxiu zupu, 12.7a– 8a. 154. Chow, Rise of Confucian Ritualism, pp. 105, 108. 155. See Liu Miao, “Cong Huizhou Ming-Qing jianzhu kan Huishang lirun de zhuanyi,” p. 410. 156. Ibid. 157. Zhao Huafu, “Shexian Chengkan qian hou Luoshi,” pp. 74 –76. 158. Qimen Jingzhao Jinshi zongpu, quoted in Ye Xian’en, “Huishang lirun de fengjianhua,” p. 388. 159. The contribution of Huizhou merchants in enhancing the home lineage institutions, in both the Ming and Qing, is well documented in local gazetteers. See, e.g., the biographies of the Shexian merchants Wang Yuanxun, Huang Ruozhou, Jiang Chun, Bao Shufang, and Zheng Jianyuan in SXZ, pp. 1390, 1422, 1456 –57,

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1506 – 8, 1526; of the Qimen merchants Hu Tianlu and Li Xiu in QXZ, pp. 1358, 1361; see also MQHS, pp. 303–17. 160. Zhao Huafu, “Ming-Qing Huizhou Xidi Mingjing Hushi de fansheng”; idem, “Minguo shiqi Yixian Xidi Mingjing Hushi zongzu.” 161. Tangyue Baoshi Xuanzhongtang zhipu, 17.40b. The first ancestral hall of the Tangyue Baos, called the Hall of Purifying Origin (Dunben tang), was built during the Ming Jiajing reign by the aforementioned scholar-official Bao Xiangxian. 162. Figure 1.5: on the right side in the background is the lineage temple of the Baos. 163. Zhao Huafu, “Shexian Tangyue Baoshi”; Liu Miao, “Huishang Bao Zhidao,” p. 119. 164. Zhu Xi, Jiali (1597), 28.1a. Another reprinting of Zhu Xi’s Jiali (1989) contains an illustration of a similar ancestral hall, which nevertheless exhibits some traits of the Qing style (Figure 1.7). Zhu Xi’s original model of four ancestral tablets or shrines set up within the living quarters is illustrated in Figure 1.8. 165. In northern Jiangxi the lineage temple often also included a ritual opera stage. See Part 3. 166. As will be discussed in the following chapters, in the second half of the Ming, Wang Yangming’s school of mind overshadowed the Cheng-Zhu school, even in the “native place of Cheng-Zhu,” at least for some leading Huizhou scholars at the time. But Wang Yangming’s populist approach, while challenging Zhu Xi, helped popularize neo-Confucian moral teachings, including new mercantile ethics. With the rise of evidential scholarship in the eighteenth century, the authority of Zhu Xi was again questioned, for example, in the works of another Huizhou scholar, Dai Zhen. As already noted, however, the Han learning embodied in evidential scholarship does not necessarily contradict the Song learning for Huizhou scholars. 167. See the “Introduction” in Ebrey and Watson, Kinship Organization, p. 10. 168. Zhu Xi, Zhuzi jiali, 1.37b; cf. the 1983 edition of Zhu’s Jiali. 169. Mingzhou Wushi jiadian, 2.25b. 170. Ibid., 2.1a–3b. 171. Zhao Huafu, “Huizhou zongzu citang,” p. 33. 172. See SXZ, pp. 155 –56. Outside Huizhou, Lü Kun (1536 –1618) was among the most adamant of late-Ming literati-officials to insist that the zongzi be replaced by the zuzhang as the lineage leader (Brook, “Funerary Ritual,” p. 478). 173. Cited in Chang Jianhua, “Song-Yuan shiqi Huizhou cimiao jizu,” p. 44. 174. Bernhardt, Women and Property in China, p. 62. 175. Cited in Zuo Yunpeng, “Citang zuzhang zuquan,” p. 105. 176. Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, p. 166. 177. Tandu Xiaoli Huangshi zupu, 6.5a. 178. Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, pp. 166 – 69; see also Xu Yangjie, SongMing jiazu zhidu, pp. 16 –18. For the mid-Ming development of lineage authority in China in general, see Zuo Yunpeng, “Citang zuzhang zuquan.” 179. Ye Xian’en made a similar point in Ming-Qing Huizhou, p. 166. 180. Consult also Brook, “Funerary Ritual,” pp. 479 – 80. 181. Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, p. 165.

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182. Huang Wenming, “Chonggou citang ji,” in Gulin Huangshi chongxiu zupu, 12.20b –21a. 183. Tangyue Baoshi Xuanzhongtang zhipu, 10.2b. 184. Ibid., 3.2a, 13.9a; see also Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, p. 167. 185. Tangyue Baoshi Xuanzhongtang zhipu (preface). Bao Zong mentions in his own preface that to compile the genealogy, he went to Yangzhou in the spring of 1800 to consult with his distant “elder” cousin Bao Zhidao, the head merchant of the Lianghuai salt business. This episode suggests that wealthy merchants shared the lineage authority. But by then Bao Zhidao had long gentrified himself with the official titles bestowed by the imperial court. He befriended Ji Yun, probably the most erudite scholar in the Qianlong court, and one of his sons, Bao Xunmao, had served the Grand Council of the Qing court for years, having earned the jinshi degree in 1784. We shall return to the gentry-merchant relation in the following chapter. 186. Cited in Xu Yangjie, Song-Ming jiazu zhidu, p. 17. 187. Kai-wing Chow (Rise of Confucian Ritualism, pp. 71–97) links the resurgence of lineage building in the late Ming and early Qing in part to a localist gentry approach to social order, though Chow does not share Weber’s view that the dependence on “liturgical governance” was an obstacle to the development of capitalism in China. See also Mann, Local Merchants, chaps. 2, 5; Brook, “Family Continuity,” p. 44; Rowe, “Ancestral Rites and Political Authority.” 188. Makino, “Mindai do¯zoku,” pp. 309, 319 –20. For a parallel transition from Buddhist chantry to ancestral hall in the late Ming, see Brook, Praying for Power, pp. 191–96. 189. In late imperial times, the term she had at least four meanings: (1) the earth god, which was of great antiquity; (2) a rural community; (3) festival ritual operatic performance (like the term sai or hui) enacted on the sheri (two festival dates in spring and autumn); and (4) any corporate organization. See Chen Baoliang, “Mingdai de she yu hui,” 140 –55. 190. Makino, “Mindai do¯zoku,” p. 319. Harriet Zurndorfer (Change and Continuity, p. 140) quotes a passage from the 1607 Xiuning gazetteer: “As for the shrine for the spirits of land and grain, petitions for the harvest and for the thanksgiving for the bounties of the spirits have not been abolished. The people sacrifice to the good [sic] of the soil [the earth god?]. But there are cases where several venerable families link together to form a society (hui). Those who are not of their kind (fei zulei) are not allowed to join (the hui).” The term fei zulei in the original passage seems to refer to the “outsiders of the lineage.” As we will see shortly, what qualified one for participation in ritual performance was increasingly kin membership rather than social status, although the social differentiation between kinspeople was subtly maintained, being conveyed, for instance, in the process of lineage rituals. At the same time, the sublineage ritual organization, called the hui, did exist in late imperial Huizhou, but they were hardly class-bound. See Yuko, “Min Shin jidai.” 191. See Chapter 6 herein. The Shrine of Eternal Loyalty in Shexian, built to worship Cheng Lingxi (another popular patron deity of Huizhou and local lineages), partially also originated from local earth-god rituals. See Chang Jianhua, “SongYuan shiqi Huizhou cimiao jizu,” p. 45.

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192. In what follows I will focus on the ancestral rite, the most important of the Four Rites regulated in Family Rituals. The ancestral rite was more lineage oriented than the other three; capping, wedding, and funerals were mainly “family” rituals, though they often also involved larger kin participation. Consult Rowe, “Ancestral Rites and Political Authority,” p. 381. 193. Zurndorfer, Change and Continuity, p. 140. 194. “Dazong ci bei ji,” in Gulin Huangshi chongxiu zupu, 12.7a–7b. 195. Cited in Chang Jianhua, “Song-Yuan shiqi Huizhou cimiao jizu,” pp. 47, 49. 196. “Chengshi xinzeng citian ji,” in Shanhe xiang zhi, 2.39b. 197. Shanhe xiang zhi, 2.37b –38a. 198. See, e.g., the relevant accounts from two Yixian gazetteers and Xu Chengyao’s Sheshi xiantan, compiled in MQHS, p. 31, no. 76, and pp. 36 –37, nos. 97, 98. 199. Yeshi zongci jibu, n.p. 200. Wangshi cigui, n.p. 201. Cited in Liu Miao, “Huishang Bao Zhidao,” p. 119; see also Zhao Huafu, “Shexian Tangyue Baoshi,” p. 78. 202. Zhao Huafu, “Shexian Tangyue Baoshi,” p. 78; see also idem, “Huizhou zongzu citang,” pp. 34 –35, for similar lineage rules put forth by other Huizhou descent groups. 203. “Dazong ci bei ji,” in Gulin Huangshi chongxiu zupu, 12.7a. 204. Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, pp. 162 – 63. 205. Cf. Zurndorfer, Change and Continuity, pp. 139 – 43. 206. Consult Tanaka, Chu¯goku no so¯zoku to engeki, pts. 3, 4. 207. Both are quoted in Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, p. 214; see also Mingzhou Wushi jiadian, 1.1b. 208. Zhu Xi, Zhuzi jiali, postface, 1b. 209. Tandu Xiaoli Huangshi zupu, 4.1a–23b, esp. 4.13b; Taga, So¯fu¯ no kenkyu¯, p. 602. 210. Shuangqiao guji lüekao, 1a. 211. Hazelton, “Patrilines,” pp. 152 –53. 212. SXZ, p. 155. The same thing can be said of Huizhou’s other counties. In Qimen, for instance, “every descent-line has an ancestral hall, where annual festival celebrations are held” (QXZ, p. 237). 213. Daoguang wunian xiuzu zhanglu (first section), 1a–17b. 214. Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, p. 165. 215. Zhao Huafu, “Huizhou zongzu citang,” p. 32; Tangyue Baoshi Xuanzhongtang zhipu, 17.2a–b. 216. Gu, “Huayin Wangshi zongci ji,” in He Changling et al., Huangchao jingshi wenbian, 58.7b. Consult Zhu Xi’s annotations of the classic passage Gu Yanwu used (Zhu Xi, Lunyu jizhu, 1.16 –17). The translation here follows Legge, Chinese Classics, 1.141. 217. For an analysis of class and kinship relations in nineteenth-century Guangdong, see Wakeman, Strangers at the Gate, pp. 109 –16. Fu Yiling (“Ming-Qing fengjian ge jieji de shehui goucheng,” pp. 9 –11) also suggests that class tension and kinship bonds coexisted in most southern villages in late imperial times.

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218. Zhao Huafu, “Huizhou zongzu citang,” p. 35; Zhu Xi, Jiali (1983), 142.573. 219. Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, 166 – 67. 220. Ibid., p. 214. 221. See Ebrey, “Education Through Ritual,” pp. 277–306. 222. Zhao Jishi, Jiyuan ji suoji, p. 3177; cf. Zurndorfer, Change and Continuity, pp. 139 – 43. 223. Consult Szonyi, Practicing Kinship. ch apter 2 1. See Zhang Haipeng and Wang Tingyuan, Huishang yanjiu, pp. 1– 8, esp. p. 7; cf. Ye Xian’en, “Shilun Huizhou shangren ziben de xingcheng yu fazhan”; Fu Yiling, “Mingdai Huizhou shangren,” in idem, Ming-Qing shidai, pp. 49 –91. The issue of “Huizhou merchants” is central to “Huizhou scholarship” (Huixue) in China, given its relevance to one of the central concerns of Chinese Marxist historians, namely, the appearance of the “sprouts of capitalism” in the second half of the Ming. English-language scholarship has only collaterally touched upon Huizhou merchants. See Ho, “Salt Merchants of Yang-chou,” pp. 143– 44, 159 – 60; Zurndorfer, Change and Continuity, pp. 47–52, 126 –35; Brook, Confusions of Pleasure, pp. 126 –29; Naquin and Rawski, Chinese Society in the Eighteenth Century, pp. 48 – 49, 56, 149, 151; Rowe, Hankow (both volumes); and Tanaka, “Study of the P’i-p’a chi in Hui-chou Drama,” pp. 34 –72. 2. Confusions of Pleasure, pp. 65 –152. 3. HZF, 1.10a–b. 4. HZZ, 2.39b – 40a. 5. Quoted in Zhang and Wang, Huishang yanjiu, p. 9, and MQHS, p. 1. The history of Wang Daokun’s family helps date when Huizhou men began to engage in trade. Wang’s family began to abandon farming for the salt business during his grandfather’s generation. See Fujii, “Xin’an shangren de yanjiu,” p. 177. 6. MQHS, pp. 42 – 43, no. 123. 7. See Zhang and Wang, Huishang yanjiu, pp. 83–313. One can sense the dominance Huizhou merchants enjoyed in the nineteenth-century commercial center Hankou by reading William Rowe’s Hankow (both volumes). 8. Zheng Limin, “Huishang yu kaizhong zhi,” p. 447. Huizhou merchants were also dominant in the Liangzhe salt administration, covering eastern Jiangnan, the wealthiest region in late imperial China (ibid.). 9. This paragraph, except where otherwise noted, is based on Zhang and Wang, Huishang yanjiu, pp. 149 – 66; Xue Zongzheng, “Mingdai yanshang de lishi yanbian,” pp. 423– 40. 10. Zhang and Wang, Huishang yanjiu, pp. 159 – 66; Huishang yanjiu lunwen ji, pp. 423–562. See also Ho, “Salt Merchants of Yang-chou”; Spence, Ts’ao Yin and the K’ang-hsi Emperor, chap. 5. 11. Zhang and Wang, Huishang yanjiu, p. 176. 12. Wakeman, Fall of Imperial China, p. 50. 13. Fujii, “Xin’an shangren de yanjiu,” pp. 200 –206. See also other essays in

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Huishang yanjiu lunwen ji; Fu Yiling, “Mingdai Huizhou shangren,” pp. 7– 46; Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, pp. 97–154; Tang Lixing, Shangren yu wenhua, pp. 45 –75; virtually the whole of MQHS. 14. MQHS, pp. 42 – 43, no. 123. 15. LHYF, 15.1b. 16. Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, pp. 124 –29; Zhang and Wang, Huishang yanjiu, pp. 174 –75. Jiang Chun was a gifted poet and was awarded the title of financial commissioner (rank 2b), the highest honor bestowed on a merchant in the Qing. See Ho, Ladder of Success, pp. 287– 89. 17. Zhang and Wang, Huishang yanjiu, p. 181. 18. SXZ, p. 157. The other nine village lineages were the Fengxi Wus, Tandu Huangs, Censhan Chengs, Qiankou Wangs, Fuxi Xus, Zhengcun Zhengs, Tangmo Xus, Shangfeng Songs, and Lantian Yes. 19. Fujii, “Xin’an shangren de yanjiu,” p. 177; Tang Lixing, Shangren yu wenhua, p. 58. 20. LHYF, 16.1a–10b, 16.11a–22b; Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, pp. 124 –25. 21. This development was not limited to Huizhou. In late imperial times, many lineage instructions were concerned with commercial interests. See the household instructions reprinted in Taga, So¯fu¯ no kenkyu¯, pp. 621, 687, 689; cf. Brook, Confusions of Pleasure, pp. 158 – 61. For the regional coincidence of highly developed economy and strong lineage organization, see Fu Yiling, Ming-Qing shidai, p. 84; Makino, “Mindai do¯zoku,” p. 306; Telford et al., Chinese Genealogies, p. 23, table 5. 22. “Xin’an shangren de yanjiu,” pp. 190 –98. 23. See Tang Lixing, “Lun Huishang,” p. 155; Fujii, “Xin’an shangren de yanjiu,” pp. 196 –98; Zhang Haipeng and Tang Lixing, “Lun Huishang gu’er haoru de tese,” pp. 66 – 69. 24. Mingzhou Wushi jiadian, 1.3a. 25. Cf. Wang Tingyuan, “Huizhou shangren de xiaoben qijia.” 26. Fu Yiling, Ming-Qing shidai, pp. 74 –75. 27. Quoted in Ying-shih Yu, Shi yu Zhongguo wenhua, p. 567. 28. Tang Lixing, “Lun Huishang,” pp. 145, 151–53. 29. Tang Lixing, Shangren yu wenhua, pp. 55 –56. 30. Quoted in Ying-shih Yu, Shi yu Zhongguo wenhua, p. 556. 31. See, e.g., Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, p. 98. 32. See, e.g., Tang Lixing, Shangren yu wenhua, pp. 19 –20. 33. See, e.g., Tang Lixing, “Lun Huishang,” p. 147. 34. Ying-shih Yu, Zhongguo jinshi zongjiao. Yu also rejects the “sprouts of capitalism” theory developed by Marxist historians in the Mao era, while acknowledging their historiographical contribution in digging out a large amount of primary sources, upon which his work is partly based. Some of Yu’s observations reflect new achievements in Chinese scholarship (and perhaps also China’s “political” climate in the 1980s, when his book was written). For instance, Yu has included new evidence from Huizhou, especially from MQHS. For an interesting comment on Yu’s work, see Brook, “Weber, Mencius.”

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35. Viewed from this paired perspective, other major Chinese-language works on Huizhou merchants look a bit one-sided as well, for none take into account popular culture’s contribution to the Confucian outlook of the prominent mercantile group (see, e.g., Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, chap. 3; Zhang and Wang, Huishang yanjiu, chap. 7; Tang Lixing, Shangren yu wenhua, chap. 2, though in chapter 5 Tang discusses merchants’ relations to vernacular literature in general terms). Timothy Brook, in thus far the most colorful narrative of Ming commerce and merchant culture, relies largely on elite writings in explicating the Ming “commercial adaptation of Confucian morality” (Confusions of Pleasure, p. 216). And his empirewide coverage does not need to highlight the kinship factor in the making of Confucian merchant culture. 36. For the role of local cults in this respect, see also Qitao Guo, Exorcism and Money, which is a Weberian work of sorts. Ying-shih Yu (Zhongguo jinshi zongjiao, p. 168) also hints at the relevance of popular values, circulated in the media of novels and dramas, to the formation of merchant consciousness. Consult Arkush, “Moral World of Hebei Village Opera.” 37. For a perceptive, though general, socioeconomic and political interpretation of why Ming China did not develop capitalism according to the European model, see Brook, Confusions of Pleasure, pp. 200 –201. For more specific interpretations, consult Mark Elvin (Pattern of the Chinese Past, pp. 203–316), and especially Philip Huang (Peasant Family and Rural Development, introduction) for his concept of “involutionary commercialization,” under which small-family subsistence farming persisted in late imperial times. According to Fu Zhufu (Zhongguo jingjishi luncong), China’s “sprouts of commercial capitalism” first appeared in the period from the Warring States to the Former Han and continued to grow in Tang-Song times. For this Marxist historian, China’s special sociopolitical and economic structure accounts for the stagnation of incipient capitalism in Ming-Qing times. Cf. Ming-Qing ziben zhuyi mengya yanjiu lunwen ji; Li Wenzhi et al., Ming-Qing shidai de nongye ziben zhuyi mengya wenti. Ying-shih Yu (Zhongguo jinshi zongjiao, pp. 170 –71) suggests that “commercial capitalism” as defined by China’s Marxist historians is different from Western “industrial” capitalism as defined by Max Weber and R. H. Tawney. Consult also Pomeranz, The Great Divergence. 38. Xie Guangsui, Shanggu geyan, n.p. 39. Tangyue Baoshi Xuanzhongtang zhipu, 21.14b –15b; see also 21.21b –22a, 10.2b. 40. LHYF, 15.1b –2a. The account goes on to indicate that Huizhou merchants, along with those from Shanyou (Shanxi /Shaanxi), were different from other “men engaging in commerce.” Merchants from Huizhou and Shanyou were singled out because they were dominant in Yangzhou and easy to observe. By distinguishing them from other businessmen, however, the gazetteer compilers betrayed a deepseated distrust in merchants in general. 41. Zhang and Wang, Huishang yanjiu, p. 155; Wu Ren’an, “Ming-Qing Huizhou zhuxing wangzu,” p. 27. 42. MQHS, p. 43, no. 125. 43. MQHS, p. 44, no. 131. 44. MQHS, p. 274, no. 870.

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45. MQHS, p. 473, no. 1432. 46. MQHS, pp. 484 – 85, no. 1466; also cited in Ying-shih Yu, Zhongguo jinshi zongjiao, p. 109. The term lianggu basically refers to a merchant good in business. In late imperial Huizhou, however, a lianggu was necessarily a merchant who understood the new mercantile ethics and was thus necessarily a Confucian merchant, called rugu or rushang (Zhang and Wang, Huishang yanjiu, pp. 389 –97). The moral implication of lianggu must have been particularly striking when viewed in the context of the growing condemnation against greed, as will be discussed shortly. Needless to say, Wang Daokun was sensitive to the moral reputation of merchants or lianggu. In fact, this ethical concern is essential to his theory of merchant worth as well as to the larger new merchant code. In addition to the statements just cited, Wang made numerous remarks that reveal his sensitivity to the issue. He once quoted the subject of his biography as saying, “In what way is commerce inferior to farming? The ancients disliked not merchants, but unscrupulousness” (MQHS, p. 274, no. 869). In another biography, Wang noted how the subject of his biography, the grandfather of his friend Pan Zhiheng, urged “his sons to be good merchants and grandsons to be prominent scholars.” In yet another place, Wang wrote, “Sima [Qian] said, scholars take [the study of] the Book of Songs and the Book of History as their vocation, and always look down upon trade. If one engages in trade and yet observes benevolence and righteousness, why should the merchant be regarded as bad?” (Both quoted in Yu, Zhongguo jinshi zongjiao, pp. 149 –50). In short, in Wang’s texts, and in the larger Huizhou context as well, lianggu must have referred to successful merchants with moral virtues, comparable to prominent scholars. 47. Ye Xian’en, “Rujia chuantong wenhua,” p. 24. Note that well before Wang Yangming, the Huizhou scholars Zheng Yu (1298 –1358), Zhao Fang (1319 –70), and especially, eminent Cheng Minzheng (1444 –99), had already made efforts to reconcile Zhu Xi and Lu Xiangshan. See Xie Guangyu, “Cheng Minzheng ‘hehui Zhu, Lu.’” 48. Both quoted in Ying-shih Yu, Shi yu Zhongguo wenhua, pp. 518, 526. 49. Li Linqi, “Huizhou shuyuan lüelun,” p. 450; Ye Xian’en, “Rujia chuantong wenhua,” pp. 23–25. 50. MQHS, pp. 470 –71, no. 1427. 51. Quoted in Wu Ren’an, “Ming-Qing Huizhou zhuxing wangzu,” p. 27. 52. MQHS, p. 273, no. 867. 53. MQHS, p. 440, no. 1344, and p. 439, no. 1342; cf. Brook, Confusions of Pleasure, p. 143. Li Mengyang, in fact, did not give up his disdain of commerce, although this famed poet from the north was a good friend of Wang Yangming. The Yangming-like statement attributed to Li in the Xiuning genealogy is similar to a quotation Li cited from merchant Wang Xian (1469 –1523). See Ying-shih Yu, Shi yu Zhongguo wenhua, p. 529. 54. MQHS, p. 441, no. 1347. The same phrase is used in another biography to characterize the commercial behavior of Huang Jifang’s kinsman, Huang Chongde (1537–1606); ibid., pp. 74 –75, no. 231. 55. YXZ, pp. 114, 556 –57. 56. The two elite subgroups shared a concern for commercial morality and yet

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approached it with different emphases. Generally speaking, as Timothy Brook suggests (Confusions of Pleasure, pp. 215 –18), one was more concerned with maintaining the social order in the face of ruthless pursuit of commercial interests; and the other, more pragmatic, promoting a self-serving code of business regulation. But in both cases, ideology and pragmatism tended to merge into one another. This issue I have addressed elsewhere (Qitao Guo, Exorcism and Money, chap. 6). 57. Taga, “Guanyu Xin’an mingzu zhi,” pp. 103–7. See also Dai and Cheng, Xin’an mingzu zhi. 58. Zurndorfer, Change and Continuity, pp. 175 – 81. 59. “Hu Shi guxiang.” 60. See also Wang Tingyuan, “Huizhou shangren de xiaoben qijia.” 61. MQHS, pp. 470 –71, no. 1427. 62. Zhang and Tang, “Lun Huishang gu’er haoru,” p. 58; MQHS, p. 474, no. 1435. 63. We have seen how Huizhou merchants helped turn their homeland into a kinship stronghold. Numerous magnificent ancestral halls, many of which still stand today, are monuments to the filial devotion and care for their home lineages of Huizhou merchants. This investment, of course, was also motivated by a desire to gain symbolic capital and thereby earn leadership credentials in home lineages. In their practices of new mercantile ethics, as in their pursuit of gentry status, pragmatism and lineage ideology were mingled together. Timothy Brook (Praying for Power, pp. 219 –22) notes that Huizhou merchants were indifferent to Buddhist objects of patronage in the late Ming. Although they occasionally patronized monasteries, he believes that, in general, merchants were kept away from larger projects because local gentry wanted to keep monasteries separate from “the vulgar bustle of daily life” to reinforce “their sense of social distinction.” But why were Huizhou merchants not kept from patronizing ancestral halls and local schools, among other large projects? Because Buddhist monasteries were culturally detached or spiritually elevated? But Huizhou merchants were not excluded from sponsoring the performance of the “Buddhist” tale of Mulian (see Chapter 6), and Huizhou gentry families were also eager to jump into the commercial sea. Perhaps we should not draw too neat a social line between the gentry and merchants, especially in a kinship stronghold such as Huizhou, where lineage is in certain ways a more meaningful analytical unit than class or social grouping. Nor should we dichotomize Confucianism and Buddhism, especially in the late Ming, the heyday of syncretism. From these perspectives, patronage of mountain monasteries in the late Ming probably did not signify collective gentry alienation from the imperial center but was part of the liturgical service (in the Weberian sense) they were supposed to perform for the state. And in late-Ming Huizhou, home lineage building and the collection of commercial wealth, not the patronage of Buddhism, were central to local gentry agendas. To maintain or highlight whatever distinction between gentility and commerce still existed, the gentry did not have to turn to remote mountains. There were numerous other ways close at hand to keep merchants in line. We are here turning to some of these ways. Others, notably popular Mulian performance, will be considered in the following chapters. 64. Zhang and Tang, “Lun Huishang gu’er haoru,” pp. 59 – 60; Ye Xian’en,

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Ming-Qing Huizhou, pp. 137–38. The evidence just cited can be found in virtually all local gazetteers, genealogies, and many other types of historical documents from Ming-Qing Huizhou. See, e.g., MQHS, pp. 438 –504. 65. Zhang and Tang, “Lun Huishang gu’er haoru,” pp. 57– 61. See also Ping-ti Ho’s classic interpretation of the issue in Ladder of Success, p. 51. “Kang wuzong” is taken from the term kangzong (protect one’s clan), first used in Zuo Commentary on the Spring and Autumn Annals (Hong Liangji, Chunqiu Zuozhuan gu, p. 638). 66. See Ye Xian’en, “Huizhou he Zhujiang sanjiaozhou zongfazhi bijiao yanjiu.” 67. MQHS, p. 251, no. 788. 68. The early-Ming scholar Qu You (1341–1427 or 1342 –1425?), under the influence of a Song source, had a similar idea: “The talented should study and prepare for the examinations, but the mediocre must be taught a useful trade to earn [a] living” (Ho, Ladder of Success, p. 74). But the “Huizhou strategy” was much more sophisticated, and Huizhou people excelled in putting it into practice. A classic example concerns Cao Wenzhi’s family, which succeeded in alternating between the pursuits of examination degrees and wealth from the salt business for three consecutive generations (Ho, Ladder of Success, pp. 289 –92). 69. MQHS, p. 438, no. 1338. Jiran seems to be the title of a book by Fan Li, which discussed how to get rich (Yang Liansheng’s preface to Ying-shih Yu, Zhongguo jinshi zongjiao, p. 6). Fan Li, the great Yue statesman during the Spring-Autumn period, later became a merchant and thus a symbol of successful trade. Cf. Ho’s translation of Wang’s passage in Ladder of Success, p. 73; Ho’s translation is requoted in Zurndorfer, Change and Continuity, p. 55, and Brook, Confusions of Pleasure, p. 215. 70. The Huizhou strategy I have gleaned from Wang Daokun’s writings and the social practice of Huizhou people was related to “Huishang social strategy,” one belonging to the whole lineage and the other more specifically to its merchants. 71. Ho, Ladder of Success, pp. 83– 84, table 6; SXZ, p. 157. 72. Xu Chengyao, Sheshi xiantan, pp. 348 –55. 73. Cited in Hu Shibin and Shu Yuling, Xidi, p. 5. 74. The concept of “involution,” first developed by Clifford Geertz (Agricultural Involution), describes the persistence of a historical pattern that fails to transform itself into a more advanced phase. For the application of the concept to the study of Chinese socioeconomic and cultural history, see Philip Huang’s Peasant Economy and Social Change and Peasant Family and Rural Development (where [p. 12] Huang also explains how he differs from Geertz), and Duara, Culture, Power, and the State. 75. Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, pp. 146 – 47. For the breakdown of the larger imperial system, see Kuhn, Rebellion and Its Enemies, and Wakeman, “The Price of Autonomy”; cf. Brook, Praying for Power. 76. Zhao Huafu, “Huizhou zongzu citang,” p. 29. Zhao also includes similar rules from other prominent Huizhou lineages (pp. 29 –30). 77. Ho, “Salt Merchants of Yang-chou,” pp. 156 –57; see also Li Dou, Yangzhou huafang lu, pp. 217–50. 78. Quoted in Zhang and Wang, Huishang yanjiu, p. 409. It should be noted

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that shuzi in the phrase was a local derogatory term referring to bond-servants, frequently used in Wang Daokun’s writings. See Fujii, “Xin’an shangren de yanjiu,” p. 206. 79. Hu and Shu, Xidi, pp. 5, 36 –37, 95 –96, 115. The three provincial graduates of the Xidi Hus who signed Kang’s memorial were Hu Dianyuan, Hu Jiakai, and Hu Tengkui. 80. Quoted in Tang Lixing, “Lun Huishang de xingcheng,” p. 70. 81. MQHS, pp. 484 – 85, no. 1466. 82. Warren Susman (Culture as History, xi–xii) urges cultural historians to pay special attention to not what writers “parade but what they betray,” the unstated assumptions that make the stated words intelligible. 83. If one wishes to ask why merchants and money were viewed in this way, one needs to turn to China’s political and legal system. The ties between Huizhou merchants, the state, and scholar-officials might be a perfect illustration of China’s corrupt political culture. But in order to understand the working of this political system fully, one needs to turn back to the economics, demography, social structure, Confucianism, and popular culture. This is a dilemma both in China’s history and for China’s historians. Merchants and money seem to be less “traditionally” (i.e., negatively) viewed in post-Mao China, which has experienced a much deeper and larger-scale “money delirium” than the one that took place in Wang Daokun’s time. 84. Zhiheng, Huitu Han Xiangzi quanzhuan, 12a. 85. Quoted in Liu Zhiqin, “Shangren ziben yu wan Ming shehui,” p. 76. 86. Cited in Liu Zhiqin, “Shangren ziben yu wan Ming shehui,” p. 83. The money madness of the late Ming seems to shed new light on Huang Zongxi’s suggestion to abolish the use of gold and silver and to adopt copper cash as the only medium of exchange. Wouldn’t it have provided a monetary base for the rising merchant code? For Huang’s suggestion, see de Bary, “Chinese Despotism,” p. 192. 87. Han Xiangzi jiudu wengong shengxian ji, 1.30b –31a. Han Xiangzi, one of the well-known “Eight Daoist Immortals,” is conceived of as Han Yu’s nephew in popular mythology. 88. MQHS, pp. 23–24, no. 58. This account is often attributed to Gu Yanwu. Zhang Tao, the magistrate of Shexian in the opening decade of the seventeenth century, edited the 1609 gazetteer quoted by Gu Yanwu. Magistrate Zhang could hardly please local mercantile lineages, not because of joining the condemnation of avarice but because of the extreme tone of his “diatribe against commerce,” his view of merchants being exactly opposite of Wang Daokun’s. Consult Brook, Confusions of Pleasure, pp. 1–13, quotation from p. 8. 89. See Dong Han, Sangang shilüe, compiled in MQHS, p. 291, no. 925. 90. Ling Mengchu, Chuke Pai’an jingqi, pp. 263–72. 91. Shen Qifeng, Xieduo, 32.7.3b – 4a. 92. Plaks, Four Masterworks, pp. 55 –180, esp. 55 –72, 154 –55, 501. There are at least five serious candidates for the authorship of the Jinpingmei, the most probable one being “a top renowned literary figure” (Jiajing jian da mingshi) of the midcentury, that is, Wang Shizhen. 93. See numerous merchant biographies or epitaphs compiled in MQHS, written by Wang or other Huizhou gentry, some of which have been quoted previously.

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94. See the tables of contents of JXZ, QXZ, SXZ, XXZ, and YXZ. The earlytwentieth-century edition of Wuyuan xianzhi, based on several Qing editions of the county gazetteer, contains about one thousand merchant biographies. They are nevertheless placed in the sections of biographies covering men of “filial devotion and friendship” or “righteous virtues,” appraised mainly on their Confucian virtues (Shigeta, “Shindai kishu sho¯nin no ichimen,” p. 587). 95. Individually, merchants may have overpowered literati. So Bao Zong needed to go to Yangzhou to consult Bao Zhidao for the matter of genealogy compilation. Collectively, however, the gentry had an upper hand. Bao Zhidao would not have been awarded high official titles if his son had not acquired the jinshi degree. More fundamentally, he could hardly have been able to befriend Ji Yun if he himself had not been gentrified in terms of both literary talent and family pedigree. 96. See Cao Dawei, “Zhongguo lishi shang de zhenjie guannian”; Chapter 5 herein. 97. For the dominance of Huizhou merchants in late-Ming Quanzhou, see He Qiaoyuan, Minshu, pp. 189, 942. 98. T’ien, Male Anxiety and Female Chastity, pp. 46, 51–52. 99. Jiyuan ji suoji, quoted in Tang Lixing, “Ming-Qing Huizhou de jiating,” p. 159. 100. JNTZ, 19.6a. 101. The other three factors are the growing disproportion of the gender ratio due to female infanticide; the emerging role of widows as temporary protectors of property as a result of rapid economic development; and the decline of institutionalized religions (Buddhism in particular) and the spread of popular cults, especially the belief in ghosts, which allowed women martyrs to imagine that their vengeful spirits could attack their foes. In addition, the reward system for female jielie eagerly promoted by the Ming state should be considered another factor. See T’ien, Male Anxiety and Female Chastity; for the Ming state reward system, see also Elvin, “Female Virtue and the State”; for the continuously fervent “chaste-widow cult” in the Qing dynasty (which was opposed to female suicides), see Mann, Precious Records; consult also Sommer, Sex, Law, and Society, pp. 12 –15, for “gender anxiety and fear of the rogue male” from the High Qing onward. 102. As Matthew Sommer rightly noted (Sex, Law, and Society, p. 357 n. 1), drawing on Susan Mann’s criticism of T’ien’s provocative thesis (“Suicide and Survival”). I shall return to this issue in Chapter 5. 103. This paragraph is based on Tang Lixing, “Ming-Qing Huizhou de jiating.” Cf. the data Harriet Zurndorfer (Change and Continuity, chap. 4) collected from the Xiuning Fans’ lineage records. For early marriage customs in Huizhou, see also MQHS, p. 54, no. 167. 104. Tang Lixing, “Ming-Qing Huizhou de jiating,” p. 157. 105. These include Tandu Xiaoli Huangshi zupu, 8.1a–27a; Gulin Huangshi chongxiu zupu, 9.67a–75a; Tengxi Chenshi zongpu, 3.1a–9b. Official county and subcounty (township or village) gazetteers of Huizhou contain female biographies as well. See the tables of contents of JXZ, QXZ, SXZ, XXZ, and YXZ; for the subcounty or village gazetteers, see Ling Yingqiu, Shaxi jilüe, vol. 4; Wu Jiyou, Fengnan zhi, vol. 4; She Huarui, Yanzhen zhicao, 2.56a–74b; Shanhe xiang zhi, vol. 3.

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106. Zhou Wu, Huipai banhua shi lunji, pp. 19 –33. 107. See, e.g., the biography of the aforementioned Bao Zhidao, in SXZ, pp. 1489 –90. 108. See, e.g., Huang Zhusan, “Shilun Song-Jin chengxiang xiqu de yanchu,” pp. 26 – 42; for the evolution of Chinese drama from the Song to the Ming, see Chapter 3 herein. 109. Zhang Faying, Zhongguo xiban shi, pp. 170 –75, 475 –77; Wang Anqi, Mingdai chuanqi zhi juchang jiqi yishu, pp. 95 –99; see also Zhou Yibai, Zhongguo xiqu fazhan shi gangyao, p. 329; Wang Xiaoyi, Pan Zhiheng quhua, p. 353. For literati obsession with opera performances in the late Ming, see An Qi, “Ming gaoben Yuhuatang riji zhong de xiqu shiliao,” pp. 444 – 65. 110. Xu Shuofang, “Lun Wang Daokun”; Wang Xiaoyi, Pan Zhiheng quhua; Jia Zhigang, “Pan Zhiheng wenyi guan ji biaoyan lilun tansuo,” pp. 120 – 44. Pan Zhiheng, also born into a merchant family, was not as successful as Wang Daokun in his official career. 111. Zhang Chao, Yuchu xinzhi, 3.1a–1b. 112. Tanaka, “Ming-Ch’ing Local Drama,” pp. 143– 60. 113. See Zhang Geng and Guo Hancheng, Zhongguo xiqu tongshi, 2.34; Mackerras, “Growth of Chinese Regional Drama,” p. 67; cf. Wang Gulu, Mingdai Huidiao, pp. 3, 15 –16; Ye Dejun, Xiqu xiaoshuo congkao, pp. 33–35. 114. Wang Jide, Qulü, p. 117; Tang, “Yihuang xian xishen qingyuan simiao ji,” in Tang Xianzu, Tang Xianzu ji, p. 1128. Tang Xianzu noted that by the Jiajing reign (1522 – 67), “the Yiyang Drama had disappeared (jue), transforming itself into . . . the Hui [Huizhou] and Qingyang [opera styles].” Scholars are still not sure what Tang meant by “jue,” for the Yiyang continued to prosper in his times and thereafter. Perhaps this famous Jiangxi native wanted to stress that the Yiyang style was overshadowed by other regional opera styles such as the Huizhou and Qingyang. 115. Li Yu, Xianqing ouji, p. 34. 116. Zhang and Guo, Zhongguo xiqu tongshi, 2.38. Liang Chenyu’s libretto was the first literary chuanqi script tuned to the Kunshan musical style. At about the same time the musician Wei Liangfu reformed the Kunshan into a more elegant melody. This suggests that the Kunshan genre matured in the late sixteenth century (ibid., 2.16 –17). According to Ban Youshu (“Mingdai Qingyang qiang,” pp. 87– 88), the Qingyang actors could stage even Huansha ji. 117. Li Diaoyuan, Juhua, 8.46. 118. In the late Ming and early Qing, most literati composed scripts for the Kunshan style, such as Tang Xianzu’s famous “four dreams” operas and Kong Shangren’s The Peach Blossom Fan (Zhang and Guo, Zhongguo xiqu tongshi, 2.40 –205). 119. Wang Gulu, Mingdai Huidiao, pp. 5 –10; Ye Dejun, Xiqu xiaoshuo congkao, 1.29 –38. Wang Gulu first discovered, in the 1940s, the gun techniques of the Yiyang genre. 120. Li Hanfei, Zhongguo xiqu juzhong shouce, p. 323; Mulian xi yanjiu wenji, p. 250. The Mulian could be tuned to other operatic styles in other regions, for instance, to the Kunshan in eastern Jiangnan. See a Kunshan script of Mulian listed in Mao Gengru, Anhui Mulian xi ziliao ji, pp. 333–34.

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121. Sheji, p. 81. 122. Quoted in Wang Xiaoyi, “Huiban yu Huishang,” p. 93. 123. Ibid. 124. These include the Hui-Chi yadiao, Cilin yizhi, Da Ming chun, Yaotian yue, and parts of the Baneng zoujin and Qunyin leixuan, all reprinted in facsimile in Wang Qiugui, Shanben xiqu congkan, 1st ser., vols. 4 – 8, 38 – 44. Most of them contain short Mulian or Mulian-related scenes. See Chapters 3 and 5 herein. 125. See the front page of Cilin yizhi and the table of contents page of Hui-Chi yadiao. 126. Wang Jide, Qulü, p. 117. 127. See, e.g., Wu Baitao, “Wo suo zhidao de Huixi”; Hong Fei, “Mantan Huixi de xingshuai”; Wang Zhizhang, “Lun Qingdai xiqu de liangge zhuyao qiangdiao”; cf. Mackerras, “Growth of Chinese Regional Drama,” pp. 78 –91. 128. Hong Jingyuan, “Huiju liubian shuwen,” p. 337; Liu Sha, “Huiban jinjing”; cf. Zhou Yibai, Zhongguo xiqu fazhan shi gangyao, pp. 409 –23. 129. Li Dou, Yangzhou huafang lu, p. 107. For tension between the two operatic styles, see Hu Ji, “Qingdai de huaya zhizheng,” pp. 221–34. 130. Wang Xiaoyi, “Huiban yu Huishang,” p. 95. For Jiang Chun (the maternal grandfather of the famous scholar Ruan Yuan), see also SXZ, pp. 1456 –57; MQHS, p. 135, no. 379. 131. Lu Eting, “Jiang Chun yu Yangzhou jutan,” pp. 233– 45, esp. 239 – 43; Wu Baitao, “Wo suo zhidao de Huixi,” p. 20. For merchant sponsorship and enjoyment of both “flowery” and “elegant” styles of Yangzhou theater, see Qian Yong, Lüyuan conghua, 97.12.12b. 132. See Mulian xi yanjiu wenji, p. 256. Pan Zhiheng described in detail the troupes owned by his merchant friends Wang Jixuan and Wu Yueshi. Wu Yueshi’s “family company” (jiaban) had fourteen actors. In one winter, Pan Zhiheng watched his famous friend’s (Tang Xianzu) Peony Pavilion five times, all staged by Wu’s family troupe in the Kunshan musical style (see Wang Xiaoyi, “Huiban yu Huishang,” p. 92). 133. See Tanaka, Chu¯goku no so¯zoku to engeki, p. 891. 134. Cited in Tanaka, Chu¯goku saishi engeki kenkyu¯, p. 319. 135. Tanaka, “Shindai shoki no so¯zoku engeki ni tsuite,” p. 103. 136. SXZ, p. 159. 137. JXZ, p. 82; SXH, p. 128; SXZ, pp. 152 –53; see also Wang Zhaoqian, “Cong Guichi dui Zhaoming taizi de jisi kan nuoxi de xingcheng,” p. 286, for ritual operas staged for ghost exorcism in Guichi county, just outside Huizhou. 138. Cited in Yuko, “Min Shin jidai,” p. 105. 139. Both are reprinted in Yuko, “Min Shin jidai,” p. 116. The ritual procession also featured the tableau stages (taixi). In 1599, as recorded in the diary of Zhao Jishi’s great-grandfather (a native of Xiuning), on the occasion of New Year celebrations in the Xiuning county seat, there were 109 tableau stages, on which children performed stories. The diary indicates that the taixi were also paraded during the Lantern festival, and a lineage surnamed Dai was particularly engaged in building the beautifully adorned tableau stages for worshipping Wang Hua (see Zhao Jishi, Jiyuan ji suoji, p. 3177).

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140. “Qing Kangxi zhuhui bu.” 141. Cited in Yuko, “Min Shin jidai,” p. 109. 142. Mingzhou Wushi jiadian, 1.11b. 143. Cited in Yuko, “Min Shin jidai,” p. 111. 144. JXZ, p. 82; SXH, p. 129; SXZ, pp. 153–55; QXZ, pp. 238 – 41; see also Liu Miao, “Huishang Bao Zhidao,” pp. 121–22, for the annual performances of ritual operas in Tangyue village. 145. See, e.g., Jiang Jurong, “Mingdai Huizhou qiang yanju kaolüe,” p. 187. Generally speaking, there were four ritual occasions that called for opera performances in late imperial China: annual festivals; ancestral rites; profligate rites (yinsi) for “illegitimate” gods; and variable rites such as weddings, funerals, exorcism, celebrations for examination success, etc. (Guo Yingde, Shisu de jili, pp. 33–34). For a survey of annual festival temple performances in eastern Jiangnan in late imperial times, see He Huan et al., “Yige miaohui pucha de qishi,” pp. 228 –39. 146. See Makino, “Mindai do¯zoku no shasai kiroku no ichirei,” p. 319. 147. SXH, p. 127. The generic earth god could nevertheless be personified in regional historical heroes in various areas. One generic term for ritual opera is shexi (or shehuo, which literally means “earth-god opera”), but shexi could be staged for many different deities. 148. See various documents hand-copied in 1693 by Kang Zhaozuo for his lineage in Shixi, one of which urges every kinsman to provide money for and to participate in such an organized ritual opera performance. Some of these documents are discussed in Liu Chongri et al., “Yanjiu fengjian shehui de baogui ziliao,” pp. 149 –57. 149. Cheng Chenggui, Huizhou wenhua gucun—Liudu, pp. 29 –32. 150. Tanaka, “Shindai shoki no so¯zoku engeki ni tsuite,” pp. 1–7; see also Mingzhou Wushi jiadian, with one whole volume (juan 7) spelling out the lineage regulations on the rituals for the “outer gods.” 151. SXH, p. 129; SXZ, p. 153; for Cheng Lingxi and Wang Hua, see SXZ, p. 785. 152. MQHS, p. 55, no. 172, and pp. 305 – 6, no. 970. 153. HZF, 1.10b. 154. See a passage in the Kangxi edition (1662 –1722) of the Qimen gazetteer, included in QXZ, p. 236. 155. Zhao Jishi, Jiyuan ji suoji, pp. 3195 –96; see also MQHS, p. 34, no. 85. 156. Both quoted in Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, p. 216. 157. Lizhu zongzhang, quoted in Liu Miao, “Cong Huizhou Ming-Qing jianzhu,” p. 418. 158. See Hu Yuanxi’s “Memorandum” to Xidi Mingjing Hushi Renpai zupu, in Daoguang wunian (last section, 1a–3b). We will return to Wuchang in Chapter 6. 159. See, e.g., HZZ, 1.41a–b; JXZ, p. 81. Huizhou lineage genealogies, of course, contain similar rules. See, e.g., the Wanli edition of the Xinan Jiang genealogy in Wuyuan, reprinted in Taga, So¯fu¯ no kenkyu¯, pp. 787– 88. 160. QXZ, p. 238. 161. SXH, p. 127. 162. SXZ, p. 151.

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163. Xu Chengyao, Sheshi xiantan, p. 607. Xu (ibid., p. 607) adds that in Huizhou “funerary and ancestral rites are largely based on the Literary Master’s Family Rituals.” Xu Chengyao was also the editor of SXZ. 164. This paragraph is based on He Qingshan, “Jiuhuashan Fojiao kao,” pp. 113–18; Ji Xueshe, “Jiuhuashan lishi sanbian,” pp. 115 –17; Zhu Shiying et al., Guren bixia zhi Anhui shengji, pp. 61–110. For the significance of mountains to Buddhism and Daoism, see Brook, Praying for Power, pp. 108 –9. 165. Wang De’an, “Wang Daokun yu Qiyun shan,” p. 208. 166. Cited in Mulian xi yanjiu wenji, p. 256. For Feng’s trip to Qiyun, see also Wang Xiaoyi, Pan Zhiheng quhua, p. 353. 167. Tan Qian, Zaolin zazu, 22.6.3708. 168. Bao Jie, “Qiyunshan Daojiao shiji xiaokao,” pp. 118 –19. 169. Cheng Yunzhang’s campaign caught the attention of Huang Zongxi. See Ying-shih Yu, Zhongguo jinshi zongjiao, p. 125. 170. See Chapter 1. Cheng Ting’s Ruo’an ji was donated to the imperial publication project, the Four Treasuries (Yong Rong et al., Siku quanshu zongmu tiyao, 37.46). This, along with his ancestral ties with the Censhan Chengs, may indicate his affiliation with Yangzhou merchants, if he was not himself a Huizhou merchant dwelling in Yangzhou. Merchants contributed a large number of rare books to the Four Treasuries. For instance, Bao Tingbo, a Huizhou merchant dwelling in Hangzhou and editor of Zhibuzu zai congshu, donated more than 600 rare books to the imperial project; and a son of the Yangzhou merchant Ma Yuelu donated about 776 (Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, pp. 125 –26; Ho, “Salt Merchants of Yangchou,” p. 157; Elman, From Philosophy to Philology, 2nd ed., p. 187). 171. Harriet Zurndorfer (Change and Continuity, pp. 142 – 43) sees the dilemma inherent in Huizhou history, citing Hui-chen Wang Liu’s formulation of the apparent contradiction of the lineage organization in late imperial China. ch apter 3 1. Chen Changwen et al., “Mulian xi zai Huizhou de chansheng yu fazhan,” p. 255; for the village of Shanxi, see Mao Gengru, Mulian ziliao bianmu gailüe, pp. 262 – 63. 2. See Zheng’s biography included in the second volume of the newly recovered genealogy of Zheng Zhizhen’s home lineage, Qimen Qingxi Zhengshi jiacheng, compiled by the playwright himself. The genealogy is partially damaged, especially the preface (and the page numbers in my copy are mostly illegible). The damage to the front matter (including the title page) may explain why the genealogy did not come to the attention of scholars until early 2004 (see Zhu Wanshu, “Qimen Qingxi Zhengshi jiacheng”). I learned about this additional work by Zheng Zhizhen too late (during the summer of 2004) to fully incorporate it into this study, except to note the following points. First, the genealogy is quite informative, composed of four juan: (1) the patrilineal tree of kinsmen, with (in most cases) brief descriptive identifications; (2) lineage documents, including imperial edicts granted to important ancestors and biographies on important agnates; (3) records of ancestral tombs and corporate ritual lands; and (4) lineage rules. Second, two pieces of new information from the genealogy are particularly valuable. The first piece is that his father,

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Zheng Tianli, engaged in commerce but also enjoyed reading books, and this gentrified merchant was well-known locally for his skills in fortune-telling. The second piece is that Zheng Zhizhen was emotionally very close to his mother, as is evident in his long, heartfelt biography of this “Confucian” woman (see the two fairly substantial biographies on Zheng’s father and mother in the second volume of Qimen Qingxi Zhengshi jiacheng). This filial adoration of the son for his mother seems to shed new light on Zheng’s motivations for compiling Mulian Rescues His Mother. Third, Zheng’s compilation of a genealogy confirms the basic assessment I make about Zheng Zhizhen; that is, he was a conservative scholar whose moral commitment was fundamentally Confucian-oriented even after he was frequently frustrated in the exam hall and turned to the Buddhist tale of Mulian. The genealogy was first cut in 1583, one year after the printing of his Mulian script. (Since the playwright was in charge of compiling the genealogy, it is possible that he served as the lineage head of the Qingxi Zhengs at the time. It is also possible that he was chosen by his kinsmen to write the genealogy on account of his literary reputation.) All of this further enhances my assessment of Zheng’s Mulian Rescues His Mother as a product of a particular Confucian-inspired ethico-religious mode of persuasion, an expression of a remolding of local popular culture that further maintained a profound isometric relationship with local mercantile lineage culture. 3. MLZZ, 1.42b – 44a; 1.44a– 46b. The Tongle troupe staged the two scenes Zheng Zhizhen included in his script; it only proscribed the performance of “A Monk and a Nun Meet.” See Chen Changwen et al., “Mulian xi zai Huizhou de chansheng yu fazhan,” p. 255. 4. The earliest known extant opera about romance between a monk and a nun is Sengni gongfan (A monk and a nun commit a sin together), authored by Feng Weimin (1511–90), in Guben Yuan-Ming zaju, 4.1a–7b. It has four acts, a characteristic of the Yuan-dynasty “variety play” or “comic play” (zaju). According to Qi Biaojia (Yuanshantang jupin, p. 168), Feng Weimin used “refined tunes” to compose an “originally folksy” story. See also Sengni gongfan chuanqi, an anonymous play with the same content as Feng’s. Other versions can also be found in late-Ming collections of plays, such as Hu Wenhuan, Qunyin leixuan, 3.1554 –71; Cilin yizhi, pp. 166 – 86; Yugu xin huang (or Yugu diao huang), pp. 64 – 69. Most versions (especially the one in Qunyin leixuan) are similar to the counterpart scenes in Zheng’s script. Feng ridicules both the “Buddhist principles” and the hypocrisy of the monk and nun (Sengni gongfan, 4.2b). By contrast, Zheng did not attack Buddhist principles. All versions seem to have conveyed some sympathy, in various degrees, for the monk and especially for the nun. See also Goldman, “The Nun Who Wouldn’t Be”; Liao Ben, “Mulian xiwen xitong ji shuang xiashan gushi yuanliu kao.” 5. MLZZ, 2.29a. 6. The woodblock of Zheng’s script was preserved in the village until 1954; it is now stored in the Anhui Museum. I have examined several pieces of the script woodblock. 7. This paragraph is based on Zheng Cunxiao, “Zheng Zhizhen Mulian xi zai Qingxi”; Mao Gengru, Mulian ziliao bianmu gailüe, p. 127. The Situ, an ancient office title, refers to Zheng Zhizhen’s Tang-dynasty ancestor, Zheng Chuan, a highranking official.

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8. For Mulian mythology in medieval China, see Teiser, Ghost Festival. For the evolution of the Mulian story in general, see “Mulian,” in Huang Wenyang, Quhai zongmu tiyao, 35.8a–10a; Zhao Jingshen, “Mulian gushi de yanbian”; Chen Fangying, “Mulian jiumu gushi zhi yanjin jiqi youguan wenxue zhi yanjiu”; Liu Yinbo, “Mulian jiumu gushi jiqi shanbian”; Zhu Hengfu, “Mulian gushi zai shuochang wenxue zhong zhi liubian kao.” 9. Yulanpen jing, 16.779a– c. Teiser (“Ritual Behind the Opera,” p. 192) holds that the Yulanpen Sutra was “probably composed in China during the fifth century”; see also Mair, T’ang Transformation Texts, p. 17. However, Teiser also mentions Ogawa Kan’ichi’s thesis that the Yulanpen Sutra grew out of the Dharmagupta sect in northwest India (Ghost Festival, p. 48). Even if the sutra was indeed written up in China, it must have been based on an Indic prototype. 10. According to Japanese scholars, Sanskrit sutras use non-Chinese terms such as tianyan (celestial eyes) not daoyan, “five or seven sorts of relatives” not “six sorts of relatives,” and contain no concept of filial devotion whatsoever. See Yoshikawa, “Guanyu zai Riben faxian de Yuan kan Foshuo Mulian jiumu jing,” p. 179. 11. My translation of the Yulanpen Sutra is largely taken from Teiser, Ghost Festival, pp. 49 –53; see also Yulanpen jing. Yulan (literally, cup iris), according to Teiser (Ghost Festival, p. 4), is transliterated from Sanskrit and describes the pitiable fate of those hanging upside down in the subterranean prisons of Hell; pen is the Chinese word indicating a basin or bowl in which offerings are placed. Teiser also mentions several different interpretations of the term in Ghost Festival, pp. 21–22; cf. Mair, Tun-huang Popular Narratives, p. 224. Chinese scholars are largely in agreement that yulanpen, not yulan, is transliterated from the Sanskrit word Ullambana, which means “rescuing those hanging upside down [in Hell].” See Sun Changwu, Fojiao yu Zhongguo wenhua, p. 293. 12. Large numbers of canonical sutras and their annotations mention the Mulian episode (Mao Gengru, Mulian ziliao bianmu gailüe, pp. 48 –56). Mulian’s conversion to Buddhism (not the rescuing of his mother) was first mentioned in a Sanskrit play, the Story of Sariputra (Sheli fo chuan), composed by the famous Indian philosopher and poet Ma Ming (Asvaghosa, flourished ca. 100). Part of the play, in the Huihe (Ouigour) language, was uncovered in Xinjiang in the early twentieth century (Mulian xi yanjiu wenji, pp. 24, 63). For the performance of Sariputra in the Tang, see Ren Bantang, Tang xinong, 1.309, 1.650 –52. There is a transformation text concerning Sariputra, Xiangmo bianwen yijuan, in Wang Chongmin et al., Dunhuang bianwen ji, 1.361–94. Its full English translation is in Mair, Tun-huang Popular Narratives, pp. 31– 84. Another Sanskrit play also uncovered recently in Xinjiang, Mile huijian ji (Maitreya has an audience), mentions in Scene Four not only Mulian’s conversion but also his rescue of his mother. See Li Qiang, “Dunhuang Tulufan xue zhong de Mulian yu Mulian xi,” pp. 65 – 66. But the Huihe version of Maitreya came into existence around the ninth century (Geng Shimin, “Gudai weiwu’er yu Fojiao yuanshi juben Mile huijian ji yanjiu”). 13. Preta refers to one of the Buddhist “five ways,” similar to what was later called guhun (souls of the dead that do not receive sacrifices, like “lemures”). 14. Gui was defined in the Book of Rites as the souls of the dead “buried under earth” (Songben Liji Zheng zhu, 2.604; see also Xu Shen, Shuowen jiezi, p. 188).

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Prior to the Rites, gui seems to refer to the name given to a certain simian or anthropoid animal (Chien-shih Shen, “Essay on the Primitive Meaning of the Character [Gui],” pp. 1–20). The ancestral soul is different from the gui, especially after a legitimate ancestral cult took shape. Yet in classical Chinese, guishen, especially shen, often refers to the ancestral spirit. Zhu Xi called the ancestral tablet the xianshi shenzhu. It is easy to distinguish between the ghosts, gods, and ancestors in English, but not so easy in traditional Chinese culture, especially in traditional Chinese popular culture. As we will see, the composite term guishen is virtually untranslatable in most cases; it can mean the souls of ancestors, “ghosts and spirits,” or “demons and gods” in different contexts. 15. See C. K. Yang, Religion in Chinese Society, pp. 244 –77. In the early tradition of the Confucian schools, only Xunzi utterly denied the existence of baleful ghosts or demons. See Burton Watson, Hsun Tzu: Basic Writings, p. 8. 16. Zhu Xi, Lunyu jizhu, 1.263, 1.367. The guishen in this context clearly refers to the spirits of Yu’s ancestors (see James Legge’s translation of the passage in Chinese Classics, 1.191, 1.215). Consult also another statement by Confucius concerning guishen incorporated in the Book of Rites (Songben Liji Zheng zhu, p. 686). The guishen spirits (or hunpo souls) were mentioned in many pre-Buddhist documents in China, such as the Book of Changes, the Zuo Commentary, the Mozi, the Songs of the State of Chu, and the Book of Rites (in addition to the Hanshu and early Daoist scriptures, which nevertheless may have been influenced by Buddhism to a certain degree). See Tang Yingya, Rujia jingshu zhong suojian Yin-Shang shidai zhi zongjiao sixiang, pp. 1–29; Ying-shih Yu, “‘O Soul, Come Back!’” 17. Teiser, Ghost Festival, p. 29; cf. Songben Liji Zheng zhu, 1.212. Note that the Rites did not mention the fifteenth day of the seventh month. 18. Chang (later also called changji or jizu changxin) was a rite held in the autumn. Chang of “yue ci zheng chang” (sishi zhiji: four rites of summer, spring, winter, and autumn—note the sequence of the four rites in the original term) was used in the Tianbao in the Xiaoya section of the Book of Songs. Chang of “zheng chang” was also mentioned in Chuci of the Xiaoya and in the Zuo Commentary (Yang Renzhi, Shijing jinyi jinzhu, pp. 234 –35, 340; Hong Liangji, Chunqiu Zuozhuan gu, p. 349). The Book of Songs consists of three sections; Feng (Guofeng), Ya (Daya and Xiaoya), and Song. The Guofeng section mostly contains folk songs, with some poems written by aristocrats, whereas the Xiaoya mostly contains poems written by aristocrats, with some folk songs. Ritual odes in the Daya and Song sections are all elite poems. Both Tianbao and Chuci, as did the Zuo Commentary and Book of Rites, represented the “great tradition” of the Zhou dynasty (Yang Renzhi, Shijing jinyi jinzhu, pp. 233, 339). 19. See Xu Shen, Shuowen jiezi (pp. 7– 8) for shi and ji. 20. The translation is from D. C. Lau, Confucius: The Analects, p. 63; cf. Zhu Xi, Lunyu jizhu, 1.41; Legge, Chinese Classics, 1.147. 21. Zhao Yi, “Tiandishui sanguan,” in Gaiyu congkao, pp. 749 –50. Consult also Susan Mann’s summary of relevant works by John Lagerway (Taoist Ritual in Chinese Society and History), Ying-shih Yu, and Stephen Teiser in Precious Records, pp. 270 –71 nn. 19, 21. The term “Sanguan” appeared earlier. The term was associated with Zhang Heng (?) or Zhang Xiu (d. 188?) and thus dates to the beginnings

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of institutionalized Daoism, the Way of the Five Pecks of Rice (Wudoumi dao). The cult is also called Tianshi dao (the Way of Celestial Masters) or Guidao (the Way of Ghosts). Both Heng and Xiu were “Celestial Masters” of the cult (Welch, Taoism: The Parting of the Way, pp. 113–16). Still, as is generally agreed, the term “Zhongyuan” appears to have emerged later than “Yulanpen.” 22. The Three Officers were responsible for recording good or bad behavior of human beings, but their functions differed. The Officer of Heaven was responsible for “granting fortune,” whereas the Officer of Water was responsible for “solving misfortune.” See Zhao Yi, Gaiyu congkao, p. 750; Li Yangzheng, Daojiao gaishuo, p. 252. 23. Zhang Gong, “Zhonggu Yulanpen jie de minzu hua yanbian,” pp. 136 – 46. That the Officer of Earth absolved sins was still one of the themes of the Zhongyuan celebration in late imperial times (Gujin tushu jicheng, 68.14b). But the Daoist deity did not develop a whole literature as Mulian did and was thus overshadowed by Mulian. In late imperial times, the Officer of Earth was often mixed up with or submerged in other mythologies, including the Mulian story, as the Buddhist and Daoist rites were mingled together, and both often mingled with ancestral rituals during the Zhongyuan festival. 24. Zhang Gong, “Zhonggu Yulanpen,” p. 138; cf. Teiser, Ghost Festival, p. 56. Nanjing was not far away from Huizhou prefecture, and its surrounding countryside was one of the centers of Mulian performance in late imperial times, which often included the story of Liang Wudi (see Chapter 5 herein). Liang Wudi also sponsored the translation of Buddhist sutras and in 529 arranged a feast attended by fifty thousand monks and laymen. See Ch’en, Chinese Transformation of Buddhism, p. 208; Zhao Puchu et al., Fojiao yu Zhongguo wenhua, pp. 247–54. 25. See Zong Lin’s (ca. 498 –561) Jingchu suishi ji and an early Daoist scripture, Daxian jing, for Buddhist influence on the Zhongyuan festival, cited in Zhang Gong, “Zhonggu Yulanpen,” pp. 138 –39 and Zhao Puchu et al., Fojiao yu Zhongguo wenhua, p. 366. 26. See Fujian nanxi, p. 50. 27. Gujin tushu jicheng, 68.15b –16a; Teiser, Ghost Festival, pp. 71–77. Empress Wu supported Buddhism for her own political ends, and yet the Yulanpen ritual she endorsed was distinctively Daoist (Guo Peng, Sui-Tang Fojiao, pp. 306 –26). 28. Cited in Zhang Gong, “Zhonggu Yulanpen,” p. 142. 29. Zhang Gong (ibid.) nevertheless cites some Tang poems showing how solemn the Zhongyuan rites were, in contrast with the noisiness of Yulanpen festivities. Cf. Teiser, Ghost Festival, pp. 98 –99, for his interpretation of the account left by the Japanese pilgrim Ennin (793– 864) about the 845 persecution. 30. Generally speaking, in the Tang, Buddhism, including Yulanpen rites, was more in fashion than Daoism and Zhongyuan rituals, even though the Li ruling house claimed to be descended from the Daoist sage Laozi, also surnamed Li. In the Tang there were about fifty-three hundred significant Buddhist monasteries (and nunneries) and forty thousand small ones, with nearly three hundred thousand monks and nuns (Guo Peng, Sui-Tang fojiao, pp. 275, 381; Ren Jiyu, Zhongguo daojiao shi, esp. chap. 7). 31. This process of simultaneous integration and tension differs from Stephen

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Teiser’s account of a fully synthesized “ghost festival” in medieval times. Teiser (Ghost Festival, pp. 71– 82) tries to show how the Tang imperial Yulanpen rituals already emphasized the ancestral cult and Daoist symbols. In the Song, however, Zhu Xi drew the line at using the ritual of the fifteenth day of the seventh month because of its Buddhist affiliations (Ebrey, “Early Stages,” pp. 22 –23). More to the point, as will be noted later, the term “ghost festival” (guijie) probably could not have been coined or in currency in common parlance until the Ming dynasty. It connotes a popularized, fully synthesized Chinese observance, and one that was not ostensibly affiliated with either Buddhism or Daoism. 32. “Mulian transformation” (Mulian bian) was first mentioned in a humorous dialogue around 825 between two Tang poets, Bai Juyi (772 – 846) and Zhang Hu (Ding Fubao, Lidai shihua xubian, 1.21; see also Mair, T’ang Transformation Texts, pp. 156 –57, using different sources for the same phenomenon). Before the emergence of Mulian bianwen, some important sutra-related texts were composed in the early seventh century, such as The Pure Land Yulanpen Sutra, Huijing’s Commentary Praising the Yulanpen Sutra (Teiser, Ghost Festival, pp. 58 – 65; Tong Guangxia, “‘Foshuo Yulanpen jing’ yu ‘Mulian jiumu bianwen’”). Some genres fell midway between the sutra commentaries and the bianwen prosimetric narratives such as jiangjingwen (sutra lecture texts). See Shao Hong, Dunhuang shishi jiangjingwen yanjiu. Ren Bantang, the expert on Tang theatricals, argues that Tang plays were not necessarily influenced by the bianwen genre (Tang xinong, 2.1100 –11; cf. Mair, Tun-huang Popular Narratives, pp. 13–23). There are about twenty Mulian baojuan, tanci, and guci scripts in the Chinese Popular Culture Project microfilm library, University of California at Berkeley. 33. Mair, Tun-huang Popular Narratives, p. 2; idem, T’ang Transformation Texts, pp. 9, 14 –15, 26 –27. For a “broad definition” of the bianwen, see Hu Shiying, Huaben xiaoshuo gailun, 1.33–35. For a variety of definitions of the popular genre, see also Zheng Zhenduo, Zhongguo suwenxue shi, 1.180 –90; Zhou Shaoliang and Bai Huawen, Dunhuang bianwen lunwen ji, vol. 1 (for essays by Xiang Da, Zhou Yiliang, Guan Dedong, and Bai Huawen). A broad definition of bianwen may include “sung texts” and “popular lectures,” covering about 135 extant texts. 34. Zheng Zhenduo, Zhongguo suwenxue shi, 1.189 –90; Mair, T’ang Transformation Texts, pp. 141– 45. More famous was Wu Daozi (685?–758?), who painted temple murals, such as “Picture of Hell Transformation,” and the images of popular divinities, such as the ghost slayer Zhong Kui. Also famous were his portraits of Emperor Wu of Liang and his wife, Empress Xi, both of whom later became significant characters in Mulian literature (Zhang Guangfu, Zhongguo meishu shi, pp. 220 –27; Zong Li and Liu Qun, Zhongguo minjian zhushen, pp. 231–33). 35. Damuqianlian, pp. 714 – 44 (annotations on pp. 745 –55). Full English translation is in Mair, Tun-huang Popular Narratives, pp. 87–121; and Mair’s annotation follows on pp. 223– 62. The text, though dated 921, is actually a late-Tang product (Zheng Zhenduo, Zhongguo suwenxue shi, 1.235). 36. Mair suggests that Mulian sounds like Muram or Mulam, a Sanskrit word for “turnip.” Mair also “concocts” Niladhi from Qingti and Sulaksana from Fuxiang, but intentionally omits an explanation (Tun-huang Popular Narratives, pp. 224 –25, 232).

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37. Damuqianlian, pp. 714 –19, 719 – 42, 742 – 44. 38. Damuqianlian, pp. 742, 735. 39. A simple plot of traveling through Hell could also catch the imagination of medieval Chinese people. The Taizong emperor of the Tang, for instance, travels through the underworld in a Dunhuang popular narrative, the Tang Taizong ruming ji (in Wang Chongmin et al., Dunhuang bianwen ji, 1.209 –15; see also Waley, Ballads and Stories from Tun-huang, pp. 165 –74). This text was apparently invested with an unusual political message: one of the greatest emperors in Chinese history travels in Hell to atone for the “sins” of killing his brother and imprisoning his father (Wang Chongmin et al., Dunhuang bianwen ji, 1.209, 1.213. A similar story is in the novel Journey to the West; see Wu Ch’eng-en, Monkey, chap. 10). 40. The translation is from Mair, Tun-huang Popular Narratives, pp. 112 –13; see also Damuqianlian, p. 737. 41. The earliest charge that Buddhism is “unfilial,” interestingly enough, was made in the early Daoist scripture Taiping jing. Soon after that, Mouzi (ca. 200), one of the earliest syncretists of the Three Teachings (Confucianism, Daoism, and Buddhism), argued that such a charge was unfounded in the Mouzi lihuo lun. In the succeeding centuries, the charge continued to be made: by Xun Ji in the sixth century, Fu Yi in the seventh, and Han Yu in the ninth. In response Buddhists first showed that many sutras stressed filial devotion, and for this they also forged a body of apocryphal literature; second, they contended that the Buddhist concept of filial piety was superior, because it was aimed at universal salvation (Ch’en, Chinese Transformation of Buddhism, pp. 14 – 60). For a summary of the initial stage of syncretism, see Fang Litian, “Zhongguo fojiao zhexue de lishi yanbian,” pp. 100 –107. 42. See, e.g., Fumu enzhongjing jiangjingwen (Sutra lecture text on the importance of parental love, 2 scripts), in Wang Chongmin et al., Dunhuang bianwen ji, 2.672 –94, 2.695 –700; see also a popular tale from Dunhuang, Xingxiao diyi (Filial devotion, the foremost virtue), in Luo Zhenyu, Dunhuang lingshi, 7.1a–17b; consult Ch’en, Chinese Transformation of Buddhism, pp. 36 – 42. 43. Damuqianlian, pp. 718 –19. The fantian [gong] used in Damuqianlian (p. 717) is a Sanskrit word, referring to “the heavenly palace of Brahma” (Mair, Tun-huang Popular Narratives, p. 91). But other terms referring to the heavens used in Damuqianlian (pp. 718, 717, 721, 724)—the tiangong (the celestial palace), the tianting (the heavenly court), and especially the tiancao (the heavenly bureau)—appear to have originated from the Daoist cosmology. For the Daoist concept of “thirty-six heavens,” see Ru Fo Dao yu chuantong wenhua, 3.37–38. 44. Damuqianlian, pp. 721–32, 733. 45. Teiser, Ghost Festival, p. 89. 46. The concept of moral retribution or “fate” is already present in the ancient classics (Brokaw, Ledgers of Merit and Demerit, pp. 28 –32). Hu Shi suggested that the notion of reward and retribution, linked to the belief in the magic power of the supernatural, developed in pre-Buddhist China, though still in a vague way (see Ch’en, Chinese Transformation of Buddhism, p. 3). Similar concepts can also be found in the Taiping jing, probably the first Daoist scripture that was written up independent of the Buddhist influence (Li Yangzheng, Daojiao gaishuo, pp. 240 – 43). The earliest extant version of Taiping jing, however, is contained in the 1444 – 45

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edition of the Daoist Canon (Wang Ming, Taiping jing hejiao, p. 1). See more in Chapter 4 herein. 47. Mair, Tun-huang Popular Narratives, p. 87; Damuqianlian, p. 714. 48. Mair, Tun-huang Popular Narratives, p. 111; Damuqianlian, p. 736. 49. The notion of guishen has a long and complex history, which, like the evolution of Mulian literature, deserves monographic treatment. Originally, it was part of the pre-Qin and Qin-Han endogenous cosmology of Heaven and the ancestral cult, largely shared by various schools of ancient China. With the rise of institutional Daoism in the Han and the following middle period, guishen belief became more associated with Daoism (and folk religions as well). One of the earliest institutional sects of Daoism, Wudoumi dao, was also simply called guidao (way of ghosts). Probably only in the Song, and especially the post-Song periods, did the Buddhist concepts of hells and karmic retribution, now peopled partly by guishen, mingle seamlessly with Daoist cosmology and Confucian ethics. Fictional narratives and operatic performance promoted this popular syncretism, and the guishen, inseparable from the now fully developed Buddho-Daoist pantheon, became a fundamental aspect of traditional Chinese popular cosmology. In addition to Mulian literature analyzed in this study, consult Qian Mu, “Zhongguo sixiang zhong zhi guishen guan”; idem, Linghun yu xin; Tang Yingya, Rujia jingshu zhong suojian Yin-Shang shidai zhi zongjiao sixiang; Ge Zhaoguang, Daojiao yu Zhongguo wenhua; Fang Litian, Zhongguo fojiao yu chuantong wenhua; Ch’en, Chinese Transformation of Buddhism; Maspero, Taoism and Chinese Religion; Anthony C. Yu, “‘Rest, Rest, Perturbed Spirit!’” 50. Mulian yuanqi, pp. 701–13. Mair (T’ang Transformation Texts, p. 184) gives reasons for translating the script as Mulian Legend. 51. Mulian yuanqi, p. 701. 52. Ibid., pp. 711–12. 53. The Zhenzong emperor of the Northern Song (reigned 998 –1020), who believed in Daoism and enjoyed the emerging zaju variety plays, banned bianwen performance. The official Song History notes that “the Zhenzong emperor occasionally composed verses suited to variety plays, which he was nevertheless unwilling to disclose” (cited in Mulian xi yanjiu wenji, p. 28). 54. Foshuo Mulian jiumu jing. This text was bought in 1304 in Guangzhou, in southern China, reprinted in Japan in 1346, and discovered in the 1960s in Japan. See Yoshikawa Yoshikazu, “Guanyu zai Riben faxian de Yuan kan Foshuo Mulian jiumu jing.” Another extant late-Yuan or early-Ming text is a “precious scroll (baojuan),” Mulian jiumu chuli diyu shengtian baojuan. It is unfortunately incomplete (missing the first half), reprinted in Zheng Zhenduo, Zhongguo suwenxue shi, 2.318 –27. In terms of both length and Buddhist values, these two scripts are much closer to the Tang Mulian transformation text than to Ming-Qing Mulian operas. The “precious scroll” text, which seems to have been polished by a scholar, can be viewed as a refined version of the Yuan popular lecture text. 55. Foshuo Mulian jiumu jing, p. 205. 56. Meng Yuanlao, Dongjing menghua lu, p. 55; my translation is modified from Teiser, “Ritual Behind the Opera,” pp. 200 –201. Note the mention of “vegetarian food,” which indicates the influence of the Yulanpen ritual. In pre-Buddhist

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China, however, there were two kinds of sacrifices: the ji (sacrifice with meat) and jian (sacrifice with vegetables only). See He Xiu’s (129 – 82) annotation of the two terms included in Zhu Xi, Zhuzi jiali, 7.34a. Why was the Yulanpen originally more popular among ordinary people than ji guishen? Is this partially because vegetables were more affordable than meat? The economy was probably one of the reasons why Buddhist funerary rituals continued to be widely observed among the common folk in late imperial times. Consult Brook, “Funerary Ritual,” pp. 490 –91. 57. Chen Yuanjing, Suishi guangji, 30.341. There are two sections titled “Zhongyuan Festival” in Chen’s book, where Yulanpen is completely submerged in detailed descriptions of either Daoist Zhongyuan rites or popular ancestral sacrifices, both involving offerings to the guishen (ibid., 29.331–39, 30.341– 47). 58. The earliest document that mentions the term guijie (ghost festival), according to the computerized version of the Siku quanshu, is an ancestral liturgy Yin Kui (1331–76) wrote in 1374, in his Qiangzhai ji (1232.5.15a–b). This timing corresponded to Zhu Yuanzhang’s 1371 institution of a Litan (ghost altar) in each village, which must have neutralized belief in ghosts (see Qitao Guo, Exorcism and Money, chap. 2). 59. See Zhu Hengfu, Mulian xi yanjiu, pp. 50 –72, where the author tries to demonstrate that Puxian, Fujian, produced the oldest matured form of Mulian opera. See also Ling Yiyun, Mulian xi yu fojiao, pp. 144 –51; Liu Zhen, Zhongguo minjian Mulian wenhua, pp. 32 –50. 60. Tanaka, “Chaodu—Mulian xi yiji jisi xiju de chansheng” (Mulian in Singapore was staged in the Fujian style, Fujian being the traditional point of departure of Chinese overseas immigrants). Consult also Tanaka, Chu¯goku saishi engeki kenkyu¯, pp. 186 –254. The Daoist jiao, like the Buddhist zhai, is an offering of fruit and vegetables, whereas the Confucian rite of ji is a sacrifice to ancestors involving meat. Generally speaking, the jiao appeals to the heavenly gods for peace (taiping), whereas zhai (or gongde) appeals to the underworld deities for releasing the departed souls. They were nevertheless often intermingled in actual ritual performance (Liu Zhiwan, Zhongguo minjian xinyang lunji, pp. 12 –19). For a study on SongYuan ritual dramas as represented in relics such as tomb portraits and temple stages, see Liao Ben, Song-Yuan xiqu wenwu yu minsu, pp. 9 –21. 61. See Fujian nanxi, pp. 17, 37, where Wang Guowei is quoted. 62. See Zhou Yibai, Zhongguo xiqu fazhan shi gangyao, pp. 9 –14; Sun Kaidi, Kuilei xi kaoyuan; Ren Bantang, Tangxi nong. 63. Mulian xi xueshu zuotanhui, p. 7. 64. Dong Meikan, Shuoju—Zhongguo xijushi zhuanti yanjiu lunwenji, p. 167. For a good discussion of the term zaju, see Hu Ji, Song-Jin zaju kao, pp. 15 –21; see also West and Idema, “Introduction,” pp. 42 – 49. 65. Wang Weimin, Wu Mei xiqu lunwen xuan, pp. 130 –37. One exception is Wang Shifu’s Story of the Western Wing. 66. See Han Sheng et al., “‘Yingshen saishe lijie chuanbu’”; Huang Shengwen, “Beifang Mulian xi de yishu xingtai.” For a short Shaanxi local opera (or simply a scene), Mulian juan, see Yang Zhilie et al., Qinqiang jumu chukao, pp. 254 –55. For a Henan Mulian-related scene titled Da foshan, see Yi Sheng et al., Yuju chuantong jumu huishi, p. 243. Two operas covering the Mulian story in substantial length

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from Shaanxi and Shanxi, respectively, seem to have used some scenes in the Journey to the West as their titles: Baima tuojin (A white horse carries gold) and Baiyuan kailu (A white ape blazes the trail). See Mao Gengru, Mulian ziliao bianmu gailüe, pp. 104 – 6. 67. Quoted in Sawada, Jigoku hen: Chu¯goku no meikai setsu, p. 142. In the late Ming, Shen Defu (1578 –1642) mentioned two scenes of the yuanben genre, “Mulian ruming” (Mulian descends to the dark realm) and “Xiaoni xiashan” (A little nun descends the mountain) in Guqu zayan, p. 215. 68. Han Sheng et al., “‘Yingshen saishe lijie chuanbu,’” p. 117. 69. Mao Gengru, Mulian ziliao bianmu gailüe, pp. 105 – 6. 70. Anonymous (Ming), Luguibu xubian, pp. 295, 277–79; see also Shao Cengqi, Yuan-Ming bei zaju zongmu kaolüe, p. 554. 71. Liu Nianzi, Nanxi xinzheng, pp. 1–38; Qian Nanyang, Xiwen gailun, pp. 21– 45. 72. See the following chapter; see also Mulian xi xueshu zuotanhui, p. 20; Liu Sha, “Cong nanxi dao Yiyang qiang,” p. 24; cf. Liu Nianzi, Nanxi xinzheng, pp. 8 –12. 73. Ye Dejun, Xiqu xiaoshuo congkao, 2.4. 74. Zhu Yunming was quoted in Li Diaoyuan (Qing), Juhua, p. 38. Li Diaoyuan (ibid., p. 46) also cited Shen Chongsui (?–1645) as noting the rise of these genres of Southern Drama. See also Ye Dejun, Xiqu xiaoshuo congkao, 1.1– 67; Liu Nianzi, Nanxi xinzheng, pp. 48 –58; Qian Nanyang, Xiwen gailun, pp. 45 –72. 75. Colin Mackerras notes: “In no sense was it [the Yiyang system] exclusive to any one group of people. Its language was based on the dialects of the villages, and its music was far from elegant. . . . [Its] rhythm was beaten on the drum and the tunes bawled” (“Growth of the Chinese Regional Drama,” p. 70). 76. The influence of the Yiyang went far beyond northern Jiangxi and southern Anhui. The scholar Xu Wei noted in 1559 (Nanci xulu, p. 242): “The Yiyang music style originated in Jiangxi, and has been widely used in the two capitals [Beijing and Nanjing], Hunan, Min [Fujian], and Guang [Guangdong].” Most likely, Mulian performance in Hunan and Sichuan came with the Yiyang melody from Jiangxi or the Qingyang melody from Anhui. The Gaoqiang genre, which was popular in Sichuan and Hunan in the Qing, came into being with heavy influence from the Yiyang and Qingyang styles. For the evolution from the Yiyang to the Gaoqiang, see Gaoqiang xueshu taolun wenji, pp. 1–22. 77. See Mulian xi xueshu zuotanhui, p. 3; Fujian nanxi, pp. 8, 23–24, 76 –79; Liu Sha, “Cong nanxi dao Yiyang qiang,” pp. 24 –25. 78. This paragraph, unless otherwise noted, is based on Mao Limei, “Yiyangqiang de Mulian xi,” pp. 65 –79; Mulian xi yanjiu wenji, pp. 146 – 47; Ke Ziming, “Mulian xi yanbian chutan,” pp. 1–20; Zhu Hengfu, “Ming-Qing Mulian xi taiben liubian kao”; Liu Sha, “Cong nanxi dao Yiyang qiang,” pp. 24 –31. Most of these essays are based on extensive fieldwork. There are other interpretations of the origin of the Yiyang genre. Wang Gulu believes that the genre came from the north (Mingdai Huidiao xiqu, p. 14), whereas Ye Dejun sees its genesis in local folk yangge dance in the Yiyang region (Xiqu xiaoshuo congkao, 1.32 –33).

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79. There is no Mulian in Liu Nianzi’s exhaustive list of 224 Southern Drama scripts of the Song-Yuan period (Nanxi xinzheng, pp. 59 –78). Zheng Zhizhen’s script is listed in the section “Ming Southern Drama” (ibid., p. 81). 80. Cited in NLZ, 4.5a. It cannot be verified whether this statement is falsely attributed to Wang Yangming. The first two lines of the statement can be found in Zheng Zhizhen’s script (MLZZ, 3.1b). The term shendao shejiao comes from the Book of Changes (C. K. Yang, Religion in Chinese Society, p. 145). 81. MLZZ, 3.1B. 82. MLZZ, Hu Tainlu’s postface, 1b. Each of the three volumes of MLZZ (1.1b, 2.1b, 3.1b) is titled “Newly Compiled (xinbian) Mulian Rescues His Mother: An Opera for Goodness.” ch apter 4 1. As a class of people, frustrated scholars were extremely important to late imperial politics and culture. Although some of them became rebels during times of political weakness, such as the Taiping leader Hong Xiuquan, many others wrote texts prepared for nonelite readers and audiences and helped popularize complex ideas and beliefs (David Johnson, “Communication, Class, and Consciousness,” p. 60). To get a sense of the size of this group, there were 739,199 and 910,597 shengyuan, respectively, in the pre- and post-Taiping period (Chung-li Chang, Chinese Gentry, tables 20, 22). No similar figure for the late-Ming period is available, but Ho (Ladder of Success, p. 182) suggests that there were 600,000 shengyuan around 1600. In the Qing, each of the 2 million students sitting for the prefectural examination in any given year knew that there was only one chance in six thousand of ever reaching the top rank, where a bureaucratic post would be guaranteed (Wakeman, Fall of Imperial China, p. 22). 2. Unless otherwise noted, this paragraph is based on biographies of Zheng Zhizhen in QXZ, pp.1285 – 86, and in Anhui tongzhi, the latter of which is reprinted in Zhao Jingshen and Zhang Zengyuan, Fangzhi zhulu, pp.109 –10. See also Zheng Zhizhen’s biography in his home genealogy (Qingxi Zhengshi zupu) and his epitaph written by Ye Zongchun, Zheng’s son-in-law and a jinshi degree holder (both cited in Chen Changwen et al., “Qimen faxian Zheng Zhizhen mu he zupu,” p. 49); MLZZ (prefaces and postfaces). For biographies of Ye Zongchun, Chen Zhaoxiang, and Hu Tianlu, see QXZ, pp. 1225 –26, 1315, 1358. 3. For Wu Jingzi, see Ropp, Dissent in Early Modern China; for “the miseries and revolts of those who failed” in the examinations, see Miyazaki, China’s Examination Hell, pp. 121–24. 4. We find that each of the three volumes of his script and his preface are undersigned by “Gaoshi shanren Zheng Zhizhen” (MLZZ, 1.1b, 2.1b, 3.1b, 1.2a [preface]). Gaoshi shanren is the sobriquet of Zheng (self-styled Gaoshi). Shanren means “a mountain hermit,” but in Anhui, it could also be used to refer to a geomancy specialist. Moreover, as Mao Gengru has discovered, Zheng Zhizhen appears to have authored a geomancy handbook. There are 176 woodblocks of the Opera for Goodness in the Anhui Provincial Museum. They are mixed with the woodblocks of a geomancy handbook undersigned by Gaoshi shanfang or Gaoshi Studio, which

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most likely refers to Zheng Zhizhen’s studio (Mao Gengru, pers. comm.). The same studio name appears on the cover design of Zheng’s Mulian script as well (see Figure 4.9). 5. MLZZ, 3.78b –79a. 6. Frederic Wakeman uses “ardent” and “cautiously decided” to render the Confucian concept kuang-juan, in “Romantics, Stoics, and Martyrs,” p. 632. 7. MLZZ, 3.78b. This is also a clue regarding the time when our playwright retired from the examination life—most likely in his forties, sometime in the 1560s. This could also be the time when he started to compile Mulian stories from actual performances. By 1582, when his script was first printed, Zheng could have spent about fifteen years working on Mulian. 8. Chen Zhaoxiang’s preface to MLZZ, 3a. 9. Cited in Mulian xi zhuanji, 1.243; see also Ye Zongchun’s preface to MLZZ, 1a– 4a. 10. This attitude of withdrawal is also reflected in Zheng’s script. For instance, the opening poem of the “Opening Scene” of the first volume (MLZZ, 1.1b) ridicules careerists busy with seeking “fame and fortune” and questions the whereabouts of “the Wei mountains and rivers” (which means the political power of the Wei in the period of the Three Kingdoms) and “the career of the Han dynasty.” Of the same interest is a popular ballad, sung by demon-bailiffs right before they set out to catch Madame Liu’s soul: “The sparrow when it pecks looks all around; the swallow sleeps without a care. For the great-hearted, blessings are naturally great, for the deep schemer, misfortune is deep as well.” Translation by David Johnson (in de Bary and Lufrano, Sources of Chinese Tradition, 2 : 95), based on a Hunan Qi–styled version of Mulian, exactly the same as the ballad in MLZZ, 2.23b. 11. Quoted in Levenson, Confucian China and Its Modern Fate, 1.44. This maxim may be based upon Mencius’s definition of da zhangfu (a true man): “If promoted, [he] should make contributions to the ordering of the world; if frustrated, in his withdrawal he should cultivate his mind.” This may also have to do with Confucius’s concept of kuang-juan and Mencius’s interpretation of it. See Jiang Boqian, Shisanjing gailun, p. 644. 12. Quoted in Hu Tianlu’s postface to MLZZ, 1b. 13. Overmyer, “Values in Chinese Sectarian Literature”; Naquin, “Transmission of White Lotus Sectarianism”; Waltner, “T’an-yang-tzu and Wang Shih-chen.” Tanyangzi (T’an-yang-tzu) was also popular in Huizhou, as mentioned in the comment by Ni Daoxian on Zheng Zhizhen’s Mulian script, in Cai Yi, Zhongguo gudian xiqu xuba huibian, 2.619. 14. As Arthur P. Wolf (“Gods, Ghosts, and Ancestors,” p. 146) noted, “one man’s ancestor is another man’s ghost.” Or, perhaps more accurately, one man’s ancestor could be another man’s ghost. 15. Von Glahn, “Enchantment of Wealth,” p. 674. This phenomenon sheds more light on that “arrogant” xiucai scholar who eventually turns into a guishen believer in Zheng’s script and on the religious-minded Zheng Zhizhen himself. The High-Qing novelist Wu Jingzhi also satirized the “superstitions” of Confucian scholars. See Ropp, Dissent in Early Modern China, pp. 173–79. 16. Langlois and Sun, “Three Teachings Syncretism,” pp. 104, 109.

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17. T’ien, Male Anxiety and Female Chastity, p. 120. The twelve categories of wandering ghosts refer to spirits of people who had met their deaths by (1) fire or flood, (2) the collapse of buildings, (3) turmoil of war, (4) suicides, (5) plague, (6) starvation, (7) bites by beasts and snakes, (8) fighting on the battlefield, (9) hanging oneself in desperation, and (10) wrongful execution, in addition to (11) those who died without issue and (12) without a proper funeral. Most of these wandering spirits are reflected in Mulian performances. See Part 3. 18. Edward Davis (Society and the Supernatural in Song China, pp. 200 –225) elaborates upon Kenneth Dean’s concept “syncretic field” as an approach to Chinese religious culture from the Song onward. See also Dean, Lord of the Three in One; cf. Brook, “Rethinking Syncretism.” 19. Langlois and Sun, “Three Teachings Syncretism,” pp. 97–139; Berling, The Syncretic Religion of Lin Chao-en, pp. 32, 46 – 61. 20. Plaks, Four Masterworks, p. 20; Ma Xiaohong, Tian shen ren, p. 187; Ren Jiyu, Zhongguo Daojiao shi, pp. 582 – 626. For Wang Yangming’s experience in Jiuhua, see Jiuhua shan zhi, pp. 265 –70, 289 –91. Timothy Brook (Praying for Power, p. 64), quoting the eighteenth-century editors of the imperial Four Treasuries, dates the shift in favor of Chan method to the Longqing reign (1567–72). 21. Brokaw, Ledgers of Merit and Demerit, pp. 95 –105. 22. Guo Peng, Ming-Qing Fojiao, pp. 176 –290. 23. Berling, The Syncretic Religion of Lin Chao-en, p. 220. Lin Zhao’en (Chaoen) also inspired the writing of the didactic novel The Romance of the Three Teachings, printed in the 1610s (Berling, “Religion and Popular Culture,” pp. 196, 198 – 212). 24. Quoted in Zheng Zhiming, Mingdai Sanyi jiaozhu yanjiu, p. 358. 25. See, e.g., Wen Yixuan, “Zheng Zhizhen Quanshan ji tanwei.” 26. As Chen Zhaoxiang put it in his preface to MLZZ, 1.2b. 27. See, e.g., Ye Zongcun’s preface to MLZZ, 1.1a– 4a. Zheng is known to have written another opera, Wufu ji (Five sorts of fortunes), which is no longer extant. See the genealogy of the Qingxi Zhengs, cited in Zhao Yinxiang et al., “Zheng Zhizhen shengping shiliao de xin faxian.” 28. In Cai Yi, Zhongguo gudian xiqu xuba huibian, 2.617–18, 2.619 –20. 29. Zheng’s preface to MLZZ, 1b –2b. The phrase yufu yufu (which can also be translated as “ignorant men and ignorant women”) originates in The Doctrine of the Mean. See Kwang-Ching Liu, “Orthodoxy in Chinese Society,” in idem, Orthodoxy in Late Imperial China, p. 11. Pangeng was a king noted for having succeeded in restoring the Shang power. 30. Volume One consists of thirty-two scenes; Volume Two of thirty-four; and Volume Three of thirty-four. Five scenes are not mentioned in the table of contents: two in Volume One and three in Volume Two. 31. MLZZ, 2.1b. 32. For the structural design of the so-called da tuanyuan (grand reunion), see Zhou Yude, Zhongguo xiqu yu Zhongguo zongjiao, pp. 155 – 60. 33. See Appendix C (1) for the homophonic substitutions for gu (take care), yuanlai (so), qu (get married), li (leave), dao (but or instead). MLZZ, 2.46b, 2.66a, 2.68a, 2.72a, 3.32a.

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34. In most Ming-Qing literature, one Buddhist monk and one Daoist priest (sengdao or yiseng yidao) always show up together, signifying the seamless unity of Buddhism and Daoism. One of the most famous examples comes from The Story of the Stone. At the very beginning, it was “a Buddhist monk and a Daoist priest” who discovered that important “stone” (Cao Xueqin, Honglou meng, 1.2). 35. In scene 9, “Guanyin’s Birthday,” Guanyin shows her magical power to change her body. The goddess is shown to be versatile—she can “vanquish all demons and monsters under Heaven, and relieve various types of hardship in human society.” The subsequent scene, titled “Robbers Remolded,” is not mentioned in the table of contents. A group of bandits loot the Fu house, only to find a white horse speaking like a human, admonishing them with the karmic retribution. This reforms the robbers, who decide to give up the loot and eventually turn themselves in (MLZZ, 1.24a–27b, 1.27c.d–28a.b.c.d–29b). Some scenes are printed on doublenumbered folios. For example, folio 28 in Volume One is followed by a folio still numbered 28. This doubled folio is indicated here as “1.28a.b.c.d.” 36. A scene, simply titled “Inserted Performance” (chake), is added here. It is a dialogue between an elder and a Buddhist monk about contemporary social life and problems (MLZZ, 1.79c.d– 80b). 37. The following two scenes (scenes 3 and 4) are concerned with the “journey to the West” of the “ten friends” and the protection offered by Guanyin. Also involved are some divine figures, such as Princess Iron Fan and Pigsy (Zhu Baijie [sic]), better known as characters in the novel Journey to the West. In scene 5, a stonemason, a carpenter, and a bricklayer fight for the “seat of honor” in a feast prepared for them after they have helped repair the zhaifang hall for the Fu family. Here we have additional evidence indicating the influence of actual performance upon the playwright. To show the players how to perform the fight between three craftsmen, the script (MLZZ, 2.6a) simply notes “just like ‘Beating Lord Cai,’” with no explanation. Apparently the playwright believes that the actors, who must have watched the scene, knew how to fight in the way of “beating Lord Cai.” 38. Scene 8 is again about Luobu’s “ten friends,” who reach the Western Paradise and become disciples of the Buddha. 39. Inserted here is another short scene unmentioned in the table of contents. Its message, like that of scene 16, is that after people pass away, in the underworld only good people will get rich, from gold or silver; evil people will be impoverished, with only useless “broken money” at their disposal. 40. Note Zheng Zhizhen’s Confucian preference while defining “three types of people.” 41. Inserted here is another scene about good people being elevated to Heaven. 42. Inserted here is the scene “Capturing the Monk Sha,” who is also a character in the Journey to the West. 43. In scene 23, Miss Cao declines the money and other presents Yili gives to her, a story that shows both Cao’s firm integrity and Yili’s loyalty. 44. In scene 24, Mulian, wearing forty-nine “divine lanterns” while looking for his mother in Hell, unwittingly releases numerous demons from the City of Shadowy Fiends. The demon-slayer Zhong Kui must be called in to keep them at bay

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(scene 25). The story is later highlighted in a more dramatic way in the Mulian baojuan (precious scroll) texts. 45. To further enhance the notion of moral retribution, in scene 27 Madame Liu’s evil brother is turned into an ass. On its body is written “Liu Jia’s Retribution,” which is seen by his own son Liu Longbao, having been driven into the streets as a beggar. 46. Zheng Zhizhen did not use guijie (ghost festival), even though ghosts and spirits are virtually everywhere in his script. 47. See, e.g., Zheng Zhiming, Zhongguo shanshu yu zongjiao, p. 47. 48. Brokaw, Ledgers of Merit and Demerit, pp. 28 –31, 52 – 60. 49. Elman, From Philosophy to Philology, pp. 46 – 48; Brokaw, Ledgers of Merit and Demerit, pp. 95 –105. One of Zhu Xi’s contributions was to raise the Four Books above the Five Classics (Gardner, Chu Hsi, pp. 1– 81). In post-Song times, however, virtually all literati were familiar with both the Four Books and Five Classics. After all, most literati were by no means as consistent in their thinking or as philosophically self-conscious as Zhu Xi. 50. Waley, Three Ways of Thought, p. 13. 51. Zhu Xi, Xiaoxue jizhu, 6.1a. Lijiao, Minglun, and Jingshen are the titles of the first three sections in the Inner Chapter of Elementary Learning. 52. Zheng Zhizhen’s preface to MLZZ, 1.1a–1b. As Zheng cited one of the Five Classics in the preface, in the script he frequently quoted another classic, Book of Rites, to justify his ethico-religious approach, using the supernatural power to convey Confucian ethics, as will be discussed later. 53. MLZZ,1.59b. 54. MLZZ, 2.50b. 55. MLZZ, 3.25b. 56. See Qitao Guo, Exorcism and Money; Wolf, “Gods, Ghosts, and Ancestors,” pp. 142 – 45, 178 –79; cf. Shahar and Weller, Unruly Gods. 57. In the local community, the supernatural world could also be a reflection of hierarchical lineage society (Qitao Guo, Exorcism and Money). Stephen Teiser suggests that the postmedieval concept of purgatory sought accommodation with “the demands of Chinese kinship” as well as the realities of Chinese bureaucracy (“Growth of Purgatory,” p. 120). 58. MLZZ, 3.13b. 59. For the powerful and wealthy, the perception of the gods as divine bureaucrats fashioned in a human bureaucracy made their behavior more understandable and more accessible to human manipulation. Thus the popular saying, “With money the demons can be made to grind wheat.” Stories abound in Chinese fiction of men who were able to bribe or trick the infernal officials into changing their registers of good and bad deeds (Brokaw, Ledgers of Merit and Demerit, pp. 57–58). All of this seems to have led to a process of demystification of the “demons and gods.” Yet, on a more profound plane of human psychology, people harbored the hope to manipulate the supernatural precisely because the demons and gods were so powerfully omnipresent. 60. In Zhao and Zhang, Fangzhi zhulu, pp. 109 –10.

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61. MLZZ, 2.20b, 2.20a. 62. As described in the tenth-century Scripture of the Ten Kings, see Teiser, “Growth of Purgatory.” The concept of the ten infernal kings is also mentioned in two Song neo-Daoist “morality books,” the Yuli baochao (Precious draft of the divine rules) and the aforementioned Tract of Taishang on Action and Response. See Song Guangyu, “Diyu zhi shuo yu daode sixiang zhi yanjiu”; Ge Zhaoguang, Daojiao yu Zhongguo wenhua, pp. 239 –52; Qing Xitai, Daojiao wenhua xintan, pp. 128 – 41. 63. Zheng does not include an independent scene about the ninth hall, perhaps because its lord is a “mute king” (yawang), as mentioned in some later folk Mulian scripts. MLCB, 3.109; MLBY, p.163; MLNL, 3.323; cf. MLZZ, 3.13b. 64. MLZZ, 3.13b, 3.13b –18b, 3.24a–31b, 3.39a– 40b, 3.44a– 47b, 3.55b – 59b, 3.62.3b – 67b, 3.74a–79b. The eighth hall, ruled by King Pingdeng, is not substantiated in scene 25, titled “Looking for Mother in the Eighth Hall.” More than half the scene is about the demon-slayer Zhong Kui (MLZZ, 3.75b –76b). In this section there are some folios with double page numbers. For instance, “3.62 and 3.63” are used to mark the same folio, which I use 3.62.3 to reference. This seems to suggest that the printers might have taken some short scenes or passages out of the original script. For similar versions of the shidian yanwang, as portrayed in other novels and dramas in late imperial times, see Zong and Liu, Zhongguo minjian zhushen, pp. 493–99; Ma Shutian, Huaxia zhushen, pp. 524 – 41. 65. MLZZ, 3.14a–b. 66. MLZZ, 3.14b –15a. 67. MLZZ, 3.16b –17a. Note the surnames of the previously named four evil people and their sequence. Zhao, Qian, Sun, and Li are four of the most common surnames. The Baijia xing (Surnames of hundred families), first compiled in the Song and popular in Ming-Qing times, starts with Zhao, the surname of the Song imperial house, followed by Qian, Sun, and Li. “Zhao-Qian-Sun-Li” is now a fixed term, referring to all kinds of people. 68. The scene focuses on the “Three Kinds of Bitterness” for women, a lengthy popular ballad sung by Madame Liu (MLZZ, 3.26a–29b). It must have catered to the female audience in particular, as will be discussed in Chapter 6. For the story about the chicken-thief, see MLZZ, 3.30a–31a, and more in Part 3 herein. 69. MLZZ, 3.39b – 40a. 70. MLZZ, 3.44b – 45b. 71. MLZZ, 3.45b – 46b. 72. MLZZ, 3.61b. 73. The Tang Code, the master version of Ming-Qing law, is a synthesis of legalism and Confucianism. Twelve of the thirteen Confucian classics, except the Mencius, are frequently cited in the Code (Wallace Johnson, T’ang Code). Zhu Xi (Xiaoxue jizhu, 6.3b – 4a) was, of course, also concerned with orderly life in local society, as evidenced in his reference to the village lecture of the Lu lineage in Elementary Learning. 74. On the contrary, Madame Liu’s profane attitude toward the guishen is treated as sinful, as mentioned earlier. 75. MLZZ, 2.50b.

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76. Mao Gengru, Mulian ziliao bianmu gailüe, pp. 137–39. 77. Ibid., p. 137. 78. Foshuo Mulian jiumu jing, pp. 119 –200. 79. MLZZ, 2.19a. 80. MLZZ, 3.61b. The similar charge of Madame Liu’s sin can be found throughout the script; see, e.g., MLZZ, 2.19a, 2.29b –30a, 2.28a, 2.35b –36a, 2.50b –51a (false vow taken by Madame Liu to “cheat Heaven” is highlighted here), 3.15b, 3.17b, 3.91a. 81. MLZZ, 1.73a. 82. MLZZ, 3.86.7a. 83. MLZZ, 3.80b. 84. MLZZ, 2.21.2b –23a. 85. MLZZ, 1.28b, 1.29b. 86. MLZZ, 3.75b. 87. According to Zhu Yong (Qingdai zongzu fa yanjiu, p. 140), a typical lineage charter in Qing times used 37 percent of its space to discuss ethical instructions and 23 percent to spell out punishment for misdeeds. This emphasis matches the Mulian theme: to exhort goodness and to punish evil. The following discussion focuses on the shan virtues to be exhorted, as I have already covered the e evils to be excoriated. 88. MLZZ, 3.86.7a. 89. MLZZ, 2.1b. 90. MLZZ, 2.59a. 91. See two lineage rules quoted in Zhao Huafu, “Huizhou zongzu zugui jiafa,” p. 9. 92. MLZZ, 3.90a. 93. SXH, p. 902; SXZ, p. 1276. 94. The 1771 Shexian gazetteer on one occasion lists nineteen filial sons who cut their thighs (gegu) to cure parental illness in the Ming and fifty-one cases in the early Qing (SXH, pp. 880 – 81, 912 –13; see also SXZ, pp. 1284 – 86). Huizhou was noted for gegu in the Ming. According to T’ien (Male Anxiety and Female Chastity, p. 160), Ji’an prefecture in Jiangxi claimed twenty-two gegu devotees from 1368 to 1585, and Wenzhou prefecture in Zhejiang claimed thirty-six from 1368 to 1605. These numbers were dwarfed by Shexian county alone, which reported eighty-six cases from 1368 to 1644. It is worth noting that the gegu practice originated from Buddhist tales (Chen Fangying, “Mulian jiumu gushi,” pp. 58 –59). 95. For instance, the names alone (some with brief identifications) of local filial sons and chaste women occupy nearly 120 pages in SXH, pp. 849 –914, 1039 –1105. 96. MLZZ, 2.55a–57a, 3.68a–70b. 97. The lineage organization was initially inspired in part by the charitable practices of Buddhist institutions (Twitchett, “Fan Clan’s Charitable Estate,” pp. 102 –3). 98. Zhu Xi, Xiaoxue jizhu, 2.1a–17a. 99. The value of loyalty to lord or emperor is represented in the image of Miss Cao’s father. The value of faithfulness between friends can be seen in the scenes about Mulian’s “ten friends.” There is no episode directly concerning the value of

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brotherly love in Zheng’s script. Yet the section on “brotherly love” in Elementary Learning is very short (Zhu Xi, Xiaoxue jizhu, 2.14b –15a). 100. Chen Lanru’s preface to MLZZ, 1.1; for Wulun quanbei ji, see Zhuang Yifu, Gudian xiqu cunmu huikao, pp. 93–94. 101. See, e.g., Wing-tsit Chan, Chu Hsi: New Studies, pp. 121, 223, 306, 311– 13, 405, 407– 8; C. K. Yang, Religion in Chinese Society, pp. 245 – 46; consult Julia Ching, Religious Thought of Chu Hsi, pp. 61– 63. The exclusion of Buddhist clergy from family rituals is regulated in both Family Rituals and Elementary Learning. See Kelleher, “Chu Hsi’s Elementary Learning,” p. 243; Ebrey, “Education Through Ritual,” p. 305. 102. MLZZ, 2.29a–b. Jiao (the rite held in winter to honor Heaven, different from the Daoist jiao ritual), she (the rite held in summer to honor Earth), and di and chang (ancestral rituals held in summer and autumn, respectively) are all terms from Book of Rites (see Songben Liji Zheng zhu, pp. 159, 690). 103. MLZZ, 2.32a. 104. MLZZ, 3.40a. Local officials in late imperial times did need to go to the city-god temple for an overnight fast before assuming office (Liu-hung Huang, Complete Book Concerning Happiness and Benevolence, p. 94). 105. Cited in C. K. Yang, Religion in Chinese Society, p. 145. Yang goes on to write that this statement was widely quoted in traditional discussions on religious matters down to recent times, thus showing its effectiveness. Many further elucidations were given to this statement, such as the one in a 1923 gazetteer of the town of Fo-shan in Kwangtung province: “In the world of light there are rites and music [moral regulations], and in the world of shadows there are spirits and gods. Where rites and music failed to rule [the people], the spirits and gods succeeded without exception.” (ibid.)

Similar statements can be found in other local gazetteers, such as NLZ, 4.5a; HZZ, 2.44b; and Lu’an fuzhi (Shanxi), 35.8b. 106. Kwang-ching Liu, “Socioethics as Orthodoxy”; see also C. K. Yang, Religion in Chinese Society, pp. 127– 43, 144 –79, 244 –77; Ren Jiyu, “Lun Rujiao de xingcheng,” pp. 61–74. 107. The Tract is very short, roughly 1,280 characters in length; and the genres these two texts represented, the “morality books” and “ledgers of merit and demerit,” did not achieve a wide audience until the sixteenth century (Brokaw, Ledgers of Merit and Demerit, pp. 26, 36 –52). Zheng Zhizhen might have been influenced by the Tract and the Ledger, although I do not have evidence to verify this. Zheng himself preferred to appeal to the Confucian tradition to justify his ethico-religious approach. 108. HZF, p. 21. 109. I wish to call attention to the tension between philosophical thinking and the cultural practice of local elites, which will be discussed further in the following section on “popular Confucianism.” This tension was often also rooted in the different social positions of outside observers and inside practitioners—a distinction that inevitably engendered varied perspectives. Formal historical documents, such as county gazetteers, record local gentry or official criticism of popular temple perfor-

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mance and local religious practices, as seen, for example, in such condemnation by the late-Ming Shexian magistrate Fu Yan (Sheji, pp. 16, 80 – 83). Yet in their own private life, whether for funeral rites or ritual opera celebrations, local gentry or scholar-officials at home tended to follow popular methods of observance that featured the ethico-religious discourse in question. In 1826, for instance, Hu Yuanxi, a scholar-official from Xidi in Yixian, sponsored ritual opera performance that involved worship of Wuchang (Five-Fury Spirits) to commemorate the compilation of his lineage genealogy (Daoguang wunian, last section, pp. 1a–3b). Or, to cite another example, Mulian ritual opera eventually became popular at the imperial court during the early and High Qing, staged to exorcise evil spiritual influences during the winter (Zhao-lian, Xiaoting xulu, in Xiaoting zalu, pp. 377–78; Dong Han, Chunxiang zhuibi, cited in Li Guming, “‘Mulian bian’ zhi yanbian jiqi yingxiang,” p. 189). I have discussed this insider-outsider tension in local worship elsewhere (Exorcism and Money, esp. pp. 191–92). 110. Chen Shilin, Jiachuan zhibao, n.p. 111. Cited in Chen’s 1582 preface to MLZZ, 1.2a–b. 112. Ye Zongchun’s 1582 preface to MLZZ, 1.2a–3b. 113. MLZZ, 1.57b –58a. See Appendix C (2) for the sardonic characters. For the yahang guilds and yaren brokers in late imperial China, see Liu Chongri and Zuo Yunpeng, “Dui ‘yaren’ ‘yahang’ de chubu yanjiu,” pp. 187–204. 114. MLZZ, 2.72b. 115. Suzhou is mentioned twice as the destination of Luobu’s business trip (MLZZ, 1.81b, 1.82a). The capital city of the so-called Jiangnan’s foremost prefecture, Suzhou was one of the focal points of Huizhou merchants’ business. There they engaged in pawnshop business and the trade of cotton, cloth, silk, food, and timber. See Zhang Haipeng and Wang Tingyuan, Huishang yanjiu, pp. 94 –108. 116. MLZZ, 1.53b –54a. 117. MLZZ, 1.75b. 118. MLZZ, 1.76a–76b. 119. MLZZ, 1.63a-64b. 120. Timothy Brook (Confusions of Pleasure, p. 216), based on elite sources, suggests that “profit” was already “morally neutral so long as it [was] generated through honest means.” See also Brokaw, Ledgers of Merit and Demerit, pp. 207– 16; Ying-shih Yu, Zhongguo jinshi zongjiao. 121. MLZZ, 1.59b. 122. MLZZ, 2.35a–35b. 123. MLZZ, 3.81a. 124. MLZZ, 1.16b. 125. For the concept of the “multivocality” of a text and its “preferred reading” by different people, see Mukerji and Schudson, “Rethinking Popular Culture,” p. 41. For the concept of “contradictory consciousness,” first developed by Gramsci, see Lears, “Concept of Cultural Hegemony,” pp. 567–93. Consult also Brokaw, Ledgers of Merit and Demerit, pp. 239 – 40, for the concept of “cultural appropriation.” 126. Consult McLaren, Chinese Popular Culture and Ming Chantefables, p. 47. 127. For a summary of Wang Yangming’s thought, see de Bary, “Individualism

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and Humanitarianism,” pp. 150 –57; consult also Wei-ming Tu, Neo-Confucian Thought in Action. 128. Feng Tianyu, Ming-Qing wenhua shi sanlun, p. 45; de Bary, “Individualism and Humanitarianism,” p. 152. 129. Quoted in Feng Tianyu, Ming-Qing wenhua shi sanlun, p. 45. 130. Quoted in a biography of Wang Yangming in Jiuhua shan zhi, p. 270. 131. See Chapter 1; see also Chow, Rise of Confucian Ritualism, p. 24. 132. Quoted in Yang Tianshi, Taizhou xuepai, pp. 59 – 60. This suggestion was not left unheeded in the late Ming, a period that witnessed an explosive outpouring of vernacular dramas and novels, most of whose authors were influenced by Wang Yangming’s moral philosophy. See, e.g., Dorothy Ko, Teachers of the Inner Chambers, pp. 78 – 82. 133. Quoted in Yang Tianshi, Taizhou xuepai, p. 100. Luo Rufang’s concept of the self, borrowed from Wang Gen, was strongly physical, whereas Wang Yangming’s emphasis was on the mind. But the physical self does not exclude the mind, which was understood to be one substance with the body (de Bary, “Individualism and Humanitarianism,” pp. 165 – 66). 134. See Yang Tianshi, Taizhou xuepai, p. 56. 135. See de Bary, “Individualism and Humanitarianism,” pp. 188 –222. 136. Goodrich and Fang, Dictionary of Ming Biography, p. 816. Consult also the chapter on Li Zhi in Ray Huang, A Year of No Significance, and especially Jin Jiang, “Heresy and Persecution in Late Ming Society.” 137. See Nianpu (Life chronicle) of Wang Xinzhai (Gen), cited in Yang Tianshi, Taizhou xuepai, pp. 1, 5. 138. Yang Tianshi, Taizhou xuepai, pp. 71, 104, 107; Chow, Rise of Confucian Ritualism, p. 28. 139. See MLZZ, 1.7a, 1.38a, 2.3a, 3.73a. Similar statements can be found in many other places; see, e.g., MLZZ, 1.76a, 2.16b, 2.60a, 3.3a. 140. MLZZ, 1.1a (preface). 141. Zheng’s preface to MLZZ, 1.1a–1b. 142. Ibid. 143. See Brokaw, Ledgers of Merit and Demerit, p. 56. 144. Quoted in D’Andrade, Development of Cognitive Anthropology, p. 249, and in Hymes, Way and Byway, p. 7. Both D’Andrade and Hymes are critical of Geertz’s position. 145. Quoted in Ge Zhaoguang, Daojiao yu Zhongguo wenhua, p. 250. 146. To my knowledge, only Kai-wing Chow has used the term “popular Confucianism,” which he nevertheless uses to refer to the syncretic religion of Lin Zhao’en and the Taizhou school (Rise of Confucian Ritualism, pp. 26 –27). If my definition of “popular Confucianism” looks a bit “loose,” I would call attention to the problematic nature of “Confucianism” or “neo-Confucianism” per se. See Elman, e.g., From Philosophy to Philology, 2nd ed., xvi; Ko, Teachers of the Inner Chambers, pp. 17–18. We never find pure idiom in culture. Clear-cut conceptualization is nevertheless a necessity for thinking and writing. The same thing can be said of “popular culture” and numerous other “convenient” concepts as well. 147. Bell, “‘Precious Raft,’” p. 182.

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148. See, e.g., the illustrated Taishang ganying pian tushuo, which reprints the Shunzhi emperor’s foreword. For a Chinese monographic study of morality books, see Zheng Zhiming, Zhongguo shanshu yu zongjiao. 149. Brokaw, Ledgers of Merit and Demerit, pp. 61–109, 110 –56, 162. Scholars have put different emphases on various aspects of morality books. Whereas some stress their ties to elite social visions, others argue for the genuine popularity of these texts, binding together various social levels of late imperial culture. See Bell, “‘Precious Raft,’” pp. 161– 63, where Handlin is cited. 150. At the turn of the twentieth century, some scholars called attention to the sheer number of copies of the loosely defined “morality books,” which they suggested would probably earn the genre “first place of all publications on the globe” (Bell, “‘Precious Raft,’” pp. 161, 164). 151. Huitu sanjiao yuanliu soushen daquan presents a pantheon far more developed than the one from the Song dynasty discussed in Hansen’s Changing Gods. For a modern encyclopedic sourcebook about the Chinese supernatural, see Zong and Liu, Zhongguo minjian zhushen. 152. Quoted in Kuhn, Soulstealers, p. 104. 153. See Guo Yingde, Shisu de jili, pp. 80 –97. All four are reflected in Zheng’s script. Luobu is originally a celestial deity, as disclosed by Guanyin (MLZZ, 1.79a). Fu Xiang and Mulian’s “ten friends” are immortalized; and mingding and baoying are embodied in the fate and retribution of Madame Liu and her brother, as well as of many other roles. 154. According to Zeng Yongyi, some 50 out of the now extant 160 Yuan variety plays, some 80 out of about 300 Ming dramas, and some 30 out of about 200 Qing operas, contain not just imagery of demons and gods but incorporate them into the plots (Zeng Yongyi, “Zaju zhong guishen shijie de yishi xingtai,” pp. 84 – 85). In fact, as Guo Yingde (Shisu de jili, p. 70) notes, virtually all Ming-Qing operas involved supernatural beings in one way or another. See also Ren Jiyu, Zhongguo Daojiao shi, p. 675. 155. Cited in Li Gang, Tan shenhuaxi yu guixi, p. 15. 156. Tang Xianzu, Tang Xianzu ji, 2.1127. Note that tiandi and guishen are originally two key terms in Confucian cosmology (Ma Xiaohong, Tian shen ren, p. 45). By Tang Xianzu’s time, however, the meaning of guishen (and tiandi as well) had changed, because it had been greatly amplified and thoroughly syncretized. 157. Zhou Yude, Zhongguo xiqu yu Zhongguo zongjiao, pp. 151–54. As Zhou (ibid., p. 152) notes, for Confucius, the li (propriety-and-ritual) and yue (music performance) enhanced each other and worked together to serve ren (humanity or benevolence). See also Li Zehou, Zhongguo gudai sixiang shi lun, pp. 1–33. 158. Tang Xianzu, Tang Xianzu ji, 2.1127. In this context, Tang Xianzu also stressed the transformative power of intense passion (qing), as will be discussed in Chapter 5. 159. Jiao, Huabu nongtan, p. 225. In the same place Jiao Xun, who “loves only the huabu vernacular operas,” criticized the “elegant style” (yabu) of Ming-Qing opera, literary chuanqi scripts that were often concerned with romance and tuned to the Kunshan musical style. 160. Tanaka Issei, in Chu¯goku no so¯zoku to engeki (pp. 820 –21), lists twenty-

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eight important Ming operas on “loyalty, filial piety, chastity, and righteousness” staged in the countryside, one of which is Mulian. 161. Plaks, Four Masterworks, p. 501; see also Zheng Mingli, Xiyou ji tanyuan, 2.44 – 86. 162. Ye made the following comment toward the end of the third volume of Zheng’s script: “The ancient sages said, if literature has nothing to do with the inculcation of moral ethics, it is of no use even it is beautifully written. This script, by using the Mulian legend, generates hundreds and thousands of episodes. . . . Its wording is polished, and its influence on the inculcation of moral ethics is enormous. It is indeed not just a unique piece of theater” (MLZZ, 3.102b). 163. This passage was taken from the 1878 edition of Anhui tongzhi. See Mao Gengru, Anhui Mulian xi ziliao ji, pp. 34 –35. ch apter 5 1. MLZZ (postface), 2a; also in Cai Yi, Zhongguo gudian xiqu xuba huibian, 2.620 –21. 2. Quoted in Chapter 1; see also McLaren, Chinese Popular Culture, p. 47. 3. Zhang Dai, Tao’an mengyi, p. 47. Jingyang may refer to the county seat of Jingde, just outside Huizhou in southern Anhui. See Mao Gengru, “HuizhouJingyang xizi bianxi.” 4. Mulian xi zhuanji, 2.2. 5. See, e.g., Chen Changwen et al., “Mulian xi zai Huizhou de chansheng yu fazhan”; Zheng Jianxin, “Qiantan Mulian xi dui Huizhou minsu de yingxiang”; cf. Zhu Hengfu, Mulian xi yanjiu, pp. 50 –72. 6. See Yangqiang Mulian xi and Mulian zhuan: Gaoqiang. I discussed the issue in my Ph.D. dissertation (Qitao Guo, “Huizhou Mulian Operas,” esp. introduction). 7. Zhu Hengfu, “Ming-Qing Mulian xi taiben liubian kao,” pp. 43–58. 8. I make this statement based upon my reading of the following Mulian scripts and manuscripts: the Gaochun and Chaolun versions of Jiangsu, the Shaoju version of Zhejiang, the He Yuzhai version of Sichuan, part of the Qiju version of Hunan, Zhang Zhao’s Quanshan jinke, as well as MLNL, MLBY, MLCB, and MLZZ. See Appendix A. Zheng’s influence can be seen everywhere in these later versions. A large percentage of the sung ballads and spoken dialogue in later versions, not to mention key characters such as Mulian, Madame Liu, Fu Xiang, Yili, and Miss Cao, are taken directly from Zheng’s script. See following discussions on similar treatment of the ninth infernal hall and the incorporation of the popular “Beggar’s Song,” “Ten Not-So-Dears,” in various versions. 9. Cited in Li Huaisun, “Chenhe Gaoqiang Mulian xi tansuo,” p. 46. In Chenhe of Hunan, even hua Mulian reveals the values of loyalty, filial devotion, and chastity. See Mulian xi lunwen ji (1), p. 15. 10. Mao Gengru, Mulian ziliao bianmu gailüe, pp. 368 – 69. 11. This degree of difference, along with the localities where they were circulated, is the rationale behind the selection of these two later scripts for comparison. Boyang is very close to Zheng Zhizhen’s native county and Wuyuan (now in the northeastern corner of Jiangxi). Also available is the Nanling version from the Huizhou region (MLNL), which is very similar to MLCB. Jiangxi, like southern An-

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hui, was also a stronghold of lineage organization in late imperial times. See, e.g., Dardess, A Ming Society; Fu Yiling, Ming-Qing shehui, p. 80; Hu Pu’an, Zhonghua quanguo fengsu zhi, 2.5.3–5. Some prominent Qimen lineages, such as the Wentang Chens, spread throughout the prefectures of Huizhou, Chizhou (covering Shitai), and Raozhou (covering Boyang). See Chen Keyun, “Lüelun Ming-Qing Huizhou de xiangyue,” p. 46. 12. The Boyang version was not published until 1982. 13. The first volume has 30 scenes; the second, 21; the third, 33; the fourth, 27; the fifth, 25; the sixth, 24; and the seventh, 27. This version, 168 double-column pages in total, is just a synopsis (tiaogang xi) written down to prompt performers. It is still informative, especially when compared to other scripts. 14. Boyang’s second and third volumes are equivalent to Zheng’s first volume; the fourth, fifth, and sixth, to Zheng’s second volume; and the seventh, to Zheng’s third volume. Some short episodes covered in Zheng’s third volume are developed into independent scenes and moved to other volumes. For instance, the comic story “Madame Wang Curses the Chicken-Thief” is now an independent scene, moved to the fourth volume of MLBY (4.84 – 87). Two scenes about the Naihe Bridge and “the Gate of Heaven” from Zheng’s second volume are in the seventh volume of MLBY (7.145 – 49, 7.150). 15. Volume one has 60 scenes; volume two, 48; and volume three, 45. Changbiao did not have a Mulian script until roughly 1878, when a local teacher nicknamed Wu Yanwu brought to the village a manuscript from another Shexian village, Shaokeng. Mulian scripts and performances in Changbiao and Shaokeng are thus virtually identical. The Shaokeng version is composed of five volumes. The first volume is concerned with the Liang Wudi story and the fifth with the story taken from the novel Journey to the West. The remaining three are about the Mulian story proper taken from Zheng Zhizhen’s script, which make up the Changbiao version. See Diao Junning, “Mantan Huizhou Changbiao Mulian xi.” 16. Mao Gengru, Mulian ziliao bianmu gailüe, pp. 264 – 65. 17. Most Mulian scripts simply copy Zheng Zhizhen’s ethico-religious discourse. Only Zhang Zhao, a highly privileged palace scholar, made significant elaborations. In Zhang Zhao’s Quanshan jinke (A golden text of exhortation), written specifically for palace performance, loyalty to the emperor is emphasized more dramatically than any other Confucian value, whereas Hell is designed mainly to punish disloyal and dishonest officials. See the Conclusion herein. 18. The account of the ninth infernal hall in various Mulian scripts indicates how profoundly Zheng influenced the tradition of Mulian performance. An Opera for Goodness does not have an independent account of the ninth hall, nor do most popular Mulian scripts (such as Mulian zhuan: Gaoqiang). In scripts that do include a scene of the ninth hall, the account is nevertheless remarkably short. MLCB (3.109b) has only a subtitle, “The Ninth Hall: Mute King”; MLBY (7.163) has a scene of six short lines, titled “Speechless Yama”; MLNL (3.323) has two lines indicating “Mute King.” In Jiangsu, the Chaolun version (Mulian, 3.105) uses just four characters meaning “passing through the Ninth Hall”; and the Gaochun version (Yangqiang Mulian xi, 3.185) has a short scene indicating that Madame Liu is not further tortured in “the Ninth Hall.” To my knowledge, only the Shaoju version

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( Jiumu ji: Mulian xi, pp. 384 – 86) of Zhejiang has a relatively complete, albeit still quite short, scene about “the Ninth Hall,” in which Mulian’s mother is punished. 19. Even the sequence of these scenes in the Boyang and Changbiao versions is the same as that of Zheng’s script; see MLBY, 6.120 –22, 6.123–25, 6.127–28, 7.145 – 49, 7.150; MLCB, 2.86a– 88a, 2.88a– 89a, 3.8b –21a. Notably, however, the Changbiao version does not have an independent scene about three “money mountains,” perhaps unwittingly dropped in the process of copying, as other scripts have it. In both the Changbiao and Boyang versions, in place of the scene about the “Gate to Hell” is a much longer one about Madame Liu’s suffering in the graveyard of wandering spirits (MLCB, 3.21a–36b; MLBY, 7.150 –53). These scenes are all covered in the Nanling version, which is otherwise remarkably similar to the Changbiao version. See MLNL, 2.196 –98 (for three “money mountains”), 2.198 – 201, 2.201–3, 3.232 – 40, 3.241–53. 20. MLCB, 3.8b –21a; MLBY, 7.146. The names of the loyal official, the filial son, and the chaste woman who are brought through the Golden Bridge to Heaven are largely similar to those in MLZZ. 21. See MLCB, 3.65b – 67a, 3.67b – 69b, 3.84a– 88b, 3.91b –93a. The counterpart scenes in MLBY are similar, although slightly simpler than those in MLCB. 22. MLBY, 3.58; MLCB, 1.103b. 23. MLBY, 7.145; MLCB, 2.1b; MLZZ, 3.11b, 2.1b. 24. The best sign of Fu Xiang’s syncretism is the three halls of the Fu house (Guanyin Hall, Sanguan Hall, and Leshan Hall). In the two folksy versions, Fu Xiang believes that the essence of the Three Teachings is “to cultivate the mind” (MLBY, 1.25 –27; MLCB, 1.7b –13b), although he does not compare the Four Books with the Buddhist Huayan jing and the Daoist Daode jing while showing the three halls to a Buddhist monk and a Daoist priest, as he does in Zheng Zhizhen’s script. In the Boyang version (MLBY, 1.26) Fu Xiang is called a Confucian scholar (fuzi), and in the Changbiao version (MLCB, 1.13a–b) he views himself representing Confucianism (ru), whereas the two clergy guests represent Buddhism and Daoism, respectively. In the popular “Song of Filial Devotion” in the Changbiao version, boys are urged to read Zhu Xi’s Four Books, as most bright boys of Huizhou lineages did in Ming-Qing times (MLCB, 1.35a). 25. An interesting new episode in the Changbiao version is concerned with Mu Jing, a devoted son who sells himself into a local lineage as a servant to get some money to bury his newly departed mother, who happens to share the surname of Mulian’s mother (MLCB, 2.47b – 49b). 26. MLBY, 5.104 –7; MLCB, 2.63a, 2.66b, 3.15a. 27. MLBY, 3.66; cf. MLCB, 1.113a–15a. 28. MLBY, 1.1, 4.79; MLCB, 1.4b, 1.38b, 3.42a, 3.115b. 29. MLCB, 1.107b. 30. MLBY, 2.41. 31. MLBY, 5.113. 32. MLCB, 1.106a–b, 1.89b –90b; MLBY, 2.35 –36. The “Beggar’s Song” in the Changbiao version is slightly different from that in Zheng’s script, but its Boyang counterpart is exactly the same. In other later versions, such as the one from Shaoxing, Zhejiang, a similar ballad is also sung to Fu Xiang, Jiumu ji: Mulian xi,

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pp. 124 –27 (the wording, not the meaning, is different from that of Zheng’s ballad). The “Beggar’s Song” is also included in two Sichuan versions, Gaoqiang: Mulian zhuan, pp. 294 –95 (very close to Zheng’s ballad), and Mulian zhuang: Gaoqiang, pp. 68 – 69 (almost the same as Zheng’s ballad). It should be noted that Zhang Zhao’s Quanshan jinke, composed for imperial palace performance, does not incorporate the ballad. 33. This shift in performance context could be significant, as the satire of the song could now be directed against Fu Xiang, the symbolic representative of lineage wealth and power. Ultimately, however, the song itself is simultaneously multivocal and shared: the lineage elders could use it to send a warning to merchants and havenots as well. 34. MLCB, 1.20a, 3.78a–b; see also MLNL, 1.20, 1.26. 35. MLBY, 4.96. 36. MLCB, 2.14a, 2.17a. Provocative as they might sound, these passages were sung, not performed. Risqué performance was taboo in Chinese culture, despite the large number of pornographic works in late imperial times, especially in the late Ming when complaints of sensuality and profligacy could be heard everywhere. See Carlitz, “Desire, Danger, and the Body”; Waltner, “Widows and Remarriage,” pp. 129 – 46; and especially Wang Liqi’s sourcebook on traditional Chinese censorship, Yuan-Ming-Qing sandai jinghui xiaoshuo xiqu shiliao. However, as Plaks notes (Four Masterworks, p. 138), even in the Jinpingmei and Li Yu’s Prayer Mat of Flesh (Rou Putuan), the two most famous pornographic novels in China, “the total number of passages of true extended erotic description is fairly limited, to the extent that a thorough student can easily recall nearly all of the major examples.” 37. Consult Goldman, “The Nun Who Wouldn’t Be.” 38. Eroticism and asceticism (or the neo-Confucian notion of female chastity) seem to have a hidden connection. For Katherine Carlitz (“Desire, Danger, and the Body”), female exemplars, often beautifully illustrated in the late-Ming moral handbooks, became “simultaneously icons of virtue and objects of sensuous connoisseurship.” We may also turn Carlitz’s observation around to suggest that, in the paradoxical sixteenth century, female chastity was dramatically emphasized precisely because the orthodox norm for sexuality was on the decline. See the following section. 39. MLCB, 3.53a, 3.84b; see Appendix C (3). 40. MLBY, 1.15, 2.39, 3.68; MLCB, 1.4b, 1.40b – 41a, 3.103a. 41. See MLZZ, 1.13a–16b; MLBY, 2.29 –31 (scene 4), 2.31 (scene 5), 2.31–34 (scene 6), 2.34 (scene 7), 2.34 –36 (scene 8); MLZZ, 3.6b –9b; MLCB, 3.21a–36b. 42. MLZZ, 3.30a–31a; MLBY, 4.84 – 87; MLCB, 3.70a–77b, 84a– 88b; see also MLNL, 3.287–92. Ji for “chicken” is homophonous with a different word for “prostitute.” “Maji” could thus also mean “to curse a prostitute.” This meaning could further be enhanced by a popular phrase, tou hanzi (“stealing a man,” i.e., a woman committing adultery), which share the character tou (steal) with tou ji (stealing a chicken). In later Mulian operas, the chicken-thief is also cursed by the chicken-owner, Madame Wang, for having committed adultery, which she is able to do because her husband is a sojourning merchant, often away from home for years doing business. Like the scenes or independent play about the monk-and-nun ro-

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mance, “Maji” or “Wangpo maji” (Madame Wang curses the chicken-thief) has obvious entertainment value. 43. It should be emphasized that the core of Mulian performance is still the Mulian legend proper as formalized in Zheng’s three-volume script. For the Boyang version, six of its seven volumes are concerned with the Mulian legend proper, whereas most other later versions are still composed of three volumes, designed for a threenight performance. A previously quoted proverb from Nanling says it best: “Jiangnan people are truly distinctive, even their dogs can howl out three volumes of Mulian opera.” 44. The same regulation encouraged performance of “Daoist immortals, gods, dutiful husbands and devoted wives, filial sons and obedient grandsons, and operas for exhortation” (cited in Gaoqiang xueshu taolun wenji, p. 78). Xu Ke (Qingbai leichao, 78.40) notes that the representation of Confucius and other sages onstage was again banned in the early years of the Kangxi reign. 45. In a dialogue between Luobu and his mother right before Madame Liu decides to send out her son to do business, Zheng (MLZZ, 1.50b) touches upon Empress Xi’s suffering in Hell and Liang Wudi’s attempt to save her. This suggests that the playwright was aware of the story, possibly because he saw it in performance. 46. Liang Wudi sponsored the compilation of the first official collection of Buddhist literature in China (Jingli yixiang), which includes the Mulian sutras, and in 538 he organized the first large-scale Yulanpen festival in his capital Nanjing, not far away from Huizhou (Fujian nanxi, pp. 21, 49 –50). According to the Shexian gazetteer (SXH, pp. 1814 –15), Liang Wudi, with one of his sons, was forced to flee Nanjing and hide in mountainous Shexian during the Hou Jing rebellion (ca. 548). His eldest son, Xiao Tong, better known as the prince Zhaoming who compiled the well-known Wenxuan, was also an ardent practitioner of Buddhism. He traveled in Guichi (Chizhou), just north of Huizhou, where he was later worshipped as a patron deity. See Wang Zhaoqian, “Cong Guichi dui Zhaoming taizi de jisi kan nuoxi de xingcheng.” 47. See, e.g., Sichuan Mulian xi ziliao lunwen ji, p. 41. 48. Liang Wudi yanyi. I have not found an independent operatic script about the Liang Wudi story. 49. Zhang Zhao’s version is set in the mid-Tang uprisings of Li Xilie (?–786) and Zhu Ci (742 – 84), whereas some Mulian baojuan texts are set in the Huang Chao rebellion (875 – 84), as are two Mulian operatic scripts from Zhejiang. See Zhang Zhao, Quanshan jinke; Mao Gengru, Mulian ziliao bianmu gailüe, pp. 367– 69. 50. For a succinct analysis of various Hanged Woman performances in different regions and their common feature of exorcism, see David Johnson, “Actions Speak Louder Than Words,” pp. 20 –24. 51. Ko, Teachers of the Inner Chambers, chap. 2. 52. de Bary, Self and Society, pp. 20, 23. 53. Ko, Teachers of the Inner Chambers, pp. 79 – 80. 54. See C. T. Hsia, “Time and the Human Condition,” pp. 249 –90; esp. Zhou Yude, “Ming-Qing qulun.” 55. Ibid., p. 240; Guo Yingde, Shisu de jili, p. 70.

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56. Zhu Xi, Xiaoxue jizhu, 2.10a. 57. MLZZ, 3.52b, 3.53a. 58. See Martin-Liao, “Traditional Handbooks of Women’s Education,” pp. 165 – 89; Zhang Tao, “Liu Xiang Lienü zhuan de banben wenti”; Wu Shuping, “Jizhuan ti shishu zhong Lienü zhuan chuangshi kao,” pp. 143–50. 59. Mann, “Widows,” p. 37. 60. Kwang-ching Liu, “Socioethics as Orthodoxy,” p. 78. 61. T’ien, Male Anxiety and Female Chastity, pp. 61– 62; Zhuang Yifu, Gudian xiqu cunmu huikao, 1.401, 1.415. 62. Elvin, “Female Virtue and the State,” pp. 124 –26. In the Qing dynasty, according to Susan Mann (“Widows,” pp. 49 –50), widowhood was a gendered expression of the political and economic interests of the Manchu court and local gentry. 63. By the Jiajing reign (1522 –76), every local gazetteer incorporated chapters on virtuous women. This tendency is reflected even in the official dynastic history. The Ming History, edited in the eighteenth century, is the first to contain more stories of virtuous women than filial sons. See Carlitz, “Desire, Danger, and the Body,” p. 106; idem, “Virtue and Sexuality,” pp. 5, 35. 64. Carlitz, “Desire, Danger, and the Body,” p. 408 n.80. 65. Cited in Hu Fagui, “Qingdai zhenjie guannian lunshu.” This motto was first stated by Cheng Yi and echoed by Zhu Xi. See also Ebrey, Inner Quarters, p. 199. 66. Zhao Yiheng (“Wuxie de xuwei” and “Xing jiefang yu Zhongguo wenhua de lijiao xiayan yundong”) makes two interesting observations. First, in the process of the “downward expansion” of the Confucian teaching of ritual-and-propriety (lijiao), orthodox ethics became increasingly viewed as impure; from the late Ming onward, the process generated an anti-lijiao movement among literati, not because the teaching per se was bad but because it became “hypocritical.” Second, traditional Chinese vernacular operas were probably even more conservative than elite literati theater. Zhao cites the scholar Yang Weizhen (1296 –1370) as saying that the ardent moral commitment of vernacular literature often dwarfed that of the self-styled “Confucian literati.” That being noted, we should pay close attention to the other side of the story, namely, how local gentry engaged in remolding popular culture. 67. The debate, largely taking place within the context of Qing evidential scholarship (in particular, the debate over Han learning versus Song learning), hardly signaled the stirrings of “modern” ideas. Modern feminists may draw on these critics, but this is a different matter (Hu Fagui, “Qingdai zhenjie guannian lunshu”; cf. Ropp, Dissent in Early Modern China, pp. 120 –51; Handlin, “Lü Kun’s New Audience,” p. 16). 68. Hu Fagui, “Qingdai zhenjie guannian lunshu”; Feng Erkang, “Qingdai de hunyin zhidu yu funü de shehui diwei shulun,” pp. 305 – 43. Some leading neoConfucian scholars in Tang-Song times, notably Han Yu and Zhu Xi, were also opposed to filial self-mutilation (Elvin, “Female Virtue and the State,” p. 128). In Elementary Learning and other formal writings, Zhu Xi stressed the gender differentiation and held women to extremely demanding behavioral codes, such as the

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nonremarriage of widows; but in his tomb inscriptions he praised women who exercised authority in their families, remarried, and, in some cases, even practiced Buddhism (Birge, “Chu Hsi and Women’s Education”). Even Master Zhu was not always consistent in his thinking. But his occasionally ambivalent attitude toward women is to be distinguished from the attitude of some Ming-Qing critics of chaste widowhood. 69. Quoted in Hu Fagui, “Qingdai zhenjie guannian lunshu,” p. 163. Elite criticism of “impure” female chastity at the popular level may have encouraged the rise of “pure” ritualism in the early and High Qing (cf. Chow, Rise of Confucian Ritualism). 70. Yu Qiuyu, Zhongguo xiju wenhua shishu, pp. 390 – 439; Zhang Geng and Guo Hancheng, Zhongguo xiqu tongshi, 2.40 –205. Perhaps the incorporation of the romance between the monk Benwu and the nun Jingxu into Mulian scripts should be seen in light of the concurrent cult of qing. 71. Quoted in Carlitz, “Desire, Danger, and the Body,” p. 120. 72. Kang-i Sun Chang, Late-Ming Poet, pp. 12 –13. 73. Zhang and Guo, Zhongguo xiqu tongshi, 2.93–95; Zhou Yude, “MingQing qulun,” pp. 231–33. 74. Kang-i Sun Chang, Late-Ming Poet, pp. 16 –18; Carlitz, “Virtue and Sexuality,” p. 33. 75. Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, p. 204. In the Ming-Qing transition, suicide was common among the Ming loyalists in other regions as well. For instance, in the Qing roundup of the Jiangnan literati, Xia Zhidan hanged himself in a local Confucian temple after the Qing force killed his nephew in Nanjing. The Xia family was close to Chen Zilong, the symbolic leader of the Jiangnan resistance campaign against the Manchus (Wakeman, Great Enterprise, 2.749 –50). 76. Cited in Mann, “Widows,” p. 43. 77. See, e.g., MLCB, 3.56b, 3.61a; MLBY, 6.132. 78. MLZZ, 2.66b, 2.77b. The same story can be found in MLCB, 3.9b –10a. In the Chenhe version from Hunan, Madame Geng, not widowed, commits suicide by hanging (Mulian xi xueshu zuotanhui, pp. 59 – 60). Zheng’s script contains another example of female suicide, Chen Guiying, who kills herself rather than reveal the adultery committed by her lascivious mother-in-law (see following discussion). 79. Hu Pu’an noted in the early 1920s in Zhonghua quanguo fengsu zhi (2.5.24) that “hanged ghosts are most ominous” in the Huizhou region (in Jingxian county, for instance), because so many women had hanged themselves that their spirits were believed capable of harming living people. Hanging was the easiest and most popular way to commit suicide; it was also the most publicly stageable, with the potential to have enormous impact upon spectators. See T’ien, Male Anxiety and Female Chastity, p. 58 (the next most popular form of widow suicide in Huizhou was fasting) and pp. 48 –57 for the peculiar institution of “public platform suicides,” especially in Fujian. Hanging appears to account for most cases of female suicides documented in Sommer’s Sex, Law, and Society. 80. The famous essayist Lu Xun (1881–1936), while writing about Mulian he watched as a boy in Shaoxing, focused on the Hanged Woman. “Whenever the

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‘grand opera’ or ‘Mulian opera’ was staged, we heard the audience just mentioning the nüdiao (Hanged Woman)” (Lu Xun, “Nüdiao,” pp. 498 –99). When Hu Pu’an (Zhonghua quanguo fengsu zhi, 2.5.24 –25) reported on Mulian performance in the Huizhou region in the early twentieth century, he also focused on the Hanged Woman scene, along with the opening ritual to the Five-Fury (Wuchang) Spirits and Madame Liu’s infernal journey. 81. The scenes referred to in this section are all from the fourth volume of the Boyang version, MLBY, pp. 87–90. 82. Madame Jin hangs herself not because she has been beaten but because she is believed to have lost her marital fidelity. By the same token, Wang Xiao’er beats her not because she has given the monk a gold hairpin but because he believes that she has lost her chastity and has thus “ruined the name” of his family. Mere beating is bearable for Madame Jin, but the reason for the beating is not. The significance of female chastity is also reflected in the Qing Code. As Kai-wing Chow notes (Rise of Confucian Ritualism, p. 213), from the eighteenth century on, women committing suicide for having been verbally insulted multiplied; and the laws prescribed harsh punishments for sexual harassment. Consult also Sommer, Sex, Law, and Society. 83. MLCB, 2.50b –59a. 84. Mann, Precious Records, pp. 24 –25. 85. This logic somehow also applies to the character of Madame Liu, though in a negative way. Mulian’s mother, both in Zheng’s script and in the later versions, is above all a sinful widow, sinful because she violates her husband’s deathbed injunctions (on ethico-religious beliefs and practices). Although her sin calls for punishment, however, she is still owed filial service by her son, in this case an epic journey through the dark region to rescue her. But the underworld journey also satisfies the audience’s spiritual need of exorcism, as does the Hanged Woman performance. 86. Sommer, Sex, Law, and Society, p. 173. In local culture, an unfaithful woman carried a social stigma far more severe than a political traitor or an unfilial son, although their opposite, good models were often mentioned on an equal footing in Mulian performance. 87. XXZ, p. 243 (part of the passage is copied from the Wanli edition of the gazetteer; see Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, p. 205); see also QXZ, pp. 236 –37. 88. T’ien, Male Anxiety and Female Chastity, pp. 62 – 63. 89. Wang Hongtan, “Shexian mu paifang de chuanshuo,” p. 61. 90. SXH, p. 1029. My translation is slightly different from Susan Mann’s in her “Widows,” p. 43. See also XXZ, pp. 243– 44. 91. See Mann, “Suicide and Survival.” All data by nature are inaccurate, partly because, as Mann points out (ibid., p. 28), they do not necessarily measure “real behavior.” Comparing the data presented in Table 5.1 to Mann’s from the 1736 Jiangnan provincial gazetteer, we see a huge numerical gap between different genres of gazetteers. For instance, the Jiangnan provincial gazetteer records only 85 chastity cases for Ming Huizhou (ibid., p. 34, fig. 1), whereas the Huizhou prefectural gazetteer reports 597. I should add that the prefectural gazetteer’s data are also incomplete, for the 1937 Shexian county gazetteer contains 8,606 female biographies for the county alone (according to Tang Lixing’s calculation [Shangren yu wenhua,

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p. 123]), whereas the 1827 Huizhou prefectural gazetteer contains about half that number for the entire prefecture, 4,617 in total. Even the Shexian county gazetteer list must be incomplete as well, because it does not necessarily incorporate all chaste women recorded in numerous local genealogies. This noted, I believe we can still glean larger trends or popular sentiments from each set of these data. 92. The performance of the Hanged Woman could very well have started in the late Ming, but it did not reach its zenith until the Qing. Popular fantasy of intercourse between monks and laywomen as mirrored in the nüdiao scene was a theme of late-Ming literature (Brook, Praying for Power, p. 190). It was apparently related to the nun-and-monk romance incorporated by Zheng Zhizhen, both of which were probably offshoots of the concurrent undercurrent of qing. Moreover, the Wanli reign witnessed the beginning of the public ritual suicide, although like its opera counterpart—the Hanged Woman performance—it was most prevalent in the Qing (T’ien, Male Anxiety and Female Chastity, p. 51). 93. Except perhaps Guilin, which I cannot locate in SXZ, pp. 139 – 46 (a list of Shexian villages, numbered in hundreds). Juncheng refers to the prefectural seat neighboring Shexian county city, that is, Yicheng. See the map in SXZ, pp. 38 –39. 94. SXZ, p. 157. 95. Quoted in Tang Lixing, Shangren yu wenhua, p. 107. 96. SXZ, p. 159. 97. Ho, Ladder of Success, p. 275. Gu Yanwu noted the same phenomenon about Huizhou merchants: “A few months after marrying, [they] leave, often for as long as ten years at a time, so that if father and son met they would not recognize one another. The richest merchants travel with assistants and many agents, all of whom are scrupulously honest, in whom the merchants place full trust” (slightly modified from Santangelo, “Urban Society in Late Imperial Suzhou,” p. 222). 98. Dizhu literally means “Sweet Pearl” or “Dropping Pearl-like Tears.” During late imperial times, dizhu was also a technical term meaning “a small round lump of silver.” The second meaning, together with the homophonic reading of the surname, becomes a pun on “Desiring Silver.” This reading suggests the commodification of Yao Dizhu, and, together with that of Pan Jia, sets up the central dilemma of the story (and, for that matter, of sojourning merchants in general)— desire for fortune versus desire for family. 99. Ling Mengchu, Pai’an jingqi, pp. 26 –51. In Ling Mengchu’s companion collection, Slapping the Table in Astonishment, the Second Cutting (Erke Pai’an jingqi, pp. 739 –56), there is another revealing story about sojourning merchants from Huizhou. Cheng Zai, a typical scholar-turned-merchant from a renowned Huizhou gentry family, travels with his brother to northeastern China. All of his initial transactions fail. Later, with the help of a goddess-turned-beauty who becomes his lover, Cheng makes an enormous fortune in three risky business ventures. One night after he has struck it rich, he says to his lover, “I have been away from home for twenty years. Because my capital was depleted, I wasn’t able to return home [at this point in the text an “eyebrow commentary” reads: “His wife ought to be jealous.”]. . . . I intend to return to my homeland with my brother for a while. As soon as I meet with my wife, I’ll come right back.”

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100. Yu Zhihuai, Yixian: Taohuayuan li renjia, p. 144. This widow was a friend of Yu Zhihuai’s aunt. 101. Cited in Yu Zhihuai, Yixian: Taohuayuan li renjia, p. 142. 102. This anxiety of Huizhou merchants was also refracted in the changing symbolism of the Five-Fury Spirits, an inseparable companion of popular Mulian performance, as will be discussed in the following chapter. 103. See Tang Lixing, Shangren yu wenhua, p. 117. Merchants in other areas supported moral handbooks for women, too. For example, Wang Tingna, a lateMing salt commissioner retired in his Nanjing garden, compiled the Bright Autumn Mirror of Mankind, a luxury publication devoted to male and female virtues of all kinds (Carlitz, “Desire, Danger, and the Body,” p. 109). 104. SXZ, p. 1807; also quoted in Tang Lixing, Shangren yu wenhua, pp. 117– 18. 105. Liu Miao, “Cong Huizhou Ming-Qing jianzhu kan Huishang liren de zhuanyi,” p. 412. 106. SXZ, pp. 1489 –90. 107. SXZ, p. 1460. 108. SXZ, pp. 1502 –3; Ke Changji, “Zongfa gongshe guantan,” pp. 33–37; consult also Leung, “To Chasten the Society.” 109. MQHS, p. 19, no. 51. Xie Zhaozhe in the late Ming made a similar observation, quoted in Zurndorfer, Change and Continuity, p. 51. 110. MQHS, p. 27, no. 66. 111. See Zurndorfer, Change and Continuity, p. 51. 112. My reasoning here is partially borrowed and partially different from Dorothy Ko’s. See Ko, Teachers of the Inner Chambers, pp. 2 –3, 10 –12; idem, “Complicity of Women.” 113. Matthew Sommer questions Ko’s thesis of elite women agency from a different angle, with his penetrating analysis of the representational strategies of ordinary women. When a pregnant widow insisted, “I am chaste!” to court authority, as Sommer suggests, she mouthed the dominant gender discourse “as part of the daily game of getting by.” It was “a subversive force acting against the internalization of these [official] values among people for whom they contradicted lived experience.” The result was “a process of mutual reinforcement” between people’s survival strategies and patriarchal virtue backed by the imperial state (Sex, Law, and Society, pp. 208 –9). This dialectic logic alerts us to the other side of the story (see also ibid., p. 207). The pregnant widow, in an attempt to get away with her subversive deed, succumbed to hegemonic values (another example of how common folk succumbed to cultural hegemony in their very resistance, as I have argued in Exorcism and Money, p. 191). The mouthed “hypocrisy” instantly renewed and reinforced the normative sex norm in the consciousness of an unchaste widow. The litigation played a vital part in the process, but her ready mental surrender must also have been rooted in the fear of widow “adultery” stigma. She may never have heard of Cheng Yi’s notorious reasoning on female chastity, but it was embodied in popularly staged images such as Miss Cao and the Hanged Woman (or other popular symbols that might have influenced this particular widow) and now even in her own

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adamant denial of her shameful “sin.” This intuitive awareness of the official sex order and social stigma surrounding female sexual sin, as well as its interplay with lived experience, determined the fate of the vast majority of Chinese widows. 114. Tang Lixing, “Ming-Qing Huizhou de jiating,” pp. 155 –56; T’ien, Male Anxiety and Female Chastity, chap. 2. The Ming and Qing codes stipulated that a widow must not be coerced into remarrying (Waltner, “Widows and Remarriage,” p. 140). For a stimulating analysis of “the nexus of sex and property” in Qing law and women’s lives, see Sommer, Sex, Law, and Society, chap. 5. 115. Yang Shen, Sheng’an ji, 11.6 –7; also quoted in Zhu Hengfu, Mulian xi yanjiu, p. 192. This must have been an infamous affair in the mid-Ming, for it is recounted in concurrent popular literature, including the late-Ming collection of short stories Xingshi yan, recently discovered in Korea and reprinted in Taiwan. See Tang Lixing, Shangren yu wenhua, p. 109. 116. MLZZ, 2.66b. 117. Ling Mengchu, Erke Pai’an jingqi, p. 331. ch apter 6 1. Hu Pu’an, Zhonghua quanguo fengsu zhi, 2.5.24. In Hunan, the ritual opera could last for as long as forty-nine days (Li Huaisun, “Chenhe Gaoqiang Mulian xi tansuo,” p. 51). An early-Qing novel describes how the magistrate of Huating county (in modern Shanghai) built a stage in a Buddhist monastery and had a troupe from Suzhou perform Mulian for half a month (Xi Zhousheng, Xingshi yinyuan zhuan, p. 63; also quoted in Liu Zhen, Zhongguo minjian Mulian wenhua, p. 41). 2. In Mao Gengru, Anhui Mulian xi ziliao ji, p. 318. 3. In Singapore, the Mulian opera sponsored by the Puxian (Fujian) merchants’ native-place association was offered solely to the divinity, as no seats under the stage were arranged for human audience (Tanaka, “Xinjapo Puxian tongxianghui,” p. 70). 4. Chen Fangying, “Mulian jiumu gushi zhi yanjin,” pp. 158 –59. The ritual aspect of Mulian has been the focus of recent scholarship on the religious drama. See David Johnson, Ritual Opera, Operatic Ritual, as well as Piet van der Loon’s influential thesis cited in the introduction. Tanaka Issei’s studies on Mulian have the same focus. 5. See, e.g., Tanaka, Chu¯goku no so¯zoku to engeki, p. 820. Due to its popularity, however, Mulian also spread to urban centers and was frequently staged in market towns at the county level. For Mulian performance in the Shanghai area, see Zhu Jianming, “Mulian xi zai Shanghai”; Hou Shuoping, “Wan Qing shiqi”; “Mulian jiumu” (a précis of Mulian opera performed in Shanghai in the 1930s and 1940s). For some Mulian scenes performed in Beijing in the late Qing, in the styles of Kunshan and Beijing Opera, see Guo Jingrui et al., Chewangfu quben tiyao, pp. 305 –9. In the early and High Qing, Mulian became “popular” even in the imperial court (as noted in Chapter 4). The Quanshan jinke was written in the Qianlong reign specifically for the palace performance in Beijing. The playwright Zhang Zhao was nevertheless a southerner, a metropolitan degree holder from Huating, in the heart of Jiangnan, as will be discussed in the Conclusion.

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6. Cited in Mulian xi yanjiu wenji, p. 258. 7. MLZZ, 3.101b –2b; MLBY, 7.166 – 68; MLCB, 3.129b –31b; see also Wannan Gaoqiang Mulian juan, pp. 391–93. 8. QXZ, p. 241. 9. The first volume of Zheng Zhizhen’s script starts with a celebration of the New Year, as do both the Baoyang and Changbiao versions (MLBY, 1.1–2; MLCB, 1.3a– 6a). These scripts could be used for both New Year and Zhongyuan ceremonies. 10. As noted in the Guangde zhouzhi (1881), in Mao Gengru, Wannan huaguxi yibai nian: juzhong shiliao juan, p. 90. 11. In Wan’an, Xiuning county, a Mulian dedicated to the Water Dragon was also staged on the sixteenth day of the first month (Mulian xi yanjiu wenji, p. 247). 12. In Guangde, the fifteenth day of the fourth month was also the birthday of the city god, and, as noted the Guangde zhouzhi (1881), ritual operatic performances in honor of the state-sanctioned patron deity of the county lasted an entire month (in Mao, Wannan huaguxi yibai nian, p. 90). 13. See following discussion. Another important occasion calling for the performance of Mulian was the pilgrimage to Mount Jiuhua. According to a local myth, Mulian was the incarnation of Dizang, the King of Mount Jiuhua (Shi Wennan, “Anhui Mulian xi,” p. 11). Mulian’s heroic journey through Hell (in the third hall) is portrayed in the murals of the Dizang Temple on Jiuhua, in the tradition of Tangdynasty transformation texts (Mulian xi zhuanji, 1.175). According to the Jiuhua monk Rende, because of romantic scenes involving monk Benwu and nun Jingxu, Mulian was banned on Jiuhua, although the Buddhist monastery on the mountain did not oppose the opera as a whole (Shi Wennan, “Shilun Qingyang qiang yu Mulian xi,” p. 35). Pilgrimage to Mount Qiyun was also accompanied with operatic performance, lasting for “three consecutive days” around the third day of the third month, as Feng Mengchen noted in his 1581 journey to the Daoist divine mountain (quoted in Chapter 2). Could this refer to the three-volume Mulian Rescues His Mother? 14. In Mao Gengru, Anhui Mulian xi ziliao ji, p. 41. 15. In Shexian county, when one violated the lineage rule to cut mountain trees, the person would be fined to sponsor a play, as stipulated in a local genealogy (Mulian xi yanjiu wenji, p. 263). 16. NLZ, 4.5a. This paragraph, unless otherwise noted, is based on Shi Wennan, “Mulian xi,” p. 187; Shi Wennan, “Mulian xi yu zongjiao, fengsu kaoxi,” p. 30; Chen Changwen et al., “Mulian xi zai Huizhou de chansheng yu fazhan,” pp. 247, 253; Li Hanfei, Zhongguo xiqu juzhong shouce, p. 338; Ye Mingsheng, “Mulian xi yu nuo wenhua xingtai guanxi chutan,” p. 12; Li Tai, “Haiyang Wuchang miaohui yanchu xisu” and “Wan’an Shuilong miaohui yanchu xisu”; Yao Yuanmu, “Nanling Mulian xi yanchu shijian”; Cheng Ting, Chunfan jicheng, 4a; Hu Pu’an, Zhonghua quanguo fengsu zhi, 2.5.24; Mulian xi yanjiu wenji, pp. 217, 247, 251, 262 – 63; Yang Yougong, “Fanchang Mulian xi,” pp. 83– 84; Zhang Guoji et al., “Gaochun Yangqiang Mulian xi gaishu,” p. 6; “Mulian xi,” in Zhongguo xiqu zhi: Anhui juan—Juzhong, pp. 83–100. Most essays cited here and later are authored by Mulian specialists, based on their fieldwork or interviews with old Mulian performers.

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17. Hu Pu’an, Zhonghua quanguo fengsu zhi, 2.5.24; see also Ningguo xianzhi, 4.26a. 18. Wei Muwen, “Qingxi, Lixi Mulian xi qingkuang,” pp. 62 – 63; Mao Gengru, Anhui Mulian xi ziliao ji, p. 65. 19. Quoted in Peng Wenlian, “Guichi Mulian xi,” pp. 74 –75. 20. A grand Mulian performance sometimes left indelible marks on the local cultural landscape. During the Ming-Qing transition, the scholar Wu Ciwei returned to his home district in Shitai and happened to see a grand Mulian performance. He joyfully responded to the event by writing “grand performance” (dayan) in calligraphic lettering, which the head of the Mulian troupe pasted on the stage right away. Thereafter, Wu’s home district was renamed “Dayan.” Similar things happened to the names of local places in Qimen and Xiuning counties as well (Mulian xi yanjiu wenji, pp. 252, 264). 21. Yang Yougong et al., “Zhongfen cun dujiao lianhua tai”; Yang Yougong, “Xu Xue’an Mulian xiban”; Liu Xilin, “Fanchang Mulian xi xisu yu minge,” p. 150. 22. Other sources about Wuchang rituals (see following citations) refer to a Seven-Star Lamp (Qixing deng), which must have originated from the forty-nine (7 times 7) divine lanterns Mulian wears to illuminate purgatory in the process of search for his mother (MLZZ, 3.66b; MLBY, 7.162 – 63; MLCB, 3.101b –3b). The term “Seven-Star Lamp” may also account for other sacrifices numbered in “seven” being offered to Wuchang in Limu. Consult also Susan Mann’s Precious Records (pp. 183– 84) for the divine lanterns used in the “Rites of the Seventh Month.” 23. Gao Qingqiao, “Mulian yiren Wang Dingfa caifang lu,” pp. 96 –104. This is a written report of the interview with Wang Dingfa, conducted December 6 –11, 1988. At the time, Wang was sixty-nine years old. In Jingde county, just north of Huizhou, the grand Mulian refers to the opera performed by human players, whereas the lesser Mulian refers to a puppet play. Both, like the two types of Mulian performances in Limu, involved the Wuchang rituals. See Wu Yongxiang, “Jingde Mulian xi yanchu xisu,” pp. 136 – 41. 24. For an interesting discussion of Song belief in sha, or demonic spiritual forces brought into action by a death, and the lack of response of Song literati to it, see Ebrey, “Response of the Sung State,” pp. 211–12. 25. Liu Chunjiang, “Jiangxi Qingyang qiang Mulian xi de zongjiao yishi,” pp. 86 – 89; see also Mao Limei, “Yiyang qiang de Mulian xi,” pp. 69 –71. 26. For similar performances in Huizhou (such as Xiuning, Qimen, and Shexian), Shitai, Jingxian, and Nanling, see Li Tai, “Haiyang Wuchang miaohui yanchu xisu”; Shao Guolang, “Mulian xi zai Shexian,” pp. 52 –53; Chen Changwen et al., “Mulian xi zai Huizhou de chansheng yu fazhan,” pp. 247–58; Su Tianfu, “Shitai Mulian xi,” pp. 6 –7; Zhongguo xiqu zhi: Anhui juan—Biaoyan, pp. 128 –29; Zhongguo xiqu zhi: Anhui juan—Yanchu xisu, pp. 22 –26; Hu Pu’an, Zhonghua quanguo fengsu zhi, 2.5.24 –25. 27. Qing tan chang zhou, p. 176. 28. Ibid., pp. 187– 88. 29. Ibid., p. 174. 30. See Qitao Guo, Exorcism and Money, figs. 3, 9.

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31. SXH, p. 128. 32. Mao Limei, “Yiyang qiang de Mulian xi,” p. 70. See more in following notes. 33. See Qitao Guo, Exorcism and Money. In the book I also discuss how Wuchang’s symbolic world sheds new light on current interpretations of Chinese popular religion as developed in, among others, James Watson’s “Standardizing the Gods,” Prasenjit Duara’s “Superscribing Symbols,” and Michael Szonyi’s “Illusion of Standardizing the Gods.” 34. See, e.g., Shitong, 13.3493–3500, 15.5771– 83, 15.5881–5936, 18.9119 – 30, 18.9171–97; Huitu sanjiao yuanliu soushen daquan, which nevertheless mentions Wuchang as a dependent deity under the entries of “Marshal Zhao” (pp. 142 – 43) and Danai furen or “Madame Big Breast” (pp. 183– 84). For Danai furen, see also Baptandier, “Lady Linshui”; Szonyi, Practicing Kinship, chap. 5. 35. Mingshi, p. 1302. 36. Daozang, 30.445.2 – 488.1. 37. See Qitao Guo, Exorcism and Money, pt. 1. 38. Qing tan chang zhou. 39. These three popular deities combined Marshal Wen (who tamed the malicious Wuchang in a Daosit liturgy) to make up the four heavenly marshals. See, e.g., von Glahn, “Enchantment of Wealth”; Duara, “Superscribing Symbols”; Katz, Demon Hordes and Burning Boats, pp. 51, 73, 84 – 85; Daozang, 18.92.2 –93.1, 18.94.2. 40. MLZZ, 2.23b. 41. Zhang Dai, Tao’an mengyi, pp. 47– 48. The Evil Ghosts of the Five Directions are used to capture the soul of Madame Liu in Shaoxing jiumu ji (pp. 209 – 10). In Hunan Mulian performances, the Wuchang, summoned by the city god to capture the head demon Hanlin, were also called the “Evil Ghosts of the Five Directions.” So were the Wuchang in Jiangxi. See Li Huaisun, “Chenhe Mulian xi shenshi huodong chanshu,” p. 139; Tanaka, Chu¯goku fu¯kei engeki kenkyu¯, p. 1016. 42. MLCB, 2.67a– 68b. 43. MLCB, 2.66a– 69a. 44. See Qitao Guo, Exorcism and Money, pp. 77, 98. In the Boyang version (MLBY, 5.105 – 6), the Wuchang are called the “Five Furious Ghost Underlings” (Wuchang guizu), who are commanded by Wang Lingguan (an avatar of Wuxian) and the Eastern Peak. 45. In a similar scene in Zheng Zhizhen’s script (MLZZ, 2.23b), the demonbailiffs, about to set out to catch the soul of Madame Liu, invoke the power of King Yama and the city god, with the latter being referred to as Daddy Chenghuang. In another place (2.29a), the city god is called Lord Chenghuang (Chenghuang laoye). 46. MLCB, 2.57b – 83a. Also present in these scenes are the earth god; the Daoist Three Officers of Heaven, Earth, and Water (Sanguan); the God of Lightning Puhua; etc. Together they formed a pantheon headed by the Jade Emperor, which was already fully represented in Zheng Zhizhen’s script. 47. Quoted in Ni Guohua, “Limu Mulian xiban,” p. 56. 48. HZF, 5.37b. 49. Xu Zhuo, Xiuning suishi, 1.17a–b.

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50. Ibid., 1.14b; XXZ, p. 290. 51. See von Glahn, “Enchantment of Wealth”; cf. Zurndorfer, Change and Continuity, p. 42. 52. See Qitao Guo, Exorcism and Money, chaps. 5, 6. 53. Recorded in Su Tianfu, “Wuchang shen de laili,” p. 11. 54. Lu Rong, Shuyuan zaji, p. 84. Although the Wutong myth was recorded in the fifteenth century, the Wuchang myth seems to stem from an undated oral tradition. But Zheng Zhizhen’s script (MLZZ, 1.27c–29b) contains a story that is similar to the Wuchang myth, although the horse-remolded robbers of the Fu house are not deified into Wuchang. I have used other late-Ming evidence to fill in the missing links in the story to puzzle out how the Wuchang Five-Bandit image was at least in the making around Zheng Zhizhen’s time (Exorcism and Money, pp. 145 –51). 55. See Yang, Religion in Chinese Society, pp. 79 – 80. Wuchang and Wutong converged in yet another hagiographic tale that portrays both as soldiers grouped in five in the service of Zhu Yuanzhang in their previous lives (Qitao Guo, Exorcism and Money, pp. 140 – 44). 56. See von Glahn, “Enchantment of Wealth.” The shifting symbolic representation from Wutong to Wuchang in late imperial Huizhou was in marked contrast to the popularity of Wutong in Suzhou. This Jiangnan center of commerce and entertainment was famed empirewide for the beauty of its women; and large numbers of Huizhou tradesmen sojourned to this enticing metropolis unaccompanied by their families. Wutong symbolism in Suzhou signaled threats posted by outside men to inside or native women. 57. Tanaka Issei (“Ming-Ch’ing Local Drama,” pp. 143– 60) also divides local plays in late imperial China into three similar types. 58. According to Li Tai (“Xiuning xian Haiyang zhen Mulian huixi,” p. 128), local gentry and wealthy merchants, and even the magistrate, got involved in organizing Mulian staged in front of the Wuxian / Wuchang temple in Haiyang, the county seat of Xiuning. 59. Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, p. 171. 60. This paragraph, except where otherwise noted, is based on Mao Limei, “Yiyang qiang de Mulian xi,” pp. 69 –70; Liu Chunjiang, “Jiangxi Qingyang qiang Mulian xi de zongjiao yishi,” p. 86; Wu Yongxiang, “Huizhou Mulian xi yanchu xisu,” p. 2; Yang Yougong, “Xu Xue’an Mulian xiban,” pp. 42 – 43; Yang Yougong et al., “Zhongfen cun dujiao lianhua tai,” pp. 1–2; Mao Gengru, “Xuancheng diqu guxitai diaocha,” p. 44; Chen Qi, “Qimen xian Huansha cun,” p. 260. 61. Quoted in Chen Qi, “Qimen xian Huansha cun,” p. 261. 62. Consult Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, pp. 179 – 80. 63. Ningguo xian tongzhi, compiled in Mao Gengru, Wannan huaguxi, p. 90. 64. Ningguo xianzhi, 4.26a. 65. See Chapter 2. Most evidence cited there about Huizhou lineages’ sponsorship of ritual operatic performance in late imperial times, I would suggest, is applicable to their sponsorship of Mulian performance, as Mulian was the most important ritual opera in the region. In other Mulian centers such as Hunan, Mulian performance was also organized and sponsored by local elites at intervals of three

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or five years and was often staged as part of lineage rituals. In some parts of rural Hunan, local gentry often established a committee, composed of twelve or sixteen local elite members, to collect funds for Mulian and related expenses on the occasion of celebrating the Yulanpen festival (which often lasted seven days, from the ninth to the fifteenth day of the seventh month). See Li Huaisun, “Chenhe Gaoqiang Mulian xi tansuo,” pp. 46 – 47, 51. 66. Chen Qi, “Qimen xian Huansha cun,” p. 259. The lineage documents reprinted in this essay are provided by the Huansha elder Cheng Bijiao and now stored in the Qimen County Museum. 67. The document is fully reprinted in Chen Qi, “Qimen xian Huansha cun,” p. 260. 68. Ibid., pp. 261– 68. 69. The Register dictates that “the households of gentry and merchants provide money” and “the households of craftsmen and farmers provide labor” to sponsor and facilitate ritual operas (Yuko, “Min Shin jidai,” p. 105; quoted in Chapter 2). 70. He Yuzhai was the key actor of the Longqing troupe in Jiangjing, Sichuan, whose boss was Chen Baoshan. The He Yuzhai version was later sent to the court in Beijing and was thus also called the “Golden Version of Mulian.” Sichuan Mulian xi ziliao lunwen ji, p. 2. 71. It should be noted that because of the involvement of numerous demons and ghosts, Mulian performance was rarely mentioned in Huizhou genealogies or other lineage documents, which often simply noted shexi or yingshen saihui or jiayue (lineage music, operas included) instead of Mulian. Most primary sources I have collected from Huizhou (except some xilian or stage couplets), when they do mention Mulian, focus on exorcism, barely hinting at the social and ethical dimensions of the ritual opera. This tendency is reflected in current scholarship on Mulian. 72. Lei Weixin, “Qianyi Quanshan ji zhi chansheng jianji qita,” p. 285. 73. Zheng Jianxin, “Qiantan Mulian xi dui Huizhou minsu de yingxiang,” pp. 258 –59. For merchant involvement in Mulian performances in other Jiangnan cities, see Hou Shuoping, “Wan Qing shiqi.” In the Chenhe district, Hunan, the commercial sector and wealthy families were often happy to contribute timber, among other things, to the construction of Mulian stages. During the Mulian performance, men abstained from both meat and sex and prevented their pregnant wives from going to the play. See Zhu Hengfu, Mulian xi yanjiu, p. 123. 74. Shao Guolang, “Mulian xi zai Shexian,” p. 52. 75. Liu Chongri et al., “Yanjiu fengjian shehui de baogui ziliao,” pp. 149 –51, 157. In Huizhou, the land rent was rather low, because the bond-servants provided heavy labor service (Zhao Huafu, “Shexian Chengkan qian hou Luoshi zongzu”). 76. Wang Xiaoyi (2), “Huiban yu Huishang,” pp. 22 –23. 77. Cited in Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, p. 230. 78. Ibid. 79. Ibid., pp. 230 –31; SXZ, p. 158. 80. Cited in Zhang Youyi, Ming-Qing Huizhou tudi guanxi, pp. 125, 136, where the Baohetang rule is fully reprinted on pp. 132 – 40. 81. Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, pp. 307–10.

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82. Ibid., p. 316. 83. Ibid., p. 121; Xu Chengyao, Sheshi xiantan, p. 569. 84. See Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, p. 118. 85. As Xu Ke noted in Qingbai leichao (quoted in Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, p. 120); cf. Zhang Youyi, Ming-Qing Huizhou tudi guanxi yanjiu, pp. 121– 40. 86. Both are compiled in MQHS, pp. 269 –70, nos. 856, 857. Note that Aji came from Huizhou’s neighboring county, Chun’an. 87. Fujii, “Xin’an shangren de yanjiu,” p. 208. 88. Tang Xianzu, Tang Xianzu ji, 2.1194; Wang Xiaoyi (2), “Huiban yu Huishang,” p. 23; for Pan Zhiheng, see Wang Xiaoyi, Pan Zhiheng quhua, pp. 1– 8; 343– 68. 89. Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, pp. 120 –21. Sojourning merchants from Huizhou also used jiaoren (a kind of postal carrier) to deliver letters to their home lineages, usually twice a month (ibid., p. 119). Like Huizhou merchants themselves, these jiaoren messengers, selected from local langhu, must have played a role in spreading cultural information about operatic performances. 90. MQHS, p. 44, no. 128; Xu Chengyao, Sheshi xiantan, p. 602. 91. Dong Zhongqi, Wuyuan xiangtu zhi, 26a. 92. Zhou Yibai, Zhongguo xiqu fazhan shi gangyao, p. 343. 93. See, e.g., Mulian xi xueshu zuotanhui lunwen xuan, p. 13. 94. Nalan, Lushui ting zashi, 2.7.4281. 95. Zhang Dai, Tao’an mengyi, p. 47. 96. Virtually every recent field report confirms this feature of Mulian performance. See also Hu Pu’an, Zhonghua quanguo fengsu zhi, 2.5.24 –26. 97. Wang Yili, “Mulian xi laoyiren Pan Shuanggui,” p. 51. 98. Zhao Yinxiang et al., “Yixian wannian tai,” pp. 70 –72. 99. See various reports included in Mao Gengru, Anhui Mulian xi ziliao ji, pp. 45 –165. 100. See Chen Changwen et al., “Mulian xi zai Huizhou de chansheng yu fazhan,” p. 253; Ni Guohua, “Limu Mulian xiban,” pp. 51–53; Wei Muwen, “Qingxi, Lixi Mulian xi qingkuang,” pp. 61– 63; Gao Qingqiao and Wei Muwen, “Shaokeng Mulian xi xiban,” pp. 1– 6; Su Tianfu (2), “Shitai Mulian xi,” pp. 63– 68. 101. Gao Qingqiao, “Changbiao Mulian quanshan ban,” pp. 49 –50. Actors in some Mulian troupes in Nanling county, such as the Wanfu, Shuangyuan, and Yongxing companies, came from differently surnamed families as well. See Wang Jinglin, “Mulian xi banshe,” pp. 103–5; Zhongguo xiqu zhi: Anhui juan—Jigou, pp. 14, 22, 40, 42, 51–53. 102. Li Tai, “Xiuning xian Haiyang zhen Mulian huixi,” p. 134. 103. Ye Xian’en, Ming-Qing Huizhou, pp. 310 –12, 319 –20. 104. Gao Qingqiao and Wei Muwen, “Shaokeng Mulian xi xiban”; Yang Yougong, “Xu Xue’an Mulian xiban.” 105. Mao Limei, “Yiyang qiang de Mulian xi,” p. 76; Zhongguo xiqu zhi: Anhui juan—Jigou, p. 52; Zhongguo xiqu zhi: Anhui juan—Biaoyan, p. 95; Lei Weixin et al., “Mulian xi,” p. 3.

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106. This learning process may have in part contributed to the religious tune of Mulian, which, according to the local audience, sounded like chanting of sutra by a Buddhist monk or Daoist priest (Shi Shengchao, “Gulao nanqu zhi ou,” pp. 115 – 16). More fundamentally, of course, the religious tune of the ritual opera was determined by its historical ties with Buddhism and Daoism, especially so in Huizhou, the region that hosted Mount Jiuhua and Mount Qiyun (whose Daoist tune came from the Daoist Mount Longhu in northern Jiangxi). Huizhou Mulian preserved much of Daoist and Buddhist ritual music (fanyin), as well as the original characteristics of Yiyang and Qingyang musical styles. Because Mulian was concerned with religious themes and thus treated seriously, local actors dared not change the original tunes lightly. See Shi Wennan, “Shilun Qingyang qiang yu Mulian xi,” pp. 34 – 42; idem, “Anhui Mulian xi,” pp. 10 –15; idem, “Mulian xi yu zongjiao, fengsu kaoxi,” pp. 34 –35; Chen Changwen et al., “Mulian xi zai Huizhou de chansheng yu fazhan,” p. 250; Mao Limei, “Yiyang qiang de Mulian xi,” p. 65; Wei Muwen, “Huizhou Mulian xi yinyue chutan.” 107. Yao Yuanmu, “Nanling Mulian xi xuexi he jiaoxi,” pp. 97–98; idem, “Nanling Mulian xi zongshu,” pp. 215 –16. 108. See MLNL. 109. Zhongguo xiqu zhi: Anhui juan—Jigou, p. 14. 110. Diao Junning, “Mantan Huizhou Changbiao Mulian xi,” p. 40; Shao Guolang, “Mulian xi zai Shexian,” p. 52; see also Zhongguo xiqu zhi: Anhui juan— Jigou, pp. 22, 40, 51–52. 111. Wuhu xianzhi, 8.5a. 112. Yao Yuanmu, “Nanling Mulian xi zongshu,” p. 215. 113. Shi Wennan, “Mulian xi,” p. 186. 114. Shi Wennan, “Anhui Mulian xi,” p. 13; Zhang Faying, Zhongguo xiban shi, p. 477. 115. Shi Wennan, “Anhui Mulian xi,” p. 13. 116. Quoted in Yao Yuanmu, “Nanling Mulian xi zongshu,” pp. 215 –16. 117. Chen Changwen et al., “Mulian xi zai Huizhou de chansheng yu fazhan,” p. 247. 118. Shao Guolang, “Mulian xi zai Shexian,” p. 52. 119. Zhongguo xiqu zhi: Anhui juan—Juzhong, pp. 51–52, 95 –97. 120. I once checked several hundred local gazetteers from northern China; almost every volume contains information about temple stages. For the secondary literature that confirms this assessment for both the north and the south, see Huang Weiruo, “Song-Yuan-Ming sandai Zhongguo beifang nongcun miaoyu wutai de yange”; idem, “Zhongguo nanfang nongcun gu wutai xunli.” 121. Li Tai, “Wan’an Shuilong miaohui yanchu xisu,” p. 7; Chen Changwen et al., “Mulian xi zai Huizhou de chansheng yu fazhan,” p. 247. 122. Mao Gengru, “Ningguo, Jingxian guxitai banshe tiji de xin faxian,” p. 16. 123. Shi Wennan, “Anhui Mulian xi,” p. 13. 124. Mao Gengru, “Xuancheng diqu guxitai diaocha,” p. 44. In other regions, such as Hunan and Jiangsu, Mulian was often performed on the stages attached to ancestral halls as well. See Li Huaisun, “Fuliantang Tangshi citang guxitai,” pp. 220 –27; Zhang Guoji et al., “Gaochun Yangqiang Mulian xi gaishu,” p. 10.

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125. Lei Weixin, “Xin’an Zhulin guxitai,” p. 205. 126. See, e.g., Zhongguo xiqu zhi: Anhui juan—Juzhong, p. 87. 127. Diao Junning, “Mantan Huizhou Changbiao Mulian xi,” p. 40. We have evidence from Guichi county for a similar custom (Wang Yili, “Mulian xi laoyiren Pan Shuanggui,” p. 50). Beginning in the late Ming, numerous stages were also built onto ancestral halls or local temples to popular deities in Jiangxi (Zhongguo xiqu zhi: Jiangxi juan, pp. 95 –105). 128. Wu Yongxiang, “Huizhou Mulian xi yanchu xisu,” p. 1. 129. Dangtu xianzhi, in Mao Gengru, Anhui Mulian xi ziliao ji, p. 40. 130. Wu Yongxiang, “Huizhou Mulian xi yanchu xisu,” pp. 2 – 4; Zhongguo xiqu zhi: Anhui juan—Biaoyan, p. 25. 131. Ni Guohua, “Limu Mulian xiban,” pp. 58 –59 (where a photographed section of Hu Tianxiang’s biography from the genealogy is printed). 132. MLZZ, 1.34a–38(9)a, 3.101b –2b. Similar scenes can be found in later Mulian scripts; see MLBY, 3.48 –51, 7.166 – 68; MLCB, 1.66b –70a, 3.129b –31b. 133. I believe that Zheng Zhizhen prepared his script mainly for ancestral hall stage performance. After all, in his home village Mulian was always staged in front of the Zheng lineage temple. This could well have been a shared praxis in Huizhou in the sixteenth century, given the concurrent fashion of ancestral hall construction. Most modern Mulian specialists, drawing on their knowledge of the late-Qing and the early-Republican period, suggest that Mulian could not have entered ancestral shrines because of the presence of numerous ghosts, especially the spirit of Hanged Woman. Mao Gengru, one of the most diligent field workers in ritual opera, accepted this argument in his letter to the author (February 14, 1992). But he has lately modified his position, having seen more evidence about Mulian staged in lineage temples (Mao, “Ming-Qing shehui zhong de Huizhou minjian yishi xiju”). 134. Zhongguo xiqu zhi: Anhui juan—Juzhong, p. 98. 135. The kinship expansion took place in the surrounding areas of Huizhou as well, as confirmed in the 1808 Jingde xianzhi (1.145) and the 1815 Ningguo fuzhi (9.24a–b). 136. Shi Wennan, “Anhui Mulian xi,” p. 13; Yao Yuanmu, “Nanling Mulian xi zongshu,” pp. 216 –17 (including a brief description of a straw stage in Nanling). 137. Zhao Yinxiang et al., “Yixian Mulian xi shihua,” p. 69; Su Tianfu (2), “Shitai Mulian xi,” p. 67; Yao Yuanmu, “Nanling Mulian xi zongshu,” p. 216; Chen Qi, “Qimen xian Huansha cun,” p. 265. 138. Zhang Dai, Tao’an mengyi, pp. 47– 48. 139. Chen Qi, “Qimen xian Huansha cun,” pp. 262 – 64. 140. Zhongguo xiqu zhi: Anhui juan—Juzhong, pp. 97–98; Yao Yuanmu, “Nanling Mulian xi zongshu,” p. 216. 141. Quoted in Zheng Jianxin, “Qiantan Mulian xi dui Huizhou minsu de yingxiang,” pp. 259 – 60. 142. Zhang Dai, Tao’an mengyi, pp. 47– 48; largely taken from David Johnson, “Actions Speak Louder Than Words,” p. 9. 143. Chen Zhongmei, “Mulian xi de yuanliu he yanbian,” pp. 311–12. 144. Quoted in Zhu Jianming, “Mulian xi zai Shanghai,” p. 265.

Notes to Conclusion

295

145. Zhang Dai, Tao’an mengyi, p. 47. 146. Hu Pu’an, Zhonghua quanguo fengsu zhi, 2.5.25. 147. Yu’an shiji (preface dated 1818), in Nanling xianzhe yishu, 5.8.10b. 148. Hu Shibin and Shu Yuling, Xidi, pp. 67– 68. 149. MLZZ, 3.26a–29b. 150. In Mao Gengru, Mulian ziliao bianmu gailüe, p. 146. Rites of the Seventh Month could help women polluted by childbirth endure suffering in purgatory (Mann, Precious Records, p. 184). 151. Yu Zhihuai, Yixian: Taohuayuan li renjia, p. 139. 152. The ballad (in slightly different wording), along with its context, that is, sung by Madame Liu while being tortured in the netherworld, can be found in MLBY, 7.154 –57; MLCB, 3.79a– 84a. 153. Sheji, pp. 16, 80 – 83. In 1742, Jiangxi governor Chen Hongmou promulgated a similar order to ban temple ritual opera performances, including Mulian (compiled in Tanaka, Shindai chiho¯geki shiryo¯ shu¯, 2.31–32). Quoting Da Qing huidian shili, Philip Kuhn (Soulstealers, p. 109) writes, “Temples and monasteries in the capital were forbidden to ‘establish sects and hold assemblies where men and women mix together’ (a hallmark of popular religion—and further evidence, to the imperial mind, of moral degeneracy). Nor were they allowed to ‘erect platforms to perform operas and collect money, sacrifice to the gods, or carry them in procession.’” 154. Cited in Woodside, “State, Scholars, and Orthodoxy,” p. 161. 155. Yao Yuanmu, “Nanling Mulian xi zongshu,” p. 215. 156. MLNL, 3.349. 157. In Mao Gengru, Mulian ziliao bianmu gailüe, p. 136. There are some stage couplets with different emphasis. A certain Liu lineage in Nanling called Mulian “home opera” because the descent shared the surname of Mulian’s mother. So strong was the kin consciousness of the Lius that their “class (or gender) consciousness” was stifled in the xilian they wrote in the late Qing, which, moreover, also conveyed a sardonic touch concerning “money” (cited in Shi Wennan, “Mulian xi yu zongjiao, fengsu kaosi,” pp. 28 –29): All on account of a couple chunks of meat and a few cups of wine, our daughter [Madame Liu] was hauled off to Hell: Isn’t it a case of “when a wall is about to fall, everyone gives it a shove”? Just because he read a couple sutras and chanted a few “Hail Amidas,” our worthy son-in-law [Fu Xiang] was welcomed into the ranks of Heaven: It’s nothing more than “if the money comes through, there’s nothing that can’t be done.” This xilian looks similar to the one believed to have been written by Jin Shengtan (quoted in Chapter 4). 158. MLZZ, 3.102b; MLCB, 3.131b; MLNL, 3.349. conclusion 1. Consult also Kuhn, Soulstealers, esp. chap. 10. 2. Quoted in Susman, Culture as History, p. 271.

296

Notes to Conclusion

3. Ibid. 4. See, e.g., Chen Changwen et al., “Mulian xi zai Huizhou de chansheng yu fazhan,” pp. 248 – 49. 5. For the comprehensiveness of “lineage rules,” see Zhu Yong, Qingdai zongzu fa yanjiu, pp. 9 –10. 6. Youming baochuan, 27b, 78a, 83b. I have compared this text with the imperial Mulian script, the Golden Text of Exhortation in a research paper, “Performed to the Elite or Chanted to the People.” I have also read four other baojuan or baojuan-like texts of the Mulian story, including Dacheng Mulian baojuan; Mulian jiumu sanshi dedao; Mulian juan; and Mulian seng. They are largely similar to the Precious Legend of the Inferno in terms of their ethico-religious approach and values. For the Precious Legend of the Inferno and the baojuan in general, consult David Johnson, “Mu-lien in Pao-chüan”; Overmyer, “Values in Chinese Sectarian Literature”; idem, “Popular Religious Sects.” 7. See the descriptions of imperial performance of Mulian by Qing-dynasty scholar Zhao-lian (Xiaoting xulu, in Xiaoting zalu, pp. 377–78); see also Xu Ke, Qingbai leichao, 78.40 – 41. 8. Zhang Zhao, Quanshan jinke, esp. 7.1.31b. 9. Quoted in Guo Yingde, Shisu de jili, p. 180. 10. Consult David Johnson, “Mu-lien in Pao-chüan,” pp. 102 –3. 11. Songke Xiaojing, 12a. Having said this, Confucius immediately added, “To secure the top [ruling class] and govern the people, no means is more effective than ritual” (ibid.). 12. Quoted in Ying-shih Yu, Zhongguo jinshi zongjiao lunli yu shangren jingshen, p. 124. 13. Mao Limei, “Yiyang qiang de Mulian xi,” p. 74. 14. Zhang Dai, Tao’an mengyi, p. 48. 15. Shijie ribao (World Journal), April 24, 1993, p. A2. 16. But for scholarly treatments of the issue, see, e.g., Wu Yuhua, “Lun gudian xiqu jumu de daode jiazhi.” 17. See Carlitz, “Shrines,” p. 613. 18. Herein lie differences between this study and Cynthia Brokaw’s Ledgers of Merit and Demerit, in which the author has elaborated upon a somewhat similar ethico-religious discourse, with particular emphasis on various literati interpretations of the ledgers. 19. Unlike the state, however, the new elites’ interest in promoting neoConfucian teachings and institutions was more locally motivated and focused. Bol (“Neo-Confucianism and Local Society”) suggests that during Song-Ming times localized neo-Confucian movements were, in part, one means by which certain literati attempted to free themselves from state control. 20. See, e.g., David Johnson, “City-God Cults.” 21. Another example is the rise in the sixteenth century of the hierarchical local pantheon, a companion of the new Mulian. A localized version of the statesanctioned worshipping system, the local pantheon integrated elite and folk interests as well as elements from the institutionalized religions (see Qitao Guo, Exorcism and Money).

Notes to Conclusion

297

22. Cf. Ying-shih Yu, “Preliminary Observations”; Elman, From Philosophy to Philology; and Chow, Rise of Confucian Ritualism. Elman and Chow have developed different approaches, one emphasizing Confucian literati commitment to intellectual empiricism and the other, their pursuit of moral ritualism. 23. It is doubtful if in the practice of their own family rituals, these purists could remain so pure or if in their private life, they could resist watching ritual operas. After all, as noted in Chapter 3, Confucian ancestral rites encouraged the popular belief in the spirits and thus gave it a sense of legitimacy. 24. Consult also Levine, “Shakespeare and the American People,” p. 46. Gunther Barth (City People) and Alan Trachtenberg (Incorporation of America) have also sought to understand why American department stores or commercial expositions in the nineteenth century became shared objects of delight among people of different social positions. 25. Bell, “Religion and Chinese Culture,” p. 46. David Johnson explores the issue again in the end of his essay on Mulian, “Actions Speak Louder Than Words,” p. 32.

Glossary

Please consult the Bibliography and Appendixes A and B for Chinese names or terms not listed in this Glossary.

aicai de mojun

฻⪮᱿㌸‫؃‬

Bao Zhidao

㍚ൠⳬ

Aji

い૑

Bao Zong

㍚ᬀ

An Yuming

મʹ‫ل‬

anchang

મᩁ

Baohetang xuyi gei- ┢ُࡩトഡ⃛ gongshi dingli డ㇔હ͛

Anqing

મ๸

baojia

Ύᮬ

મὄ

baojuan

૷ֱ

baosai choushen

ࢊ⫶⶿Ṙ

Antong bachang

ཥᩁ

baoshan

⢚ۧ

bai

ᱺ

baoying

ࢊະ

bai caoxie

ᱺ⑽ㄣ

beixi

ռ໵

Bai Juyi

ᱺଡᆞ

ben

቏

baima tuojin

ᱺ㈸㈽⸉

Biancheng

⩐ໞ

baixi

ᱻ໵

bianÕe

⪿ณ

baiyuan kailu

ᱺᩜ⿭⭰

bianshang

ⴗ‫ۄ‬

Ban Zhao

᫗ᆭ

bianwen

⩐ᄽ

Baneng zoujin

Ҝ⋱ळ⻺

Boyang

ᘘぬ

banqiang

ኈ⌠

Bao Bingxian

㍚ʌ҅

caiyuan

༇ਊ

Bao Boting

㍚ኼಟ

caizi jiaren

༇ઈ̈́ː

Bao Hansuo

ծᚠ໽

Cao Qi

ር⻸

Bao Qiyun

㍚‫⳥ۓ‬

Cao Saiying

ር⫶␿

Bao Shengtang

㍚Ჰ፨

Cao Shuming

ር‫ז‬ᆙ

Bao Shichen

㍚ं⎄

Cao Wenzhi

ርᄽ࡝

Bao Shufang

㍚潄␖

Cao Xianzhong

ር᪇൥

Bao Tingbo

㍚೗֢

Cao Zhenyong

ርྚ⽵

Bao Xiangxian

㍚⩽⫡

caotai

⑽‫ש‬

Bao Xunmao

㍚՗⑋

Cha Bashi

ውҜ֓

Glossary

300

chake

တẤ

Cheng-Zhu queli

Ễቒ〢⸄

chang (taste)

‫ݏ‬

Chenghuang

ࡆへ

Chang (of the God Wuchang)

ᩁ

Chenghuang laoye

ࡆへ≘᦯

Chengkan Luo

‫⇵ࠆا‬

Changbiao

⿢ᐻ

changji

‫ݏ‬Ṥ

Chengshi xinzeng citian ji

Ễᕿᅘ࣑Ṛ ᮪⥆

changpai

ᩁᦽ

Chengxintang

៬ൔࡩ

Changshu

ᩁሬ

Chenhe

ⲉᗯ

changwen

‫ڳ‬ᄽ

Chewangfu

Ⰷ᪗ಓ

Changxiao

⿢‫ݙ‬

Chizhou

ᖷజ

changzha

ᩁዜ

Chonggou citang ji ⸅ᐉṚࡩ⥆

changzu

‫ݏ‬Ậ

chuanqi

Зम

Chaolun

⬢ρ

Chuci

ᎸⲆ

Chawan Wang

ውᢕᖾ

Chuci (Xiaoya)

Ꮈ② (ଅ゜)

Chen Baoshan

づ૷ۧ

Chujiang

Ꮈ(Ӯ)ᖶ

Chen Guiying

づᱶ␿

ChunÕan

ᛘમ

Chen Hongmou

づલ⧦

chunqi qiubao

ᆨṆẠࢊ

Chen Jinlian

づ⸉░

Chuogeng lu

ⱉ≧⻞

Chen Lanru

づ᡺ᖴ

chushi

⚠ं

Chen Li

づᒶ

ci

⥱

Chen Que

づᷨ

cipu

Ṛб

Chen Zhaoxiang

づᆭṞ

citang

Ṛࡩ

Cheng Bijiao

Ễൕⴾ

citian

Ṛ᮪

Cheng Dachang

Ễञᆗ

congdeng

ഺᥨ

Cheng Dunlin

Ễᄦ⎈

cun

ቩ

Cheng Hao

Ễㆯ

cunhuixi

ቩሳ໵

Cheng Lingxi

Ễ・ᘺ

cuoyong xiangyu

⼂ᮢⵯ⦝

Cheng Minzheng

Ễᄖᄎ

Cheng Qilu

ỄҢṭ

Da foshan

ञ̲ୀ

Cheng Shiying

Ễʊ␿

Da Ming chun

ञᆙᆨ

Cheng Suo

Ễ⽁

da Mulian

༌ᲿⳐ

Cheng Xian

Ễㆴ

Cheng Yi

Ễㆄ

Da Qing huidian shili

ञᛤሳҤʶ ͛

Cheng Yunzhang

Ễゾὁ

Da Qingti

༌ヾဏ

Glossary

301

da tuanyuan

ञߨߥ

Dongfang Liang

ቺᅞˌ

da wumen

ञ‫⿧؟‬

dongli

┷᫧

Dacheng

ञỄ

Dongtang

ቺࢤ

dadao

ञⳬ

Dongting

ᙀಟ

Dai Zhen

໷ネ

Dongyue

ቺ୪

Damuqianlian

ञᲿʯⳐ

Dongyue Taishan

ቺ୪ᘣୀ

dan

ᅻ

Dou Rongxun

Ἲૌට

Danai furen

ञोडː

Du Liniang

ተ㓚়

dangxia

ᯍʁ

duixi

ぶ໵

dao

ⳬ

Dunben tang

ᄦ቏ࡩ

Dao wenxue

ⳬ‫ۊ‬ણ

Dunhuang

ᄦᤕ

daochang

ⳬࢍ

Dushi

ⵣఱ

Daode jing

ⳬോ⃻

dutuo

ಙ⌉

daowangxi

Ỡᆈ໵

daoyan

ⳬᳵ

e

ณ

Dasheng laoye

ञ⊊≘᦯

ebu

ณ‚

daxing

ञ঎

egui

ㇲ㌦

Daya

ञ゜

Ezou

ณळ

dayan

ञរ

Dayangchun

ञぬᆨ

fachang

ᱹᩁ

Dayukeng

ञબࠉ

Fan Li

⑌⟵

dazong

ञશ

Fan Zhongyan

⑌˰ᛝ

dazong ci

ञશṚ

Fanchang

ⅺᆗ

Dazong ci bei ji

ञશṚ᷌⥆

fang

໼

dazu

ञᅭ

Fang Bao

ᅞ␯

dianpu

̞б

fangchang

ᄍᩁ

diaosanggui

‫܄׸‬㌦

fangcun

ᅞ૸

dichang

ṽ‫ݏ‬

fantian

ፐट

dingxi

હ໵

fanyin

ፐㅠ

diyuan

߸ℳ

fei zulei

㄄ᅭㆩ

Dizang

߸♀

feizhi

㄄Ӽ

Dong Yong

┷ᖝ

Feng

ㆺ

Dongfang, Jia, Yi, Mu, Li egui

ቺᅞᮬʨቌ Ӵณ㌦

Feng Menglong

㈺छ㕻

Feng Mengzhen

㈺छᏃ

Glossary

302

Fenghu Wang

㏥᜙ᖾ

gongde

Լോ

fengjian shangbang

ૺ೘‫ۄ‬౲

gongming

Լ‫׻‬

Fengxi Wu

⩴ᝏ‫ؖ‬

gongtang

ҝࡩ

fu

̄

gongzong

Ҡશ

Fu Luobu

ϼ⇵֣

goulan

լᓌ

Fu Rong

ϼᏳ

Gu Qiyuan

ㆰ⬚Ҁ

Fu Xiang

ϼ᳈

Gu Yanwu

ㆰ᢫ᔏ

Fu Yi

ϼस

Gu Zhenfu

ㆰྚᮥ

Fu Yan

ϼఙ

Gu Zuyu

ㆰṒẕ

Fumu enzhongjing jiangjingwen

᦬ᕒස⸅⃻ ⧾⃻ᄽ

Guan Yu

〦∡

Guandi

〦ు

Fuxi Xu

ϼᝏറ

Guang Guoqing

҆ߡֶ

Fuxiang

ⰿ᳈

guang tutu

҆ẚẚ

Guangde

ೊോ

gaidiao gezhi

ᄊ⦲ᓼʠ

Guangxin

ೊΒ

Gan Shijia

ᮙंъ

guanjia

ᾷ૊

ganfa renxin

฾ᱹːൔ

guanshang yiti

ષ‫ۄ‬ɺ㋤

gangchang

ℏ౑

Guanyin

⤐ㅠ

gangyun

ℏ⳥

guci

㔧⥱

gao qiucheng

‫ب‬Ạໞ

gudao

⫐ⳬ

Gaochun

㋧ᛘ

guÕer ruxing zhe

⫐≟ѝ⠗≛

Gaoqiang

㋧⌠

guhun

ગ㌪

Gaoshi shanfang

㋧ᵲୀ໼

guhun yegui

ગ㌪⸆㌦

Gaoshi shanren

㋧ᵲୀː

gui

㌦

Gaotian

㋧᮪

Gui Youguang

ᔖሷ҆

Gaozong

㋧શ

Guichi

⪽ᖷ

Geci gehui wenshu zudi

‫׳‬Ṛ‫׳‬ሳᄽ ሬẬಎ

guidao

㌦ⳬ

gegu

ԟ⊵

Guifan

　῅

geku ci

ᓼ‫⥱ڌ‬

guifan

㌦ᨃ

Geng Xinzhen

⊀ൔ⪬ (or Geng Xinzheng ⊀ൔ ᔌ)

guijie

㌦ῃ

guimen Zou-Lu

　⿧⵶㍇

guishen

㌦Ṙ

guishi

㌦͐

guitang

㌦ࡩ

gewu

ጁ᧎

Glossary

303

ᄑ≘グ⥆

HongxiannŸ yeqie huangjinhe

₏ℬॉङἻ 㓳⸉Წ

Gulin Huang

‫מ‬ኚ㓳

Hou Fangyu

ͬᅞࡍ

gun

ញ

Hou Jing

ͬᇓ

gunbai

ញᱺ

Housu lun

ׂΈ⧄

gunchang

ញ‫ڳ‬

Hu Guansan

⋟⪷ɿ

gundiao

ញ⦲

Hu Tianlu

⋟टṭ

Guo Ju

ⵗత

Hu Tianxiang

⋟टṞ

Guo Ziyi

ⵗઈя

Hu Yuanxi

⋟Ҁ᥄

guofang

⳧໼

hua Mulian

␕ᲿⳐ

Guofeng

ߡㆺ

huabu

␕ⵒ

Huaguang

ⓧ҆

Guixi Xiang

ጅᝏㅮ

Gulao zaji

Hai Rui

ᙹᬟ

Huaitang

ᐎࢤ

Haiyan

ᙹ㓈

huajiaxi

␕ᮬ໵

Haiyang

ᙹぬ

Huang Bian

㓳ᗆ

Han Liansuo

ㅏⳐ໽

Huang Chao

㓳ఠ

Han Yu

ㅏฬ

Huang Chaoxian

㓳ቄຟ

Hanshan

૜ୀ

Huang Congde

㓳஖ോ

He Dongxu

̬ቺ಍

Huang Du

㓳᛬

He Liangjun

̬⏦;

Huang Jiahui

㓳݄ฒ

He Xiu

̬̆

Huang Jifang

㓳ᭊ␖

He Yuzhai

̬⋀(᪕)㕒

Huang Ruozhou

㓳␵‫ش‬

Hechun

ُᆨ

Huang Shang

㓳⢃

hecun dizi

‫׶‬ቩ೭ઈ

Huang Shiyao

㓳ᆹ≗

hecun qiji

‫׶‬ቩ㕑ゝ

Huang Shuangyuan 㓳キ‫ڂ‬

hedeng

⫉ᥨ

Huang Tianlu

㓳टṭ

Hehe

ُ‫׶‬

Huang Ting

㓳⺸

heqi zuxing

‫׶‬Ңᅭ঎

Huang Wenming

㓳ᄽᆙ

heqizu er sizhi

‫׶‬Ңᅭ≟ḿʠ

Huang Yuanji

㓳Ҁゝ

hezu

‫׶‬ᅭ

Huang Zhenbao

㓳᳠Ύ

hezu zhiji

‫׶‬ᅭ⎐Ṥ

Huang Zongxi

㓳શ∗

Hong Sheng

ᙈᆒ

Huangdun

㓳ࣙ

Hong Yutu

ᙈ᪕ߧ

Huangji

㓳ࡣ

⿰ѝ

Huansha

᭔ᵺ

hongru

Glossary

304

Huayan jing

ⓧް⃻

jiamiao

૊ೆ

hui

ሳ

jian

☡

Hui Dong

ฒ፧

Jiang Chun

ᖶᆨ

Huiban

൏᫗

Jiang Fan

ᖶ♔

Hui-Chi diao

൏ᖷ⦲

Jiang Jun

▽;

Hui-Chi yadiao

൏ᖷ゜⦲

jiang xiangyue hui

⧾ⵯ₎ሳ

Huigou

൏ᨛ

Jiang Xuqi

ᖶᅿम

huiguan

ሳ㈀

Jiang Yong

ᖶᖝ

Huihe

ߊₑ

Jiangcun

ᖶቩ

huisha

ߊᤢ

Jiangcun Jiang

ᖶቩᖶ

Huishang

൏‫ۄ‬

jiangjingwen

⧾⃻ᄽ

huishe

ሳḽ

Jianping

೘౹

huishou

ሳ㈪

jianshang

्‫ۄ‬

Huixi (Anhui Opera) ൏໵

Jianzhou

೘జ

huixi

ሳ໵

jiao (instruction)

ᄞ

Huixue

൏ણ

jiao (ritual)

ⷭ

Huiyuan

ሳℳ

jiao qing

ᵮ෼

Huizhou

൏జ

jiaochang

Ἓᩁ

hunpo

㌪㌬

jiaogui

ⷭ㌦

huo guafu

ᙙ૥৮

jiaohua

ᄞջ

huoji

̌⤺

jiaohui

ᄞ⦥

Hushi zongci

⋟ᕿશṚ

jiaoshe

ⴾḽ

jiayue

૊ᐪ

ji (chicken or prostitute)

ゲ(ॠ)

jiazhang

૊⿢

jiazi

ᮬઈ

ji (rites)

Ṥ

jiazuban

૊ᅭ᫗

Ji Dakui

₊ञल

jie

ῃ

ji fumu

Ṥ᦬ᕒ

jiechang

࿲ᩁ

ji guishen

Ṥ㌦Ṙ

jiefu

ῃ৮

Ji Yun

₊ᆌ

jielie

ῃᣊ

jiaban

૊᫗

jieshen

࿲Ṙ

Jiadian

૊Ҥ

jin

ᅏ

jiafa

૊ᘍ

Jin Deqing

⸉ോᛤ

jiaguan

૊⤐

Jin Sheng

⸉⊖

Glossary

305

Jin Shengtan

⸉⊊݂

kang wuzong

˄‫؟‬શ

jingbiao

ᅪ⠧

Kang Zhaozuo

ನ⊤̧

Jingchu suishi ji

⑾Ꮈᔓᆹ⥆

kangzong

˄શ

Jingde

ᅪോ

Kaoting

≙ˋ

Jingshen

ᄪ⯿

ke

Ấ

Jingxian

ᚈⅠ

kechang

҇ᩁ

Jingyang

ᅪぬ

Kong Shangren

ઋଋ˶

Jinnu

⸉ॊ

kuang

ᨌ

Jinpingmei

⸉ᮁጪ

Kuihu

ल᜙

jinshen dizhu

ⅈ₶߸ʙ

Kun-Yi qiang

ஜೢ⌠

Jinzhi

⸉ᄄ

Kunlun

ஜ஡

Jiran

⤺ᤋ

Kunqiang

ஜ⌠

jisi guishen

Ṥḿ㌦Ṙ

Kunqu

ஜሧ

jitian

Ṥ᮪

Kunshan

ஜୀ

jiu se cai qi

ⶮ⏨⪮ᖎ

Jiuhua

ʪⓧ

la

⍺

Jiukeng

⎡ࠉ

langhu

ⵀ໸

jiuyuan

⎡ず

Languan

⚄〦

Jixi

ⅷᝏ

Langxi

ⵀᝏ

jixian gaocheng

Ṥ҅‫ب‬ໞ

Lantian Ye

☾᮪┤

jizi

ゝ⫏

Laolang

≘ⵀ

jizu changxin

ṤṒ⫝ᅘ

Leshan

ᐪۧ

jue

⃑

li

Ẍ

juexiang

⃑ㅨ

Li Chunyuan

ቦ₞Ҁ

Juncheng

ⵍࡆ

Li Dahao

ቦञ᲏

juying

⊌␿

Li Daqi

ቦञṆ

juzu

⊌ᅭ

Li He

ቦ⫉

juzu er ju

⊌ᅭ≟ଡ

Li Houde

ቦׂോ

juzu youjing

⎠ᅭ๿㊻

Li Kaixian

ቦ⿭҅

Li Mengyang

ቦछぬ

Kaihua

⿭ջ

Li Panlong

ቦს㕻

kaizhong

⿭ʑ

Li Qiaodai

ቦ‫܆‬୩

kaizhong zhese

⿭ʑ༿⏨

Li Tinggui

ቦ೗᫕

kan

㖀

Li Weizhen

ቦℋ⪬ (or Ꮓ)

Glossary

306

Li Xiangjun

ቦ㈭‫؃‬

Liu Qingti

԰ヾဏ

Li Xilie

ቦశᣊ

Liu Qingzhi

԰ᛤʠ

Li Xiu

ቦ᫨

Liu Sizhen

԰߈᳠

Li Xu

ቦ⥳

Li Xuexiang

ቦણ㈭

Liu Sizhen huayuan fazhou

԰߈᳠␕ߤ ᱹٔ

Li Zhi

ቦ⫺

Liu Xiang

԰‫׿‬

Liang Chenyu

ጧⲉ㌽

Liu Xianting

԰᪇೗

Liang Wudi

ጧᔏు

Liu Zongyuan

ዚશҀ

lianggu

⏦⫐

liuzhong qinshu

ҞỚ⤃଼

Lianghuai

қᛓ

Lixi

ᡠᝏ

liangu

ಳ⫐

Longchuan Hu

㕻ఛ⋟

liangzhi

⏦ᵧ

Longhushan

㕻⚛ୀ

Lianhua lao

░␕┛

lu

liantaibenxi

Ⳑ⎔቏໵

㓉 (deer) or ṭ (emolument)

lie

ᣊ

LŸ Kun

‫ࠍآ‬

lijia

⸄ᮬ

Lu Rong

なૌ

Lijiao

Ἴᄞ

luantan

ʱഃ

lijiao (teaching of ritual-andpropriety)

Ẍᄞ

LŸfu tang

ଷṵࡩ

Luo Dongshu

⇵ቺ⎧

Luo Misi

⇵ഇ߈

Lili

ዧ⸄

Luo Rongzu

⇵ᏳṒ

Limu

ዧቌ

Luo Rufang

⇵ᖴ␖

Lin ZhaoÕen

ኚ҃ස

Luo Shangben

⇵ଋ቏

Ling Yiqu

ӈ∑᛫

Luo Zhensun

⇵ネચ

Linian ji

ᔕ౺⥆

Luobu

⇵֣

linjian

ኚ⿵

Lishi

Ӵఱ

Ma Lu

㈸ṭ

lisu

΋Έ

㈸㏦

Litan

‫࣪׌‬

Ma Ming (Asvaghosa)

Liu Bangcai

԰⴪⸁

Maji

⇪ゲ

Liu Chuanfang

԰З␖

Mao Qiling

ᕜम㕤

Liu Jia

԰⫐

Mashan

㈸ୀ

Liu Jinzao

԰⻺♢

Mei Dingzuo

ጪ㔣Ṕ

Liu Kaizhao

԰⿭҃

Meixiang

ጪ㈭

Liu Longbao

԰㕻૷

Meng Chenshun

ઔờ⎬

Glossary

307

Meng Zong

ઔશ

neishen

ҙṘ

menzhang

⿧⿢

neizei

ҙ⫑

miaohuixi

ೆሳ໵

Ni Daoxian

πⳬ⫡

miaotai

ೆ⎔

Niangniang

়়

mingding

‫ل‬હ

nianshuren

൳ሬː

Mingfeng ji

㏦㏥⥆

Ningguo

૫ߡ

Mingjing Hushi zongci

ᆙ⃻⋟ᕿશṚ

nŸci

ॉṚ

nŸdiao

ॉ‫׸‬

Minglun

ᆙρ

NŸfan bian

ॉ῅ℶ

Mingwang

ҷ᪗

Nuo

ѹ

Mingzhou Wushi jiaji

⑖జ‫ؖ‬ᕿ૊ ⥆

nuoren

ѹː

mingzu

‫׻‬ᅭ

nŸtai

ॉ⎔

Mo

ࣘ

mo

቎

Ouyang Xiu

ᓿぬΔ

Mouzi

ᧈઈ

Mouzi lihuo lun

ᧈઈ᫧ง⧄

paifang

ᦽࠂ

Mozi

ࣘઈ

Pan Jia

៊ᮬ

Mu Jing

Ủᄪ

Pan Kan

៊͔

Mulian benzhuan

ᲿⳐ቏З

Pan Yunduan

៊ѿὉ

Mulian dahui

ᲿⳐञሳ

Pan Zhiheng

៊ʠණ

paoma

⭗㈸

pen

Ღ

Penglong

ഘ㕻 ౹મṘ໵

Mulian jiumu chuli ᲿⳐᄗᕒӛ diyu shengtian サ߸᩠ᆒ baojuan ट૷ֱ Mulian ju

ᲿⳐଞ

pingÕan shenxi

Mulian tan

ᲿⳐࠎ

Pingdeng

౹ᾀ

mutian

᮪࣌

Pingju

౹Ԯ

pingtai

౹⎔

Naihe

यᗯ

Puhua

ᇒջ

Nanling

֡で

punuo

бѹ

Nanping Ye

֡଩┤

Pushi

ᙬఱ

nanshi

֡ఱ

Putong

╬‫׺‬

nanxi

֡໵

puxi

⨲໵

neide

ҙോ

Puxian

⒘ˢ

neishang

ҙ‫ۄ‬

Puxing

ᙬ⎟

Glossary

308

Qi Jiguang

໥↧҆

quanshan chengÕe

ըۧ໇ณ

Qi Zhixiang

Ṁ⪐Ṟ

quantouzhuang

ཱུㆊ⒜

qian

⻶ (composed of one Òjin ⸉Ó and two Òge ໘Ó)

quchang

‫ח‬ᩁ

qupai

ሧᦽ

rangshen jiaogui

ẐṘⷭ㌦

Raozhou

㈝జ

ren yi li zhi xin

˒∑ẌᇜΒ

Rende

˒ോ

renqing

ː෼

rentang

ːࡩ

renyu

ːᓥ

rou

⊥

ru

ѝ

Qian Dai

⻶୩

Qian Daxin

⻶ञᆠ

Qian Dehong

⻶ോᙈ

Qiankou Wang

៌‫ם‬ᖾ

Qianliang

Ԋ⏦

Qiaoxi

ᑉᝏ

qichang

⬚ᩁ

qikong

ɼઋ

Qimen

Ṁ⿧

qing

෼

Qingdai Xushi ᛤ˩⥓ᕿશ zongci shenzhuli ṚṘʙዧ

Ruan Yuan

〺Ҁ

Ruan Yuanhai

〺ߥᙹ

rudao

ѝⳬ

Qingming

ᛤᆙ

rugu

ѝ⫐

Qingti

ヾဏ

Ruiyu ting

ᬟ᪕ಟ

Qinguang

Ằೊ

RuoÕan

␵⓬

Qingxi

ᛤᝏ

Ruokeng

Ᾱࠉ

Qingyang (qiang)

ヾぬ(⌠)

rushang

ѝ‫ۄ‬

Qingyou

ᛤಁ

Qingyuan

๸᜺

saixi

⫶໵

Qinhuai

Ằᛓ

San Daku

ɿञ␶

Qiu Rui

⴯ᴟ

sancong

ɿഺ

qiuji

ẠṤ

Sanguan

ɿષ

Qiupu

Ạᙬ

sanjiao yizhi

ɿᄞɺ⎐

qiuxi

Ạ໵

Sanqing

ɿ๸

Qixing deng

ɼᆣᥨ

Santian Li

ɿ᮪ቦ

Qiyun

㕑ゾ

Sanyuan

ɿҀ

qu

ሧ

sengdao

мⳬ

Qu Yuan

ତ‫׆‬

Sengni xiangtiao

мଛ᳈⦲

Quanshan

ըۧ

sha

ᤢ

Glossary

309

shan

ۧ

shesi

ḽḿ

shanbu

ۧ‚

shexi

ḽ໵

Shancai

ۧ༇

Shexian

ᔄⅠ

shanÕe tongzi

ۧณὄઈ

shexue

ḽણ

shangbang

‫ۄ‬౲

shi

ḻ

Shangfeng Song

ʀ⩴ય

Shi buqin

֓ʃ⤃

shanggu zhi dao

‫⫐ۄ‬ʠⳬ

Shide

ྀവ

shangming ruxing

‫׻ۄ‬ѝ⠗

shidian yanwang

֓ᕆ」᪗

shangren dizhu

‫ۄ‬ː߸ʙ

Shigu zhai

ో‫מ‬㕒

shangsu

‫ۄ‬Έ

Shilu XinÕan shijia

shannan xinnŸ

ۧᮮΒॉ

૪⻞ᅘમ ʊ૊

Shanxi

Ԗᝏ

shiru

ʊѝ

shanxing

ۧ⠗

Shitai (qiang)

ᵲ⎔(⌠)

Shanyou

ୀ‫׬‬

Shixi Kang

ᵲᝏನ

Shanze

ۧԅ

shizu

আṒ

Shaoju

₺Ԯ

shou

༆

Shaokeng

ㅡࠉ

Shu Zungang

⎧ⴃԑ

Shaoxing

₺⎟

shuaiqi zuzhong

᪓Ңᅭ᳷

Shaxi Zheng

ᗤᝏⶎ

Shuangyuan

キҀ

she

ḽ

shuimo qiang

ᖛḇ⌠

sheji

ḽṤ

shuowang

ሿቃ

Shen Shixing

ᮭᆹ⠗

shuwu

ሬଥ

shendao

Ṙⳬ

shuxiang

ሬ㈭

shendao shejiao

Ṙⳬ⥑ᄞ

side sancong

߈ോɿഺ

sheng

ᮝ

Sima Guang

‫׮‬㈸҆

shengshi qiru

Ჰʊ≜ѝ

simiaotian

ૹೆ᮪

shenguang

Ṙ҆

Siping (qiang)

߈౹(⌠)

shengyu

⊊⧕

sishi zhiji

߈ᆹʠṤ

shenming

Ṙᆙ

Sixi

߈۹

shenshi

Ṙᩡ

Song

ㅳ

shentai

Ṙ⎔

Song Lian

ય᠜

shentang

Ṙࡩ

Songdi

યు

shenzhu ruci

ṘʙҘṚ

Su Shi

♫Ⱜ

ḽʶ

Su Xun

♫ᙓ

sheshi

Glossary

310

sufeng

₪ૺ

tiantang

टࡩ

sujiang

Έ⧾

tianting

टಟ

sujiang seng

Έ⧾м

tianyan

टᳵ

sushi

₪㇔

tiaogang xi

ጻℏ໵

Tongcheng

጑ࡆ

Taifeng

ठ⩴

tongchou

⺁⎌

taiping jiao

ठ౹ⷭ

tongcun shenshe

ⳇቩṘḽ

Taiping qiang

ठ౹⌠

Tongle

‫׺‬ᐪ

Taishan

ठ(ᘣ)ୀ

Tongling

⺁で

taisui

ठᔓ

tongzu xianzhi

ⳇᅭ٬⎏

taixi

⎔໵

tou

϶

Taizhou

ᘣజ

tou hanzi

϶ឤઈ

tanci

ഃ⥱

tou ji

϶ゲ

Tandu Huang

៛᛬㓳

toupeng

ㆊ፣

Tang Shunzhi

‫ڥ‬ㅯʠ

tu

ߧ

Tang Taizong ruming ji

‫ڥ‬ठશҘҷ⥆

Tu Long

ଳひ

Tudi

߭߸

tanghui

ࡩሳ

tuichang

ⲵᩁ

tanghuixi

ࡩሳ໵

tuichang fu

ⲵᩁὪ

Tangmo Xu

‫ڥ‬ᑁ⥓

tuisha fu

ⲵᤢὪ

tangxi

ࡩ໵

Tunxi

ିᝏ

Tangyue Bao

፨ᑐ㍚

tutu guang

ẚẚ҆

Tao Yuanming

とᛚᆙ

tuzhu

߭ʙ

Tao Zongyi

とશя

Taohuayuan ji

ጆ␕᜺⥆

waishen

कṘ

taoyuan

ጆ᜺

waizei

क⫑

Tengxi

♐ᝏ

Wanfu

┋ṵ

Tianbao

टΎ

Wang Anshi

᪗મᵲ

tiancao

टር

Wang Boxuan

ᖾ̑᪐

tiandi

ट߸

Wang Caisheng

ᖾ༇ᮝ

tiangong

टૅ

Wang Daokun

ᖾⳬᆑ

Tianguan cifu

टષ⫛ṵ

Wang Fuzong

ᖾ૗શ

tianli

ट᫧

Wang Gen

᪗⏥

Tianshi dao

टోⳬ

Wang Guowei

᪗ߡℋ

Glossary

311

Wang Hong

ᖾ೩

Wu Ciwei

‫ؖ‬ᓝଜ

Wang Hua

ᖾⓧ

Wu Daozi

‫ⳬؖ‬ઈ

Wang Ji

᪗ᯓ

Wu Jingzi

‫ؖ‬ᄪጵ

Wang Jian

ᖾ⿀

Wu Ke

‫ؖ‬ዖ

Wang Jinshui

᪗⸉ᖛ

Wu Rongrang

‫ؖ‬Ᏻ⩕

Wang Jixuan

ᖾખ᪐

Wu Song

ᔏኇ

Wang Lingguan

᪗・ષ

Wu Wenqian

‫ؖ‬ᄽο

Wang Mingsheng

᪗㏦Ჰ

Wu Xiang

‫ؖ‬Ṟ

Wang Shandi

᪗ۧ፪

Wu Yanwu

ᣏᤞᤀ

Wang Shizhen

᪗ʊ⪬

Wu Yu

‫ؖ‬ਵ

Wang Tang

ᖾ⽳

‫⑾⬤ؖ‬⣀

Wang Xian

᪗᫠

Wu-Yue-JingXiang

Wang Xiang

᪗Ṟ

Wu Yueshi

‫⬤ؖ‬ᵲ

Wang Yangming

᪗ぬᆙ

Wu Zetian

ᔏԅट

Wang Yuan

ᖾ⳵

Wu Zixu

̂ʠ⋢

Wang Yuanxun

ᖾҀට

Wuchang

ʽᩁ (or ʽᆗ)

Wang Zonggong

ᖾશҝ

Wuchang guizu

ʽᩁ㌦֞

Wangpo maji

᪗৕⇪ゲ

Wudoumi dao

ʽᅅ›ⳬ

Wangshe

᪗⎤

Wufang tongzi

ʽᅞὄઈ

wangxiang tai

ቃⵯ⎔

wufu

ʽṵ

wangzu

ቃᅭ

Wufu ji

ʽṵ⥆

Wannan

᲋֡

Wuguan

֘ (̂) ષ

wanniantai

┋౺⎔

wugui xiban

⎮㌦໵᫗

Wei Liangfu

㌵⏦ⰿ

Wuhu

◰᜙

weiwangren

ቍ˃ː

Wukou

ᔏ‫ם‬

Wenchang

ᄽᆗ

wulun

ʽρ

wenfang sibao

ᄽ໼߈૷

Wulun quanbei ji

ʽρҚЈ⥆

wenshu

ᄽሬ (lineage documents)

Wutong

ʽⳇ

Wuwen

ʽ᱀

Wenshu

ᄽᚷ

Wuxian

ʽㆴ

Wentang xiangyue jiafa

ᄽࡩⵯ₎ ૊ᘍ

wuxiao gu shuzi wei ye

ᕐᄓ⫐⩲ઈ ᣅʬ

Wenxuan

ᄽⴆ

Wuyuan

৷᜺

Wenzhou zaju

ᝐజグԮ

Wuzong

ᔏશ

Glossary

312

Xi Zaizhen

ऻ߱᳠

Xinan Jiang

ᝏ֡ᖶ

Xiakeng

ポࠉ

Xinan Wu

ᝏ֡‫ؖ‬

xian xianzu

᪇҅Ṓ

XinÕan

ᅘમ

Xianfang

ˢࠂ

XinÕan dazu zhi

ᅘમञᅭൠ

xiangli

ⵯ‫׌‬

Xinfu

ᅘṵ

xiangyue

ⵯ₎

Xingtang

⎟‫ڥ‬

xiangzu

ⵯᅭ

Xingxiao diyi

⠗ઓὮɺ

xianshi shenzhu

҅ʊṘʙ

Xiongcun Cao

゛ቩር

xianshu

⫡ᚷ

Xishi

⣫ᅡ

xiao

ઓ

xiucai

ẛ༇

xiaofu

ઓ৮

Xiuning

̆૫

xiaogui

ଅ㌦

xiwen

໵ᄽ

xiaohu

ଅ໸

xiyuan

໵ㆤ

Xiaojing

ઓ⃻

Xu Chongmo

റ஖ᑁ

Xiaoni xiashan

ଅଛʁୀ

Xu Guo

⥓ߡ

xiaonŸ

ઓॉ

Xu Puweng

⥓ᑊ∥

xiaoshun

ઓㅯ

Xu Wei

റᛶ

xiaoshunÕer

ઓㅯҊ

Xu Xiake

റポ઼

Xiaowen di

ઓᄽు

Xuancheng

ઽࡆ

xiaoxiao

ૉଅ

Xuantian Taisu

᪐टठ₪

xiaoxing

ଅ঎

Xue Lundao

☗⧄ⳬ

Xiaoya

ଅ゜

xuetian

ણ᮪

Xiaozi xunqin ji

ઓઈଁ⤃⥆

xueyuan

⠐ℳ

xiaozong

ଅશ

Xuluntang

ᄝρࡩ

xiayuan

ʁҀ

Xun Ji

⑵ᠰ

xibao

۹ծ

Xun Kuang

⑵ᗼ

Xidi

⣫⳴

Xidi Hu

⣫⳴⋟

yabu

゜ⵒ

Xikou

ᝏ‫ם‬

yahang

ᧃ⠗

xilian

໵⊓

yan Mulian

រᲿⳐ

Ximen Qing

⣫⿧๸

Yan Zhitui

㆞ʠ࿴

Ximen Wang

⣫⿧ᖾ

Yang Jiong

Ꭻᢽ

xin

ൔ

Yang Weizhen

ᎫℋṴ

xin xue

ൔણ

Yangchun

ぬᆨ

Glossary

313

Yangong

ૈҝ

Yiyang (qiang)

ೢぬ(⌠)

yangtang

ぬࡩ

Yongxing

ᖝ⎟

Yangzhou

ဗజ

youshen

ⳤṘ

Yanshi jiaxun

㆞ᕿ૊⥂

Youxi

଎ᝏ

yanyin

㓈೧

youzhu

ⳤᦂ

Yanzhou

ްజ

Yu Zaizhen

Ώ߱᳠

Yao Dizhu

঒ក᫏

yuan

Yao Qiyuan

঒‫ۓ‬Ҁ

ᩜ (ape) or ߥ (round)

Yao Tinglin

঒೗ⴂ

Yuan Mei

⠺ኝ

Yaojie Yao

঒⠞঒

yuanben

ず቏

Yaotian yue

࢈टᐪ

yuanniao

ᩜ㏝

yawang

‫ے‬᪗

yuanqi

ℳ⬚

Ye Liusha

┤ዚᗤ

yuanxi

ㆤ໵

Ye Zongchun

┤શᆨ

Yue Fei

୪㇓

yejing

Ꮘ⽷

yuefu

₎Ԟ

Yicheng

≓ࡆ

Yueguo

⬤ߡ

Yicheng (Shexian)

ⴜࡆ

yuepu

ᐪб

Yichuan

̀ఛ

Yuetan Zhu

ሶ៛ቒ

yifu jiefu

∑डῃ৮

yuezheng

₎ᔌ

Yili

ᲩӴ

yufu yufu

ฺडฺ৮

Yilie ji

∑ᣊ⥆

Yulanpen

Ტ⚄Ღ

yin

ߌ

Yunji qiqian

ゾ␍ɼ‘

Yin Chun

ଘᆨ

yunshang

⳥‫ۄ‬

yin-yang

ぢぬ

Yuqing

̰๸

yinci

◇Ṛ

Yuyao

ㇷ঒

yingshen saihui

ⲕṘ⫶ሳ

Yingzhou Hu

ᡞజ⋟

zaju

グԮ

yinsi

ᛐḿ

zhai

㕒

Yinsi changkuang

ぢ‫׮‬ᩁᨌ

zhaifang

㕒໼

yintang

ぢࡩ

zhaijie

㕒໠

yiseng yidao

ɺмɺⳬ

Zhang Dengbiao

೺ᱸ⿈

yitian

∑᮪

Zhang Heng

೺⠣

Yixian

㔅Ⅰ

Zhang Hu

೺Ṗ

ᯌ঎≙

Zhang Tao

೺ᠵ

Yixing kao

Glossary

314

Zhang Wuyou

೺ᣏሷ

Zhishan

␃ୀ

Zhang Xiu

೺Δ

zhizhi

⎐ᵧ

Zhang Xuan

೺┏

zhizhong

ᄄ᳷

Zhang Ying

೺␿

Zhong Kui

⾝㌩

Zhang Youda

೺̨ञ

Zhongfen

ʑӠ

Zhang Zai

೺ⰶ

Zhongyuan

ʑҀ

zhangji

࿜⤺

Zhongzhen ci

൥⪬Ṛ

Zhao Buyi

⬰ʃ∑

Zhou Dunyi

‫ش‬ᄦㆄ

Zhao Fang

⬰ᗈ

Zhou Rudeng

‫ش‬ᖴᱸ

Zhao Gongming

⬰ҝᆙ

Zhou Zuwu

‫ش‬Ṓ‫؟‬

Zhao Wufang egui

‫ץ‬ʽᅞณ㌦

Zhoupu

‫ش‬ᙬ

Zhu Baijie

⪆ᱻ˛ [sic]

Zhaojun

ᆭ‫؃‬

Zhu Ci

ቒᘑ

Zhaoming

ᆭᆙ

Zhu Fahu

Ὅᘍ⩂

zhefan

⨋ӓ

Zhu Song

ቒኇ

zhen

⪬

Zhu Youdun

ቒሷᢱ

zhen qing

᳠෼

Zhu Yunming

ṗѿᆙ

Zhending

᳠હ

zhuang

⒜

Zheng Gengfu

ⶎ಑ड

zhuangpu

⒜б

Zheng Jianyuan

ⶎ⿀Ҁ

Zhuanlun

Ⱨⱐ

Zheng Tianli

ⶎट㓚

Zhukou Ni

ᛦ‫ם‬π

Zheng Yu

ⶎ᪕

Zhulin

ዳኚ

Zheng Zuo

ⶎ̧ (a Huizhou scholar)

Ziyang

₯ぬ

zong

શ

zongci

શṚ

zongfa dizhu

શᘍ߸ʙ

Zheng Zuo

ⶎ̳ (a Huizhou merchant)

zhengchang

╯‫ݏ‬

zongshang

ⅶ‫ۄ‬

Zhengcun Zheng

ⶎቩⶎ

zongzi

શઈ

zhengqi

ᄮ㕑

Zongzi yi

શઈ⩀

zhengxi

ᔌ໵

Zou Diguang

⵶ⲥ҆

zhenlie

⪬ᣊ

Zou-Lu

⵶㍇

zhennŸ

⪬ॉ

Zou Shouyi

⵶ભᲩ

zhi liangzhi

⎐⏦ᵧ

zu (ancestor)

Ṓ

zhici

ᄄṚ

zu (lineage)

ᅭ

Glossary

315

zuhui xi

ᅭሳ໵

zuquan

ᅭᓏ

Zun dexing

଀ോඖ

zushe

ᅭḽ

zuntian jingzu

଀टᄪṒ

zutian

ᅭ᮪

zunzu jingzong shouzu

଀Ṓᄪશ뵤

zuzhang

ᅭ⿢

Bibliography

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Zhongguo xiqu zhi: Anhui juanÑJigou ʑߡ໵ሧൠ: મ൏ֱÑÐᑨᐉ. Edited and published by Zhongguo xiqu zhi Anhui juan bianji bu, 1988. Zhongguo xiqu zhi: Anhui juanÑJuzhong ʑߡ໵ሧൠ: મ൏ֱÑÐԮỚ. Edited and published by Zhongguo xiqu zhi Anhui juan bianji bu, 1988. Zhongguo xiqu zhi: Anhui juanÑYanchu xisu, wenwu guji, baokan zhuanzhu, yiwen chuanshuo, yanyu koujue, qita ʑߡ໵ሧൠ: મ൏ֱÑÐរӛ∳Έ, ᄽ᧎‫⭤מ‬, ࢊ Ӥ૾┮, Ⱛ⊏З⦦, ⧡⦝‫⥌ם‬, Ң઩. Edited and published by Zhongguo xiqu zhi Anhui juan bianji bu, 1988. Zhongguo xiqu zhi: Jiangxi juan ʑߡ໵ሧൠ: ᖶ⣫ֱ. Edited and published by Zhongguo xiqu zhi Jiangxi juan bianji bu, 1989. Zhou Shaoliang ‫⏦₺ش‬, and Bai Huawen ᱺջᄽ, comps. Dunhuang bianwen lunwen ji ᄦᤕ⩐ᄽ⧄ᄽゝ. 2 vols. Shanghai: Guji chubanshe, 1982. Zhou Wu ‫◰ش‬. Huipai banhua shi lunji ൏ᙜᦹᯉ‫⧄׫‬ゝ. Hefei: Anhui Renmin chubanshe, 1984. Zhou Yibai ‫⫆ش‬ᱺ. Zhongguo xiqu fazhan shi gangyao ʑߡ໵ሧᱹଭ‫׫‬ℏ⣬. Shanghai: Guji chubanshe, 1979. Zhou Yude ‫⋀ش‬ോ. ÒMing-Qing qulun zhong de yanqing shuo ᆙᛤሧ⧄ʑ᱿⤵෼ ⦦.Ó Xiqu yanjiu ໵ሧᶇἄ 17 (Dec. 1985): 227Ð 45. ÑÑÑ. Zhongguo xiqu yu Zhongguo zongjiao ʑߡ໵ሧ⎞ʑߡશᄞ. Beijing: Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, 1990. Zhu Hengfu ቒණड. ÒMing-Qing Mulian xi taiben liubian kao ᆙᛤᲿⳐ໵⎔቏ ᙟ⩐≙.Ó Wenxian ᄽ᪇ 2 (1992): 42 Ð58. ÑÑÑ. ÒMulian gushi zai shuochang wenxue zhong zhi liubian kao ᲿⳐᄑʶ߱⦦ ‫ڳ‬ᄽણʑʠᙟ⩐≙.Ó Wenxian ᄽ᪇ 2 (1993): 27Ð 47. ÑÑÑ. Mulian xi yanjiu ᲿⳐ໵ᶇἄ. Nanjing: Nanjing daxue chubanshe, 1993. Zhu Jianming ቒ೘ᆙ. ÒMulian xi zai Shanghai ᲿⳐ໵߱ʀᙹ.Ó Mulian xi yanjiu wenji ᲿⳐ໵ᶇἄᄽゝ, pp. 265 Ð72. Edited and published by Zhongguo yishu yanjiuyuan xiqu yuanjiusuo et al. Hefei, 1988. Zhu Shiying ቒʊ␿, et al. Guren bixia zhi Anhui shengji ‫מ‬ːώʁʠમ൏՘⭤. Hefei: Anhui Renmin chubanshe, 1982. Zhu Wanshu ቒ┋ሖ. ÒQimen Qingxi Zhengshi jiacheng: Zheng Zhizhen shengping ziliao de xin faxian Ṁ⿧ᛤᝏⶎᕿ૊ʧ: ⶎʠ᫂ᮝ౹⫏ᅆ᱿ᅘᱹ᫠.Ó Huixue yanjiu tongxun ൏ણᶇἄⳇ⤻ 11 (July 2004): 5 Ð 8 . Zhu Xi ቒᥛ. Jiali ૊Ẍ (1597). In Hu Guang ⋟ೊ, comp., Xingli daquan ඖ᫧ञ Қ, vol. 18. Preface dated 1415. Reprinted with illustrations by Shigu zhai ో‫מ‬ 㕒 of Shexian county, Huizhou, 1597. ÑÑÑ. Jiali ૊Ẍ (1983). Yingyin Wenyuange Siku quanshu ᇓ֬ᄽᛚ⿽߈ಝҚሬ, vol. 142. Taibei: Taiwan Shangwu yinshuguan, 1983. ÑÑÑ. Jiali ૊Ẍ (1989). In Kongzi wenhua daquan: Xingli daquan ઋઈᄽջञ Қ: ඖ᫧ञҚ, vol. 2. Reprint, Kongzi wenhua daquan bianjibu. Shandong: Youyi shushe, 1989. ÑÑÑ. Lunyu jizhu ⧄⦝ゝᘜ. Reprint, Hong Kong: Chi sheng Book Co., 1958. ÑÑÑ. Xiaoxue jizhu ଅણゝᘜ. In Sibu beiyao ߈ⵒЈ⣬, vols. 1548 Ð 49. ÑÑÑ. Zhuzi jiali ቒઈ૊Ẍ (the Huizhou Zhiyang Academy version), 1701. Zhu Yong ቒՍ. Qingdai zongzu fa yanjiu ᛤ˩શᅭᘍᶇἄ. Changsha: Hunan jiaoyu chubanshe, 1987.

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Zhuang Yifu ⒜ɺཕ. Gudian xiqu cunmu huikao ‫מ‬Ҥ໵ሧએᲿֈ≙. 3 vols. Shanghai: Guji chubanshe, 1982. Zong Li શԻ, and Liu Qun ԰∌. Zhongguo minjian zhushen ʑߡᖁ⿵⧠Ṙ. Hebei: Renmin chubanshe, 1986. Zuo Yunpeng ఢゾ㐴. ÒCitang zuzhang zuquan de xingcheng jiqi zuoyong shishuo Ṛࡩᅭ⿢ᅭᓏ᱿ഐໞ‫ד‬Ң̳ᮢ⥶⦦.Ó Lishi yanjiu ᔕ‫׫‬ᶇἄ 5 Ð 6 (1964): 97Ð 116. Zurndorfer, Harriet. Change and Continuity in Chinese Local History: The Development of Hui-chou Prefecture, 800 Ð1800. Leiden, Netherlands: E. J. Brill, 1989.

Index

Aji, 198 An Yuming, 112, 162, 176 ancestral cult, 84, 92, 105 ancestral hall, 3, 9 –10, 31– 40, 77; and ancestral tablets, 30 –31, 43, 47, 170; as center of lineage culture, 47– 48; as freestanding, 20, 32 –37; hall of the great descent-line, 33; merchant contribution, 34 –36; mid-Ming maturation of, 31–33; molding power of, 47; Zhu Xi’s model of ancestral shrine, 37, 40, 241n164. See also lineage temple ancestral rite, 3, 83, 94; and cultivation of filial piety, 48 – 49; three rounds of, 48 Anhui Opera, 80, 182, 195, 196 Antong, 110, 111, 132 aristocratic clans: decline of, 20; migration to Huizhou, 13, 23, 59 Arkush, David, 246n36 baixi performance genre, 100, 199 Ban Zhao, Admonitions for Women, 159 Bao Bingxian, 44 Bao Boting, 66 Bao Qiyun, 36 Bao Shengtang, 44 Bao Shichen (1660 –1748), 64; as “honest merchant,” 58 –59; as lineage head, 44 Bao Xiangxian (jinshi 1529), 33, 40, 45, 46, 58, 241n161 Bao Xunmao, 242n185 Bao Zhidao (1743–1801), 64, 170, 177, 242n185, 251n95, 252n107; as head merchant of Yangzhou salt administration, 35 –36, 54, 58; and home lineage, 36; and lineagewide rites, 46 Bao Zong, 44, 242n185, 251n95 Barth, Gunther, 297n24 Beattie, Hilary J., 17, 234n52 Beijing Opera, 80, 195, 196, 216 Bell, Catherine, 145, 219, 274n147, 275nn149 –50, 297n25 Berling, Judith, 267n19, 267n23

Bernhardt, Kathryn, 241n174 Biersack, Aletta, 227n7, 228n10 Birge, Bettine, 282n68 Bol, Peter, 232n33, 235n75, 237n95, 296n19 bond-servants (dianpu), 23, 237n89; langhu (humble households), 197, 198; quantouzhuang (fist bond-servants), 197, 198; and ritual opera performance, 197–200; stratification of, 198; yuepu (serflike performers), 197, 198. See also humble surnames books, recording virtues (shanbu) or misdeeds (ebu), 27–28, 43, 239n120 Bourdieu, Pierre, 173, 227n7, 228n8 Boyang (county), 58, 183 Boyang version (of Mulian), 151–57, 162 – 64, 177, 212 Brokaw, Cynthia, 261n46, 267n21, 269nn48 – 49, 269n59, 272n107, 273n120, 273n125, 274n143, 275n149, 296n18 Brook, Timothy, 28, 51, 228n10, 231n18, 235n78, 237n91, 239n119, 241n172, 241n180, 242nn187– 88, 244nn1–2, 245n21, 245n34, 246n35, 246n37, 247n53, 248n56, 248n63, 249n69, 249n75, 250n88, 255n164, 263n56, 267n18, 267n20, 273n120, 284n92 Buddhism, 1; Chan school of, 56; sutras of, 90 Buddhist rites: and lineage rituals, 84; in Xidi village, 84 Buddho-Daoist pantheon, 262n49; Dizang (Ksitigarbha), 96; East Peak (Mount Tai), 96; General of the Five Ways, 96; King Yama, 96. See also local pantheon; Mulian Rescues His Mother: An Opera for Goodness Cao Qi, 54 Cao Shuming, Renowned Lineages in Xiuning, 61. See also Cao Sixuan

352

Index

Cao Sixuan, Xiuning mingzu zhi (1625), 24 Cao Wenzhi, 35, 44, 54, 68, 69, 249n68; and private troupe, 81 Cao Xianzhong, Miss Cao’s father, 113, 159 Cao Zhenyong, 54, 69 capitalism, 56; “sprouts” of, 57, 244n1, 245n34, 246n37 Carlitz, Katherine, 279n36, 279n38, 281nn63– 64, 282n71, 282n74, 285n103, 296n17 Carr, Edward Hallett, 228n11 Categorized Selections of Various Musics, 80 Censhan (village), 9 –11, 22, 23; Cheng mercantile lineage, 9 –11; examination success, 17; syncretism, 86 Cha Bashi, 197 Chan, Wing-tsit, 232n32, 232n36, 233n39, 272n101 Chang, Chung-li, 265n1 Chang, Kang-i Sun, 282n72, 282n74 Changbiao version (of Mulian), 151–57, 164, 177, 209, 212 chang rite, 92, 258n18 Changxiao, 94 Chartier, Roger, 227n7 Chawan Wang (village-based lineage): bond-servants of, 198; composition of, 23 Chen Baoshan, 196 Chen Guiying, as devout woman in Mulian, 121–22, 175, 282n78 Chen Hongmou, 28 Ch’en, Kenneth, 259n24, 261nn41– 42, 261n46, 262n49 Chen Li, Xin’an dazu zhi (Eminent Lineages in Xin’an, 1316), 24, 25, 45 Chen Que (1604 –77), 160 Chen Shilin, criticism of Mulian performance, 130 –31 Chen Yuanjing, description of the Zhongyuan festival, 98 –99 Chen Zhaoxiang, 104, 105, 107, 131–32 Cheng Dachang, 27 Cheng Dunlin, 29 Cheng Hao, 16 Cheng Huaijing, 19 Cheng Lingxi, 83, 242n191 Cheng Minzheng (1444 –99), 233n43, 247n47; and Huizhou kinship con-

struction, 24; report on lineagewide rites, 45 Cheng Qilu, Mulian-like devoted son in Censhan village, 127 Cheng Shangkuan, 18, 24 Cheng Shiying, 196 Cheng Suo, 198 Cheng Ting, 9 –11, 22, 74, 86, 127, 229nn1–3, 229nn5 – 6; report on folksy Mulian performance, 10 Cheng Xian, 45 Cheng Yi (1033–1107), 16, 21, 26, 235n72, 281n65, 285n113; on funerals, 84; on gender hierarchy, 159; and worship of first ancestor, 32, 33 Cheng Yunzhang (1602 –51), and ThreeTeaching syncretism, 86 Cheng Zhende, 195 Chengkan Luo (village-based lineage): Back Luo, 25; Front Luo, 24 –25, 34; lineage head, 42 Ching, Julia, 272n101 Chizhou (prefecture), 13; opera genre, 78, 79 Chow, Kai-wing, 232n37, 233n41, 233n47, 235n73, 240nn147–148, 240n154, 242n187, 274n131, 274n146, 282n69, 283n82, 296n22 chuanqi (opera), 10, 158, 252n116 chushi (untitled scholar), 61, 66 city god, 111, 116, 125, 180, 184, 186, 189; local metamorphosis of, 187 civil service examination: curriculum, 16; and Huizhou merchants, 66 – 67; Huizhou success in, 17–18, 59; quota system of, 66 Classic for Girls, 169 Clunas, Craig, 228n10 Cohen, Myron, 235n78 Confucian ethics, 2; compatibility with Buddhism and neo-Daoism, 56; Confucian lineage culture, 3, 20 –21; kinship values, 49; neo-Confucian ethics, 25 –26; Three Bonds, 26, 161, 162, 176, 216. See also Confucius; Elementary Learning; ethico-religious discourse; female chastity; filial devotion; lineage; neo-Confucianism; popular Confucianism Confucius, 16, 107, 108, 115, 215, 258n16, 275n157, 280n44, 296n11; Analects, 16, 92, 156, 229n6

Index contradictory consciousness, 273n125; of Mulian audience, 137 corporate estates, 3, 29 –31; management of, 44; and ritual opera, 3. See also ritual land criticism of money fever, 70 –72, 155; as complementary part of the new merchant code, 73, 139; denigration of commerce, 69 –71; divine role in conveying, 136 –37; multivalence of, 137–39, 213; “Ode to Silver,” 133, 155; “On Momey,” 70, 155; “Ten Not-So-Dears,” 134 –36; in Zheng Zhizhen’s script, 132 –37. See also Wuchang cult of qing (pure romantic passion), 160 – 61, 282n70; and female chastity cult, 159; literati obsession with, 158; and Wang Yangming, 158. See also “genius-and-beauty” opera genre Dai Zhen (1724 –77), 17, 68, 148, 231n24, 241n166 D’Andrade, Roy, 274n144 Daoism: and Jiajing emperor, 106; neoDaoism, 56 Daoist rites: and lineage rituals, 84; rangshen jiaogui (offering to the gods and relieving of the ghosts), 94 Dardess, John W., 235n77, 236n80, 277n11 Darnton, Robert, 227n7, 228n8 Davis, Edward, 228n7, 267n18 Davis, Natalie Zemon, 228n8 Dean, Kenneth, 267n18 De Bary, Wm. Theodore, 232n34, 232n36, 233n39, 238n112, 250n86, 266n10, 273n127, 274n128, 274n133, 274n135, 280n52 De Groot, J. J. M., 146 Deqing (1566 –1623, great Ming monk), 106 Dizang Bodhisattva, as guardian deity of Mount Jiuhua, 84, 287n13 Doctrine of the Mean, 16, 267n29 Douglas, Mary, 212, 228n8 Du Liniang, 158 Duara, Prasenjit, 228n7, 235n78, 249n74, 289n33, 289n39 Duchang (county), 183 Dunhuang manuscripts, 94, 97

353

earth god, 9, 86, 111, 116, 184, 186; mid-Ming metamorphosis of, 45, 187; ritual opera in honor of, 83 Eastern Peak (Dongyue), 85, 86, 184, 186, 189 Ebrey, Patricia, 40, 229n5, 232n37, 233n42, 235nn73–74, 235n77, 236n80, 241n167, 244n221, 260n31, 272n101, 281n65, 288n24 Elementary Learning, 16 –17, 21, 26, 104, 158, 215, 232nn36 –37, 281n68; on encouraging goodness, 115; on firm integrity, 161 Elman, Benjamin A., 230n10, 232n34, 233n47, 234n56, 235n77, 269n49, 274n146, 296n22 Elvin, Mark, 237n89, 246n37, 281n62, 281n68 encouraging goodness and punishing evil: as governing theme of Mulian, 1, 115; reflection of books recording virtues or misdeeds, 126; and village lecture, 27 ethico-religious discourse, 218; Confucian orientation of, 5; as “grammar” of traditional Chinese culture, 5, 219; of Mulian, 2, 4 –5, 6, 114 –32; shendao shejiao (establish the teachings through the way of the gods), 102 evidential scholarship, 17, 148, 218 Family Code of the Wus in Mingzhou, 17, 26, 40, 54; on rituals, 28, 47, 82 family pedigree, 56 Family Rituals, 15, 16, 21, 26, 27, 40, 47, 48, 49, 84, 169, 232n37, 235n72; on ancestral hall, 36 –37; on family patriarch, 43; on the Four Rites, 243 n192; influence on prominent lineages, 48; on ritual land, 29 Fan Chi, 92 –93 Fan Li, 249n69 Fan Zhongyan (989 –1052), 21, 29, 30, 55 Fanchang (county), 181 Fang Bao (1668 –1749), 160 Fang Hongjing, 19 Fang Shengying, 165, 166 female chastity, 9 –10, 12, 56; cult of, 74 –75, 105, 251n101; and cult of qing, 159, 161; “democratization” of, 159 – 60; elite alienation of, 159 – 60; elite origin of, 159 – 60; and family-

354

Index

lineage fabric, 76 –77; jie (female marital fidelity), 3, 74; jielie (female firm integrity or chastity martyrdom), 74, 158, 161; and mercantile lineage culture, 166 –77; and sojourning merchants, 76 –77, 128, 167– 68, 174; zhen (chastity), 74. See also Hanged Woman; Miss Cao Female Exemplars (Guifan), 15, 77, 169 female shrines, 170 Feng Menglong, Anatomy of Love, 161 Feng Mengzhen, 78; pilgrimage to Mount Qiyun, 85 filial devotion (or piety), 56, 92; and rituals, 48 – 49; in Yulanpen Sutra, 91–92 Five Classics, 63, 106, 109, 115, 218, 269n49, 269n52; Book of Changes, 115, 129 –30, 258n16, 265n80; Book of Documents, 115; Book of Rites, 32, 92, 115, 160, 257n14, 258n16, 258n18, 269n52; Book of Songs, 92, 115, 247n46, 258n18; on moral retribution, 115. See also Spring and Autumn Annals “foolish men and foolish women” (yufu yufu), 267n29; intended audience of Mulian performance, 107, 207, 214 – 15 Foucault, Michel, 227n6, 228n8 Four Books, 16, 63, 109, 269n49, 278n24 four heavenly marshals, 112, 184, 186; Guandi, 187; Marshal Zhao (Gongming), 187, 188, 203 four great Ming monks: Deqing (1566 – 1623), 106; Zhenke (1543–1603), 106; Zhixu (1599 –1655), 106; Zhuhong (1535 –1615), 106 “four treasures of the study” (wenfang sibao), 15 Freedman, Maurice, 21 Fu Luobu, 205; conversion to Buddhism, 113; as good merchant, 132 –33, 134, 155, 193, 211. See also Mulian Fu Xiang. See Mulian’s father Fu Yan, 208 Fu Yiling, 23 Fujii Hiroshi, 54, 64, 244n5, 244n13, 245n19, 245n23, 250n78, 292n87 Gan Shijia, 27 Gardner, Daniel K., 269n49

Geertz, Clifford, 144, 227n7, 228n8, 249n74 genealogies, 9, 20; compilation, 24 –26; and family pedigree, 24; of prefecturewide or county-wide lineages in Huizhou, 24; as written network of social control and integration, 25 Geng Xinzhen, 112, 162, 175, 176 “genius-and-beauty” opera genre, 158. See also cult of qing gentry-merchant relation, 68 – 69. See also gentry society gentry society, 17–19; and merchants, 1, 3, 5, 60 – 69; and popular culture, 5 – 6, 220; and ritual opera, 5 – 6 geomancy, 84 ghost festival (guijie), 99, 260n31, 263n58 god of wealth, 110, 186, 188 Goldman, Andrea S., 256n4, 279n37 Goodrich, L. Carrington, 274n136 Great Learning, 16, 26, 104, 232n36 Gu Yanwu (1613– 82), 32, 48, 55, 199, 235n70, 250n88, 284n97 Gu Zhenfu, 216 Gu Zuyu (1624 – 80), 13 Guandi (Guan Yu), 83, 91, 156, 213; god of wealth, 188. See also four heavenly marshals Guang Guoqing, 112, 162, 176 Guanyin, 101, 110, 112, 114, 126, 154, 155; companions of, 111; Mulian performance in honor of, 180; protection of Mulian, 133; seduction of Mulian, 132; temple, 204 Gui Youguang (1507–71), 51, 53, 160, 172, 231n24 guidao (way of the demons), 108. See also ethico-religious discourse guishen, 205, 258n14, 258n16; in Analects, 92; as ancestral souls, 92; as “demons and gods” or “ghosts and spirits,” 116; and filial piety, 92 Guixi Xiangs (village-based lineage), arrangement of ancestral tablets, 68 Gulin Huang (village-based lineage), 33; lineage head, 42; lineage leadership, 43; lineagewide rites, 45, 46 Habermas, Jürgen, 228n8 Hai Rui, 85 Haiyan (operatic style), 101

Index Han Xiangzi Immortalizes Han Yu, 70 Han Yu, 70, 156, 250n87, 261n41, 281n68 Handlin, Joanne, 238n114, 275n149, 281n67 Hanged Woman, 75, 157, 162 – 65, 169, 177, 211, 284n92; and female chastity cult, 158; Hanged Ghost, 162, 163, 164, 177, 213; and Huizhou mercantile lineage culture, 158, 166; Madame Dongfang (Chen Jinlian), 164, 166; Madame Jin, 163 Hangzhou, 13 Hansen, Valerie, 275n151 Hanshan and Shide (paired gods of wealth), 110, 133 Hazelton, Keith, 235n77, 238n110, 243n211 He Dongxu, 27 Hehe, 187 Hell, 206; Avici Hell, 96, 117; Bed of Nails, 117; Black City of Shadowy Fiends, 117; Body-Saw and TongueCutter, 117; Broken Money Mountain, 111, 117, 137, 154; Cauldron of Oil, 117; Copper Mill and Iron Tilt Hammer, 117; Copper Pillar, 96, 117; Fire Wheel, 117; Gate of Heaven, 112; Gate of Hell, 112, 117, 154; Golden Bridge, 112, 154, 162; Golden Money Mountain, 111, 137, 194; Iced Water and Black Wind, 117; Iron Bell, 96; Iron City, 117; Knife Hill, 96, 117; Lake of Blood, 117; Looking Home Terrace, 112, 116, 117, 154; Mirror of Karma, 117; Naihe Bridge, 112, 117, 154; Silver Bridge, 112; Silver Money Mountain, 111, 137, 154, 194; Slippery Oil Mountain, 112, 117, 154; Sword Forest, 96, 117; ten halls of, 113, 154; Watthellwedo River (Naihe), 96 Ho, Ping-ti, 233n48, 244n1, 244n10, 245n16, 249n65, 249nn68 – 69, 249n71, 249n77, 265n1, 284n97 Hong Sheng, 158, 161 Hong Xiuquan, 265n1 Hongwu emperor, 27; Pavilion for Declaring Goodness and for Extending Clarity, 28; reformulation of the earth god, 45; Six Injunctions, 26, 142. See also Zhu Yuanzhang Hou Fangyu (1618 –55), 78, 161

355

Hsia, C. T., 280n54 Hu Changyi, as apical ancestor of the “false” Hu, 25 Hu Guang, 16 Hu Guansan, 68: as good merchant, 64; and home lineage construction, 35 Hu Shi, 64, 167, 261n46 Hu Tianlu, 102, 104, 105, 152 Hu Tianxiang, authorship of the first Mulian script, 204, 294n131 Hu Yuanxi, 68 – 69 Huaitang Cheng (village-based lineage), examination success, 17 Huang Bian, 13 Huang Chao rebellion, and migration of aristocratic clans to Huizhou, 13 Huang Chongde (1537–1606), 247n54 Huang Du, 43 Huang Jiahui, 43 Huang Jifang (1499 –1559), 62, 247n54 Huang, Philip, 235n77, 246n37, 249n74 Huang, Ray, 274n136 Huang Ting, 138 Huang Wenming, 43 Huang Yuanji, as apical ancestor of the Gulin Huang, 43 Huang Zhenbao, 43 Huang Zongxi, 250n86, 255n169 Huangdun, 16 Huansha Cheng (village-based lineage), 195 –96, 204 Huiban (troupes owned by Huizhou merchants and lineages), 197; Hechun, 80; Sanqing, 80; Sixi, 80; Yangchun, 80; in Yangzhou, 80; and yuepu (serflike performers), 197 Hui-Chi (musical styles), 79, 80 Hui Dong (1697–1758), 68 Huishang social strategy, 50, 56, 66 – 67, 249n70; and Miss Cao, 176 –77, 211 Huizhou: association with neo-Confucianism, 15 –17; as center of Mulian performance, 2, 10; as center of opera performance, 79 – 80; as Confucian gentry society, 1, 11, 12, 15 –19, 56, 66; examination success, 17–18, 66; family-and-lineage pattern in, 76 –77; gender inequality, 170 –73; “Huizhou scholarship,” 244n1; as Jiangnan prefecture, 1, 12, 230n9; land-man ratio in, 14; as lineage stronghold, 1, 12, 22; local pantheon in, 45; as merchant

356

Index

cradle, 1, 15, 56; mountainous feature of, 12 –14; as “the native place of Cheng-Zhu,” 16, 53, 241n166; population, 13, 64; preference for learning over trade in, 68 – 69; rich cultural tradition in, 60; ritual opera performance in, 81– 83; social history, 3, 5, 12; syncretism in, 85 – 86; as “women’s ZouLu,” 75; woodblock printing, 15. See also Xin’an Huizhou merchants (Huishang), 3, 5, 12, 50 –55, 74; and ancestral halls, 34 –36; and bond-servants, 197–99; collective behavior of, 62 – 63; complete image of, 65, 67; and Confucian learning, 66; criticism of, 71–72; discrepancy among, 63– 64; dominance of, 15, 51; examination success, 67; as “feudal mercantile clique,” 55; gentrification of, 5, 12, 50, 56, 59, 60 – 62; gentry biographies of, 60 – 65, 68; integration into gentry and home lineages, 53–55, 57, 61, 62; and lineage joint ventures, 55; lonesome wives, 76 –77; mobility, 63– 65; and political patronage, 54; rise of, 13–15, 51, 55, 56 –57; and ritual land, 30; self image of, 68 – 69; subgroups of, 55; ultimate aspiration of, 65 – 66; way of life, 56. See also Huishang social strategy; Lianghuai salt merchants; mercantile lineage; Wang Daokun; Yangzhou Huizhou Mulian, 1, 6; as living history of mercantile lineage culture, 5. See also Mulian performance; Mulian Rescues His Mother: An Opera for Goodness Huizhou region, 227n1 Huizhou strategy, 67, 69. See also Huishang social strategy humble surnames (xiaoxing), 23, 236n85. See also bond-servants Hunt, Lynn, 228n8, 228n11 Hymes, Robert, 228n7, 237n91, 274n144 Illustrated Compendium of the Deities of the Three Religions and Their Origins, 145 Illustrated Complete Story of Han Xiangzi, 70 Incantation Invoking the Deities at the Altar-Ground, 185, 187– 88

Infernal King, 214 Investiture of the Gods, 102 Jade Emperor, 109, 111, 114, 163, 188; as head of popular pantheon, 116 Ji Yun, 44, 242n185, 251n95 Jiang Chun, 245n16, 253n130; as Lianghuai head merchant, 54; and opera troupes in Yangzhou, 80 – 81 Jiang Fan, 170 Jiang Xuqi, 16 Jiang Yong (1681–1762), 17, 148 Jiangcun Jiang (village-based lineage): composition of, 22 –23; dominance in Lianghuai salt business, 54; and ritual opera performance, 82 – 83 Jiangning, 13 Jianping (Langxi county), 227n1 Jiao Xun (1763–1820), 146 Jin Sheng (1598 –1645), 55; and village lecture, 28 Jin Shengtan (1608 – 61), 124 –25, 295n157 Jingde (county), 199, 204 Jingxian (county), 227n1 Jinnu, 110, 111, 134, 135, 154, 155; and control of bond-servants, 128 Jinzhi, 97 Jixi (county), 12, 13 Johnson, David, 5, 219, 227n5, 227n7, 228n9, 235n70, 265n1, 266n10, 280n50, 286n4, 294n142, 296n6, 296n10, 296n20, 297n25 Johnson, Wallace, 270n73 Journey to the West, 146; association with Mulian performance, 102, 112 – 13, 147, 154, 277n15 Kang Youwei, 69 Kang Zhaozuo, 254n148 Kangxi emperor: and Mount Jiuhua, 85; Sixteen Injunctions, 26, 238n108; and Ziyang Academy, 19 Kaochuan Hu (village-based lineage), Kaochuan Mingjing Hushi tongzong pu (Comprehensive genealogy of the Mingjing Hus [originating] from Kaochuan), 25 karmic retribution, 96, 114, 115, 117, 125 Katz, Paul, 289n39 Kelleher, M. Theresa, 232n36, 272n101

Index Ko, Dorothy, 274n132, 274n146, 280n51, 280n53, 285nn112 –13 Kong Shangren, 158; Peach Blossom Fan, 161, 252n118 Kuhn, Philip, 13, 231n22, 249n75, 275n152, 295n153, 295n1 (conc.) Kunshan (operatic style), 78, 79, 80, 101 Kun-Yi (musical genre), 80 Lagerway, John, 258n21 Land-owning pattern: gentry-landlords, 31; lineage-landlords, 31; merchantlandlords, 31. See also ritual land Langlois, John D., 266n16, 267n19 Lantern festival (Upper Primordial), ritual opera celebration, 82 – 83 late imperial era, 227n4 Lau, D. C., 258n20 ledgers of merit and demerit, 144; Ledger of Merit and Demerit of the Taiwei Immortal, 130, 144; syncretic nature of, 145 Legge, James, 243n216, 258n16, 258n20 lesser descent-line heir (zongzi), and neoConfucians, 21, 40 Levenson, Joseph, 18, 234n59, 266n11 Levine, Lawrence, 228n8, 297n24 Li Bai (701– 62), 85 Li Dahao, 62 Li Daqi (1522 – 87), 62, 66, 69; as gentrified merchant, 61, 64, 65 Li Diaoyuan, 79 Li Dou: on “elegant style” of opera, 80; on “flowery styles” of opera, 80; on “messy music,” 80; Yangzhou huafang lu, 54 Li Guangdi, 16 Li Mengyang (1473–1529), 62, 247n53 Li Qiaodai, 27 Li Weizhen, 74 Li Xiangjun, 161, 176 Li Xu, 70 Li Xuexiang, 181 Li Yu (1611–79), 78, 79, 158; Prayer Mat of Flesh, 279n36 Li Zhi (1527–1602), 142 Liang Chenyu (1521–94), 229n2, 252n116; Huansha ji, 79 Liang Wudi (Emperor Wu of the Liang), 93, 153, 154, 156, 157, 196, 259n24, 277n15, 280nn45 – 46; Empress Xi, 153, 280n45

357

Lianghuai salt merchants: as backbone of Huizhou merchants, 51–53; examination success, 67 lie (firm integrity), 74 Limu village, 182, 187, 189, 204 Lin Zhao’en (1517–98), and the ThreeTeaching Cult, 86, 106 –7 lineage: authority (zuquan), 20; branches (fang), 22; Confucian lineage culture, 3, 20 –21; documents (wenshu), 240n141; gentry dominance of, 23; great descent-line (dazong), 21, 40; ideology and pragmatism, 248n56, 248n63; kinship values, 49; leadership composition, 43– 44; lesser descent-line (xiaozong), 21, 40; and neo-Confucian ethics, 25 –26; principle of, 25; three types of, 21–22; and villages, 23. See also Confucian ethics; lineage head; lineage institutions; lineage rites; lineage rules; lineage temple; mercantile lineage; prominent lineages lineage head (zuzhang), 23, 42 – 43; branch head (menzhang), 42; and family patriarch (jiazhang), 43; of prominent Huizhou lineages, 42; and village head, 23 lineage institutions, 20, 24 –26, 29 – 43; and merchants, 24; mid-Ming maturation of, 23; neo-Confucian influence on, 20 –21. See also ancestral hall; corporate estates; genealogies; lineage; lineage head; lineage temple lineage rites: and Buddho-Daoist rites, 84; and cultural integration, 20, 49; mid-Ming maturation of, 29, 44 – 46; physical infrastructure of, 29 – 40; and ritual opera, 83 lineage rules: on commercial endeavors, 54; on education, 17–18; mid-Ming maturation of, 26; on village lecture, 27 lineage temple (zongci), 3, 44; apical ancestral hall, 33; management of, 44; ritual opera stage, 3, 36 –37. See also ancestral hall lineage troupes, 200 –201; and bondservants, 201. See also Mulian troupes Ling Mengchu (1580 –1644), 176; Slapping the Table in Astonishment, 71, 168, 175 Ling Yingqiu, 22

358

Index

Ling Yiqu, 162 Lishi, 187 Litan (ghost altars), 106, 263n58 Liu Bangcai, 60 Liu, Hui-chen Wang, 235n69, 255n171 Liu, James, 232n34 Liu Jia, 110, 154, 155 Liu Kaizhao, 207 Liu, Kwang-Ching, 130, 238n110, 267n29, 272n106, 281n60 Liu Xiang, Biographies of Virtuous Women, 159 Liu Xianting, 215 Liu, Xin, 236n79 Liu Zongyuan, 156 Lixi village, 181 local folk culture, relation to elite culture, 20 local pantheon, 187, 218, 296n21; and lineage rituals, 44 – 45; rise of, 45, 105; syncretic nature of, 45. See also Buddho-Daoist pantheon Longchuan Hu. See Yingzhou Hu Longhushan (Daoist mountain), 101 Lord Thunder and Mother Lightning, 110, 116, 136, 154 Lü Kun (1536 –1618), 27, 28, 238n114, 241n172 Lu Rong (1436 –94), 190 Lu Xiangshan (1139 –92), 60, 247n47 Lu Xun: on Hanged Woman, 282n80; Xianglin’s Wife, 173 Lükou Cheng (village-based lineage), 25, 26, 229n5 Luo Rongzu (Dongshu): and genealogy principles, 25; Hall of, 34 Luo Rufang (1515 – 88), 60, 141, 158 Ma Lu, 30 Mackerras, Colin, 253n127, 264n75 Madame Liu, 113, 116, 125, 154, 156, 188, 192, 207, 211; as Madame of Exhorting Goodness, 114; “Madame Liu Eats Meat,” 183; sins, 96 –97, 109, 110, 111, 123–25, 155, 214. See also Mulian’s mother Mair, Victor H., 94, 238n108, 257n9, 257nn11–12, 260nn32 –36, 261n40, 261n43, 262nn47– 48, 262n50 “Maji” (Curse the chicken[-thief]), 157 Makino Tatsumi, 242n188, 242n190, 245n21, 254n146

Mann, Susan, 242n187, 251nn101–2, 258n21, 281n59, 281n62, 282n76, 283n84, 283n89, 283n91, 288n22, 295n150 Mao Qiling (1623–1716), 160 Mao Zedong, 173 Martin-Liao, Tienchi, 281n58 Maspero, Henri, 262n49 McLaren, Anne E., 273n126, 276n2 Mei Dingzuo (1553–1619), 229n2 Mencius, 16, 115, 143, 159; Mencius, 156 Meng Chenshun, 161 Meng Yuanlao (ca. 1235), 98 mercantile ethics, 56 – 62, 217; Confucian orientation of, 57–58; effect on small peddlers, 63– 65; and merchant way (gudao), 56, 57. See also merchant code mercantile lineage, 3, 6, 49, 56; culture, 57, 65, 74; definition of, 3, 73–74; and female chastity cult, 166 –77; gentrification of, 5, 12; and Mulian, 5, 50, 74. See also lineage merchant code, 12, 50, 56, 67; and collective mentality of Huizhou merchants, 50; and Confucian way (rudao), 57. See also criticism of money fever; mercantile ethics Mingfeng ji, 78 Mingzhou Wu (village-based lineage): bond-servants of, 198; transformation of local worship, 44 – 45 Miss Cao, 108, 112, 156, 157– 62; as Celestial Maiden of Chastity and Integrity, 114; commitment to Fu Luobu, 113, 155; and female chastity cult, 158; and Huishang social strategy, 176 –77, 211; and Huizhou mercantile lineage culture, 158 Miyazaki Ichisada, 265n3 monk Benwu and nun Jingxu, 111, 282n70, 287n13; “Descending the Mountain,” 89; “A Monk and a Nun Meet,” 89; romance between, 109, 156 morality books, 144 – 45; syncretic nature of, 145 Mori Masao, 236n86 Mount Huang, 9, 57, 84; and the Yellow Emperor myth, 13, 230n12 Mount Jiuhua: holy mountain of Buddhism, 13, 84 – 85; imperial support of,

Index 85; and Li Bai, 85; and Mulian performance, 287n13; and syncretism, 84 – 85, 107, and Wang Yangming, 85 Mount Qiyun: and belief in ghosts and gods, 13, 85 – 86; holy mountain of Daoism, 13, 84, 85 – 86; imperial support of, 85; and opera performance, 287n13; and syncretism, 85 – 86, 107; and Wang Daokun, 85 Mouzi (ca. 200), 261n41 Mukerji, Chandra, 228n8 Mulian, 1, 109; in Yulanpen Sutra, 91– 92; business trip, 110; Fu Luobu, 108; as Great Bodhisattva of Benevolence and Filial Piety, 114; “ten friends” of, 110. See also Fu Luobu Mulian audience, 123, 206 – 8; elite audience, 207– 8; female audience, 77, 207– 8. See also “foolish men and foolish women” Mulian Legend: filial sons in, 97; tension between filial piety and ancestral rites in, 97 Mulian liantaibenxi (Mulian operatic series), 102; and other popular legends, 154 Mulian literature, pre-Zheng Zhizhen, 2, 10, 91–92, 94 –99; Buddhist sutras, 90; Da Qingti (Beat Qingti), 100; evolution of, 90, 94, 262n49; storytelling genres of, 94; syncretization of, 91. See also Mulian Legend; Mulian religious drama; popular lecture text on “Mulian Rescues His Mother” sutra (1251); transformation text; Transformation Text on Mahamaudgalyayana Rescuing His Mother from the Underworld, with Pictures, One Scroll (with Preface) Mulian myth, 1, 10; Chinese transformation of, 90, 103; Indic origin of, 90, 91 Mulian performance, 1–2, 10 –11, 12, 20, 50, 81, 186, 217, 219, 220; and acrobatic feats, 199 –200; at ancestral hall, 32, 90, 196, 204; audience’s response to, 215; Buddhist style of, 101; centers of, 2; and characteristics of Chinese popular culture, 2; Confucian transformation of, 90, 103, 194; Daoist style of, 101; elite interest in, 208 –10; ethico-religious discourse of, 153; and female virtues, 75; five regional styles of, 153; grand Mulian performance,

359

181, 182, 183, 194, 199, 288n23; hua Mulian (miscellaneous stories not related to Mulian story proper), 152 –53, 276n9; in Huansha village, 195 –96; influence upon commoners, 117; integration of, 49, 151, 153–77; learning process of, 201–3; lesser Mulian performance, 182, 183, 288n23; and lineage integration, 212; local criticism of, 130 –31; and mercantile lineage, 86, 180 – 82, 194 –210, 216; merchant engagement in, 196 –200; in the Ming dynasty, 1–2, 6; Mulian benzhuan (Mulian story proper), 152; origins of, 99 –102; in the Qing dynasty, 2, 6; in Qingxi village, 90; ritual dimensions of, 179 – 82; role of exorcism, 4; shared nature of, 4 –5, 210; social ingredients of, 194 –210; three types of, 194; and Yiyang musical style, 79. See also Hanged Woman; Mulian audience; Mulian scripts; Mulian stage; Mulian troupes; Mulian/ Wuchang performance; ritual opera Mulian precious scrolls, 114, 213, 262n54, 269n44 Mulian religious drama, pre-Zheng Zhizhen, 98, 99 –102; as “mother of Chinese drama,” 100; Mulian variety play, 100 Mulian Rescues His Mother: An Opera for Goodness (1582), 1, 11, 13, 15, 89, 108 – 40, 151–77, 178, 179, 188, 205, 207; aesthetic optimism of, 108; differences from previous Mulian texts, 114; diffusion of, 152 –53; elite and popular values in, 139 – 40; ethico-religious discourse in, 114 –32, 211, 213, 214, 216; female chastity cult in, 132; first full-length Mulian script, 1, 102; as living history of Huizhou mercantile lineage culture, 5, 140, 212; as new tradition, 1, 102, 140, 211; pantheon transmitted in, 111, 116 –17; popular commercial morality, 132 – 40; reflection of Huizhou mercantile lineage culture, 125 –28, 132, 140; and Spring and Autumn Annals, 90, 140; Story of the Filial Son in Search of Mother, 102; ten halls of Hell in, 113, 117, 118 –23; ten Yama kings in, 117; as theatricalization of Elementary Learning, 128 –

360

Index

29. See also new Mulian tradition; Zheng Zhizhen Mulian scripts, 2, 227n2; Chaolun version, 227n2; Gaochun version, 152, 153, 227n2; He Yuzhai version, 153, 196; Nanling version, 201, 209; Qianliang version, 153; textual comparison, 151–57; variations between, 156 –57, 212 –14. See also Boyang version; Changbiao version; Mulian Rescues His Mother: An Opera for Goodness Mulian’s father, 95, 108, 109, 153, 188, 190, 196; funeral of, 205; as Great Master of Exhorting Goodness, 114; as lineage head, 128, 211; as syncretic Confucian elder, 109, 155 Mulian’s fiancée. See Miss Cao Mulian’s grandfather, 153 Mulian’s mother: as “hungry ghost,” 91, 95; as Liu Qingti (or Liu Sizhen) in Mulian opera, 108; as Madame Liu, 97–98; as Madame Qingti, 95; sins, 96 –97, 109, 110, 111, 123–25, 155, 214. See also Madame Liu Mulian stage: ancestral-hall stage, 203, 204, 205; couplets (xilian), 124 –25, 181, 189, 205, 206, 209, 295n157; straw stage, 203, 205 – 6; temple stage, 203– 4; three types of, 203– 6 Mulian troupes, 200 –203; amateur nature of, 201; Changbiao, 200, 202; Dayukeng, 152, 200; Gaotian, 152; Limu, 200; Lixi, 152; Mashan, 152, 196; Qiaoxi, 152, 200, 202, 204; Qingyuan, 202; Ruokeng, 196; Shaokeng, 200, 202; Tongle, 89, 152, 200; Wanfu, 201; Xinfu, 201; Ziwu, 200 – 201. See also lineage troupes Mulian/ Wuchang performance, 6, 178, 182, 183– 86, 194, 205. See also Mulian performance; ritual opera; Wuchang Mulian xilian (couplets pasted on the stage), 124 –25 Nalan Xingde (1655 – 85), 199, 208 Nanling (county), 205, 208, 227n1; as new center of Mulian performance, 202 Nanping Ye (village-based lineage), 42 Naquin, Susan, 230n10, 235n78, 244n1, 266n13

Nathan, Andrew J., 219 native-place association (huiguan), 55 neo-Confucianism, 3, 15 –17, 60, 115, 216; elitist and populist approaches, 140 – 42; ethics, 25 –26; and lineage ideology, 25 –26. See also Confucian ethics; lineage neo-Daoism, 56 new Mulian tradition: and Huizhou mercantile lineage culture, 3– 4, 5 – 6, 11; and new sociocultural trends, 3– 4 Ni Daoxian, 104, 107, 143 Ningguo, 13 Northern Drama (beixi), 100, 101 nun Jingxu. See monk Benwu and nun Jingxu Nuo exorcism, 187 Ouyang Xiu (1007–72), 21, 24, 235n75 Overmyer, Daniel L., 266n13, 296n6 paifang (memorial archway), 36, 77, 155 Pan Jia, 168 Pan Kan, 81 Pan Shuanggui, 199 Pan Yunduan (1525 –1601), 78, 202 Pan Zhiheng (1556 –1622), 78, 79, 85, 198, 247n46, 252n110, 253n132 Pancun Pan (village-based lineage), examination success, 17 Park, Won Ho, 236n85 Plaks, Andrew, 146, 250n92, 267n20, 276n161, 279n36 Plumb, J. H., 212 Plum in the Golden Vase (Jinpingmei), 15, 146, 147, 279n36 Pomeranz, Kenneth, 246n37 popular commercial morality, 132 – 40, 155 popular Confucianism, 3, 140, 144 – 48, 217, 218, 219; definition of, 144, 216 popular culture: characteristics of, 2; Confucian transformation of, 6, 217, 220; and gentry society, 5 – 6, 220; and small peddlers, 65 popular lecture text on “Mulian Rescues His Mother” sutra (1251), 97–98, 114, 125 Precious Legend of the Inferno, 214 private troupes: and Huizhou elites, 81; and scholar-officials, 78

Index prominent lineages, 23–24; descendants from aristocratic clans, 59; mid-Ming commercialization of, 59; strategies, 59. See also lineage Prominent Lineages in Xin’an (1551), 18, 23, 24, 64 prominent surnames (daxing), 23, 236n85 Puhua (God of Lightning), 163, 164 punishing evil. See encouraging goodness and punishing evil Qi Biaojia (1602 – 45), 11, 152, 229n7 Qi Jiguang, 85 Qian Daxin (1728 –1804), 68 Qian Dehong, 60 Qianlong emperor, 44, 53, 54; and Anhui Opera, 80; and Mount Jiuhua, 85; and Ziyang Academy, 19 Qimen (county), 11, 12, 13, 179, 181, 195, 196, 197, 198, 199, 204, 206 Qingming (festival), 10 Qingxi (Pure Stream) village, 89, 90, 181, 182, 204 Qingxi Zheng (village-based lineage), 90, 256n2, 267n27 Qingyang (county), 227n1; opera genre, 78 Qinhuai quarter of entertainment, 71; “southern market” (nanshi), 161; “traditional court” (jiuyuan), 161 Qiu Huang (village-based lineage), and woodblock printing, 15 Qu You (1341–1427?), 249n68 Qu Yuan, 187 Quanzhou (prefecture), as center of the female chastity cult, 74 Raozhou, 13 Rawski, Evelyn S., 219, 230n10, 235n78, 244n1 Records of a Historian, 15 Records of Male Duty and Female Fidelity (Yilie ji), 15 Records of Model Women (Nüfan bian), 15, 77 regional opera genres, 101 Register of the Sage-Worshipping Society (Zhushenghui bu), 81– 82, 196 religious renaissance, 105 – 6 Ren Bantang, 100 Rites of the Zhou, 15

361

ritual land, 29 –31, 216; and Family Rituals, 29; multiple use of, 30 –31; and ritual opera, 31. See also corporate estates ritual opera, 1; and bond-servant system, 197–200; celebration on the Lantern festival, 82 – 83, 180; and festival celebration, 81– 83, 179 – 80; and lineage culture, 2 –3, 5 – 6; medium of, 194; money collection for, 81– 82; nature of, 4. See also Mulian performance; Mulian/ Wuchang performance Romance of Liang Wudi, association with Mulian performance, 102, 154, 157 Romance of the Three Kingdoms, 146; association with Mulian performance, 102, 147, 183 Ropp, Paul, 234n59, 265n3, 266n15, 281n67 Rowe, William T., 235n76, 239n124, 242n187, 243n192, 244n1, 244n7 Ruan Yuan, 253n130 Sacred Edicts, 26, 27 Sahlins, Marshall, 228n8 salt trade: frontier merchants, 52; head merchants, 53, 54; interior merchants, 52; reform of border delivery system, 52. See also Lianghuai salt merchants; Yangzhou Sanguan (Three Officers of Heaven, Earth, and Water), 93, 109 Santangelo, Paolo, 284n97 Santian Li (village-based lineage), 61 Sanyuan (Three Primordials), 93 Sawada Mizuho, 264n67 Schudson, Michael, 228n8 Shahar, Meir, 269n56 Shanhe Cheng (village-based lineage), and lineagewide rites, 45 – 46 Shanjian Academy, 66 Shanxi village, and writing of An Opera for Goodness, 89 Shanyou (Shanxi and Shaanxi provinces) merchants, 246n40 Shaoxing, 11 Shaxi Ling (village-based lineage): composition of, 22 –23; “Yixing kao” (Examination of other surnames), 22 Shaxi Zheng descent-line, 47 shendao (way of the gods), 107

362

Index

Shen Qifeng (b. 1741), 71 Shexian (county), 9, 11, 12, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 22, 24, 47, 62, 195, 197, 199; as center of the female chastity cult, 74 –75; as “women’s Zou-Lu,” 75, 166 Shigeta Atsushi, 251n94 Shipai (opera genre), 80 Shitai (county), 199, 227n1; opera genre, 78, 80 Shixi Kang (village-based lineage), and worshipping societies, 83, 197 Shu Zungang, 64; on “grand way” to wealth, 63 Sima Guang (1019 – 86), 21 Sima Qian, 15 Single Whip reform, and monetization of silver, 70 Siping (opera genre), 78 Skinner, G. William, 230n10 Sommer, Matthew H., 237n89, 251nn101–2, 282n79, 283n82, 283n86, 285n113, 286n114 Song Lian (1310 – 81), 106 Songs of Chu (Chuci), 15, 258n16 Southeastern Zou-Lu, 16 –17, 18, 19, 26, 51, 107, 136 Southern Drama (nanxi), 100, 101, 158 Spence, Jonathan D., 244n10 Spring and Autumn Annals, 18, 90, 107, 115 Story of the Stone, 237n89, 268n34 stove lord, 111, 188 Su Shi (1036 –1101), 21, 24, 25 Su Xun (1009 – 66), 21, 235n75 sufeng (untitled nobility), 61 Sun Kaidi, 100 Susman, Warren, 250n82, 295n2 syncretism, 1, 2, 85 – 86, 106, 248n63 Szonyi, Michael, 228n12, 235nn78 – 80, 240n142, 244n223, 289nn33–34 Taga Akigo¯ro¯, 236n88, 237nn92 –94, 237n102, 238n107, 243n209, 245n21, 248n57, 254n159 Taiping (opera genre), 78 Taizhou school, 141– 42, 158; dialectical nature of, 142 Tan Qian (1593–1657), 85 Tanaka Issei, 78, 83, 244n1, 252n112, 253nn133–35, 254n150, 263n60, 275n160, 286nn3–5, 289n41, 290n57, 295n153; on origins of Mulian, 99

Tang Guimei, 175 –76 Tang Lixing, 76, 77 Tang Shunzhi (1507– 60), 59 Tang Xianzu (1550 –1616), 18, 78, 146, 198; “four dreams” opera, 252n118; jiao qing (unnatural passion), 161; Peony Pavilion, 158, 253n132; zhen qing (sincere passion), 161 Tangmo Xu (village-based lineage): apical ancestral hall, 33; dominance in Yangzhou salt business, 31; lineage head institution, 42; ritual land, 30 –31 Tangyue Bao (village-based lineage), 28, 33; apical ancestral hall, 35; dominance in Yangzhou salt business, 54; female shrines, 170; lineage head institution, 42; management of corporate estates, 44; memorial archways, 36, 77, 170; and new mercantile ethics, 58 –59 Tao Yuanming (365?– 427), 231n15 Tao Zongyi, 100 Tawney, R. H., 246n37 Teiser, Stephen, 96, 227n5, 257nn8 –9, 257n11, 258n21, 259n24, 259n27, 259n29, 259n31, 261n45, 262n56, 269n57, 270n62 Telford, Ted A., 229n5, 237n92, 245n21 “Ten Not-So-Dears” (Shi buqin), 110, 134 –36, 155, 276n8; as “Beggar’s Song,” 134, 136 Three Character Classic, 17 “Three Great Afflictions,” 207, 208 Three Teachings, 56, 86, 109, 261n41; convergence in Confucianism, 107, 142 T’ien, Ju-k’ang, 75, 251n98, 251n101, 267n17, 271n94, 281n61, 282n79, 283n88, 284n92, 286n114 Tongcheng (county), 17, 22, 24 Tract of Taishang on Action and Response, 130, 144, 270n62 Trachtenberg, Alan, 297n24 transformation text (bianwen), 108, 114, 179; definition of, 94 Transformation Text on Mahamaudgalyayana Rescuing His Mother from the Underworld, with Pictures, One Scroll (with Preface), 95 –97; tension between filial piety and ancestral rites in, 97 Tu, Wei-ming, 232n35, 238n113, 274n127 Twitchett, Denis, 232n37, 235n75, 271n97

Index Übelhor, Monika, 238n112 Van der Loon, Piet, 4, 286n4 variety play (zaju): of the Song dynasty, 100; of the Yuan dynasty, 100, 101 Venerable Eternal Mother, 105 village lecture (xiangyue), 26 –28; and lijia and baojia systems, 26; and local morality, 28 Von Glahn, Richard, 266n15, 289n39, 290n51, 290n56 Wakeman, Frederic, 53, 227n4, 231n16, 237n89, 243n217, 244n12, 249n75, 265n1, 266n6, 282n75 Waley, Arthur, 261n39, 269n50 Waltner, Ann, 266n13, 279n36, 286n114 Wang Anshi, 156 Wang Caisheng, 68 Wang Daokun (1525 –93), 18, 19, 33, 51, 55, 62, 67, 68, 69, 70, 72, 73, 139, 191, 193, 198, 199, 231n24, 244n5, 249n70, 250n78, 250n83, 250n88; female biographies, 160; on “good merchants” (lianggu), 60, 247n46; as playwright, 78; Wang Yangming’s influence on, 60 – 61; and Wenchang hall on Mount Qiyun, 85 Wang Dingfa, 182, 185, 288n23 Wang Fuzong, 42 Wang Gen (1483–1541), 60, 141– 42, 158 Wang Guowei, 100 Wang Hong (1491–1545), 62 Wang Hua, 253n139; as head of the local pantheon, 45, 187, 189, 205; as Lord of Yueguo, 189; as patron deity of lineages, 45, 81, 82, 83 Wang Ji (1498 –1583), 60 Wang Jian, 47 Wang Jide (d. 1623), 78 Wang Jinshui, 181 Wang Jixuan, 81 Wang Mingsheng (1722 –98), 68 Wang Shandi, 181 Wang Shizhen (1526 –90), 18, 51; and authorship of Jinpingmei, 72, 250n92; and the Tan Yangzi cult, 105 Wang Tang, 66 Wang Wenqian, 81 Wang Xian (1469 –1523), 247n53 Wang Xiao’er, 162, 163, 164 – 65, 177 Wang Yangming (1472 –1528), 247n47,

363

247n53, 252n110, 265n80; agnosticism, 115; disciples of, 60; good knowledge of moral nature (liangzhi), 140 – 41, 143; influence in Huizhou, 60 – 61; influence on operas, 141, 158; influence on Zheng Zhizhen, 143, 217; and Mount Jiuhua, 85, 106; on Mulian’s moral value, 102; populist approach of, 61, 141– 42; school of the mind, 140 – 41, 241n166; and village lecture, 26, 141 Wang Yuan, 62 Wangshe, native town of Mulian, 109, 126 Wanli emperor, 106; and Mount Jiuhua, 85 Water Margin, 146, 230n14; association with Mulian performance, 102, 147 Watson, Burton, 258n15 Watson, James, 40, 229n5, 235n77, 236n80, 241n167, 289n33 Way of the Five Pecks of Rice (Wudoumi dao), 259n21, 262n49 Weber, Max, 44, 56, 208, 246n37, 248n63 “weeping songs” (geku ci), 168 – 69 Wei Ji (1374 –1471), and the new style of ancestral hall, 32 –33 Wei Liangfu, 252n116 Welch, Holmes, 259n21 Weller, Robert P., 269n56 Wenchang (deity), 83, 85 Wenshu, 94 Wentang Chen (village-based lineage), and village lecture, 27, 28 Wenzhou zaju, as the first mature Chinese opera genre, 101 Western Paradise, 112 Western Wing, 79, 102, 263n65 Western Xinan Wu (village-based lineage), 42 Wiens, Mi Chu, 236n85 Williams, Raymond, 228n8 Wolf, Arthur P., 266n14, 269n56 Woodside, Alexander, 295n154 Wu Daozi, 260n34 Wu Jingzi (1701–54), 104, 198, 266n15 Wu Ke (1499 –1590), 66 – 67 Wu Rongrang, 55 Wu Xiang, 44 Wu Yanwu, 201 Wu Yu, 44

364

Index

Wu Yueshi, 81, 253n132 Wu Zetian, 93 Wu Zixu, 91 Wuchang (Five-Fury) Spirits, 84, 178, 180, 182, 183, 184, 185, 186, 204, 211, 288n23; ambiguity of, 186; Boy [Sorcerers] of the Five Directions, 184; changing symbolism of, 186 –94, 285n102; conflation with Wutong, 189 –90; Evil Ghosts of the Five Directions, 188; god of wealth, 186, 189 – 92, 217; as “good ghosts,” 188, 191; as “little demons,” 186; and negotiation of gentry-merchant relation, 187, 191–92; and negotiation of gender relation, 187, 192 –93; in pantheon, 186; and patron deities of lineages, 186; “Wuchang Script,” 185 Wutong, 189 –90, 192 Wuwen (Five Plagues), 187 Wuxian (Five Manifestations), 187, 189 Wuyuan (county), 12, 24, 202 Xia Yan, 33 Xiaojing (Classic of Filial Piety), 16 Xiaoli (Tandu) Huang (village-based lineage), 18; female shrines, 170 Xiayuan (Lower Primordial), ritual opera celebration on, 83 Xidi Hu (village-based lineage), 25, 35, 37, 47, 64, 84, 205, 207, 250n79; apical ancestral hall, 48; lineage head institution, 42; living quarter arrangement, 171 Xie Changlu, 202 Xie Guangsui, Merchant Maxims, 57–58 Ximen Cha descent-line, and family rituals, 28 –29 Ximen Wang (village-based lineage), 17, 42, 48 Xin’an, 10, 13, 18, 22, 26, 49, 53, 59, 60, 74, 79. See also Huizhou Xin’an lixue (Xin’an school of principle), 16 Xin’an merchants, 231n26 Xinan Wu descent-line, 33 Xiongcun Cao (village-based lineage), dominance in Yangzhou salt business, 54 Xishi (legendary beauty), 79 Xiuning (county), 12, 18, 19, 24, 26, 62, 204

Xiuning Fan descent-line, 25, 64 Xu Chengyao, 199, 255n163; Chats on Shexian Matters, 84 Xu Chongmo, 182 Xu Dishan, 100 Xu Guo (1527–96), 168, 239n134 Xu Heng (1209 – 81), on first migrant ancestor, 32, 33, 40 Xu Puweng, 30 Xuanren Wang (village-based lineage), 26 Xue Lundao (1531–1600), “On Money,” 70, 133 Xun Kuang, Xunzi, 15, 258n15 Yama, 109, 111, 188, 189; and the earth god, 155 Yan Zhitui (531–91): Family Rules of the Yan Clan, 93; and Yulanpen ritual, 93 Yang, C. K., 258n15, 265n80, 272n101, 272nn105 – 6, 290n55 Yang Jiong (650 –94), “Yulanpen Rhapsody,” 93 Yang Liansheng, 249n69 Yang Shen (1488 –1559), 175 Yang Weizhen (1296 –1370), 281n66 Yangzhou, 58, 67, 80, 198, 242n185, 246n40; center of salt business, 9, 11; Huizhou dominance in, 52 –53, 54; Lianghuai salt administration, 53, 59 Yanzhou, 13 Yao Dizhu, 168, 175 Yao Qiyuan, 11 Yao Tinglin, Linian ji (Annual records), 207 Ye Liusha, 147 Ye Zongchun, 105, 132 Yili, 97, 109, 110, 112, 155, 211; as Guard of Celestial Gates, 114; reflection of Huizhou bond-servant system, 128, 198 Yin Kui (1331–76), 263n58 Yingzhou Hu (village-based lineage): ancestral hall, 34; lineage head institution, 42 yin-yang, 84, 116, 159 Yixian (county), 12, 25 Yiyang (operatic style), 70, 79, 80, 85; and Mulian performance, 101; new techniques of, 79; origin of, 101 Yongxi Wang (village-based lineage), 29 Yoshikawa Yoshikazu, 262n54

Index Yu, Anthony C., 262n49 Yu, Ying-shih, 56, 233n46, 245n27, 245n30, 245n34, 246nn36 –37, 247n46, 247n48, 247n53, 249n69, 258n16, 258n21, 273n120, 296n12, 296n22 Yuan Huang (1533–1606), 106 Yuan Mei (1716 –98), 68 Yue Fei: association with Mulian performance, 154, 156; Story of Yue Fei, 102 Yuetan Zhu (village-based lineage), 42 Yuko Shibuya, 242n190, 253nn138 –39, 254n141, 254n143 Yulanpen festival, 93, 179; and endogenous rituals, 93–94, 97, 98 –99; rituals, 92, 98, 114 Yulanpen Sutra, 91–92, 93 Yuyao (operatic style), 101 Zhang Chao (1650 –?), 18 Zhang Dai (1597–1689), 78, 152, 188, 199, 201, 205, 206, 207, 208, 215 Zhang Tao, 27, 250n88 Zhang Xuan (1558 –1641), 42 Zhang Ying (1637–1708), 22 Zhang Zai (1022 –78), 21, 25 Zhang Zhao, Golden Text of Exhortation, 179, 214 Zhao Buyi, 154 Zhao Fang (1319 –70), 247n47 Zhao Gongming. See four heavenly marshals Zhao Huafu, 26 Zhao Jishi, 22, 49, 74 Zhao Yi, 215 Zheng Chuan, 256n7 Zheng Gengfu (infernal criminal), 154; and Mirror of Karma, 120 Zheng Tianli, 256n2 Zheng Yu (1298 –1358), 42, 247n47 Zheng Zhizhen (1518 –95), 15, 71, 75, 76, 89, 102, 103– 8, 114, 158, 161, 176, 177, 179, 181, 188, 196, 202, 204, 208, 209, 210, 211, 212, 213, 214, 217, 218, 229n7, 232n31, 294n133; Confucian outlook, 104 –5, 106 –7; contradictory consciousness, 138 –39; ethico-religious approach, 129 –32, 269n52; exam frustration, 103– 4; and Five Classics, 115; genealogy compiled by, 255n2; and Huizhou

365

mercantile lineage culture, 103, 178; influence on commoners, 148, 151; influence on popular Mulian performance, 2, 151, 152 –53; and the new Mulian, 1, 3– 4, 6; and “popular Confucianism,” 143– 44; self-styled Gaoshi (“lofty rock”), 90, 104, 139, 265n4; syncretism, 105 – 8; Wang Yangming’s influence on, 60 – 61, 143– 44; Zhu Xi’s influence on, 129, 143. See also Mulian Rescues His Mother: An Opera for Goodness Zheng Zuo (Huizhou gentryman): Shilu Xin’an shijia (1549), 24; and village lecture, 27 Zheng Zuo (Huizhou merchant), 69 Zhenke (1543–1603, great Ming monk), 106 Zhishan Hill, 189 Zhixu (1599 –1655, great Ming monk), 106 zhizhi gewu (extend innate knowledge and investigate things), 140; popular interpretation of, 141 Zhong Kui, 260n34, 270n64 Zhongfen Xu (village-based lineage), 181, 195, 205 Zhongyuan (Middle Primordial) festival, 93, 97, 114, 179, 180, 204; ritual opera celebration on, 83; rituals, 93– 94, 98 –99 Zhou Dunyi, 159 Zhou Rudeng (1547–1629?), 141– 42 Zhou Yibai, 100 Zhu Fahu (ca. 265 –313), Yulanpen Sutra, 91 Zhu Song, 232n32 Zhu Xi (1130 –1200), 3, 15 –17, 33, 53, 60, 63, 84, 104, 143, 148, 158, 159, 215, 217, 218, 232nn36 –37, 233n44, 247n47, 258n14, 260n31, 269n49, 281n65, 281n68; agnosticism, 115; on ancestral shrine, 32; ancestry, 232n32; on funerals, 84; influence on civil service examinations, 16; influence in Huizhou, 19; influence on kinship, 21, 25, 26, 29; the school of (or ChengZhu school), 16, 140, 241n166; and village lecture, 26, 270n73. See also Elementary Learning; Family Rituals Zhu Youdun (1379 –1439), 159 – 60 Zhu Yuanzhang: agrarian subsistence

366

Index

economy, 51; belief in spirits, 106; and Confucian norms, 216; and Litan (ghost altars), 106; and widow Jiang, 165 – 66; and Wuchang, 187, 290n55. See also Hongwu emperor Zhu Yunming (1460 –1525), 101 Zhuhong (1535 –1615, great Ming monk), 106 Zhukou Ni (village-based lineage), 42 Zhulin village, 204; Lili troupe, 204 Ziyang Academy, 19, 40, 66, 232n32; and balanced approach to learning and morality, 17

Zou Shouyi, 60 Zuozhuan (Zuo Commentary on the Spring and Autumn Annals), 92, 249n65, 258n16, 258n18 Zurndorfer, Harriet, 64, 228n12, 231n17, 231n20, 233n48, 237n98, 239n122, 242n190, 243n193, 243n205, 244n222, 244n1 (chap. 2), 248n58, 249n69, 251n193, 255n171, 285n109, 285n111, 290n51