China's Encounters on the South and Southwest: Reforging the Fiery Frontier Over Two Millennia 9004282483, 9789004282483

Table of contents :
Contents
Preface
List of Figures, Maps and Tables
List of Contributors
Introduction: “The Fiery Frontier and the Dong World”
James A. Anderson and John K. WhitmoreAnderson and Whitmore
part 1
Shifting the Southern Frontier
∵
Where to Draw the Line?The Chinese Southern Frontier in the Fifth and Sixth Centuries
Catherine Churchman
Constructing Local Narratives: Spirits, Dreams, and Prophecies in the Medieval Red River Delta
Liam C. Kelley
Man and Mongols: the Dali and Đại Việt Kingdoms in the Face of the Northern Invasions
James A. Anderson
Yunnan’s Muslim Heritage
Michael C. Brose
Gunsmoke: The Ming Invasion of Đại Việt and the Role of Firearms in Forging the Southern Frontier
Kenneth M. Swope
A State Agent at Odds with the State: Lin Xiyuan and the Ming Recovery of the Four Dong
Kathlene Baldanza
part 2
Shaping the Southern Frontier
∵
Imperial Ideal Compromised: Northern and Southern Courts Across the New Frontier in the Early Yuan Era
Sun Laichen
Northern Relations for Đại Việt: China Policy in the Age of Lê Thánh Tông (r. 1460–1497)
John K. Whitmore
Projecting Legitimacy in Ming Native Domains
Joseph Dennis
Royal Refuge and Heterodoxy: The Vietnamese Mạc Clan in Great Qing’s Southern Frontier, 1677–1730
Alexander Ong
The Rule of Ritual: Crimes and Justice in Qing-Vietnamese Relations During The Qianlong Period (1736–1796)
Jaymin Kim
Volatile Allies: Two Cases of Powerbrokers in the Nineteenth Century Vietnamese-Chinese Borderlands
Bradley C. Davis
Depicting Life in the Twentieth-Century Sino-Tibetan Borderlands: Local Histories and Modernities in the Career and Photography of Zhuang Xueben (1909–1984)
Amy Holmes-Tagchungdarpa
From Land to Water: Fixing Fluid Frontiers and the Politics of Lines in the South China / Eastern Sea
Kenneth MacLean
Asymmetric Structure and Culture in China’s Relations with its Southern Neighbors
Brantly Womack
Glossary
Index

Citation preview



China’s Encounters on the South and Southwest



  

Handbook of Oriental Studies Handbuch der Orientalistik Section 3

Southeast Asia Edited by V. Lieberman and M.C. Ricklefs

VOLUME 22

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/h03





China’s Encounters on the South and Southwest Reforging the Fiery Frontier Over Two Millennia

Edited by

James A. Anderson John K. Whitmore

LEIDEN | BOSTON

 Cover illustration: “Dong Settlement” Region near Xialei Township, Daxin County, Guangxi Zhuang Autonomous Region China (PRC). Photo by James A. Anderson, 1997.

This publication has been typeset in the multilingual “Brill” typeface. With over 5,100 characters covering Latin, ipa, Greek, and Cyrillic, this typeface is especially suitable for use in the humanities. For more information, please see brill.com/brill-typeface. issn 0169-9571 isbn 978-90-04-21890-1 (hardback) isbn 978-90-04-28248-3 (e-book) Copyright 2015 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Nijhoff and Hotei Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Contents Preface VII List of Figures, Maps and Tables X List of Contributors XI

Introduction: “The Fiery Frontier and the Dong World”  1 James A. Anderson and John K. Whitmore

Part 1 Shifting the Southern Frontier 1

Where to Draw the Line? The Chinese Southern Frontier in the Fifth and Sixth Centuries 59 Catherine Churchman

2

Constructing Local Narratives: Spirits, Dreams, and Prophecies in the Medieval Red River Delta 78 Liam C. Kelley

3

Man and Mongols: the Dali and Đại Việt Kingdoms in the Face of the Northern Invasions 106 James A. Anderson

4

Yunnan’s Muslim Heritage 135 Michael C. Brose

5

Gunsmoke: The Ming Invasion of Đại Việt and the Role of Firearms in Forging the Southern Frontier 156 Kenneth M. Swope

6

A State Agent at Odds with the State: Lin Xiyuan and the Ming Recovery of the Four Dong 169 Kathlene Baldanza

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Part 2 Shaping the Southern Frontier 7

Imperial Ideal Compromised: Northern and Southern Courts Across the New Frontier in the Early Yuan Era 193 Sun Laichen

8

Northern Relations for Đại Việt: China Policy in the Age of Lê Thánh Tông (r. 1460–1497) 232 John K. Whitmore

9

Projecting Legitimacy in Ming Native Domains 259 Joseph Dennis

10

Royal Refuge and Heterodoxy: The Vietnamese Mạc Clan in Great Qing’s Southern Frontier, 1677–1730 273 Alexander Ong

11

The Rule of Ritual: Crimes and Justice in Qing-Vietnamese Relations During the Qianlong Period (1736–1796) 288 Jaymin Kim

12

Volatile Allies: Two Cases of Powerbrokers in the Nineteenth-Century Vietnamese-Chinese Borderlands 322 Bradley C. Davis

13

Depicting Life in the Twentieth-Century Sino-Tibetan Borderlands: Local Histories and Modernities in the Career and Photography of Zhuang Xueben (1909–1984) 339 Amy Holmes-Tagchungdarpa

14

From Land to Water: Fixing Fluid Frontiers and The Politics of Lines in the South China/Eastern Sea 370 Kenneth MacLean

15

Asymmetric Structure and Culture in China’s Relations with Its Southern Neighbors 395 Brantly Womack Glossary 405 Index 419

Preface We all as editors and contributors to this collected volume began this study of Imperial Chinese engagement along their southern and southwestern frontier with several goals in mind. First, we wished to contest the notion found in contemporary Chinese scholarship that China’s modern-day South and Southwest became integrated parts of a larger Chinese empire as early as the third century BCE, and that any deviation from this unified realm was the product of historical anomalies or over-reaching “separatist” local rulers along the empire’s southern margins. Secondly, we wished to look closely over the course of history at the interaction of small polities on the imperial periphery with a variety of authorities from northern and southern regimes. Economic and political interactions involved both resistance and cooperation, revealing to us a zone of “middle ground” hybridity as US historian Richard White discovered in his study of the American West. Finally, we were interested in a new periodization in the historical stages of engagement between China and its southern neighbors, as the varied northern regimes acted on the latter. We found in this study a definite initial stage of northern advancement and engagement, with stops and starts, in the mountainous terrain south of the Yangzi River valley from the third century BCE through Mongol military conquests in the thirteenth century. A second stage then involved the shift from imperial expansion to power consolidation within the current border areas, which presented new challenges to those polities existing on Imperial China’s periphery. In the process of this study, we have come to define this entire highland region lying between China and Southeast Asia as the Dong world, originally consisting of the many dong (mountain valley communities) existing within it. Initially, the southern frontier ran roughly in a north-south direction, as Sinic civilization worked its way along the river systems and in from the coasts and their river mouths. These were more horizontal than vertical moves, as the hills were left to the dong (mountain valley community) chiefs. This process of frontier formation took over a millennium and a half, beginning in Qin times late in the third century BCE, before it began to form the east-west frontier as it exists today. Northern and north-central Vietnam (Jiaozhi/Annan) lay within the southern reaches of the Chinese empires for most of this time, while Yunnan (Nanzhao, Dali) and the Dong world at large stood outside. Gradually, this north-south axis shifted into the east-west one of today. First, Đại Việt emerged in the Red River Plain during the tenth and eleventh centuries out of the fragmented Tang realm. Then the Mongols and the Ming brought the higher regions, particularly Yunnan, into China. Though the Ming took Đại Việt briefly

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back into China (for only two decades, 1407–27), by the middle of the fifteenth century the east-west frontier had come into being, forged by actions of political and cultural forces on both sides of and within it. The past half millennium has seen the varied agents, both within and without the borderlands, act to shape the nature of this ‘fiery frontier.’ In the present day, the political leaders of the nation-states in this region, north and south, have “re-empowered” local communities, while retaining ultimate authority through strong central government directives. This volume owes its start to personal encouragement, the scholarship from several conference panels that now seem predestined to be brought into dialogue, and the decisions of several adventurous souls to join this project once under way. The project began with a 2010 Association of Asian Studies panel “Conquest by Administration: Chinese State Expansion and Contraction in the Southern Borderlands,” which included versions of the chapters written by Catherine Churchman, James Anderson, and Kathlene Baldanza. John Whitmore served as discussant for this panel, and that spring, through Victor Lieberman’s contact with Brill, the latter’s acquisition editor Albert Hoffstädt approached John to discuss the possibility of editing a Handbuch volume on Chinese-Southern border relations in premodern times. Following our encouraging discussion with Mr. Hoffstädt, we added a paper from a related 2005 Association of Asian Studies panel, sought additional contributions from scholars working on related topics through different historical periods, and asked Professor Brantly Womack for the volume’s summary piece. We wish to thank all our contributors for their hard work and for their great patience as we have compiled, edited, and re-edited the sections of the manuscript for publication. We would like to thank the following persons who contributed their time and expertise to shaping this book. Of course, any mistakes still contained within these pages are not the fault of anyone but ourselves. Regarding the genesis of this volume, we wish to thank Albert Hoffstädt, and later Patricia Radder, at Brill for their excellent help in allowing us to proceed through each stage of this project. Our thanks also to the anonymous reader for the inspiration s/he provided us in our development of our themes. We also have individual words of thanks to offer. James wishes to thank the director of Academia Sinica’s Institute of History and Philology Professor Chin-shing Huang and all the Institute’s researchers and staff for their generous assistance during his 2011–2012 research leave in Taiwan, at which time much of his writing was completed. He also wishes to thank the staff of the Center for Chinese Studies at the National Central Library for the warm welcome he received during his leave, and he greatly appreciates the research funding support he received

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from the Taiwan Fellowship program, established by the ROC Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Finally, James wishes to thank Yueh-Miao, Claire and Svea, for their patience and understanding when faced with a distracted spouse and father lost in the details of this project over many evenings and weekends. John is thankful for the support he has received from the Center for Southeast Asia Studies of the University of Michigan, to Victor Lieberman for his continued encouragement, to Susan for her inspiration and aid, and to his sons, John, David, and James.











































  



List of Figures, Maps and Tables Figures Map of Mahu Prefectural town and its environs. (Source: Mahu fu zhi 馬 9.1 湖府志 (Mahu Prefecture Gazetteer), 1555. Reprinted in Tianyige cang Ming dai fangzhi xuankan 天一閣藏明代方志選刊 (Selected Reprints of Ming Dynasty Gazetteers Held in the Tianyige) Shanghai: Shanghai Guji Shudian, 1982) 270 13.1 Taken on the road north of Kangding, in 1937–8, published in Zhuang Xueben Quanji (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 2009), Vol. 2, p. 447, Image 1 355 13.2 Taken in 1934, published in Zhuang Xueben Quanji (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 2009), Vol. 1, p. 84, Image 5 355 13.3 Taken in Qinghai, 1935–1937, published in Zhuang Xueben Quanji (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 2009), Vol. 1, p. 275, Image 12 356 13.4 Taken in Gyalrong (Jiarong), 1934, published in Zhuang Xueben Quanji (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 2009), Vol. 1, p. 99, Image 6 357 13.5 Taken in Golok (Guoluo), 1934, published in Zhuang Xueben Quanji (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 2009),Vol. 1, p. 159 357 13.6 Taken in Bathang, 1940, published in Zhuang Xueben Quanji (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 2009), Vol. 2, p. 648, Image 14 358 13.7 Liu Wenhui’s family, taken in Kangding, 1938, published in Zhuang Xueben Quanji (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 2009), Vol. 2, p. 459 360 13.8 Badu Primary School, taken in Danba, 1938, published in Zhuang Xueben Quanji (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 2009), Vol. 2, p. 468 361 13.9 Taken north of Kangding in late 1937–8, published in Zhuang Xueben Quanji (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 2009), Vol. 2, p. 436 362 Maps 1 The general region of the Dong world 4 2 The early Dong era (to the 10th century) 13 3 The late Dong era (11th–13th centuries) 20 4 The Tusi era (13th–18th centuries) 24 5 The Gaitu Guiliu era (18th century – the present) 36 Tables 14.1 14.2

Maritime lines 371 Graduated sovereignty and jurisdiction in maritime regions 377

List of Contributors Alexander Ong Eng Ann is a PhD candidate in History at the University of British Columbia, working on the topic of Sino-Vietnamese borderland interactions during the 17th and 18th centuries.  He obtained his Bachelor of Arts (1999) and Master of Arts (2004) (both in History) degrees from the National University of Singapore.  He is currently based in his native Singapore. Amy Holmes-Tagchungdarpa is an assistant professor of Buddhist cultural history in the Department of Religious Studies at Grinnell College. Her research interests include the culture and history of the Sino-Tibetan borderlands and the Himalayas, and more broadly, intersections between literary and material history, interpersonal networks, cultural production and gender studies between East and South Asia. She is the author of The Social Life of Tibetan Biography: Textuality, Community and Authority in the Lineage of Togden Shakya Shri (2014). Bradley Camp Davis is Assistant Professor of History at Eastern Connecticut State University. A specialist on China and Southeast Asia, his interests include borderlands, imperial ethnography, Nguyễn Vietnam, the Qing Empire, and histories of the Tai and Yao (Mien). Currently, he is completing a manuscript on the Black Flag Army and has begun a study of early modern imperial ethnographies in the Vietnamese borderlands. Brantly Womack is Cumming Memorial Professor of Foreign Affairs and holds the Miller Center’s C K Yen Chair at the University of Virginia. He is the author of China Among Unequals: Asymmetric International Relationships in Asia (World Scientific Press, 2010), and of China and Vietnam: The Politics of Asymmetry (Cambridge, 2006), as well as over a hundred articles and book chapters. He edited China’s Rise in Historical Perspective (Rowman and Littlefield, 2010) and Contemporary Chinese Politics in Historical Perspective (Cambridge, 1991). Catherine Margaret Churchman graduated from the Research School of Pacific and Asian Studies at The Australian National University with a Doctor of Philosophy in the history of relations between indigenous Li and Lao of Southern China and the various

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Chinese states during the first millennium CE. Her research interests include the premodern economic and ethnic history of south China and northern Vietnam, the Malaysian Hokkien dialect, and the involvement of Nationalist China in the Korean War. James A. Anderson is an Associate Professor at the University of North Carolina at Greensboro. An historian of premodern China and Vietnam, Anderson‘s first book is The Rebel Den of Nùng Trí Cao: Loyalty and Identity Along the Sino-Vietnamese Frontier (University of Washington Press, 2007). He is the co-editor, with Nola Cooke and Li Tana, of the volume The Tongking Gulf Through History (University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011). Jaymin Kim is a PhD candidate in the History Department at the University of Michigan and a professor officer in the military history department at the Korea Military Academy. He is currently working on his dissertation on boundaries, subjecthood, and jurisdiction in Qing-centered Asia through case studies of interstate legal cases from the 1640s to the 1840s. John K. Whitmore is research associate at the Center for Southeast Asian Studies, University of Michigan, and a specialist on premodern Vietnamese and Southeast Asian history. He has taught at Yale University, the University of Virginia, and the University of California, Los Angeles, as well as the University of Michigan. Author of numerous books and articles, Whitmore’s annotated anthology Sources of Vietnamese Tradition (with George Dutton and Jayne Werner; Columbia University Press, 2012) received a Choice Outstanding Academic Titles 2013 award. Joseph Dennis is a professor at the University of Wisconsin and president of the Society for Ming Studies. He is author of the forthcoming Writing, Publishing, and Reading Local Gazetteers in Imperial China, 1100–1700. His current research focuses on the history of legal education and school libraries in late imperial China. Kathlene Baldanza is Assistant Professor of History and Asian Studies at Pennsylvania State University. She has contributed to the volume Chinese History in Geographical

List Of Contributors

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Perspective and is currently completing a manuscript on Ming relations with Vietnam. Kenneth MacLean is as Associate Professor of International Development and Social Change at Clark University. He is the author of The Government of Mistrust: Illegibility and Bureaucratic Power in Socialist Vietnam (U. Wisconsin Press, 2013). His research publications on Vietnam have also appeared in: The Journal of Vietnamese Studies, positions: asia critique, History and Anthropology, and Comparative Studies in Society and History. His new book project concerns the role Vietnamese amateur experts (pundits) play in shaping the East / South China Sea territorial disputes. Kenneth M. Swope is Professor of History and Fellow of the Dale Center for the Study of War & Society at the University of Southern Mississippi (USA). He is the author of A Dragon’s Head & A Serpent’s Tail: Ming China and the First Great East Asian War, 1592–1598) (Oklahoma, 2009) and The Military Collapse of China’s Ming Dynasty, 1618–1644 (Routledge, 2013) as well as a number of articles and book chapters on Ming military history. He is currently working on a monograph on the Ming peasant rebel leader Zhang Xianzhong and the Ming-Qing transition in southwest China. Liam C. Kelley is an associate professor in the History Department at the University of Hawai’i at Manoa. He is the author of Beyond the Bronze Pillars: Envoy Poetry and the Sino-Vietnamese Relationship (Hawaii, 2005) and various articles on premodern Vietnamese history. His current research focuses on Vietnamese historiography concerning the origins of Vietnam. Michael C. Brose is Associate Professor of History at the University of Wyoming. His Ph.D. work focused on Uyghur administrative personnel in Mongol China, resulting in his first book, Subjects and Masters: Uyghur Elites in the Mongol Empire. His current research continues to examine the history of administrative personnel in Yuan-Ming China and Koryo-Choson Korea, and the evolution of the Chinese Muslim Hui from the time of the Mongol conquest to the present, especially in Yunnan Province. Examples of this work include his ”Neo-Confucian Uyghur Semuren in Koryŏ and Chosŏn Korean Society and Politics,” in Eurasian Influences on Yuan China, ed. Morris Rossabi (Singapore: Institute

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of Southeast Asian Studies, 2013): 178–199, and “Globalization and the Chinese Muslim Community in Southwest China,” Asia Pacific: Perspectives 10.1 (May, 2011): 61–80. Sun Laichen received his PhD from University of Michigan, and is Professor at California State University, Fullerton. He was Senior Research Fellow at Asia Research Institute, National University of Singapore in 2003 and Research Fellow at the Center for Southeast Asian Research, Kyoto University in 2008. His research interest includes Asian military history and Sino-Southeast Asian interaction during the early modern era (c.1350–1800). His publications include Southeast Asia in the Fifteenth Century: The China Factor (co-editor; National University of Singapore Press, 2012), “Chinese Military Technology Transfers and the Emergence of Northern Mainland Southeast Asia, c. 1390–1527,” and “Chinese Gunpowder Technology and Dai Viet: c. 1390–1497.” 

Introduction: “The Fiery Frontier and the Dong World” James A. Anderson and John K. Whitmore

Southward over the transverse pass – into the continent of flame. (Han Yu, 9th Century)1

…

The southern quarter is associated with the fire phase [huoxing]. Its air blazes and transcends.

(Fan Chengda, 12th Century)2

…

A distant corner of fiery wasteland.

( Jiang Yigui, 16th Century)3

⸪ As the Chinese empires increasingly stretched farther and farther to the south, their engagement with their new margins intruded more and more deeply into the frontier and its territories of an unknown nature, inhabited by peoples of strange social and cultural patterns. Edward H. Schafer, in great detail, showed us “Tang images of the South” in his book The Vermilion Bird. These images 1 E.H. Schafer, The Vermilion Bird: T’ang Images of the South (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1967), 83. 2 Fan Chengda & James M. Hargett. Treatises of the Supervisor and Guardian of the Cinnamon Sea = Guihai Yuheng Zhi. (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2010), 34, 237. 3 K. Baldanza, ‘The Ambiguous Border: Early Modern Sino-Vietnamese Relations,’ Ph.D. Dissertation (University of Pennsylvania, 2010), 115.

©

5 | 

/

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form the Chinese perceptual background for their penetration of these southern regions. One thing these images demonstrate is that local forces throughout this frontier (particularly the dong [mountain valley settlement4] chiefs) were quite active and required the utmost consideration. The Tang sources, together with writings of Fan Chengda and Zhou Qufei of the Southern Song,5 show that the Man (southern barbarians) had distinct ideas of their own about what was happening in their territories. In this distant region, marked by the fluctuating and mythical “bronze pillars” of the first century CE Han general Ma Yuan,6 there existed a variety of human beings, ecological zones, flora, fauna, minerals, and spiritual beings.7 As Mark Elvin has commented on Guizhou, for the Han this territory “was another world,” “…beautiful…strange and frightening…”8 This is the essence of ‘frontier’ – a territory faced and culturally perceived as being on the fringe of the usual, out beyond it. In such a region of what is strange and unusual for a society, there is an assumed openness on which that society seeks to imprint its own pattern. The peoples and societies within such a territory would have their own choices to make about the resulting contacts, accepting, rejecting, and parceling through elements of the incoming culture. At some point, power, that is politics, would come into play, and the resulting political relations begin to set, demarcate, boundaries between one polity and others within the broad frontier. On both sides of the newly constructed/imagined borders would stretch borderlands, encompassing peoples already dwelling there, as well as those moving into the area. These political relations involved polities on both sides of the border as well as leaders of the frontier peoples who now found themselves entangled in border politics. In this manner, we agree with Christian C. Lentz in treating this space as one looked upon by external peoples and polities to be situated on the fringes of the world of each. Acting on its imagined 4

For an extended discussion of the character dong as “mountain valley settlement” in terms of the twelfth century, see Fan & Hargett. Treatises of the Supervisor and Guardian of the Cinnamon Sea, li-lii, and in broader terms n. 36 below. 5 Fan & Hargett. Treatises of the Supervisor and Guardian of the Cinnamon Sea. 6 Schafer, Vermillion Bird, 24, 41, 97–99, 140; L.C. Kelley, Beyond the Bronze Pillars: Envoy Poetry and the Sino-Vietnamese Relationship (Honolulu, HI: University of Hawaii Press, 2005), 6–9, 104–07, 183, 192–97; Baldanza, ‘The Ambiguous Border,’ 7–11, 97. 7 Schafer, Vermillion Bird: on the terrain and ecology, see also C.P. Giersch, Asian Borderlands: The Transformation of Qing China’s Yunnan Frontier (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2006), 18–21, and Brose in this volume. 8 M. Elvin, Retreat of the Elephants: An Environmental History of China (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2004), 216, 218; see also 270–72. For an indigenous view of their local landscape, see ibid., 220–24.

Introduction

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openness and possibility, these external powers encounter those living within these spaces, who in turn act to influence its re-formation.9 What follows is our response to Eric Tagliacozzo’s recent questions, “What is a frontier? How do we delineate it historically? Ontologically? Conceptually? How do historical actors delineate them at different times and in different spaces?”10 In our view, as we examine the broad region stretching from the Gulf of Tonkin to the eastern edges of Tibet, from the Yangzi valley to the plains of Southeast Asia (see Map 1), what we propose to call the Dong world formed an extensive frontier that has existed for the lowland societies now lying in East and Southeast Asia all the way to the present-day. 11 While there were varied interactions between the lowland societies and their states with this territory from late in the last millennium BCE through the first millennium CE, the situation in this frontier only began to change significantly with the Mongol invasions of the thirteenth century. Thereafter, as imperial Chinese and Southeast Asian states pressed more actively into this frontier, they interacted with local chiefs (for the Chinese, Tusi) and acted to sort out the “raw” and the “cooked” of the indigenes, those unassimilated from the assimilated. This Tusi age lasted for almost half a millennium, from the thirteenth century into the eighteenth. It ended with the administrative activism of the eighteenth-century Qing emperors and their Gaitu Guiliu policy, working to replace the Tusi with their government officials (see Map 5). This new age of implanting government office throughout the frontier and stronger efforts at border demarcation and control has lasted from that day to this. The ebb and flow of what has come to be national and international activism ever more strongly and directly involves the peoples living within this frontier. Yet the relationships of these frontier 9

10

11

C.C. Lentz, “Militarizing Space: Locating Điện Biên Phủ in Vietnam, Southeast Asia, or Elsewhere,” presented to the Center for Southeast Asian Studies, University of Michigan, October 22, 2010; see also idem., ‘Mobilizing a Frontier: Điện Biên Phủ and the Making of Vietnam,’ Ph.D. Dissertation (Cornell University, 2011), 31–37. E. Tagliacozzo, ‘Keynote Address,’ for the conference ‘Maritime Frontiers in Asia: Indigenous Communities and State Control in South China and Southeast Asia, 2000 BCE–1800 CE,’ Pennsylvania State University, April 13, 2013. In our interpretation, we are extending, in both time and space, Sun Laichen’s discussion of “Northern Mainland Southeast Asia” (i.e. the southern Dong world); L. Sun, ‘MingSoutheast Asian Overland Interactions, 1368–1644,’ Ph.D. Dissertation (University of Michigan, 2000). For broad descriptions of the western and eastern Dong world, see respectively B. Yang, Between Winds and Clouds: The Making of Yunnan (Second Century BCE to Twentieth Century CE) (New York: Columbia University Press, 2009) and J.G. Barlow, The Zhuang, A Longitudinal Survey of Their History and Their Culture. mcel.pacvificu.edu/resources/zhuang (updated 10/21/2009).

Map 1

The general region of the Dong world.

4 Anderson And Whitmore

Introduction

5

peoples with the variety of northerners and the latter’s own complex set of relationships meant that the re-formation of the frontier between north and south was constantly open to the contingencies of the moment. This occurred even as northern power grew increasingly strong in its southern presence over the centuries. At the same time, the issue of logistics and the reach from a country’s centrality (especially that of China) has set the limits of a state’s push into and across the frontier. “Diminishing returns and increasing costs,” as Brantly Womack points out (“imperial overstretch,” in Alexander Woodside’s phrase), influence the extent of activity within the frontier and have to be measured.12 A frontier takes shape through a variety of forces, local, regional, royal, and imperial, and the balance among such forces depends on these human contingencies of the particular time and place. As shifts occur among the forces arrayed around and within the frontier, as human interests and attributes change with the years, decades, and centuries, they transform the nature of the particular frontier. This volume and its essays are meant to demonstrate, over the past two millennia, the variety of such forces, the agents and their agendas, acting on the shifting and re-forming frontier lying between the northern Sinic empires and the Southeast Asian realms and societies to the south. The results of their interactions are the subjects of our studies herein. The present volume is a collection of previously unpublished essays, a mixture of papers first presented at conferences and those written originally. They examine the different ways that polities and societies located on the southern and southwestern edges of the Chinese imperial order and the various Chinese states, expanding or static, from early imperial times until the present day, have engaged each other to re-form this ‘fiery frontier.’ Our examination begins with a larger question. Was ‘China’ a physical/political form, a cultural entity, or an international system? In a sense, the Central Kingdom (Zhongguo) encompassed all three; as Peter Bol has described it, “Spatially and culturally, [Han] literati always deployed the term Zhong Guo in relation to a wider world to establish opposition between the Zhong Guo and those outside it, … typically referred to as Yi Di …”13 The latter societies in and just beyond the Sinic frontier have had to determine just how they would relate to these three systems. Within the fluid and complex context, would they be ‘inside,’ join, the Chinese state, the Sinic cultural 12

13

B. Womack, “Asymmetry and China’s Tributary System,” The Chinese Journal of International Politics, 5 (2012), 37–54; A.B. Woodside, “The Centre and the Borderlands in Chinese Political Theory,” in D. Lary, ed., The Chinese State at the Borders (Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 2007), 20–22. As cited in Baldanza, ‘The Ambiguous Border,’ 92.

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model (”the domain of manifest civility”14), or the ‘tributary system’ as defined by the Chinese court, or remain outside? How would they define themselves vis-à-vis this Central Kingdom? And what form would their mutual frontier take? As the varied empires of the Central Kingdom came in asymmetric contact with the societies and peoples in their southern and southwestern peripheries, these societies and peoples became increasingly exposed to Chinese power and culture. In this volume we introduce Brantly Womack’s ideas on asymmetry into the ‘frontier’ discussion, layering asymmetry upon asymmetry from the imperial to the local.15 At different times and in different places along this broad frontier, the indigenous inhabitants faced choices as to what, if any, of the Sinic realm they would adopt, adapt, absorb, or reject. Many questions arose from these encounters. How active in, or resistant to, the Sinic realm would they be? What did they wish? And what could they afford to do, vis-à-vis what the particular northern court expected them to do or be? What were the Chinese goals in this southern fringe of their empires? And how did each Central Kingdom (Han to Qing) react? What shaped the resulting frontier? Such interactions involved not only the Chinese imperial capital and the capitals of the realms to the south, but also local state officials, Han and Man, on both sides of the frontier as well as the indigenous power holders within the frontier itself. This broad region has held a variety of local communities and their leaders, local agents, particularly of the dong (mountain valley settlements), who acted for their own interests and with whom state agents had to deal. Through the interactions of these varied agents, near and far, emerged the new form of the frontier and its political and cultural dimensions. This volume takes into account the historical particularities of the region recently termed “Zomia” (Scott/ Von Schendel),16 and the encounters examined here take place along the extensive land arc from what is now northern Vietnam through northern Southeast Asia and what becomes Yunnan to the eastern edges of Tibet. Anyone interested in topics as varied as Sino-Tibetan relations, the Greater Mekong Subregion, and current debates over territorial claims to the Spratly and Paracel Islands will find significant contextual information herein. The past encounters examined in this volume form the background for the increasing (and increasingly contentious) present involvement 14 15 16

In the translation of Kelley, Beyond the Bronze Pillars, 30. In this volume and ibid., China and Vietnam: The Politics of Asymmetry (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006). J.C. Scott, The Art of Not Being Governed: An Anarchist History of Upland Southeast Asia (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009), 14–16.

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of the People’s Republic of China (PRC) along the entire arc. We also work to place this particular frontier region, that involving Southeast Asia and China, and its significance more extensively within East Asian, Southeast Asian, and global situations, critiquing Scott’s Zomia thesis in the process. A scholarly discussion of an historically contingent China has emerged in recent years. Our focus on its southern and southwestern border regions in this volume carries the results of this analysis beyond the framework of the northern nomadic-sedentary relations, as described in such scholarship as Thomas Barfield’s The Perilous Frontier.17 The scholars, young and old, included in our volume note that the methods employed by southern frontier communities in response to Chinese efforts at control varied considerably, yet remained largely distinct from similar engagements Chinese rulers encountered throughout history with their nomadic northern and northwestern frontier neighbors. The potential and credible threat of invasion posed by the latter remained a primary feature of engagement along the northern frontiers of the various Chinese states from earliest times through the founding of the Qing dynasty.18 Alexander Woodside has characterized the Chinese state “as based upon an eternal civilizing political [center], committed to the unification of ever-widening areas and peoples around it.”19 Along its northern boundary from modern-day Manchuria to the open Steppe, Chinese rulers have often met their matches when attempting to exercise such ambitions. The many “alien regimes” noted in official sources as ruling part or the whole of imperial China provide a testament to the military challenges posed by these polities from beyond the Great Wall. Only in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries would such be the case in the south and southwest where the challenges eventually presented by British and French imperialist forces did emerge along the southern frontier. Yet such “outsider” tensions on the south did not until then threaten the Chinese courts as was the case in the north. Where the northern frontier presented an existential question for these courts, the southern did not. The great Han court chronicler Sima Qian (145-ca. 87 BCE) presented the northern frontier in very Turnerian terms,20 as Nicola Di Cosmo writes, a line 17 18

19 20

T.J. Barfield, The Perilous Frontier: Nomadic Empires and China: 221 BC to AD 1757 (Cambridge: Blackwell, 1992). Diana Lary extends this potential for invasion to the southern frontier, if one considers French colonial threats from Indochina in the modern era. See D. Lary, “Introduction,” in The Chinese State at the Borders, 7. Woodside, “The Centre and the Borderlands in Chinese Political Theory,” 11. Turner’s views on the US frontier were included in his 1893 American Historical Association address “The Significance of the Frontier in American History,” in Frederick Jackson Turner, The Frontier in American History (New York: H. Holt & Co., 1920), 1–38.

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“between an urban civilization and a warlike uncivilized society.”21 Nevertheless, the reality of engagement along this northern frontier was much more nuanced and varied with the relative strength of the political orders established on both sides of the Great Wall. To understand the true nature of this engagement through time, one must reject the undifferentiated picture of the nomadic communities and instead view the region north of the Great Wall as “broken down into separate forces of political and economic activity and into discrete cultural areas.”22 The native communities of this frontier region through the centuries served both nomadic and non-nomadic overlords enough to develop a political flexibility in the northern borderlands. By the early modern period, the Qing, itself a so-called “conquest dynasty,” had to struggle to maintain Beijing’s mandate in the midst of competing local interests along the northern frontier. Similarly, Xiuyu Wang notes for the Southwest and Tibetan communities of western Sichuan that the growing power of regionalism in the Qing expansion saw “[s]truggles between regional-level interests [that] could often override the priority of the central government,”23 and this had certainly been the case throughout the centuries on the southern frontier. Di Cosmo’s study relies heavily on recent archaeological finds to provide full descriptions of the regionalism, trade, and diplomatic exchanges that sustained Han period relations between the Chinese court at Chang’an and the Xiongnu confederation of nomadic elite. Likewise archeological research on the southern frontier has begun to inform historical scholarship on the indigenous variety there. Such work will certainly have just as profound an impact on our picture of this region in the future.24 Though the level of political tension along imperial China’s northern frontier was not matched on its southern peripheries in pre-modern times, the desire for engagement through trade opportunities was consistent in both regions. In a comparative study of Eurasian frontiers, Daniel Power wrote, “(The desire for outside resources among local leaders) meant striking a balance between [defense] and accommodation, between encroachment from

21 22 23 24

N. Di Cosmo, Ancient China and Its Enemies: The Rise of Nomadic Power in East Asian History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 2. Ibid., 314. X. Wang, China’s Last Imperial Frontier: Late Qing Expansion in Sichuan’s Tibetan Borderlands (Lanham, Md: Lexington Books, 2011), 238. N. Di Cosmo, Ancient China and Its Enemies; for a recent influential archeological study of the southern frontier region, see Huo Wei, Xinan kaogu yu zhonghua wenming (Southwestern Archeology and Chinese Civilization) (Chengdu: Bashu shushe, 2011).

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outside and their own people’s needs for economic exchange.”25 To facilitate trade, representatives of often distant courts had to cooperate and negotiate with local elites through a variety of trade agreements and alliances. This was certainly the situation in the Dong world. These arrangements could provide an additional source of power for ambitious indigenous leaders, who would parley trade into political capital, forcing aside rivals and even imperial agents, if such action seemed feasible. Still, Power argues, local frontier authorities remained dependent on central authorities to maintain their power bases and were therefore not entirely “politically self-sufficient.”26 Though local authorities along imperial China’s southern “fiery frontier” would test this notion by exercising a great amount of autonomy when and where possible, Power’s general point holds true to some degree for this territory as well as for frontier regions worldwide. Engagement, from the north and from the south, with this long frontier was by no means a steady process, rather one filled with stops and starts. The conventional contemporary Chinese scholarly position is that the South and Southwest became integrated parts of the larger Chinese empire as early as the Qin dynasty and only split from the imperial order in periods of semi-autonomous rule by “separatist” regimes such as the Nanzhao kingdom (649–902) of the Tang era.27 In fact, the multitude of smaller polities that existed throughout this imperial periphery of the Dong world provides a much more varied and complex picture of this frontier, as Di Cosmo noted for the northern frontier. Economic interaction presupposed cooperation among a variety of authorities. Culturally, the frontier was a zone of hybridity and adaptation or a “middle ground,” as Richard White, followed by C. Patterson Giersch and Bin Yang, terms the phenomenon.28 25 26 27

28

D. Power, “Introduction” in D. Power & N. Standen, Frontiers in Question, Eurasian Borderlands, 700–1700 (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1998), 20. Ibid., 21. Fang Tie, “Tang Song liang chao zhi Zhongnan bandao jiaotong xian de bianqian (Mainland Southeast Asia Transit route changes in the Tang-Song Period)” in Shehui kexue zhanxian (Frontlines in the Social Sciences), 4 (2011), 101; idem., “Lidai zhi bian yu Yunnan di diyuan zhengzhi guanxi (The History of Frontier Rule and Geopolitical Relations in Yunnan)” in Xinan minzu daxue xuebao (The Journal of Southwest University for Nationalities), 9 (2011), 6. R. White, The Middle Ground: Indians, Empires, and Republics in the Great Lakes Region, 1650–1815, 20th anniversary ed. (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2011), xiii; see also C.P. Giersch, Asian Borderlands, 3–4, and B. Yang, Between Winds and Clouds: The Making of Yunnan (Second Century BCE to Twentieth Century CE) (New York: Columbia University Press, 2009), 171–74.

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Throughout this volume, we strive to advance current formulations of ‘frontier,’ pertaining both to this region and to the world at large. Specifically, we examine the shifting nature of the asymmetric relationships therein. To do this, we need to look much more broadly at the theoretical, global, and Asian (East and Southeast) literature pertaining to state, inter-state, and frontier situations. Our specific focus is on how the varied forces, internal and external, at different times and places, came to shape the location and nature of this southern Sinic frontier, what we are calling the Dong world. Yet this study also has a broader significance in the field of frontier history at large. In general, modern frontier/borderlands history has begun by addressing and then moving beyond the Frederick Jackson Turner thesis (the line between civilization and savagery) to the more accommodating vision of Turner’s student Herbert Eugene Bolton’s “borderlands.” Although the latter work focused on the American Southwest, Bolton’s notion of the frontier as a contact zone between external capitals found its way in various guises into frontier scholarship worldwide through the latter half of the past century. Scholars have since taken issue with Bolton’s privileging the hegemonic authority of external political centers orchestrating engagement on their shared periphery. They have instead sought to localize their work within the borderlands communities themselves and to trace cross-border networks of local interaction that continue to knit communities together across the new political boundaries delineated by the distant authorities. Thus, when examining a particular frontier and its inhabitants, they see the indigenous activities as important as the clear delineation of its externally imposed political contours. Where the term ‘frontier’ has acquired such problematic overtones as Bolton’s in the history of its usage, we have chosen to go back to basics and follow Hugh Clark’s discussion in which the term “carries cultural connotations, often clouded with moral overtones of superiority, of civilization versus barbarism or savagery.”29 If we proceed directly from Turner’s late 19th-century lecture on the closing of the American frontier, we see the term used in this manner. Where later American historians and scholars of fields beyond the American have employed the term ‘frontier’ in a less restrictive way, applying the terms ‘borderlands’ or ‘contact zones’ as substitutes for it, we do not wish to abandon the older term and rather choose to follow the practice of modifying its use to fit new historical situations, seeing it as a broad concept embodying and leading to the formation of such ‘borderlands’ and ‘contact zones.’ 29

H.R. Clark, “Frontier Discourse and China’s Maritime Frontier: China’s Frontiers and the Encounter with the Sea Through Early Imperial History,” Journal of World History (JWH), 20, 1 (2009), 2.

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Thus, we absorb the latter discussions into the former. Pekka Hämäläinen and Samuel Truett write in a recent survey on borderlands that this sub-field is anchored “in spatial mobility, situational identity, local contingency, and the ambiguities of power.”30 They describe how historians in this field worldwide are formulating new questions regarding the shifting parameters of borderlands history, referencing the challenges such histories pose to the nationalist narratives of the respective neighboring states as well as to the subject identities and loyalties of the historical actors involved. Our volume considers a specific subregion, the Dong world, as distinct from but integrated into the larger frontier by various means. This trend has had an impact on Asian Studies, and we wish to follow these historians in exploring the aspects of the southern frontier in a similar fashion.31 In a recent edited volume on comparative borderlands studies, William Zartman contends that “borderland reality is a moving machine at any moment, and it changes its movements as it moves through time, in motion both synchronically and diachronically… Three dimensions need to be handled in the analysis [of a specific borderland region] – time, space, and activity.”32 Michiel Baud and Willem Van Schendel in their article «Toward a Comparative History of Borderlands « and Jeremy Adelman and Stephen Aron in “From Borderlands to Borders: Empires, Nation-States, and the Peoples in Between in North American History” all promote a localized perspective on frontiers and the networks of indigenous communities that populate these regions, while documenting the transition from borderlands to borders in the modern era. This perspective places the concerns of the periphery before those of the center, or, as Baud and Van Schendel write, “Rather than focusing on the rhetoric and intentions of central governments, we look at the social realities provoked by them.”33 In this volume, we join the trajectory of this scholarship in frontier studies that leads away from the core-periphery approach to highlight changes

30

31 32 33

P. Hämäläinen & S. Truett, “On Borderlands. (Special Section: Margins to Mainstream; The Brave New World of Borderlands History),” Journal of American History, 98, 2 (2011), 338. See Z. Rajkai & I. Beller-Hann, eds., Frontiers and Boundaries: Encounters on China’s Margins (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2012). I.W. Zartman, “Introduction,” in Zartman, ed., Understanding Life in the Borderlands: Boundaries in Depth and in Motion (Athens, GA: University of Georgia Press, 2010), 9. M. Baud & W. Van Schendel, “Toward a Comparative History of Borderlands,” JWH, 8, 2 (1997): 212; J. Adelman and S. Aron, “From Borderlands to Borders: Empires, Nation-States, and the Peoples in Between in North American History” in The American Historical Review, 104, 3 (1999): 815–816.

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in what have become the borderlands within their own context, here that of the Dong world. Despite initial Han (206 BCE–220 CE) and Tang (618–907) dynastic efforts, during these centuries their southern frontier ran from what is now central Vietnam predominantly in a ragged south-north direction up the coast as far as the Yangzi valley, then west upriver to Chengdu (see Map 2).34 Here we examine how, over the past two millennia, this broad frontier between the Central Kingdom and the emerging Southeast Asian states gradually became a borderland with the frontier becoming politicized and demarcated. Boundaries appeared, first increasingly among the existing polities and their developing administrative jurisdictions, then with the internationalization of the region in the past few centuries. Across this extensive region, Sinic civilization worked its way in from the coasts and their river mouths up along the river systems, while southern influences out of Southeast Asia penetrated from that direction as well. Churchman demonstrates in this volume that these were initially horizontal rather than vertical moves, with the hills left to the dong (mountain valley settlement) chiefs. The beginning process of this frontier re-formation would last over a millennium and a half (starting in Qin times late in the third century BCE) before it came to form the east-west frontier as it exists today. Northern and north-central Vietnam (C. Jiaozhi/Annan) existed within the southern reaches of the Chinese empires for most of the first millennium CE, while the Dong world and Yunnan (the realms of Nanzhao and Dali) stood outside. Eventually, this northsouth axis would shift dramatically into the present east-west one. First, Đại Việt emerged in the Red River plain during the tenth and eleventh centuries out of the fragmented Tang realm. Then the Mongols and the Ming brought higher regions, particularly Yunnan with its caravan routes to Southeast Asia, into China. Though the Ming took Đại Việt briefly back into China (for only two decades, 1407–27), by the middle of the fifteenth century today’s east-west frontier had essentially come into being, forged by the actions of political and 34

Quoting F.W. Mote, Imperial China, 900–1800 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999), 702, “It has never been easy to draw on a map a southern boundary line separating Chinese from non-Chinese people, yet as late as the Song (960–1279), such a line would have been much closer to the Yangzi drainage of Central China than it is today.” See also R. Van Glahn, The Country of Streams and Grottoes: Expansion, Settlement, and the Civilizing of the Sichuan Frontier (Cambridge, MA: Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University, 1987), 6, 211–12; R. Mostern, “Dividing the Realm in Order to Govern:” The Spatial Organization of the Song State (960–1276 CE) (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2011), 53, 109, 168, 181, 190, 203, 211, 234; and, for example, the maps in M. Elvin, The Pattern of the Chinese Past (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1973), 207, 209.

Map 2

The early Dong era (to the 10th century)

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cultural forces on both sides of and within it. The past half millennium has seen varied agents, both within and without this area, act to re-shape the nature of this ‘fiery frontier.’ Thus, a key element in the territorial formation of modern China took place in the thirteenth century. At that time, the expanding Mongol empire defeated the Dali kingdom (937–1253) and opened the way for what became the province of Yunnan and its adjacent territory to be integrated into the Chinese state. This conquest split the Dong world, dominating its northern sector and bringing the realms on its southern side into more direct asymmetric contact with the Chinese state than before (Section 1). The consequences of this expansion have been felt to the present day, as succeeding centuries have seen much activity by figures on both sides of (and within) that frontier in the effort to reconfigure it to their satisfaction. In our pursuit of frontier studies for this region encompassing the edges of modern China and mainland Southeast Asia, we are dividing the past two millennia into three broad eras, those of the Dong (into the thirteenth century), of the Tusi (thirteenth-eighteenth centuries), and of Gaitu Guiliu (eighteenth century to the present). The first of these eras was the time of the Dong (mountain valley settlement) world with slowly shifting edges of the frontier as the Central Kingdom became on occasion more (on other occasions less) involved with its south and southwest. It was also the period when the classical/charter empires of mainland Southeast Asia formed and began to interact with these highland peoples. Then, with the drastically changed frontier after the Mongol assaults on this world, there was the question of shaping the nature of this frontier region, strongly politicizing it. This involved the next two eras, first that of the buffer of the native chieftains (Tusi) followed by the continuing effort of state rule, replacing the Tusi, and of demarcation, setting borders (Gaitu Guiliu). These two eras saw both the Chinese state on the north and the Southeast Asian states on the south develop and move strongly into the Dong world. To simplify matters, the first era was one of alliances of Chinese and Southeast Asian courts with highland chieftains, the second consisted of state expansion and the effort of the Chinese and Southeast Asian courts at indirect rule utilizing the chieftains, and the third has seen attempted removal of these chieftains, with direct rule by the Chinese and Southeast Asian regimes over this highland world. The Dong Era During the centuries from the Qin southern expansion to the Mongol incursions, this vast region lying between the Central Kingdom and the emerging

Introduction

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lowland classical/charter realms of mainland Southeast Asia (Pagan, Angkor, Thăng Long)35 existed as a strange territory of many cultural differences and societies, permeated by what we would now call a network of international routes.36 Stretching south of the Yangzi valley, west of the southeast China coastal plains, east of the Tibetan plateau, and north of the Southeast Asian civilizations, the communities of this frontier saw intermittent involvement at different times and varied places with these external powers. The latter, with increasing awareness of, economic involvement with, and desire to have some control over this broad frontier, on all sides continued to act through these centuries, though without a major impact on this territory. Such was the Dong world (see Map 2),37 where the many Man communities lived throughout the frontier region, as John Herman has noted.38 These centuries were a time of increasing contacts between these highland peoples and the lowlanders, especially as upland goods became desirable and trade routes grew to carry these and more distant goods through the region in both directions. It was also a time when the edges of the frontier began to shift as the contacts grew. The Dong world of these centuries formed a broad autonomous zone in which the local rulers (native chieftains) contended with each other for influence and manpower from valley to valley.39 Though northern military expeditions periodically penetrated this world, beginning with that of the Chu against the Dian realm in 279 BCE, the dong communities, especially the Cuan, remained predominantly in control of the territory, known by the Chinese as 35

V.B. Lieberman, Strange Parallels: Southeast Asia in Global Context, c 800–1830, vol. 1 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), passim.. 36 Yang, Between Winds and Clouds, 19–20. 37 As noted above, dong, usually translated “grotto,” actually means “mountain valley settlement;” see Schafer, Vermillion Bird, 48–78, 277 (n. 21), 278 (n. 78), 347, and Churchman and Baldanza in this volume. J.L. Weinstein, Empire and Identity in Guizhou: Local Resistance to Qing Expansion (Seattle, WA: University of Washington Press, 2014), 21, notes that “… cuengh (zhuang) means ‘narrow, flat-bottomed river valleys in the mountains,’” “a selfappellation used by the ancient Tai-speaking inhabitants of northern Guangxi;” perhaps this was the original form of what has become the term dong; note also the earlier discussion in J.G. Barlow, “The Zhuang Minority Peoples of the Sino-Vietnamese Frontier in the Song Period,” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies (JSEAS), 18, 2 (1987), 250, 253 (nn. 28–29), 255, 258, in which he links dong with the Tai term muang. For Yunnan, Bin Yang speaks of bazi, “small fertile basins and valleys;” Yang, Between Winds and Clouds, 25–26, 148, 151. 38 J.E. Herman, Amid the Clouds and Mist: China’s Colonization of Guizhou, 1200–1700 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2007), 1. 39 See, for example, in Guangxi; Barlow, “The Zhuang Minority Peoples,” 255–58, 268; idem., “The Zhuang Minority in the Ming Era,” Ming Studies (MS), 28 (1989), 21–24.

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Nanzhong.40 By the final centuries of this era, extensive highland realms like Nanzhao and Dali expanded their power, while other, more local principalities thrived in the stream valleys of the mountainous terrain. At the northern and eastern edges of this world, in the southern highlands of the Yangzi valley and the western hills of the coast, the indigenous contact with the Han increased, both blocking and threatening local Han society. The Chinese empires (Han, Tang, and Song) worked, more or less effectively, to develop relations with these mountain regimes and to connect with the trade routes. To gain access to and information within the Dong world and to serve as a buffer against it, the Chinese courts sought alliances with local rulers as jimi (“loose reins”).41 The chieftains saw these Han efforts as opportunities to gain external resources and support for themselves against rival rulers, local and regional chiefs, while protecting themselves against the northern threat. Though the lowland realms of Jiaozhi/Annan/Đại Việt and Pagan were not part of this Dong world, lying on its southeastern and southwestern edges respectively, the dong societies separated the northern lowland territories of present Vietnam and Myanmar from the Central Kingdom. Thus activities in the Dong world radiated into and affected these southern lowland realms as well.42 From the third century BCE, the distant edge of the Chinese empires had been as far south as the region of Hải Vân Pass in modern central Vietnam. As the lands beyond that pass eventually became the Indianized realm of 40 Yang, Between Winds and Clouds, 74–79, 103, 107–110, 144, 282–83; L. Sun, personal communication, October 1, 2005. 41 Schafer, Vermillion Bird, 71–72, 74, 195; L. Sun, “Assessing the Ming Role in China’s Southern Expansion,” in Southeast Asia in the Fifteenth Century: The China Factor, G. Wade & L. Sun, eds., (Singapore: National University of Singapore Press, 2010), 46–49; Fan Ch’e [Fan Chuo], Man Shu: Book of the Southern Barbarians, G.H. Luce, trans.; G.P. Oey, ed. (Ithaca, NY: Southeast Asia Program, Cornell University, 1961). See also J.A. Anderson, The Rebel Den of Nùng Trí Cao: Loyalty and Identity Along the Sino-Vietnamese Frontier (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2007), 26–27, 31–32; Barlow, “The Zhuang Minority Peoples,” 251–55; J. Took, A Native Chieftaincy in Southwest China: Franchising a Tai Chieftaincy under the Tusi System of Late Imperial China (Leiden: Brill, 2005), ch. 2; Z. Wang, Tang China in Multi-Polar Asia: A History of Diplomacy and War (Honolulu, HI: University of Hawaii Press, 2013), 9–10, 247, 250–55; Herman, Amid the Clouds and Mist, 31–32; G. Wade, “The Southern Chinese Borders in History,” in G. Evans et al., Where China Meets Southeast Asia: Social and Cultural Change in the Border Regions (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2000), 36. 42 Churchman in this volume; M.A. Aung-Thwin & M.V. Aung-Thwin, A History of Myanmar Since Ancient Times: Traditions and Transformations (London: Reaktion Books, 2012), chs. 3–4. For the southern region of the Dong world, (now northern Thailand), see S. Ongsakul, History of Lan Na, trans. (Chiang Mai: Silkworm Books, 2005), ch. 2.

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Champa, the Chinese center of Jiaozhi developed in the middle of the Red River delta.43 Through the first centuries CE, this region held the highest concentration of Han population beyond the Yangzi valley and had strong maritime contacts. Yet, as Churchman demonstrates in this volume, dong regions with their power-invoking bronze drums split the populated areas into riverine pockets.44 Kelley in this volume draws on a broad array of Chinese texts to show a cultural asymmetry here, how Tang administrators in the Protectorate of Annan (northern Vietnam), especially Gao Pian (d. 887), applied Sinic narratives to their local situations, telling of dreams, prophecies, and spirit cults in order to reflect the Sino-indigenous culture. Such tales show a frontier community developing its culture out of combined imperial and local elements at the same time as Nanzhao in the center of the Dong world assaulted both it and lowland regions in the present Myanmar. As the chieftains deeper in the Dong world joined their brethren on its outer edges in increasing contact with the outside world, its commercial penetration, and its growing political power, they saw both the dangers and the benefits of such involvement. Doing so, many of these chiefs formed what Herman has termed “negotiated alliances” with the Central Kingdom (gaining titles, jimi statuses, and trade privileges) and utilized what they learned from the Han to strengthen and expand their own control of surrounding mountain valleys. This may be seen particularly in the Dong world’s largest space, the high plateau that the Chinese had begun to call Yunnan. Here, after the Cuan clan rose locally from the third to the seventh centuries, the Southern Principality (Nanzhao, 649–902) of the six chieftainships in this territory, reinforced by contemporary Tantric Buddhism, developed a strong realm with a broad sense of its place in the world. The kings of this realm as maharajas allied and competed at times with the Tang, at times with the newly powerful Tubo realm of Tibet, both considered its equals, throughout the Dong world for its resources. Through the seventh century and into the eighth, Nanzhao developed its power and influence over nearby dong communities. Simultaneously, the Mu’ege realm of the Nasu Yi with their own dong communities was expanding within the territory of the present Guizhou. From the middle of the eighth century 43

44

Li Tana, “Jiaozhi (Giao Chỉ) in the Han Period Tongking Gulf,” in The Tongking Gulf Through History, N. Cooke, T. Li, & J.A. Anderson, eds. (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011), 39–52, 168–72. In this volume and idem., “’The People in Between,’ The Li and Lao from the Han to the Sui,” in The Tongking Gulf Through History, 67–83, 179–84;; see also Baldanza, “The Ambiguous Border,’ 171. Li, “Jiaozhi (Giao Chi) in the Han Period Tongking Gulf,” 44–48, discusses the bronze drums as “symbols of indigenous power and chiefly authority” (45).

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into the ninth, the Nanzhao rulers, together with the expanding Mu’ege realm, pushed their power throughout the Dong world, north into Sichuan and east into Guangxi, playing the Tang and Tubo courts against each other. The ninth century then saw direct conflict between Nanzhao and the Tang, as Nanzhao strove to drive the Tang out of the Dong world. In the process, Nanzhao, allying with local dong chiefs, directly attacked two Tang provincial capitals, first in Annan (Đại La or modern-day Hà Nội), then in Sichuan (Yizhou or modernday Chengdu). Repulsed in both cases by the Chinese general Gao Pian (see Kelley in this volume), by 900 Nanzhao within the Dong world and the Tang outside had reached a certain balance of power before each collapsed shortly thereafter. Mu’ege in Guizhou survived this conflict in an intricate manner, caught between the two powers, and, with the latter’s demise, expanded on their own, while the Dali kingdom came to replace Nanzhao in Yunnan.45 The disintegration of the Tang dynasty (with its six Protectorates and 856 jimi on its frontiers, 402 jimi in the south46) as well as of the Tibetan and Nanzhao realms through the ninth and tenth centuries opened the way for the dong communities to strengthen their existing autonomy as the scattered pockets of Han population along the southeast coast established their own regimes. In 938, one of these regimes, the Southern Han of Guangzhou, attempted to control the old Annan of the Tang and was driven out by local forces of the Red River delta. This victory began the formation of the realm of Đại Việt, separated from the Han realm by the Dong world. While the Song dynasty (960–1279) to the north subjugated the other realms of the southeast coast and re-established a lesser number of jimi relations (some 300) in its southern highlands, its effort in the Red River delta failed in 981. The new Chinese regime’s southern edge thus now ran through present-day Sichuan, Hunan, Guangdong, and Guangxi (the latter two forming Guangnan). The following hundred years would see Đại Việt and the Song jointly destroy the Nong Zhigao/Nùng Trí Cao effort to establish an autonomous Tai realm of dong communities in the mountains between them.47 45 Wang, Tang China in Multi-Polar Asia, ch. 3; Yang, Between Winds and Clouds, 28–29, 79–87, 111; L. Sun, personal communication, October 1, 2005; J.R. McRae, “Buddhism and Popular Religion of the Bai People of Yunnan Province,” Bulletin (Southeast Asia Program, Cornell University) (1995), 6; Herman, Amid the Clouds and Mist, ch. 1 (quotation, 43–44); Barlow, “The Zhuang Minority Peoples,” 254. 46 Fang, “Mainland Southeast Asia Transit route changes in the Tang-Song Period,” 102; Took, A Native Chieftaincy in Southwest China, 39. 47 Anderson, The Rebel Den of Nùng Trí Cao, chs. 3–6; Took, A Native Chieftaincy in Southwest China, 42–44; Barlow, “The Zhuang Minority Peoples,” 255–61, 268.

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Where the Tang regime had worked actively in the Dong world with its jimi titles, the first century of the Song dynasty saw a retrenchment and defensive stance in these areas. Focusing on their northern frontier, the Song court pulled back from the Dong world (see Map 3).48 In the meantime, dong chieftains on important trade routes gained economic and political strength with the surge of the Song economic development.49 Only with Wang Anshi (1021–86), his followers, and their aggressive New Policies in the last third of the eleventh century, followed by the Opening the Frontiers and Acquiring Lands program early in the next century, did this change. Desiring greater settlement, resources, and revenues, the Song sought to push out along this frontier and to reclaim former Han and Tang territories, leading to collisions with the now independent Đại Việt and with Tibet in the 1070s. In the process, the Song attempted to move away from the jimi relationships towards more controlling efforts there, beginning to use Tusi (local official) titles. The emperor Shenzong’s (r. 1068–85) “ambitions,” to quote Ruth Mostern, “included domesticating tribal grottoes [dong] within the Song perimeter in the south and expanding the boundaries of the realm in all directions, …”50 With the Song defeat in the north and their new regime in the south (1127–1279), the southern frontier with its dong societies continued to run through the southern sectors of Sichuan and Hunan provinces down into western Guangnan. The new Song regime did push up the river valleys south of the Yangzi and up from the southeast coast, fed by northern refugees. This continued into the thirteenth century, especially at the two ends of this frontier, Sichuan and Guangnan.51 Kelley and Anderson in this volume show how the Lý (1009–1225) and Trần (1225–1400) dynasties of now independent Đại Việt utilized Sinic narrative and administrative patterns to strengthen their regimes, including in those areas of 48 Yang, Between Winds and Clouds, 89–91, 111. 49 See, for example, J.A. Anderson, “Commissioner Li and Prefect Huang: Sino-Vietnamese Frontier Trade Networks and Political Alliances Through the Late Southern Song,” Asia Major, 27, 2 (2014) (forthcoming). 50 Mostern, “Dividing the Realm in Order to Govern,” 195; Anderson, The Rebel Den of Nùng Trí Cao, 9–10, 31–32, 74–77, 123–28, 134–40; Barlow, “The Zhuang Minority Peoples,” 261–64; idem., “The Zhuang Minority,” 16–17. 51 Van Glahn, The Country of Streams and Grottoes; Mostern, “Dividing the Realm in Order to Govern.” Fan Chengda, Treatises of the Supervisor and Guardian of the Cinnamon Sea, 148– 55, 160–70, writing in the 1170s described the continued presence of jimi amidst the dong communities; see also W.H. Chan, “Ethnic Labels in a Mountainous Region: The Case of She ‘Bandits,’” in P.K. Crossley et al., eds., Empire at the Margins: Culture, Ethnicity, and Frontier in Early Modern China (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2006), 259– 66, 273–74.

Map 3

The late Dong era (11th–13th centuries)

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the Dong world bordering them. Vietnamese tales linked their monarchy to the Sino-indigenous lowland cultural pattern of the Tang era, and the administrative style connected the lowland polity with upland dong chiefs.52 By contrast, Anderson describes how the Dali regime up the Red River in the center of the Dong world had less Sinic influence and weaker ties with its dong chiefs. The result was the Mongol conquest of Dali, but their defeat in Đại Việt, with the Vietnamese combination of deference and defiance. Sun in this volume gives us a taste of the Dong world into which the Mongols plunged, as local chiefs and their families continued to contest each other over domination of surrounding valleys and peoples. These chiefs objected strenuously to the Mongol generals’ attempts to straighten out such local matters. An early fourteenth century Yuan dynasty source provides first-hand observation of the continued social and cultural complexities and differences in the Dong world at this juncture.53 The Tusi Era Where the Song had engaged the northern and eastern edges of the Dong world, especially in Sichuan and Guangnan, the Mongols cut straight through the middle of this world, dominating its northern half and penetrating its southern portion. Within their half (now become Yunnan and adjacent territory), the Mongols set up Tusi (native officials), utilizing the older term to confirm selected local native chieftains in these posts, as Brose describes in this volume. In areas the Mongols did not control directly in the northern sector and across the southern half of the Dong world, they established relations with local rulers (all the way to Pagan in Myanmar) as Xuanweisi (Pacification Commissions). This title would become integrated into local Tai usage (Saenwifa).54 52

J.A. Anderson, “Commissioner Li and Prefect Huang,” shows a local dong chieftain existing within the vortex of the thirteenth century Mongol maneuvers and yet retaining important strategic links with the Thăng Long court. 53 Yang, Between Winds and Clouds, 142–43, 196. 54 F.M. Liew-Herres, V. Grabowsky, & R. Wichasin, Chronicle of Sipsong Panna: History and Society of a Tai Lu Kingdom, Twelfth to Twentieth Century [sic] (Chiang Mai: Mekong Press, 2012), 38; V. Grabowski, “Cao Fa Dek Noi and the Founding Myth of Chiang Khaeng,” in Cultural Diversity and Conservation in the Making of Mainland Southeast Asia and Southwestern China: Regional Dynamics in the Past and Present, edited by Hayashi Yukio & Thongsa Sayavongkhamdy (Kyoto: Center for Southeast Asian Studies, Kyoto University, 2003), 102; Giersch, Asian Borderlands, 84; Took, A Native Chieftaincy in Southwest China, 44–45.

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Here began the age of the Central Kingdom and of Southeast Asian realms working to gain a more direct involvement in and a certain control over the Dong world lying between them. To do so, these states had to deal with the indigenous principalities and their rulers, the chieftains, in a more consistent fashion. Those not crushed, both northern and southern states had to embrace and link to their administrations, confirming them in their positions. On the northern side, called the Tusi, these chiefs became attached to the Han bureaucracy and formed a “screen” or “fence” (fanli) (really a sort of tripwire) between the Chinese and the far side of the frontier.55 While Beijing attempted direct control over various of these Man peoples at different times and places, this era of indirect rule via the Tusi would last for almost half a millennium, into the eighteenth century. In remote places, it would last well into the twentieth. What did this Tusi era entail?56 Compared to the previous Dong era, it meant that the local rulers had constant contact with the Chinese imperial court, not of their own initiative, but at the behest of the emperor in his distant capital. Two types of Tusi eventually appeared, civil and military. In effect, these were inner and outer Tusi respectively. The former, closer to Chinese control, while indigenous, carried out standard Han official duties. The latter, farther from Han administration, owed information, tribute, and their troops to the emperor, maintaining proper order within their domains. In doing so, these domains served as shields within this mountainous region against both internal and external threats, opposing those who would cross this frontier against the Chinese as well as those within the frontier resisting Han interests. Of importance were not boundaries and territory per se, but the routes (roads and rivers) through the Dong world and especially the mountain passes that were key

55 Took, A Native Chieftaincy in Southwest China, 267; Weinstein, Empire and Identity in Guizhou, 32–33. 56 Took, A Native Chieftaincy in Southwest China, chs. 4–5, L.K. Shin, The Making of the Chinese State: Ethnicity and Expansion on the Ming Borderlands (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), ch. 3, and J.G. Barlow, “The Zhuang Minority in the Ming Era,”24–26, 28, 39–40, on Guangxi; Herman, Amid the Clouds and Mist, 103–17, idem., “Empire in the Southwest: Early Qing Reforms to the Native Chieftain System,“ Journal of Asian Studies, 56, 1 (1997), 50–52; and idem., “The Cant of Conquest, Tusi Offices and Chinese Political Incorporation of the Southwest Frontier,” in Empire at the Margins, 135–68, on Guizhou; Yang, Between Winds and Clouds, 102–03, 111–30, Liew-Herres et al., Chronicle of Sipsong Panna, 35–47, and F.M. Liew, “The Aboriginal Tribes and the Tribal Principalities in Yunnan as Presented in the Ming and Early Qing Historiography: A Preliminary Survey,” in Hayashi & Sayavongkhamdy, Cultural Diversity and Conservation in the Making of Mainland Southeast Asia and Southwestern China, 146–50, 154, on Yunnan.

Introduction

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points on these routes.57 The chieftains were to watch these passes and keep Beijing informed. In return, the Tusi received confirmation of their status, thus consolidating it locally, and hereditary privilege for their successors. They remained generally autonomous within their domains, backed by the Chinese state from which they gained imperial audiences, titles, gifts, and seals. Promised wealth and honor, the Tusi gave allegiance, support, and resources. Beyond Tusi territory, in the southern portion of the Dong world, lay more principalities (Tai muang) with which the Chinese were in contact, but over which the northerners had little control. These were the Pacification Commissioners (Xuanweisi) in such regions as Sipsong Panna, Lan Na (Chiang Mai), and Pagan (Myanmar). (See Map 4) Viewing these realms as “comforters,” the Chinese recognized the right of these rulers to assign their own local officials (Tusi), while these rulers also carried on independent relations with their neighbors in the growing Southeast Asian lowland realms. Thus military conquest alone did not guarantee that the conquered dong territories would remain within the Chinese empire. The latter needed two further steps to consolidate this status, as noted, the Tusi system which tied local chiefs structurally into the broader Sinic state and, additionally, local Sinic education that integrated the localities with Chinese culture. Brose in this volume describes how the Mongol and the Ming use of non-Han Central Asian Muslims and their descendants began both these steps, leading to Yunnan’s presence as a modern Chinese province. What began as ad hoc operations during the initial Mongol conquest became standard. Sun in this volume then shows the Mongols reaching beyond Marco Polo’s fabled “Great Descent” from Yunnan into the southern portion of the Dong world. The Yuan (1279–1367) control in Yunnan maintained the caravan routes (and their horse trade) to the south as well as its gem trade of rubies and sapphires and opened up the mineral extraction there of silver and copper. Nevertheless, half a millennium would go by before the Chinese state acted decisively to bring the local chieftains and their cultures along the southern frontier firmly into the empire. The Ming (1368–1644), fearing the Mongol position in Yunnan,58 followed the Yuan in their effort to consolidate this northern portion of the Dong world as part of their empire. Continuing to use Muslim governors, the Tusi system,59 and sporadic Sinic education,60 the Ming initially saw a oneness in their do57 Took, A Native Chieftaincy in Southwest China, 57, 66–68. 58 Yang, Between Winds and Clouds, 94–95; Wade, “The Southern Chinese Borders in History,” 42. 59 Weinstein, Empire and Identity in Guizhou, 32–34, 52. 60 Yang, Between Winds and Clouds, 153–62, 176–77.

Map 4 The Tusi era (13th–18th centuries)

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main with these peoples being of one heart and mind, all of the same family, and having no outer-separation. (See Whitmore in this volume.) Applying their gunpowder developments, they pressed farther south into the frontier and the Tai realms beyond Yunnan and the Great Descent as well as going back into Đại Việt. In 1407, as Swope describes in this volume, Ming forces, demonstrating “awe” (wei),61 retook the latter and renamed it once again the province of Jiaozhi, forcibly applying their firearm technology. Yet Tai and Vietnamese forces learned from their Ming enemies and pushed back hard. In 1427, new Vietnamese forces, this time emerging from the Dong world, once more drove the Chinese out, and varied Tai realms utilized agricultural and gunpowder technologies gained from the Ming to oppose Ming force successfully over the following decades. This effort culminated in the bitter battles of the Maw Shan/ Luchuan campaigns of the 1440s which involved dong troops on the Ming side led at one time by Mu Sheng (for the latter, see Brose in this volume).62 By the mid-fifteenth century, the southern frontier had stabilized, roughly existing where it is now. Nonetheless, as Baldanza shows in this volume, specific locations within this flexible frontier, especially among the uplands and the dong communities, could shift back and forth within or without the Chinese empire, contingent upon particular times, places, and personalities, and Dennis in this volume depicts the lives and struggles of local chieftain families.63 With the maritime trade ban in place, growing Ming demand drew ever more goods overland out of Yunnan and northern Southeast Asia, pouring wealth into the localities of these frontier areas, especially the Shan polities (now in northeast Burma).64 61

62

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K.M. Swope, “Manifesting Awe: Grand Strategy and Imperial Leadership in the Ming Dynasty,” presented to the Center for Chinese Studies, University of Michigan, October 25, 2011; Wade, “The Southern Chinese Borders in History,” 42. Liew-Herres et al., Chronicle of Sipsòng Panna, 13–14, 38–9, 43, 51–2 (n. 192), 59–60, 84, 122 (n. 60), 241–42 (n. 76), 287 (n. 276), 311, 338; V. Grabowsky, “The Northern Tai Polity of Lan Na (Ba-bai Da-dien) in the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries: The Ming Factor,” 203–5, 210–15, 220–21, and C. Daniels, “Agricultural Technology and the Consolidation of Tay Polities in Northern Continental Southeast Asia during the Fifteenth Century,” 246–49, 260–66, both in Southeast Asia in the Fifteenth Century; Herman, Amid the Clouds and Mist, 118–19; Giersch, Asian Borderlands, 34–36. For such episodes of late fifteenth/early sixteenth century Tusi families scheming (with Đại Việt), see L.K. Shin, “Ming China and Its Border with Annam,” in The Chinese State at the Borders, 91, and Barlow, “The Zhuang Minority,” 29–34, 37–39. L. Sun, “Shan Gems, Chinese Silver, and the Rise of Shan Principalities in Northern Burma, c.1450–1527,” in Southeast Asia in the Fifteenth Century, 169–96; J. Fernquest, “Crucible of War: Burma and the Ming in the Tai Frontier Zone (1382–1454),” SOAS Bulletin of Burma Research, 4, 2 (2006), 27–81.

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In this way, over five hundred years ago, the southern frontier had become a territory filled in its northern half with over 1600 Tusi (some of them female). South of this Chinese-dominated sector, stretching from the Gulf of Tonkin west across the mountains of northern Southeast Asia to Myanmar and Tibet, lay the Pacification Commission (Xuanweisi) zone, which Beijing hoped to influence by more indirect means.65 The question then became what would the nature of this new frontier be, what would be its shape? (Section 2). Initially, in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, the sudden change within the frontier meant that regimes down the Great Descent and beyond the Yunnan plateau had seen their immediate northern neighbors defeated and found themselves directly facing a powerful and aggressive northern empire. Sun in this volume reflects well the strained asymmetric dialogue between Mongol envoys and southern courts, how the Burmese in Pagan were caught short by the sudden and unanticipated arrival of the northern envoys and how the Vietnamese, now facing aggressive acts on their northwest as well as their northeast, argued with and fought against the Mongols. Sun shows how the Yuan were striving to form what we might call a ‘new south’ for China by bringing Yunnan, Annan (Đại Việt), and Champa into their domain. Though the latter two efforts failed, that in Yunnan succeeded. The Yuan, followed by the Ming, would continue their efforts to construct the network of Pacification Commissions across this far southern territory of the Dong world. While in the thirteenth century this contact across the frontier had badly shaken the southern regimes, two centuries later these regimes had generally repulsed the Ming efforts and felt confident in their dealings with the northern court. Sun Laichen points out how Ming firepower first helped that dynasty dominate the southern section of the Dong world and then, as local forces there gained knowledge and use of this firepower, how they pushed back against the Ming intrusions. Maw Shans to the southwest, Lan Na to the south, and Đại Việt to the southeast all grew strong, expanded, and contested the 65

J.W. Dardess, Ming China, 1368–1644, A Concise History of a Resilient Empire (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2012), 2–11; Mote, Imperial China, 702–17; K.M. Swope, “To Catch a Tiger: The Suppression of the Yang Yinglong Miao Uprising as a Case Study in Ming Military and Borderlands History,” in M.A. Aung-Thwin & K.R. Hall, eds., New Perspectives in the History and Historiography of Southeast Asia, Continuing Explorations (London: Routledge, 2011), 114, 117–18. Shin, Making of the Chinese State, 58, lists 340 Tusi in Guangxi, 430 in Yunnan, 240 in Guizhou, 340 in Sichuan, and 80 in Huguang, for a total of 1430, and Herman, Amid the Clouds and Mist, 108, has a total of 1608 Tusi (960 military, 648 civil) with Guangxi and Yunnan having the most civil Tusi (92% and 69% respectively), while in Sichuan (95%) and Guizhou (83%) the Tusi were almost entirely military. Overall, the Tusi appear to have been about two thirds military.

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Ming efforts at control.66 (See also Swope in this volume.) Whitmore in this volume describes how the new Lê regime rose out of the southern Dong world in the mountains to the west of Đại Việt and how they transformed its government to the bureaucratic Ming model, adopting its Confucian ideology (which the Ming refused to acknowledge67). The Lê even adopted the Tusi (V. Thổ-ty) institution, using it to strengthen their hand in the Sino-Vietnamese frontier. (These highland chiefs in turn utilized this status to consolidate their local positions both within their dong and outside it.)68 The resulting strength and selfconfidence of Đại Việt led the successful Vietnamese to ignore and reject Ming concerns about their campaigns south to destroy Champa and west through the southern sector of the Dong world against Tai realms across northern Southeast Asia. Where Confucian and Sinic culture became well established south of the frontier in Đại Việt, Baldanza and Dennis in this volume note the Ming worries over the continuing ‘uncivilized’ (“raw” non-Han) regions within their portion of the Dong world during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Dennis shows the Han literati’s perceived need for gazetteers, with imprinting ”civility” locally, which made “legible” (in Chinese fashion) the upland regions they now wanted to control.69 He then sees indigenous chiefs utilizing these developments for their clans’ benefit, to embed their own lines in positions of local power supported by the Ming state. Beijing required genealogies from the Tusi families to determine proper (patrilineal) succession, and these families wished to insure that the right genealogies got into Ming hands. Constructing the gazetteers, as Dennis describes, played a role in this. At times, as with the great Miao rebellion in Guizhou late in the century, the Ming had to act strongly to control overactive Tusi.70 66

L. Sun, “Military Technology Transfers from Ming China and the Emergence of Northern Mainland Southeast Asia (c. 1390–1527),” JSEAS, 34, 3 (2003), 495–517; F.M. Liew, “The Luchuan-Pingmian Campaigns (1436–1449) in the Light of Official Chinese Histo­riog­ raphy,” Oriens Extremus, 39, 2 (1996), 162–203; Wade, “The Chinese Southern Borders in History,” 42. 67 K. Baldanza, ”De-Civilizing Ming China’s Southern Border: Vietnam as Lost Province or Barbarian Culture,” in Y. Du & J. Kyong-McClain, eds., Chinese History in Geographical Perspective (Lanham MD: Lexington Books, 2013), 55–69. See also a similar late fifteenth century comment by the Ming official Qiu Jun; Sun, “Assessing the Ming Role in China’s Southern Expansion,” 50. 68 Anderson, The Rebel Den of Nùng Trí Cao, 164–65. 69 See also Yang, Between Winds and Clouds, 148–50, 158. 70 Swope, “To Catch a Tiger,” 112–40; see Herman, Amid the Clouds and Mist, chs. 4–5, Shin, The Making of the Chinese State, ch. 4, Elvin, Retreat of the Elephants, 225–28, and D. Faure,

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In the southern half of the Dong world, the Ming state continued to work with the local rulers as Pacification Commissioners, co-opting them into the Chinese sphere and seeking to extend its influence beyond the northern Tusi zone. The number of Pacification Commissions appointed among the Tai realms (muang) and their princes (caofa) came to nine, established from the 1380s into the 1440s and reaching as far as Ava in the Burmese lowlands and Lan Na (Chiang Mai in northern Thailand). These centuries saw a dynamic and competitive balance among the varied Tai muang across this region from Sipsong Panna and Kengtung to Lan Na and the Shan principalities, as Buddhism spread among them. The highland polities and their royal personalities both competed among themselves and held their own against the lowland realms of Ayudhya (Thailand) and Ava (Myanmar). The Ming insisted on maintaining this balance, serving as arbitrator and not allowing any one of these Xuanweisi (such as Ava) to dominate any other of them.71 Then, through the second half of the sixteenth century, the explosion of initial Toungoo (1539–99) power out of Myanmar swept east through this southern sector to disrupt the many Tai muang. The Burmese power, seeing itself as practically equal to Beijing, reached across this segment of the Dong world, all the way to Sipsong Panna, dominating the region into the nineteenth century and bringing orthodox Theravada Buddhism with it. Burmese and Chinese shared dominance in some local courts, as the rulers there sought support from both, and in others the Burmese cut the Chinese authorities out entirely. Indeed, it would be in Xuanweisi territory and eventually to Ava, the farthest Pacification Commission, where the Ming claimant, the Yongli emperor (r. 1646–1662), would seek refuge from the conquering Manchu forces, however unsuccessfully.72

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“The Yao Wars in Mid-Ming and Their Impact on Yao Ethnicity,” 171–89, Barlow, “The Zhuang Minority,” 26–35, 38, and Chan, “Ethnic Labels in a Mountainous Region,” 267–79, in Empire at the Margins, for other such revolts in these centuries. Liew-Herres et al., Chronicle of Sipsong Panna, 46–53; Liew, “The Aboriginal Tribes and the Tribal Principalities in Yunnan as Presented in the Ming and Early Qing Historiography,” 147, 149, 150–55; Aung-Thwin & Aung-Thwin, A History of Myanmar Since Ancient Times, ch. 5; Ongsakul, History of Lan Na, 99–105; Giersch, Asian Borderlands, 71; J.K. Whitmore, ‘The Establishment of the Burma-China Border, 1400–1600,’ presented at the conference, ‘Perspectives on Burma (for Sao Saimong Mangrai),’ Ann Arbor, MI, 14 April 1978. Aung-Thwin & Aung-Thwin, A History of Myanmar Since Ancient Times, ch. 6; Ongsakul, History of Lan Na, ch. 4; L. Sun, personal communication, October 1, 2005; Yang, Between Winds and Clouds, 168–69; Ong in this volume; Giersch, Asian Borderlands, 38; P.C. Perdue, “Embracing Victory, Effacing Defeat: Rewriting the Qing Frontier Campaigns,” in The Chinese State at the Borders, 116; Grabowski, “Cao Fa Dek Noi and the Founding Myth of

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The Tusi world, existing among the many dong communities,73 remained a territory of increasing Han influence, yet upheavals of many local chieftains and their contesting clans continued. The ties between these chieftains and the Ming state showed the limits of the latter. The clans would absorb aspects of the Chinese state system that aided them in their local power, while manipulating state efforts against them (as Dennis demonstrates in this volume). For the Ming, the chieftains served both to maintain local order and to block off unruly elements beyond their territory (especially in Đại Việt).74 As Shin and Giersch both show, the Ming mapping and boundary demarcation were not so much territorial as ethnic, separating Min (taxpaying subjects) from Man. A 1574 gazetteer map and text gave preference to the inner civil Tusi, with the outer military chiefdoms blending in with the distant Xuanweisi (like Lan Na and Ava), the latter, in Giersch’s words, “remote and not entirely under regular Ming jurisdiction.” The Ming state seems thus to have been less concerned with boundaries as such than with keeping order among contentious frontier chieftains and watching the passes. From the official Qiu Jun in the late fifteenth century through the sixteenth, there was an increasing Chinese sense of being apart from, an aversion, a distaste for being involved with, and the need for defense against these myriad Man, wishing to leave them to their own devices. As Wang Yangming noted in 1520s Guangxi, “Barbarians are like wild deer” – it will not do to try to bring them into the house. Indeed, late in the sixteenth century, the Ming constructed an iron gate to separate the Tusi zone from Xuanweisi territory, pulling back from the Shan hills and leaving the latter in Ava’s hands. At the same time, they were raising a Miao barrier (“the Great Wall on the Chu Borderlands”) in the hills south of the Yangzi to split Min from Man and separate “raw’ from “cooked” locals at the far northern edge of the Dong world.75 For this southern frontier Chiang Khaeng,” 102–07, 110–11, 118–19; Liew, “The Aboriginal Tribes and the Tribal Principalities in Yunnan as Presented in the Ming and Early Qing Historiography.” 154–56. 73 Harold Meinheit, personal communication, January 5, 2011, points out the many dong appearing in the maps of a 1599 gazetteer from Guangxi. 74 Shin, Making of the Chinese State, 56; Took, A Native Chieftaincy in Southwest China, 57; Barlow, “The Zhuang Minority,” 38–40; see also Baldanza in this volume for a local instance in Guangxi of this buffer interpretation for the Tusi. 75 Shin, Making of the Chinese State, chs. 4–5; idem., “Ming China and Its Border with Annam,” 94–101; Giersch, Asian Borderlands, 70–72 (quotation, 71); Took, A Native Chieftaincy in Southwest China, 228; Elvin, Retreat of the Elephants, 228–30; Herman, “The Cant of Conquest,” 138–46; Chan, “Ethnic Labels in a Mountainous Region,” 269; Barlow, “The Zhuang Minority,” 35–38 (Wang Yangming quotation, 36); Whitmore, ‘The Establishment of the Burma-China Border, 1400–1600;’ Y. Jiang, “The ‘Southern Great Wall of China’ in

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policy, it was not a matter of state-to-state (‘tributary’) relations (guo to guo), but of a series of local chiefdoms fading off from the Tusi zone into Xuanweisi territory out on the horizon. Boundaries among these polities, large and small, with their scattered inhabited areas, existed only in fuzzy conceptions, worked out time and again by the locals and loosely determined by the mountainous terrain. The shifting social and power relations of these entities gave the fuzziness to the territories ruled by the chieftains. The Ming dealt with each Tusi and Xuanweisi separately and on its own merits to the best of their knowledge. Tian Rucheng in 1560 chided the Ming government, in Herman’s words, for “appalling ignorance of the southern frontier,” as Tian looked from Guizhou to Yunnan and beyond to Myanmar.76 Through the upheavals of the late sixteenth century and almost all of the seventeenth, this upland frontier provided room for refugee royalties, first the Mạc (1528–92) of Đại Việt in Cao Bằng, later Yunnan and Guangxi, then the Ming claimants, especially the Yongli emperor who moved across the Dong world from his southeast coast eventually to Ava in Burma. This action was followed by the “Revolt of the Three Feudatories” (1673–81), Ming generals in the south who had first supported the Manchus, then turned against the Qing efforts at control there. One of them, Wu Sangui (1612–78), began again the extraction of minerals in Yunnan, and on his defeat the Qing regime maintained and stabilized its frontier regions, continuing the extraction.77 In the meantime, as Ong describes in this volume, throughout the Dong world there remained spaces on the fringes of both northern and southern realms open for political intrigue and heterodox beliefs. Baldanza, Ong, and Kim in this volume picture remnants of the once royal Vietnamese Mạc family surviving in this region in late Ming and early Qing times and connecting with local messianic beliefs and actions, only to be caught short in the eighteenth century by local Qing officials. In the process, they show us a piece of the Tusi world at its end – native chieftains, political refugees, religious groups, all involved in the local dynamism apart from the Qing state.

76 77

Fenghuang County: Discovery and Restoration,” MS, 68 (2013), 57–82. This sense of separation is also reflected in the comments of local Guangxi officials; see Baldanza in this volume. T. Winichakul, Siam Mapped, A History of the Geo-Body of a Nation (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1994), 75–78, 81; Herman, “The Cant of Conquest,” 146. W.T. Rowe, China’s Last Empire: The Great Qing (Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2009), ch. 1; Herman, Amid the Clouds and Mist, ch. 6; Elvin, Retreat of the Elephants, 230–32; idem, “The Cant of Conquest,” 156–59; idem., “Empire in the Southwest,” 52–58, 69; Aung-Thwin & Aung-Thwin, A History of Myanmar Since Ancient Times, ch. 7; Weinstein, Empire and Identity in Guizhou, 25, 35–6, 40–3, 45–6, 52–3.

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The Gaitu Guiliu Era After almost five centuries of the Tusi era, there began more consistent state efforts in the frontier to bring direct control into both sides of this territory and to demarcate the territories these states claimed. As these states, from the north and from the south, increasingly centralized their reach into the frontier, they began to set the borders, with the resulting borderlands stretching out on both sides. From the sixteenth century into the twentieth, the growing international consciousness within these states led to mapping and boundaries, as each state worked to build its administrative jurisdictions. In Alexander Woodside’s words, “… the political (center’s) ambition to impose a single normative managerial framework upon its far-flung borderlands” remains to this day.78 “Quixotic” in dealing with the indigenous complexities, these sustained state efforts by the varied regimes, north and south, over the past three centuries have attempted to consolidate direct administrative control all the way to the borders emphasized in the modern international situation. Gradually, the old narrow frontier policies of these states became broad foreign policies as they drew their new maps. This policy of Gaitu Guiliu for the Chinese state had theoretically been proceeding since its first intrusions into the Dong world centuries earlier. As they controlled certain highland areas, the Chinese courts ideally would replace the local native chieftains with regular bureaucratic appointees.79 But the Yuan had not been terribly interested in this effort, proclaiming the chieftains Tusi instead, and the Ming court was quite episodic in its efforts to install such regular officials. (Dennis in this volume provides a good description of one such episode.) In the end, the best the Ming could do was break large Tusi territories into a number of smaller ones (appointing some Han Tusi in the process).80 After the Manchu conquest, the Revolt of the Three Feudatories wrought havoc with many of the Tusi and local chiefs, weakening them in the process. The remainder of the Kangxi reign (1662–1722) saw Beijing begin to assert stronger control over the Tusi, particularly in succession matters. As the Qing policies destabilized the Tusi territories (now almost 1800, 1300 of them outer military),

78 A.B. Woodside, “The Centre and the Borderlands in Chinese Political Theory,” 24. 79 Herman, Amid the Clouds and Mist, 16, 94, 127, 188, 235; Giersch, Asian Borderlands, 43–63; Took, A Native Chieftaincy in Southwest China, 226–29. 80 Herman, “The Cant of Conquest,” 146–56; Yang, Between Winds and Clouds, 116–17; Barlow, “The Zhuang Minority,” 28, 30, 37.

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increasing Han population pressures on the highland societies created more friction.81 It was the Yongzheng emperor (r. 1723–35), who, in the 1720s with his major administrative reform project, strongly began the Gaitu Guiliu effort as he decided to crack down on the resulting turbulence of the Tusi situation across the southern frontier and to include these Man as Min within his empire.82 In the first years of his reign (1723–28), Yongzheng worked to develop central communications and to control his bureaucracy. This extended central control quite effectively into the southern frontier. The Tusi were now mainly, if not completely, reduced, as the Qing acted to bring their territories, by this time much better defined, directly into the state bureaucracy. Behind this move lay Beijing’s desire for the mineral resources of the Dong world, the growing commercialization, and the encroaching Han population. Through Yongzheng’s man E’ertai (1680–1745) and the centralized communication system Yongzheng developed, the Qing state gained access throughout the northern sector of the Dong world as far as Sipsong Panna more thoroughly than ever before. As E’ertai indicated, the lands “inside” the Lancang (Mekong) River were to be administered directly, while those “outside” it were to be left to the local chiefs. Trustworthy external Tusi would remain in place to watch the passes and to serve as the “fence” against distant threats. The territory became increasingly “legible” with provincial gazetteers appearing first in 1736 and the years thereafter, then again in 1835 and thereafter. These texts began to delineate Chinese control in this territory more definitively in their maps. The compilers, as Giersch notes, “were much clearer about Qing jurisdiction over frontiers.”83 This marked the beginning of the centuries-long effort by Beijing, as well as by regimes in mainland Southeast Asia, to establish their territories and boundaries within the Dong world, exercising control as much as possible inside them. 81 Herman, “The Cant of Conquest,” 157–61; idem., “Empire in the Southwest,” 48–50, 58–70. 82 Giersch, Asian Borderlands, ch. 2; Took, A Native Chieftaincy in Southwest China, 229–37, 242, 285–86; R.K. Guy, Qing Governors and Their Provinces: The Evolution of Territorial Administration in China, 1644–1796 (Seattle, WA: University of Washington Press, 2010), 116–26, 314–18, 326–51, 355–57; Elvin, Retreat of the Elephants, 219–20, 232–33; Weinstein, Empire and Identity in Guizhou, 4, 7, 34–5, 37–58; Yang, Between Winds and Clouds, 129–35, 209; M.H. Chiang, “The Origins of the Post Designation System in the Qing Field Administration Network,” in K.R. Hall, ed., The Growth of Non-Western Cities: Primary and Secondary Urban Networking, c. 900–1900 (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2011), 195–204. 83 Giersch, Asian Borderlands, 71(quotation)–74, 80, 82, 90; A.B. Woodside, “The Ch’ien-Lung Reign,” in The Cambridge History of China, v. 9, pt. 1 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 244, 253–56, 275–76; Elvin, Retreat of the Elephants, ch. 8 passim.; Yang, Between Winds and Clouds, 135.

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One reason the Qing officials had caught the Mạc and their local henchmen in 1730 (see Ong in this volume) was this action taken by the Yongzheng emperor to gain better state control over Yunnan and the frontier. The Gaitu Gui­liu effort has lasted from that day to this, in fits and starts, as the Chinese capitals have sought to control the frontier jurisdictions directly and through these jurisdictions to demarcate boundaries and borders. This activity pushed into the eastern edge of Tibetan territory as well, that of the Kham, however indigenous texts there refused to recognize the presence of either Beijing or Lhasa.84 The instigation for this action was the boom in economic activity and the great growth of Han population (including miners) from 1700 to 1850 in the southwest. With the severe Japanese cuts in its copper trade, mineral extraction, now including zinc and cinnabar as well as copper, together with logging and the trade in cotton and jade from the southern portion of the Dong world, all increased dramatically and led to increased state penetration into the local scene.85 The integration of the northern portion of the Dong world into the Qing realm during the eighteenth century was not just an internal administrative matter. It took place as Beijing became increasingly aware of the world beyond its territories, as the court’s frontier policy gradually, slowly became a foreign policy (to utilize Matthew Mosca’s recent discussion). Replacing its piecemeal, kaleidoscopic approach to its many frontiers, segment by segment, each with its own terminology, the court in Beijing began to bring these segments together into a single broad conception. Mapping and its names played a significant role in this reconceptualization as the Yongzheng and Qianlong maps and texts expanded to much more territory beyond the Qing than did Kangxi’s, including to the south. Overall, the Qing sense of their territoriality and sovereignty grew not only broader but also tighter and more specific. Yongzheng and Qianlong were both personally eager for information on their frontiers

84

A. Holmes-Tagchungdarpa, “The Ambivalence of Conquest: The Absence of Chinese Administration in the Historiography of the Sino-Tibetan Borderlands – A Case Study of Lhathog,” presented at the Association of Asian Studies Annual Meeting, Philadelphia, 2010; Weinstein, Empire and Identity in Guizhou, 44. 85 Rowe, China’s Last Empire, 78–81; C.P. Giersch, “Cotton, Copper, and Caravans: Trade and the Transformation of Southwest China,” 37–61, and Sun Laichen, “From Baoshi to Feicui, Qing-Burmese Gem Trade,” 203–20, both in E. Tagliacozzo & W.-C. Chang, eds., Chinese Circulations: Capital, Commodities, and Networks in Southeast Asia (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2011); Yang, Between Winds and Clouds, 208–29; Woodside, “The Ch’ienLung Reign,” 267–68; Giersch, Asian Borderlands, 2; Elvin, Retreat of the Elephants, 244–52.

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and beyond.86 The external aspect of the integration of the southern territories lay in the new need to determine boundaries to demarcate the empire from foreign territory, politically, not just ethnically, and to fill in the empire with regular administration. With borders, there would come borderlands within the broad frontier region, and indigenous peoples would have to adjust to living on one side of such borders or the other. The second half of the eighteenth century saw the overlap of the Qing and the Konbaung (Myanmar) empires in the midst of the Dong world. In this area that C. Patterson Giersch has dubbed “the Crescent,” he presents a very good picture of the social, economic, cultural, and political intermixture along the intersection of the northern and southern sectors of the Dong world.87 Here state activities of the two lowland regimes sought to establish themselves ever deeper within the frontier. As the Qing were consolidating their control over the Tusi in their northern sector of the Dong world, the new Konbaung dynasty (1752–1885) rose in central Myanmar and followed the earlier Toungoo power thrust into the southern sector of this highland world, dominating it as far as Sipsong Panna.88 The Burmese incursion and the reaction to it by local chiefs would lead to serious confrontations as the expanding Qing and Konbaung zones of influence came in conflict through the 1760s and their forces collided in the midst of the Dong world. This southern Chinese involvement was part of the Qianlong emperor’s strong push outward during his six-decade (1736–1795) reign and reflected the limits of his state. While these limits existed far beyond those of the Ming realm, they now occurred within the growing internationalization of the age. On the south, this involved both the growing power of the Southeast Asian mainland states and the increasing presence of Western powers. The new situation showed in the Qing court’s expansive mapping projects as well as in its 86

M.W. Mosca, From Frontier Policy to Foreign Policy: The Question of India and the Transformation of Geopolitics in Qing China (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2013); L. Hostetler, “Early Modern Mapping at the Qing Court: Survey Maps from the Kangxi, Yongzheng, and Qianlong Reign Periods,” in Chinese History in Geographic Perspective, 15–32; Shin, The Making of the Chinese State, 288; Weinstein, Empire and Identity in Guizhou, 120–21, 125–26. On Qianlong’s sense of his southern border, see Kim in this volume. 87 Giersch, Asian Borderlands, 4–7, 10–13, 36–43, 63, passim.. 88 Ibid., pp. 98–105; V.B. Lieberman, Burmese Administrative Cycles: Anarchy and Conquest, c. 1580–1760 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984), 222, ch.5; Liew-Herres et al., Chronicle of Sipsong Panna, 49–56; Woodside, “The Ch’ien-Lung Reign,” 249–50, 263–66, 276; Aung-Thwin & Aung-Thwin, A History of Myanmar Since Ancient Times, ch. 8; Grabowski, “Cao Fa Dek Noi and the Founding Myth of Chiang Khaeng,” 98, 111–12.

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efforts to reach into outlying territories occupied by other peoples. To Alexander Woodside, Qianlong appears as “the presiding genius of a colonial empire … the colonizer ruler whose empire-making ambitions largely transcended ethnicity and camouflaged class.” What were boundaries here? Politically, culturally, judicially, they were what Beijing could impose on local rulers until successful resistance refused to recognize or accept the Qing purpose. Rewarding lavishly and punishing severely, Qianlong aggressively pushed his armed forces outward into the frontiers, “places of martyr-dom inflicting otherness in which the most traditional types of Chinese loyalty could be tested and renewed,” to quote Woodside once more. These values the elderly emperor glossed in his discussion of his “Ten Great Campaigns,” covering almost half a century of warfare on many of his frontiers. In a series of what Woodside terms ‘frontier imperial information-deficit crises,’ Qianlong made aggressive strikes all along his southern frontier, pushing out to the edges of Qing control from Sichuan through Yunnan to Guangxi. These wars assaulted Kham, Burmese, and Vietnamese, as well as dong societies which had either resisted the Qing move to direct rule in the Tusi zone or lived in contested territories.89 Through the middle of the eighteenth century, the thriving Qing state thus moved strongly out to its southern margins and against the openness to illicit activities existing within them, including those of the growing secret societies (especially the Heaven and Earth Society Tiandi Hui) of the sort shown by Ong in this volume. South of the frontier, even though the court of Đại Việt conscientiously sent its scholars north on embassies to Beijing,90 Kim describes in this volume the active extension of the Qianlong emperor’s legal system into and across the frontier (making a very interesting comparison of Qing legal dealings with Đại Việt and Choson [Korea]). The asymmetric Qing state power felt free to go deeply into and beyond its territory in applying its judicial system and compelling its wishes on the southern realms.91 Yet this aggressive action against the far edges of the established Qing empire led to the collisions with the strengthening southern states. Just as with the Song under Shenzong in the eleventh century and the Ming under the Yongle emperor in the fifteenth, such

89

Woodside, “The Ch’ien-Lung Reign,” 242 (1st quotation), 245–47, 250(2nd quotation)–52, 260–79; Hostetler, “Early Modern Mapping at the Qing Court;” Giersch, Asian Borderlands, 85–87; Perdue, “Embracing Victory, Effacing Defeat,” 108–110, 115–22; Holmes-Tagchung­ dar­pa in this volume. 90 Kelley, Beyond the Bronze Pillars. 91 See also Woodside, “The Ch’ien-Lung Reign,” 277–78.

Map 5

The Gaitu Guiliu era (18th century – the present)

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strong actions to push the imperial margins southward once more revealed the limits and costs of empire and led to defeat in the southern frontier.92 The Gaitu Guiliu effort slowed through the reign of the doubtful Qianlong emperor and into the nineteenth century. Ethnic complexities and Han settlement made the attempt at direct administrative control in the Dong world difficult and contentious, the latter often inspired by itinerant religious figures. There was, in Elvin’s words, “perpetual unrest” here, as fractious chieftains led sporadic resistance against the encroaching Qing state. Retrenching, the Qing had to rely on native troops to control local troubles and to combat branches of the secret societies. This was marked by the Qing reconstruction of the Miao wall.93 Nevertheless, the openness that had existed during the Tusi era tightened considerably, as royal refugees like the Mạc and later the Lê of Đại Việt came under closer state surveillance.94 Meanwhile, the economic and social dynamics throughout the southern frontier continued until external force and internal rebellion in southern China ended the flourishing commerce. In the meantime, the strong states emerging across mainland Southeast Asia with their capitals in Amarapura (Myanmar), Bangkok (Thailand), and Huế (Vietnam) grew to contest the Qing hold across the split Dong world.95 Through the middle of the nineteenth century, with the Opium Wars and the southern Taiping, Miao, and Panthay Rebellions (in the east, center, and west respectively of the Dong world), the Qing court struggled to come to grips with the outside world. The British were moving up the Irrawaddy valley towards China in Myanmar, interacting with the Tai muang in the process, and in 1885 destroyed the Konbaung regime; the French began to aim for China via Đại Nam (the old Đại Việt) and in 1883 took control of Huế and the north, what they called Tonkin (V. Đông Kinh). Both European powers proceeded to cut into the Dong world.96 As seen by scholars like Xu Jiyu (1795–1873), the Qing 92 93 94

Ibid., 260–68; Giersch, Asian Borderlands, 101–05. Jiang, “The Southern Great Wall,” 64, 75. Woodside, “The Ch’ien-Lung Reign,” 256–60; Giersch, Asian Borderlands, 87–91, 95, 111–16; Took, A Native Chieftaincy in Southwest China, 113, 237, 240–42, 253; Elvin, Retreat of the Elephants, 217–20, 230; D.S. Sutton, “Ethnicity and the Miao Frontier in the Eighteenth Century,” 190–228, and A. Csete, “Ethnicity, Conflict, and the State in Early to Mid-Qing: The Hainan Highlands, 1644–1800,” 229–52, in Empire at the Margins; Kim in this volume. Weinstein, Empire and Identity in Guizhou, chs. 4–5, provides a good description of such internal troubles and the involvement of itinerant religious figures and their talismans (as does Ong in this volume). 95 Lieberman, Strange Parallels, v. 1. 96 Ongsakul, History of Lan Na, ch. 7; Sao Saimong Mangrai, The Shan States and the British Annexation (Ithaca, NY: Southeast Asia Program, Cornell University, 1965); J. Michaud,

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southern frontier was now more perilous than it had ever been, and Beijing looked upon remaining borderland Tusi to continue serving as its frontline watch over the passes across this broad frontier region. The Dong world thus became a meeting place between the Chinese and these Westerners with their differing conceptions of boundaries.97 Simultaneously, the new major power in mainland Southeast Asia, the Cakri (1781-present) in Bangkok, also became very active in the Dong world, as Thai power brought Lan Na firmly into their kingdom and fought over the Shan principality of Kengtung, contesting the weakening Qing and Konbaung stances in the area.98 Where was the legendary “tribute system” of the Chinese courts in all this? First, this pattern of inter-court (not inter-state) relations, ruler to ruler, had changed through the centuries as the Chinese dynasties changed and as their asymmetric contacts with neighboring realms fluctuated. Contingencies of the moment and personalities affected these inter-realm dealings. Performances of ceremony (Kim’s “rule of ritual” in this volume) standardized the asymmetry in the capitals involved, both Chinese and the southern courts, regularizing acceptance of their respective statuses. The distances between them that had dominated the Dong era were sharply and suddenly curtailed with the Mongol incursions and the beginning of the Tusi era. The latter were now linked, however loosely, to the Chinese administration, while the Pacification Commissions (Xuanweisi) hovered in a certain limbo between this inner system and the external, court-to-court relationships. As Sun, Kim, Davis, and Womack demonstrate in this volume, the ritualistic court-to-court asymmetric (“tribute”) system overlay the actual realities of the frontier regions. With the dong chiefs pursuing their own immediate local interests, Beijing had to deal with ‘Incidental Ethnography,’ French Catholic Missions on the Tonkin-Yunnan Frontier, 1880– 1930 (Leiden: Brill, 2007); idem., “French Military Ethnography in Colonial Upper Tonkin (Northern Vietnam),” Journal of Vietnamese Studies (JVS), 8, 4 (2013), 1–46; Lentz, ‘Mobilizing a Frontier,’ 43–57; Grabowski, “Cao Fa Dek Noi and the Founding Myth of Chiang Khaeng,” 95. 97 See MacLean in this volume for an example of differing interpretations of a “border” in the French and Chinese versions of their 1887 treaty; also B.C. Davis, “Black Flag Rumors and the Black River Basin: Powerbrokers and the State in the Tonkin-China Borderlands,” JVS, 6, 2 (2011), 21–25. 98 Took, A Native Chieftaincy in Southwest China, 112–13, 235–43, 253–55; Liew-Herres et al., Chronicle of Sipsong Panna, 51–56, 207–09; Giersch, Asian Borderlands, 117–22; Winichakul, Siam Mapped, 73–81, 95–102, 108, 125–27; Ongsakul, History of Lan Na, chs. 5–6, 8–9; J.S.F. Smith, The Chiang Tung [Kengtung] Wars: War and Politics in Mid-Nineteenth Century Siam and Burma (Bangkok: Institute of Asian Studies, Chulalongkorn University, 2013); Aung-Thwin & Aung-Thwin, A History of Myanmar Since Ancient Times, ch. 9.

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both these chiefs (Tusi or not) and the kings of the southern realms. Sun describes the origins of the system and portrays the oppressive Yuan in the thirteenth century, Kim the legalistic Qing of the eighteenth century, Davis the modernizing late Qing at the end of the nineteenth century, and Womack the development of the system through the centuries. Sun and Kim, describing events about a half millennium apart, also note the differences between the relations of the Central Kingdom with Choson (Korea) to the north compared to those with Đại Việt in the south, based on relative distance, ease of communication, and historical events. For nineteenth century Vietnam, as Davis indicates in this volume, first the new Nguyễn regime (1802–1945) in Huế, then the conquering French colonial power themselves also had to relegate local authority to dong chiefs in their northern frontier teeming with Tai chieftains and post-Taiping Rebellion Chinese gangs, a land, in Anderson’s words, “desperately poor and peppered with bandit groups.”99 Like the Qing to their north, both the Minh Mạng (r. 1820– 1840) project and the French regime made strong efforts at bureaucratic centralization at the time of greater sensitivity to what had become “borderlands” on both sides of the now tighter borderlines. Yet the local chiefs and bandit leaders, as of old, felt no compunction in using the situation to their own advantage or in operating across the now established line into southern China. Where Vietnamese refugees like the Mạc had worked out of China against Đại Việt (see Ong in this volume), now Chinese refugees found shelter in Vietnam and acted to instigate anti-Manchu resistance north of the border. The Qing lost their battle attempting to maintain the frontier against the French in northern Vietnam during the 1880s, setting the new international border between them. The French consequently penetrated the Dong world, building railways into Yunnan and up to the Guangxi border.100 At the western side of the Dong world, the British took the Shan principalities as far as Kengtung, while the Chinese worked to oppose their advance into Tibet early in the twentieth century.101 99 Anderson, The Rebel Den of Nùng Trí Cao, 158; see also B.C. Davis, ‘States of Banditry: The Nguyễn Government, Bandit Rule, and the Culture of Power in Post-Taiping China-Vietnam Borderlands,’ Ph.D. Dissertation (University of Washington, 2008), chs. 1–3. 100 Davis and MacLean in this volume; Davis, “Black Flag Rumors,” 16–41; idem., ‘States of Banditry,’ chs. 4–5; D. Lary, “A Zone of Nebulous Menace: The Guangxi/Indochina Border in the Republican Period,” in The Chinese State at the Borders, 183–85, 187–88; Michaud, “French Military Ethnography,” 11; Yang, Between Winds and Clouds, 47. 101 Sao Saimong Mangrai, The Shan States and the British Annexation, and Holmes-Tagchungdarpa in this volume.

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Involved here was the proclivity of the Europeans to favor (and protect) the “honest” highlanders against the “devious” lowlanders.102 On the Chinese side, the Yunnan-Guizhou Governor-General Shen Bingkun (1862–1913) memorialized the court in Beijing on July 2, 1909, calling for a stronger traditional approach – the Han had to forge a closer cultural bond with the most marginal areas of their empire, Yunnan began the process of becoming civilized comparatively late, and all along the border there are numerous Tusi headmen. Often because of language differences, these people feel estranged from the people residing in the empire’s interior. Earlier efforts to educate this population have not been successful. I plan to investigate the circumstances surrounding native Tusi governance in these frontier areas. … At this time, I will revive education as the means to bring peace and stability and erect academies … for this purpose.103 These were the years that saw the reconfiguring of Qing external policy from frontier to foreign, in Mosca’s terms.104 Confronted by the broad Western pressures, especially of the British, the Qing court, officials, and scholars had to realize the full extent of this threat and put aside their fragmented local approach to the individual frontiers and the locally specific vocabularies of the latter for a broadly coordinated approach. Joining the international telegraph system aided this move to such a foreign policy (though Davis shows how local telegraphic contact could be turned against the Qing).105 This also meant the growing recognition of its geo-body, to borrow Winichakul’s term,106 and the new nation-state’s need to formulate specific political borders, not merely ethnic consciousness and shared power at the imperial margins. Working toward Gaitu Guiliu has taken on a deeper meaning as the Qing court and later 102 T. Winichakul & E. Tagliacozzo, “Gradations of Colonialism in Southeast Asia’s ‘InBetween’ Places,” in N.G. Owen, ed., Routledge Handbook of Southeast Asian History (London: Routledge, 2014), 39–40, 42–44; Michaud, “French Military Ethnography,” 19; Sao Saimong Mangrai, The Shan States and the British Annexation, 10–13. 103 Qingshilu (Records of the Qing Dynasty), j. 13, “Xuantong zhengji” (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1985). Cited in Gu Yongji, “The Educational Development and Characteristics of the Daiinhabited Areas in the Ming and the Qing Dynasties (Ming Qing shiqi yunnan daizu diqu de jiaoyu fazhan ji tedian)” in The Journal of Yunnan Normal University (Yunnan shifan daxue xuebao), 43, 2 (March 2011): 148. 104 Mosca, From Frontier Policy to Foreign Policy. 105 Ibid., 309; Davis in this volume and idem. ‘States of Banditry,’ ch. 5. 106 Winichakul, Siam Mapped.

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Chinese regimes have acted to hold their perceived territory against foreigners, east and west, down to the present day. On the southern frontier, this has meant direct contact with first the Western colonial powers, then the modern independent states of mainland Southeast Asia, Myanmar, Thailand, Laos, and Vietnam. In the process, the fuzzy frontier boundaries have theoretically become sharp international lines, and central power with its standardized administration has taken precedence over local and indigenous elite control throughout the borderlands of the Dong world, on both sides of the newly set lines – in Mosca’s words, “a diminished sensitivity to local perspectives.”107 With a broad and centralized ‘foreign policy’ came more control from the capital and less attention to local interests within the varied frontiers. Holmes-Tagchungdarpa and MacLean in this volume show how, through the twentieth century, first these European powers, then the resulting independent indigenous states beyond the frontier have dealt with the Chinese regimes, in the first half of the century the Republic of China, from mid-century the People’s Republic of China (PRC). With the Manchus gone (like the earlier Mongols), the modern Chinese (like the Ming) have been working to configure what ‘China’ was to be in their age, on land and sea and ethnically. HolmesTagchungdarpa gives us a sympathetic Han photographic gaze on southern frontier peoples (here eastern Tibetans – Kham)108 and in the process demonstrates the shift from the earlier, separating illustrations of frontier peoples seen in the gazetteers and other literary works109 to the direct photographic representations of these peoples. In this way, the general view for the Han of such frontier societies literally became much clearer, now sharing as they did human experience and modern Chinese nationhood. As Chinese state and society struggled to understand the nature of their fiery frontier in these times of turmoil, much thought and feeling went into the guojia (nation- state) and the minzu (nation) encompassed within the all-inclusive shehui (society). These involved, respectively, the geo-body, the ethnic nature, and the social form of the Chinese people. For the concept of shehui, a neologism adopted from Japan and the West, there was the desire to bring the peoples of the guojia into a whole, regardless of cultural differences. We see this in Holmes-Tagchungdarpa’s essay where Zhuang Xueben with his fellows proceeded to “trek the 107 Mosca, From Frontier Policy to Foreign Policy, 310. 108 Also on the Kham, see J. Leibold, Reconfiguring Chinese Nationalism: How the Qing Frontier and Its Indigenes Became Chinese (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007), 68–77. 109 Weinstein, Empire and Identity in Guizhou, 121–23; Yang, Between Winds and Clouds, 267; for examples of such illustrations, see Shin, The Making of the Chinese State, 168–69.

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nation” and whose photographic work joined their labors in contributing to formation of this nation. The 1930s in particular witnessed, via a new set of gazetteers as well as academic work, detailed local study in frontier regions meant to open them up to, and include them within, this new and modern shehui, reflecting their age just as prior gazetteers had for the emperors and literati of earlier centuries. Here, though, the intent was unity of the diversity, not separation. Broader maps portrayed the guojia and its place in the world, land and sea, reacting against the humiliations of the recent past.110 Where the Qianlong emperor had provided a broad realization of the territory of his Qing empire, setting the tone for the coming centuries, the China of the early twentieth century sought to “imagine” the definition of the modern guojia and how it filled out the Qing boundaries.111 Warlords and local chieftains (Tusi) reigned throughout the Dong world in these years, and the Communist Long March cut through its northern edge, engaging Tusi as they went. The war years versus the Japanese saw Sichuan, Kham, Guizhou, Yunnan, and the Southwest become the base for the Republic and the Allies, even as Japanese in mainland Southeast Asia were trying to pull elements of the northern Dong world into their sphere.112 Through these years of war and rebellion, the southern frontier territory continued to allow space for resistance forces, for example the OSS and Hồ Chí Minh (who, like the Chinese Liang Sanqi just seventeen years earlier [Davis in this volume], utilized the Chu Market area in the mountains of northern Vietnam, now as his base for the Việt Minh).113 Facing the Western concept of national sovereignty within set boundaries, the Chinese hardened their position on territorial integrity and frontier stability. While, in the Republican period, state control out to the southern and southwestern borders had been more imaginary than real, the PRC era solidified these borders with a strong central hand penetrating the frontier and 110

Ibid., 192–98; A.B. Woodside, “The Problem of Social Units and Their Conceptualization,” in his Community and Revolution in Modern Vietnam (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1976), 54; Leibold, Reconfiguring Chinese Nationalism, 134–36, 141–42; MacLean in this volume. 111 Leibold, Reconfiguring Chinese Nationalism, provides a good discussion of this process. 112 Holmes-Tagchungdarpa in this volume; Took, A Native Chieftaincy in Southwest China, 248–57; Leibold, Reconfiguring Chinese Nationalism, 62–64, 68, 77–79, 93–96, 138; H. Lin, Modern China’s Ethnic Frontiers, A Journey to the West (London: Routledge, 2011), 49–53; Lary, “A Zone of Nebulous Menace;” S. Hsieh, ‘Ethnic-Political Adaptation and Ethnic Change of the Sipsong Panna Dai: An Ethnohistorical Analysis,’ Ph.D. Dissertation (University of Washington, 1989), ch. 4; Liew, “The Aboriginal Tribes and the Tribal Principalities in Yunnan as Presented in the Ming and Early Qing Historiography,” 148. 113 P. Brocheux, Ho Chi Minh: A Biography, C. Duiker, trans. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 134–36.

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moving Gaitu Guiliu firmly along within it. Building on the developing conceptions of “China” in the first half of the century, the Chinese Communist Party acted to fulfill them in a concrete fashion. Its maps reflected this, pushing its modern conceptions way back in time (as far as the Qin).114 These changes, to quote James Leibold, helped fashion a spatially defined Chinese geo-body set firmly within the boundaries of the Qing empire and placed internal and external pressures on the new state to politically and culturally incorporate the once marginal frontier and its indigenous population into a more encompassing national imaginary.115 In time pushing aside the remaining Tusi and the warlords, the new PRC moved strongly into the northern Dong world to form the various ethnic categories (minzu) and their autonomous regions, now incorporated within rather than outside the concept of ‘China’ as well as in the museums of the now-established ‘nation.’116 Once again, local communities sought to utilize impositions of the Chinese state to their own advantage and gain room for negotiation, though now within the state system.117 For the first three decades, to 1980, this state action involved the initial political control and central planning penetration of the frontier followed by anti-ethnic assaults of the Cultural Revolution and Han youth “sent down” into the region.118 Then, with the Vietnam war and Haw (Guomindang) actions in the southern side of the Dong world, the PRC and its People’s Liberation Army militarized the border regions (up to 1979 and the attack on Vietnam), seeking stability there (as the Qing had sought earlier). In these years, there was local unrest, and indigenous peoples moved out of the northern sector into the southern to escape the varied pressures, with religious activities flourishing throughout the region. The 1980s and after, with Deng Xiaoping’s reformist policies, have seen a certain autonomy return to the 114 Wade, “The Chinese Southern Borders in History,” 28–50; and MacLean in this volume. 115 Leibold, Reconfiguring Chinese Nationalism, 177. For similar actions on the Vietnamese side of the border, see Lentz, ‘Mobilizing a Frontier,’ chs. 3–6. 116 For the Southeast Asian equivalent, see M.V. Aung-Thwin, “Nationalism and Post-Colonial Identity in Southeast Asia: Defining Communities,” in Routledge Handbook of Southeast Asian History, 77, 83–84. 117 Yang, Between Winds and Clouds, 248–69. 118 Barlow, “The Zhuang Minority Peoples,” 265; Zheng Yi, Scarlet Memorial, Tales of Cannibalism in Modern China, translated and edited by T.P. Sym (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1996); for a fictional view of Han “sent down” into the Dong world, see Dai Sijie, Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress, trans. (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2001).

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indigenous areas and commercial advances, including tourism of various sorts, take place. The Chinese state to the present has increasingly operated along the borderlands with its modernization aims.119 In this fashion, the Gaitu Guiliu effort continues, as neither the Chinese state nor those of mainland Southeast Asia has yet been able to bring all elements of their portions of the Dong world under their complete control. As Jodi Weinstein notes for Guizhou (on the northern edge of the Dong world), “… state hegemony … still remains fragile and incomplete,” “an unfulfilled hegemonic enterprise,” “ (its) goals projected but largely unfulfilled.” Those peoples living in their villages within the Dong world remote from the hands of the central government are still able to maintain a certain local “power and autonomy” and to negotiate to some degree with state officials.120 Still this marked an end to most remaining Tusi as the new regime constructed its autonomous regions.121 Eventually the PRC (like the early Ming) would take an aggressive stance on the shape of its land, condemning any form of “separatism” (even getting bloodied once again in 1979 in their Vietnam frontier).122 On the Yunnan frontier, while the PRC and Myanmar (then Burma) reached a border agreement with territorial concessions in 1960 (largely to encourage India also to resolve border issues and to aid China in the Tibetan question), there have continued the typical frontier problems (now modernized) of indigenous efforts at autonomy, trafficking (drugs and humans), and generally perceived criminality across the borderlands. Continuing to desire stability and resource extraction (à la the Qing), Beijing wishes to extend its influence over these mountainous areas, reaching deeply into Myanmar as 119

J. Ma, The Lahu Minority in Southwest China: A Response to Ethnic Marginalization on the Frontier (London: Routledge, 2013), 2, 4, 10, 17, 19, 30–32, 45–46, 212–17; Hsieh, ‘EthnicPolitical Adaptation and Ethnic Change of the Sipsong Panna Dai,’ chs. 1, 5–6; Weinstein, Empire and Identity in Guizhou, 130–34; Anderson, The Rebel Den of Nùng Trí Cao, 159–61. See also M. Gainsborough, ed., On the Borders of State Power: Frontiers in the Greater Mekong Sub-Region (London: Routledge, 2008), chs. 5–7. 120 Weinstein, Empire and Identity in Guizhou, 125–26, 134; see also Anderson, The Rebel Den of Nùng Trí Cao, 3–5, 152–83, for such conditions in the present borderlands of China and Vietnam. 121 Holmes-Tagchungdarpa in this volume; Liew, “The Aboriginal Tribes and the Tribal Principalities in Yunnan as Presented in the Ming and Early Qing Historiography,” 148; Giersch, Asian Borderlands, 11, 29, 45, 84, 124; Shin, The Making of the Chinese State, 198–204; Took, A Native Chieftaincy in Southwest China, 5–10, 233–34, 257, 262–63. In the end, there were still 652 Tusi in Sichuan, 587 in Yunnan, 412 in Guizhou, and 341 in Guangxi (Took, A Native Chieftaincy in Southwest China, 6–7). 122 K.E. Wiegand, Enduring Territorial Disputes: Strategies of Bargaining, Coercive Diplomacy, and Settlement (Athens, GA: University of Georgia Press, 2011), 58–60, 262–66.

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well as into Thailand and Laos (as it had into eighteenth century Đại Việt [Kim in this volume]).123 This cross-border effort is now enhanced from the air by the modern use of drones.124 Gradually, border affairs along this extensive frontier have generally settled down, though with the potential for stirring strong nationalist sentiments among populations on both sides of the frontier (especially in this Internet age, as MacLean describes in this volume). By the twenty-first century, the Chinese state had become very active once again along its southern frontier, dealing with indigenous peoples, building dams, and extending byways across the frontier into the southern Dong world of northern Southeast Asia. “Frontier studies” (bianjiangxue) are opening up the static discussion of how the PRC should handle its borderlands. While still within the parameters of managing existing Chinese borders, this discussion has loosened conceptions, bringing them back in a cultural direction.125 After the ferocious border fighting of 1979 and subsequent tensions, the Socialist Republic of Vietnam and the PRC have worked, in very circumspect terms, to resolve issues across their land frontier, as the Qianlong emperor had. This frontier territory too has settled into a vibrant everyday pattern of local social and economic interactions involving trade and tourism,126 though the issues would remain highly contentious among Vietnamese both in and out of the country. Yet, the PRC’s major effort has been not by land, but by sea. MacLean in this volume well lays out the many forces at work in the formation of the 123

124 125

126

Ibid., 115, 257; D. Roy, Return of the Dragon, Rising China and Regional Security (New York: Columbia University Press, 2013), 134–37; W.-C. Chang, “The Everyday Politics of the Underground Trade in Burma by the Yunnanese Chinese Since the Burmese Socialist Era,” JSEAS, 44, 2 (2013), 292–314. Recent New York Times articles (for example, 8/17/11; 4/5/2013; 12/19/2013; 2/25/2014; 3/13/2014) illustrate these aspects, including the openness of this frontier region to heterodox religious movements. For studies of recent activities along this frontier, see G. Evans et al., eds., Where China Meets Southeast Asia: Social and Cultural Change in the Border Regions (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2000); J. Michaud & T. Forsyth, eds., Moving Mountains: Ethnicity and Livelihoods in Highland China, Vietnam, and Laos (Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 2011); and S. Turner, ed., Red Stamps and Gold Stars: Fieldwork Dilemmas in Upland Socialist Asia (Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 2013). On the potential use of drones by Beijing, see T.E. Ricks in Foreign Policy, as republished in the Ann Arbor News (2/23/2014), C1. A. Carlson, “Reimagining the Frontier: Patterns of Sinicization and the Emergence of New Thinking about China’s Territorial Periphery,” in P.J. Katzenstein, ed., Sinicization and the Rise of China: Civilizational Processes Beyond East and West (London: Routledge, 2012), 41–64; Wade, “The Southern Chinese Borders in History,” 33–34. Y.W. Chan, Vietnamese-Chinese Relationships at the Borderlands: Trade, Tourism, and Cultural Politics (London: Routledge, 2011).

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new maritime frontier.127 In China’s first extensive southward expansion in more than half a millennium, the PRC has made aggressive claims over the South China (or Eastern) Sea and its air space all the way to the Philippines and Malaysia with its “U-shaped cow’s tongue.”128 This may be seen in the PRC’s move of its deepwater oil drilling platform in May 2014, in which it warned all ships to stay out of the area,129 perhaps the latest example of “imperial overstretch.” In this way, we return to the question of lines and their malleability, having begun with Churchman’s discussion in this volume of lowlands and highlands almost two millennia ago. Though the locations and nature of the lines have changed since then, as described herein, such questions will remain through the present century, now on water as well as on land. Addressing again Eric Tagliacozzo’s thought-provoking questions, this “fiery frontier” is a good example of such – existing as a broad autonomous region, culturally, socially, and politically, lying among growing political powers. The interactions of these powers with the indigenous peoples and their leaders consequently delineate the region, changing through time. At any particular moment, the frontier continues in the internal/external overlapping conceptions of its territory, as the variety of actors work to enact their particular views of the territory. Lying behind all these studies of the re-formation and shaping of the Dong world and its fiery frontier is Womack’s view of asymmetry in the relationship of large and small polities, especially that between China and Vietnam.130 As we have examined this frontier forged between the northern power of the Chinese empires and the smaller Southeast Asian polities, this asymmetry involved all the activities described by these essays in and around the Dong world. Though the contingency of any particular moment and space might have meant shifts in local power relations, the massive strength of China, when focused on a locality, has maintained the asymmetry. Womack in this volume points out within the complexities of the Dong world the necessity for a managed stability in China’s acknowledgement of southern autonomy and 127

128 129 130

In this volume and idem., “In Search of Kilometer Zero: Digital Archives, Technological Revisions, and the Sino-Vietnamese Border,” Comparative Studies of Society and History, 50, 4 (2008), 862–94; see also The New York Times (6/1/2012; 4/11/2014) and, for a broader geopolitical view, R. Kaplan, “The Geography of Chinese Power, How Far Can Beijing Reach on Land and at Sea,” Foreign Affairs, 89, 1 (2010), 22–41. Also see T. Brook, Mr. Seldon’s Map of China: Decoding the Secrets of a Vanished Cartographer (New York: Bloomsbury Press, 2013), 8–9. See the New York Times reports of that month. In this volume and idem., China and Vietnam; idem., “Asymmetry and China’s Tributary System.”

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southern deference to the northern centrality, while insisting on this autonomy. Overreaching and the refusal to recognize limits on the part of either can be destabilizing, as the borderlands (in Woodside’s view) affect political theory in the Chinese capital, with its general aversion to border affairs.131 Will the PRC follow the Yuan, the early Ming, and the mid-Qing? The Dong world had led a fairly autonomous existence for over 1500 years until the northern empires shifted their attention to this southern edge of their realm. The Sinic emperors acted to order time and space throughout the Tianxia (All Under Heaven),132 while the chieftains in the Dong world worked to continue and strengthen their local situations. The Mongol and Ming successes (Yunnan) and failures (Đại Việt) set the new configuration for this frontier, and the past 500 years have seen its gradual shaping, from the indirect rule of the Tusi era into that of the attempted direct rule of Gaitu Guiliu. Through these centuries, northern and southern states, Chinese and Southeast Asian, have acted to influence, politically, legally, and culturally, the behaviors of the indigenous peoples living throughout the Dong world. The Chinese state has felt little constraint in reaching into and beyond the frontier, now deeply into the South China/Eastern Sea, to gain what its officials have seen (and see) as their desired control. Yet it has been the many external and internal, imperial and local, institutional and personal, large and small forces that have ultimately forged this “fiery frontier” and continue to do so. Sources Consulted Adelman, Jeremy and Stephen Aron. “From Borderlands to Borders: Empires, NationStates, and the Peoples in between in North American History.” American Historical Review 104, 3 (June, 1999): 814–841. Anderson, James Adams. The Rebel Den of Nùng Trí Cao: Loyalty and Identity Along the Sino-Vietnamese Frontier. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2007. ––––––. “Distinguishing Between China and Vietnam: Three Relational Equilibriums in Sino-Vietnamese Relations.” Journal of East Asian Studies, 13 (2013): 259–280. ––––––. “Commissioner Li and Prefect Huang: Sino-Vietnamese Frontier Trade Networks and Political Alliances Through the Late Southern Song.” Asia Major 27, 2 (2014) (forthcoming).

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Womack, Brantly. China and Vietnam: The Politics of Asymmetry. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. ––––––. “Asymmetry and China’s Tributary System,” The Chinese Journal of International Politics, 5 (2012): 37–54. Woodside, Alexander B. Community and Revolution in Modern Vietnam. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1976. ––––––. “The Ch’ien-Lung Reign.” In The Cambridge History of China, v. 9, pt. 1, edited by Denis Twitchett and Willard Peterson, 230–309. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002. ––––––. “The Centre and the Borderlands in Chinese Political Theory.” In The Chinese State at the Borders, edited by Diane Lary, 11–28. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 2007. Yang, Bin. Between Winds and Clouds: The Making of Yunnan (Second Century BCE to Twentieth Century CE). New York: Columbia University Press, 2009. Zartman, I. William, ed. Understanding Life in the Borderlands: Boundaries in Depth and in Motion. Athens, GA: University of Georgia Press, 2010. Zheng Yi, Scarlet Memorial, Tales of Cannibalism in Modern China, translated and edited by T.P. Sym. Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1996.

part 1 Shifting the Southern Frontier

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Chapter 1

Where to Draw the Line? The Chinese Southern Frontier in the Fifth and Sixth Centuries Catherine Churchman Introduction Where was the southern Chinese frontier during the fifth and sixth centuries BCE? The influence of Vietnamese national history has tempted scholars of the twentieth century to project the Sino-Vietnamese border of the present back in time, and to view the expansion and retraction of Chinese imperial power in the south as early indicators of the future appearance of a Vietnamese state. An example of this is the treatment of the foundation of Yuezhou, a new province founded in the late fifth century under the Liu-Song Empire by splitting off Hepu Commandery from the province of Jiaozhou. On modern historical maps this province is shown to have a controlled territory to the north of the Leizhou Peninsula covering an area that corresponds to the southernmost third of Guangxi and the southwestern third of Guangdong today. From this time onwards Hepu was no longer subordinate to the Hà Nội area and had a regional inspector of its own appointed from the Liu-Song capital Jiankang (modern Nanjing). Taylor described the foundation of Yuezhou as a matter of recognizing “those portions of Giao that were still under imperial authority, the most important being the prefecture of Hepu, which became the headquarters of the new province,” and went on to say that “Yuezhou in effect, became the new frontier of the empire.”1 There are a few assumptions being made here: that the Yuezhou area was more integrated into the imperial system of government than Jiaozhou; that a frontier was slowly beginning to emerge that foreshadowed future political arrangements along Chinese and Vietnamese lines; and that the foundation of Yuezhou was the result of a 1 “In 471 Yüeh Province was organized from portions of Kuang and Chiao. The immediate reason for this was to recognize those portions of Chiao that were still under imperial authority, most important being the prefecture of Ho-p’u, which became the headquarters of the new province. Yüeh Province in effect became the new frontier of the empire.” Taylor, Keith W. The Birth of Vietnam (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983), 122.

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northward retraction of Chinese power out of the south. The early history of Yuezhou and its inhabitants I outline below not only presents a challenge to the “Sino-Vietnamese” view of the southern frontier, it also shows that Chinese imperial expansion in the south was not exclusively in a north-to-south direction. When one compares political developments in Jiaozhou to those in provinces closer to the center of Chinese imperial power, it seems quite reasonable to view Jiaozhou as an uncontrollable country beyond the frontier. This view seems especially fitting for the fifth and sixth centuries when de facto political power over the province no longer lay in the hands of administrators appointed from the capital but was inherited within localized great families or openly usurped by rebellious individuals like Lý Bốn, Emperor of Yue. Nevertheless, the exceptional nature of Jiaozhou fades into insignificance when compared with Yuezhou. Despite being physically closer to the imperial capitals of the Southern Dynasties than the Red River Plain, the inhabitants beyond this frontier were culturally and politically more distant from the imperial world than those who dwelt in the plain. In the fifth and sixth centuries many of the inhabitants of the Yuezhou region had yet to be incorporated into the imperial administrative system and were living under the rule of bronze drum-owning chiefs in small polities more typical of upland Southeast Asia than the centralized and Sinified society of the Red River plain. Examination of the societies within the country that went to make up Yuezhou and the circumstances surrounding the foundation of the province show the location of a southern Chinese frontier in an unexpected place. Upland Yuezhou was an internal frontier country surrounded on all sides by Chinese counties and commanderies, and the Chinese conquest of it was no simple north-to-south movement, but rather an uphill and upriver encroachment. Yuezhou before the Chinese Conquest Chinese historical atlases usually depict provinces as neatly bounded areas containing subordinate counties and commanderies.2 Looking at a map of Southern China leads one to assume that all the territory in modern Guang­

2 This habit is discussed in Geoff Wade, “The Southern Chinese Borders in History,” in Where China Meets Southeast Asia: Social and Cultural Change in the Border Region, ed. G. Evans, C. Hutton, and K.E. Kuah (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2000), 28–50.

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dong and Guangxi was under direct imperial control.3 At the beginning of the fifth century Jiaozhi Commandery in the central Red River Plain contained twelve closely-clustered subordinate counties, whereas the area within a triangle with its points at modern Guiping, Hepu (both in Guangxi) and Yangjiang (Guangdong) boasted only a single county until this time.4 Chinese administrative centers in the area that was to become Yuezhou only existed close to major rivers or on the coast. The lack of named administrative centers in the region does not mean that it was uninhabited, only that the people of these areas lived outside the reaches of the imperial administrative system. Unfortunately, in contrast to detailed descriptions of imperial administrative political structures, the Chinese texts offer only the merest tantalizing glimpses of the political structures of the people of Yuezhou, but a fuller picture can be gained by combining these with the fruits of research in other disciplines, such as archeology and historical linguistics. A late third-century description of the area by a local governor estimated that fifty-thousand households lay outside imperial authority, untaxed and unregistered to the south of the West River.5 This estimation of households was two-and-a-half times as many as the combined total of those registered at around the same time for taxation in the three commanderies of Jiaozhi, Wuping and Xinchang in the Red River plain.6 The unregistered people were usually referred by such names as Li, Lao, Man, or sometimes ‘bandit’ (zei), terms which indicated their barbarity and intractability in the eyes of those who wrote about them. The first two names are the most commonly-used and geographically specific terms for these peoples, so I shall refer to them as Li and Lao through the rest of the chapter. These people left behind ample archaeological evidence of their occupation of the country south of the West River in the many bronze drums they produced. The previously-mentioned Guiping-Hepu-Yangjiang triangle has

3 See, for instance, Tan Qixiang (ed.), Zhongguo lishi dituji (Collection of Historical Maps of China) (Beijing: Zhongguo Ditu Chubanshe 1982–87), 3: 57–8; 4: 31–3. Here the concentrations of names written in black are more accurate indicators of the imperial presence than the neatly-bounded blocks of color that represent provincial territories. 4 This was Tangchang county subordinate to Hepu Commandery and situated close to modern Rongxian (Guangxi). 5 Jin shu j. 57:6a. This and all subsequent citations of premodern editions of primary sources use the abbreviation j. to refer to a juan (fascicle) of a book, followed by the page number and whether the quotation is to be found on side a or b. 6 The registered household figures for these three commanderies in Jin shu j. 15:8b.–9a. were 12,000, 5,000 and 3,000 respectively.

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produced large numbers of archaeological finds of bronze drums.7 These drums are usually referred to in western studies as Heger type II after Franz Heger’s classification system of 1908.8 Less well-known than the famous Heger type I drums of the Đông Sơn culture, the Heger II drums lack the detailed decoration of Heger I drums but are significantly larger, measuring sometimes as much as over 150 cm across the tympanum,9 making them over twice the size of the largest Heger I drums the very largest of which have radii of only 70–79cm.10 More drums of Heger II type have been excavated in Guangdong and Guangxi than those of any other type of bronze drum in any other place on earth; only 144 drums of any type were known in Vietnam by 198811 compared to the total of 215 Heger II drums that were known in China by 1990.12 The sheer number and size of the Heger II drums indicates the existence of large and complex societies beyond the reach of the Chinese administrative system. These societies were ruled by a class of hereditary clan rulers, known to the Chinese by names such as ‘Li commander’ (Li shuai) or chieftain (qiu zhang), and to themselves as dulao, a term that is discussed further below. There are a few different descriptions of these chieftains and the nature of their leadership. The Sui shu provides a description of the economic activities of the chieftains from beyond the passes (i.e. in the Lingnan region) under the Southern Dynasties who, “on account of the abundance of slaves, pearls rhinoceros, and elephants, were the masters of their small domains”13 and a vignette from Pei 7

8 9

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11 12

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For the distribution of drums from this period in Guangdong and Guangxi, see Jiang Tingyu, “Yueshi tonggu de chubu yanjiu,” in Gudai tonggu xueshu taolunhui lunwenji (Beijing: Wenwu Chubanshe, 1982), 139–151 . This is outlined in Franz Heger, Alte Metalltrommelen aus Südostasien. (Leipzig: K.W. Hiersemann, 1902) The largest bronze drum ever unearthed is the ‘king of bronze drums’ (tonggu wang) measuring 1.65m across the tympanum, unearthed in Beiliu, southeastern Guangxi, in 1955. See Yao Shun’an, Wan Fubin, and Jiang Ting-yü eds., Beiliu xing tonggu tan mi. (Nanning: Guangxi Renmin Chubanshe 1990) 4; 8. The largest bronze drum of Heger type I unearthed is the Ngọc Lũdrum, unearthed in Ngư Trác Lý Nhâm in Hà Nam Province with a tympanum 79cm. in diameter. See Pham Huy Tong ed., Dong Son Drums in Vietnam. (Hanoi: Vietnam Social Science Publishing House, 1990), 4–5. ibid., 170. The Heger II drums are further subdivided in Chinese classification into the Beiliu and Lingshan styles. The total number of Heger II drums noted here is a combined total of the 164 examples of Beiliu drums listed in Yao Shun’an, Beiliu xing tonggu, 8–23, and the 71 examples of Lingshan drums listed in Yao Shun’an, Jiang Tingyu, and Wan Fubin, “Lun lingshanxing tonggu.” Kaogu 10 (1990): 938–42. Sui shu j. 24: 3b.

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Yuan’s early fifth-century work Guangzhou Ji describes their relationships to the bronze drums in a description of a ceremony to celebrate the casting of a new drum: The Li and Lao value bronze drums highly, and consider only those which are more than a zhang (about 2.5 meters) across as especially unusual. When first completed they are hung up in the courtyards and on an appointed morning they set out wines and invite those of the same tribe. The guests crowd the gates, and the sons and daughters of the rich and prestigious people among the guests take gold and silver made into large forks and after beating on the drums with it they then leave it for the owner of the drum. These they call the “bronze drum forks” It is their custom to be fond of battle and they often make deadly enemies. When they wish to go to war against one another, they beat these drums to assemble their forces that arrive like the gathering of clouds. Those in possession of these drums are extremely powerful.14 The tradition of casting bronze drums did not spread to the mountains to the north of the West River until at least two or three centuries after this text was written,15 so the description almost certainly involves the Yuezhou area. It shows that the owners of drums had control over the assembly of war parties, held large banquets as a show of status, and received offerings of tribute in gold and silver from the children of other powerful members of the community. An almost identical text describing the Li and Lao bronze drums is included in the geographical treatise contained in the Sui shu, but ends with the addition of the following: Those in possession of the drums have the title of dulao and are selected by popular sentiment. Investigating the origin of this, Commissioner Tuo called himself “great and venerable chief of the Man and Yi” when 14

15

Guangzhou ji quoted in Taiping yulan j. 785: 8b. It is interesting that at least one common term in this quotation for a higher level of nobility in Sinitic languages, jun (sovereign or lord) might have been borrowed into Tai languages with much the same meaning, see Georges Condaminas, From Lawa to Mon, from Saa’ to Thai: Historical and anthropological aspects of Southeast Asian social spaces. Translated by Stephanie Anderson, Maria Magannon, and Gehan Wijeyewardene. Edited by Gehan Wijeyewardene. (Canberra: Department of Anthropology, Research School of Pacific Studies, 1990), 101; 104. Yoshikai Masato dates the move to the north of the river to the ninth or tenth century. See Yoshikai Masato. “Dōko ‘saihen’ no jidai – issennenki no betonamu, minamichūgoku.” in Tōyō Bunka vol. 78 (1998): 211–3.

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speaking to the Han, that is why the Li people still call those they respect daolao; because this has become corrupted in speech they also say dulao.16 It is more than likely that the Sui shu is actually quoting Pei Yuan for the additional details and has merely retained more of the original text than the later quotations of his work found in Song encyclopedias. The term dulao has been interpreted as a transliteration of a Tai term meaning ‘great man’,17 but it seems more likely to have stood for ‘great noble’ or Pei Yuan’s ‘great and venerable chief’, which would have sounded something like taaw-laau, and corresponds more closely to the form daolao that Pei Yuan considered to be the uncorrupted form of the word. Additional evidence for this interpretation can be found in modern Tai languages, where taaw is still commonly used to refer to members of the nobility.18 Just how these great chieftains received their positions is unclear; however it seems unlikely that the position was open to everyone. The ‘selection by popular sentiment’ probably referred to the selection from a pool of smaller 16

Sui shu j. 31: 15a. Commissioner Tuo refers to Zhao Tuo, first king of the Nanyue kingdom who reigned from 204–137 BCE. 17 Geoff Wade and Li Jinfang both offer explanations for the *tue as a classifier for people. Now it exists only as classifier for animals and people only in a pejorative sense, but was once applied to gods see Wade, Geoff, “The Lady Sinn and the Southward Expansion of China in the Sixth Century,” In Guangdong: Archaeology and Early Texts ed. Shing Muller, Thomas Hollmann, and Putao Gui, (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2004), 133, and Li Jinfang, Dongtai yuyan yu wenhua (Beijing: Minzu chubanshe, 2002), 159. The modern distribution of *lau meaning ‘great’ or ‘big’ is now restricted to north-western varieties of tai spoken in Yunnan and north-western Guangxi, whereas those in other regions now use lung or hung, see Zhang Junru (ed.), Zhuangyu fangyan yanjiu (Chengdu: Sichuan minzu chubanshe, 1999), 756. However, the continued use of lau in Kam and other related Kadai languages shows that the term was once widely used in the Kadai languages and that this is more likely to be the correct interpretation of the name. See: Wang Jun (ed.), Zhuangdong yuzu yuyan jianzhi (Beijing: Minzu Chubanshe, 1984), 858–9 for the list of languages, in which lau is still current. 18 Condaminas, From Lawa to Mon, 113, defines tao as ‘a noble, a man belonging to the aristocratic class’. The corruption of dao to du is not an isolated event, it also occurred in the old Chinese name for the mangosteen dunianzi noted in the Tang work, as a corruption of the name daonianzi. A fanciful explanation is given for the origin of the name, ‘to pinch upside down’ (daonian) referring to the way the fruit is eaten holding on to the peduncle. Lingbiao Luyi ch. 2 p. 10. Note that for this and subsequent citations of modern editions of Chinese primary sources the juan is indicated by the abbreviation ch. for “chapter” as appears in western-style printed books as a chapter. The second number indicates a page number, just like a western book.

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chieftains who inherited their positions within smaller communities, as it is hard to believe that just anyone would be able to do so. The political units over which these chieftains ruled were known as dong, a term which probably began as a Tai word for a mountain valley or level ground between cliffs beside a stream.19 The floors of such valleys could sustain agriculture, while the forested, uncultivated upland areas between them would have made natural divisions between one group of people and another, meaning over time the name for the geographical feature eventually acquired the extended meaning of a political unit, the sense in which it was borrowed into Chinese.20 The territorial reach of the various dong south of the West River is difficult to plot, but can be ascertained more or less from a combination of evidence from different sources. The third century Nanzhou Yiwuzhi describes the geographical location and political organization of the Li people as follows: In the south of Guangzhou there are bandits known as Li, they live in the five commanderies in the south of the province: Cangwu, Yulin, Hepu, Ningpu and Gaoliang. The center of their territory stretches for several thousand leagues. They usually live in separate villages and have no commanders or lords, they take refuge in the mountains and narrow passes and do not make city walls.21 19

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Pulleyblank, Edwin G., “The Chinese and their Neighbours in Prehistoric and Early Historic Times.” In The Origins of Chinese Civilization, ed. David N. Keightley, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983), 430. It is written with the same character as a Chinese word for ‘cave’ and in consequence is often translated into English by the word ‘grotto’ Vietnamese has the word đồng for a dry field, and Nguyễn Ngọc San says this term derives from Tai tổng. See Nguyễn Ngọc San, Tìm Hiểu Tiếng Việt Lịch Sử. (Hanoi: Nhả Xuất Bản Đại Học Sư Phạm, 2000), 140. Li’s reconstruction gives a proto-Tai *di̥oŋ with the meaning “plain, open field.” Li Fang-kuei. A Handbook of Comparative Tai, (Honolulu: The University Press of Hawaii. 1977), 105. David Holm compares the archaic forms of the term ‘dong’ and ‘zhuang’, and suggests that the origin of the term ‘zhuang’ also referred back to a term for a flat fertile river valley, Holm, David, Recalling Lost Souls – The Baeu Rodo Scriptures: Tai Cosmogonic Texts from Guangxi in Southern China, (Bangkok: White Lotus, 2004), 6. There is evidence that the meaning of the word in the geographical sense was also known to Chinese authors. A tenth-century description of the customs in the district around modern Enping and Yangjiang records that ‘agriculture is mainly carried out in the dong’ (Taiping huanyuji j. 158: 6a) suggesting a geographical feature rather than a political unit. Taiping yulan j. 785: 8a. Guangzhou here refers to the large province that covered the lands drained by the Pearl River and ruled from the modern city of Guangzhou, referred to variously at the time as Panyu or Nanhai. To avoid confusion between the name of the province and the name of the modern city, I refer to the modern city by its traditional English name Canton.

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The area described in this quote corresponds roughly to the same triangle mentioned previously, which in addition to the abundance of Heger II drum finds, also contains many physical examples of dong in the geographical sense; the peaks of the various mountain ranges rise to heights of over a thousand meters, and from their slopes flow many small rivers and streams. These would have created isolated valleys perfect for the maintenance of independent Li and Lao chiefdoms. The extent and location of some individual named dong is hinted at in a few instances. There was an undated military campaign against a Gudang Dong a few miles northwest of modern Yulin,22 in 622 Nanfuzhou was founded on the territory of the Luodou Dong, which is around the presentday city of Xinyi;23 and the foundation of Shuangzhou (South of modern Luoding) on the territory of the interestingly-named ‘Twin-head Dong’ (Shuangtou dong) during the Datong period (535–546).24 A Dalian Dong was located in the vicinity of Hepu.25 All of these ended up as the administrative districts of Dangzhou, Douzhou, and Shuangzhou and Lianzhou under the Tang, all taking their names from those of the pre-existing dong. There was no centralized system of government over all of these dong, but rather one in which the various small chiefdoms were in competition with each other, uniting sometimes against each other or in a show of military strength against Chinese administrative centers. Just how large these assembled war parties were can be estimated from scattered records. In the lands between Hepu and the Red River Plain, the Li and Lao chieftains of Shiqi26 provided five or six thousand troops to help the rebel Lu Xun attack Du Huidu, inspector of Jiaozhou in 411. As late as the seventh century, dong that lay furthest from imperial administrative centers, were capable of raising armies numbering in the thousands. In 631 the local chieftain Feng Ang led twenty thousand troops against a rebellion in the Luo and Dou dong in which the 22

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Taiping yulan j. 172: 8a; Taiping huanyuji j. 165: 4b. The Taiping yulan records this as coming from the Nanyue zhi but since Dangzhou was not founded until the Tang, it is more likely that this was actually a quotation from another work, perhaps it refers to a work called Xu Nanyue zhi dating from the late Tang which is quoted elsewhere in the Taiping yulan and Taiping huanyuji. Taiping Yulan j. 172: 5a, records that the name of the province was changed in 634 to Douzhou after the name of the dong. Taiping huanyuji j. 164: 4b. 5a; Taiping Yulan j. 172: 4a-b. The second source quotes the Nanyue zhi again. Both sources mention these two versions of the name, both characters are and were historically homophones. The province of Shuangzhou covered the districts around present-day Luoding. Xin Tang shu j. 43a: 9a. Song shu j. 92: 5a.

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rebel forces numbered in the tens of thousands, and as a result of which his troops took one thousand heads.27 Over seven thousand men and women were said to have been captured during a battle with the same dong in 640.28 War parties numbering in the thousands probably involved alliances of many dong. The descriptions above seem to indicate a close correspondence between the Li and Lao dong and to Condaminas’s description of the nature of the typical Tai political unit, the müöng. According to Condaminas, aristocratic rulers of müöng performed the roles of chiefs of war and organizers of food production, in return for which they owned rice fields, corvée labor with which to cultivate them, and taxes in kind from the harvest of fruit and hunting. Most importantly the aristocratic leaders of müöng (the taaw) held a commercial monopoly over the export of rare commodities which in turn gave them control over prestige goods made by craftsmen or by industry.29 In the Red River Plain this style of leadership and political organization had not existed for centuries. There the indigenous ruling elite had once also used bronze drums as symbols of leadership, and like the dulao they had been capable of raising large armies from disparate regions. However, these local rulers were wiped out by the Han general Ma Yuan in 43 CE after his defeat of the three year-long Zheng (Trưng) Sisters’ uprising. For the following few centuries the Red River plain was ruled mainly by officials appointed directly from the imperial court and from the third century onwards increasingly by a class of powerful local families within which official positions were inherited.30 Such was the power of these local great families that weaker Chinese dynasties of the sixth century such as the Liang and Chen were never able to gain firm control over the Red River plain, and the area enjoyed a de facto independence for most of the first half of the sixth century, with a twenty-five-year period (516– 541) in which no inspectors were even appointed to the region.31 Despite the shift towards de facto independence in the Red River plain, the people there lived in counties and commanderies ruled over by governors and inspectors in a manner not dissimilar to those in Canton. This was quite different from the 27 Xin Tang shu j. 110: 2a. 28 Xin Tang shu j. 222c: 19a. 29 Condaminas, From Lawa to Mon, 54. 30 Jennifer Holmgren discusses the development of this class of leaders which she refers to as “a semi-independent Vietnamized bureaucracy with hereditary privileges” Holmgren, Jennifer, Chinese colonisation of Northern Vietnam: Administrative Geography and Political Development in the Tongking Delta, First to Sixth centuries A.D. (Canberra: Australian National University Press, 1980), 115–21. 31 See Holmgren, Chinese Colonisation, 134.

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societies that had been left to flourish in the Yuezhou area to the north-east. Even though Ma Yuan’s troops had passed through the district that later became Yuezhou on their way to the Red River plain, there is no evidence that they engaged in large-scale destruction of the ruling elite there, despite some of the locals’ reported support for the Zheng (Trưng) sisters’ uprising.32 The Li and Lao chieftains were mostly left to their own devices for another five centuries until the Liu-Song began to encroach on the lands south of the West River. The Protector of the Western Rivers and the Foundation of Yuezhou The beginning of the Chinese conquest of Yuezhou was a gradual encirclement of the area by administrative units further up the major river sources and into the interior hill country. Records of the military maneuvers of the LiuSung show the empire had become interested in acquiring a greater degree of control over territories where the imperial presence had formerly been minimal, and many of these bear the hallmarks of military conquest, albeit on a small, piecemeal scale. The first record of such activity relates to a ‘pacifying’ campaign carried out by the Liu-Song General Tan Daoji, which was connected to the building of a stone fortress at the mouth of the Lingluo River (the modern-day Jiuzhou Jiang, southeast of Hepu). This was supposed to have happened in 426.33 Apart from securing a port, control of the river mouth would have helped in making inroads to much of the land between present-day Luchuan and Suixi. This was followed soon after by the foundation of the post of ‘Protector of the Western Rivers’ (Xi Jiang duhu). According to the Nan Qi shu, this position was established especially for the purposes of attacking recalcitrant Li and Lao,34 and the first recorded holder of this position was Liu Mian, governor of Yulin, who in 459 went to fight the forces of the Chen Tan of Hepu, who was referred to as a ‘great leader’ (dashuai), another commonly-used term for a chieftain.35 A previous local administrator, Fei Shen had attacked Chen Tan 32 33 34

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Hou Han shu j. 86: 9b. lists Hepu among the commanderies that gave support to the Zheng sisters’ uprising. Taiping huanyuji j. 167: 9a. Nan Qi shu j. 14: 20a-b. Peng Fengwen, “Xijiang duhu yu lingnan kaifa,” in Guangxi minzu yanjiu 76, vol. 2 (2004): 63–4, argues that the term had a broader meaning than the West River of the present day, and included its tributaries. With this in mind I have translated the title in the plural as “Protector of the Western Rivers.” Song shu j. 97: 4a. The title ‘great leader’ usually refers to a local leader who held no official administrative position within the Chinese system, and was often applied to chieftains of the Li and Lao.

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before but had been unable to defeat him, but when Liu Mian took over he was able to force him to surrender.36 After Chen Tan’s submission to imperial authority he was given the post of Dragon Galloping General, and in 460 he himself sent a request for an army to go and attack ‘those who had not yet submitted’, and was rewarded for his loyalty to the Liu-Song with an official post as governor of Gaoxing alongside his post of general.37 The example of Chen Tan shows that local leaders could also be co-opted for military actions against other local leaders in the age-old practice of ‘using barbarians to control barbarians’ (yi yi zhi yi). Further inroads were made into the territory of the Li and Lao north of Hepu following the foundation of Yuezhou in 471 by Chen Boshao, who also held the post of Protector of the Western Rivers,38 The Nan Qi shu notes: Yuezhou is controlled from Linzhang Commandery. Originally it formed the northern frontier area of Hepu. Mobs of Yi and Lao live there, lurking in the crags and blocked-off places. They commit banditry and for the most part are not entered in the population registers as citizens. In the Taishi (465–472) period, Chen Boshao, protector of the Western Rivers, was hunting in the north when he saw two black buffalo run startled into the bushes. He sent people to pursue them but they couldn’t catch them. He then marked the place, saying that it had a strange, auspicious omen and founded Yuezhou there. In the seventh year he founded the six commanderies Bailiang, Longsu, Yongning, Anchang, Fuchang, and Nanliu. In the second year of Yuanhui (474) Boshao was made inspector and for the first time a provincial center was established to control it [the province]. He cut through the mountains to make a gate for the city, to overawe the Li and Lao…39 The placement of the new province and commanderies was to secure the routes up the Nanliu River to the Pearl River Tributaries. Yuezhou was a true frontier province, controlled from an inland citadel which was a military outpost built to control the newly conquered surrounding countryside. It was said that the governor spent much of his time on horseback fighting battles40 and Chen Boshao seems to have been fairly independent in his actions. According 36 37 38 39 40

Song shu j. 86: 4a-b. Song shu j. 97: 4a. Song shu j. 38: 43b. Nan Qi shu j. 14: 25b–26a. Nan Qi shu j. 14: 26a.

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to one later source he declared himself a prince.41 Discussing the expansion of Chinese administrative control in the area, the Taiwanese scholar Liao Youhua states that the administrative structure of Yuezhou was founded purely for military purposes. He notes the lack of registered population figures for any of the commanderies in the treatise on geography in the Song shu, and the lack of subordinate counties for certain commanderies, which suggests that many of the new administrative areas existed in name only at the time the list was made.42 The foundation of Yuezhou represented a movement north-eastwards from the coast where Chinese rule had been established for centuries into the interior hill country where it had not. Under Chen Boshao’s rule as protector, military pressure was also applied in a south-westerly direction, as Li Sidao, governor of Jinkang (close to present-day Wuzhou) also led an army to attack the Li under Chen Boshao’s orders.43 The Consolidation of Liang Power South of the River The short-lived Southern Qi dynasty (497–502) did very little as regards administrative expansion south of the West River, aside from retaining the position of protector of the Western Rivers, aside from the name of one Zhou Shi­xiong, who held the position, no other details survive of military campaigns in this period. It was under the Liang that they began again in earnest. At the commencement of the reign of Emperor Wu of the Liang in 502, the entire region of present-day Guangdong, Guangxi, Hainan, and the northern half of Vietnam was divided into only four different provinces. By the end of his reign in 550, however, the number of provinces in the same area had more than tripled to fifteen. Most of this administrative growth seems to have taken place in the period between 523 and 545 and is coupled with records of open warfare with the local Li people, and usually referred to euphemistically as the ‘pacification of the Li dong’ (ping li dong). Although the foundation of provinces and the need for ‘pacification’ are almost certainly connected, a lack of precise dates and information means it is difficult to establish any pattern of 41 42

43

Taiping huanyuji 167: 9a. Liao Youhua, Lishidilixue de yingyong: Lingnan diqu zaoqi fazhan shi tantao (Taipei: Wenjin Chubanshe, 2004), 133. Liao also notes three other commanderies in Yuezhou lacking subordinate counties. An alternative explanation for the lack of population statistics is that the Song geographical chapters were based on a census from 464 that pre-dated the foundation of Yuezhou and that in consequence only the names of administrative units could be added into the treatise. Song shu j. 54: 10b.

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cause and effect. The first recorded Liang military campaign was in Yulin Commandery (east central Guangxi), in which Xun Fei, governor of Yulin went to fight ‘Li bandits’ but was hit by a stray arrow and died in battle. This occurred around 503.44 In 523 three new provinces were formed from the single province of Guangzhou by upgrading the status of former commanderies. These were Jianzhou centered on Guangxi Commandery (around present-day Luoding),45 Chengzhou centered on Cangwu, and Nandingzhou made up from what had been left of Yulin Commandery after the detachment of Guizhou in the north-east.46 Yuezhou was renamed Nanhezhou at this time but was still centered on Hepu. The next new administrative unit was Gaozhou upgraded from Gaoliang Commandery (centered on modern Yangjiang) which was said to have been ‘founded by the Liang after pacifying Li dong’.47 It was founded either during the Datong period (527–529) or in 535.48 In this area the Liu-Song had previously founded a Gaoxing commandery, but had soon abandoned it, whereupon it was said to have been ‘occupied by Yi and Lao’.49 The upgrade of Gaoliang commandery to the status of province was the suggestion of the former regional inspector of Guangzhou, Xiao Mai. He had recommended this to the throne as a necessary strengthening of defenses south of the river where he considered the situation to be dangerous. This Xiao Mai also held the post of Protector of the West River under the Liang.50 The foundation dates of other provinces are obscure, but most of them can be pinned down to the Datong period (535–46) or before. South of the West River were the provinces of Anzhou (modern Qinzhou), Luozhou (which retains this name to the present day), and Xinzhou 44

45 46 47 48

49 50

Liang shu j. 47: 4b. The approximate time is calculated from the time of the death of his father Xun Fazhao in office as magistrate of Anfu at the end of the Xingzhong period of Qi (501–502). His brother Xun Jiang had not yet finished his three years of ritual mourning before he was killed. This was further subdivided into Shuangzhou with a center even closer to the heartland, see footnote 22 Liang shu j. 3: 4b. Fragment of a lost chapter of the eighth-century geography Yuanhe junxian tuzhi, quoted in Yudi jisheng (as Yuanhe junxianzhi) j. 117: 1b. Sui shu j. 31: 12a. There is some confusion over the foundation date of Gaozhou. Sui shu says it was perhaps split off from Panzhou, but this is an anachronism as Panzhou was not founded until the Sui, so this is likely to be a mistake for Guangzhou. Nan shih j. 51: 4a-b. says that it was upgraded after the defeat of the Li leader Chen Wenche, which must have been after 535 (see below). Yuanhe junxian tuzhi quoted in Yudi jisheng ibid. Nan shi j. 51: 4a-b.

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(the districts around Taishan and Kaiping in Guangdong). The first two were founded before 542,51 and the last some time during or before the Datong period.52 A new province was also founded during Datong (535–546) when the ‘Twin-head Dong’ (Shuangtou dong) was split off to form Shuangzhou.53 The foundation of the five provinces of Gaozhou, Xinzhou, Jianzhou, Luozhou, and Shuangzhou south of the West River represents a consolidation of Liang power in the area upstream along smaller rivers towards the interior hill country. Although only the foundation of Gaozhou is explicitly mentioned in connection with military operations, the number of records of warfare against the Li and Lao people dating from the same period indicates that this was closely connected to the foundation of the provinces. The Sui shu noted that under the rule of Emperor Wu of the Liang, the number of provinces in the empire increased from twenty-three provinces to one hundred and seven between the Tianjian (502–520) and the Datong (535–546) stating ‘pacification of the Li dong’ as one in a list of military campaigns said to have connected with the increase.54 The Zizhi Tongjian also connects the increased number of provinces to military campaigns with the ‘pacification of Li dong’ in the south.55 Aside from these general references, there are several more specific records of warfare with the Li and Lao around Canton, and two that refer specifically to the Li and Lao on the South bank of the West River. The Chen shu records that during the Datong period Du Zengming, his brother Du Tianhe, and Zhou Wenyu had been very successful in expeditions against the Li and Lao for Lu Anxing, who held the post of Protector of the South River at Canton, so they were appointed as the assistant defenders of Xinzhou.56 The Chen shu also records a deputy official (shilang) of Wuling (modern Hu Ying) as having gone out from Panyu (Canton) to attack the Li dong.57 This was before 545 when he accompa51

52 53 54 55 56 57

Anzhou was upgraded from a former Songshou Commandery. Yuanhe junxianzhi ch. 38 p. 952 says Anzhou was founded by Emperor Wu of the Liang and centered on Qin Jiang County on the Qin River. Luozhou was founded first during the Song or Qi as a county at the northern end of the Leizhou peninsula, even though the name makes it appear to be a province (zhou). According to Liang shu j. 3: 26b. these two provinces already had governors by 542. Yuanhe junxianzhi ch. 38 p. 952 says Anzhou was founded by Emperor Wu of the Liang and centered on Qin Jiang County on the Qin River. Chen shu j. 8: 1a-b. Xinzhou was upgraded from a former Xinning Commandery. Taiping huanyuji j. 164: 4b. 5a; Taiping yulan j. 172: 4a-b. Both sources mention these two versions of the name. Both characters were historically homophones. Sui shu j. 29: 2a-b. Zizhi tongjian ch.158: 4903–4 Chen shu j. 8: 1a-b. Chen shu j. 12: 1a.

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nied Protector of the West River (and later emperor) Chan Baxian to battle with Ly Bốn in the Red River plain. Records which refer only to raids on ‘Li dong’ cannot be pinpointed exactly to the Yuezhou area, but the lack of written mentions of any Li people to the east of Canton prior to the Sui (589–618) and the fact that the area directly to the north of the provincial seat at Canton was under the jurisdiction of a different province throughout the Six Dynasties Period, make it more likely that these raids were against people who lived to the south and west of the West River. The Li commander (Li shuai) Chen Wenche fought with Liang forces some time during the Datong (535–546) period.58 Three versions of the story are found in three different biographies, and all of them supply details missing from the other versions. Xiao Mai’s biography in the Nan shi records that Chen Wenche, Li commander from west of the river (jiang xi)59 came out to plunder Gaoyao (modern Zhaoqing), at which time Xiao Mai was ordered to increase the length of his office as inspector (presumably with the intent of defeating Chen Wenche) and Wenche surrendered not long after that.60 Lan Qin was a military official who had held various positions in the south of the Liang Empire including overseer of military affairs in Hengzhou and Guizhou.61 His biography in the Liang shu tells that he passed through Guangzhou and defeated Chen Wenche and his brothers in battle, taking them alive, and that when he arrived at Hengzhou he was promoted to ‘general who pacifies the South’.62 Ouyang Wei had been friends with Lan Qin since he was young, and his biography in the Chen shu records that Lan Qin went south from Hengzhou to attack the ‘Yi and Lao’, capturing Chen Wenche alive and acquiring at the same time an ‘uncountable number of things’ among which was a huge bronze drum ‘the like of which had not been seen for generations’ that he presented to the emperor as tribute.63 The great size of the bronze drum indicates a Heger II drum, and suggests that Chen Wenche came from somewhere to the south of

58

59

60 61 62 63

If Lan Qin’s biography in the Liang shu (j. 32: 10a–12a.) was arranged in chronological order, the battle with Chen Wenche can be dated to after 535, as the passage immediately preceding the description records a gift of horses from the Western Wei general Yuwen Heitai, and the Western Wei was not founded until 535. Near to Gaoyao the West River actually does flow in a north-to-south direction rather than from west to east, so the description ‘west of the river’ probably refers to the lands on the south bank. Nan shi j. 51: 4a. Present-day Guilin (Guangxi) and Yingde (Guangdong) Liang shu j.32: 11b. Chen shu j. 9: 6b.

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the Pearl River, as no Heger II drums have been excavated north of the Pearl River any further east than present-day Guiping. The Liang encroachment into the Li-Lao country continues the trend begun under the Liu-Song of a slowly tightening noose of military and administrative control around the Li and Lao dong. The rapid and heightened control of the Liang Empire in the country south of the Pearl River was unprecedented, and it was not achieved through peaceful means. Liang military operations ended as attention was diverted to the rebellion of the general Hou Jing in 549. After he sacked the Liang capital, local officials around Guangzhou began to fight amongst themselves to extend their own power bases, and the Liang wars against the Li were effectively at an end.64 Where was the Frontier? Yuezhou was indeed a frontier province, but the reasons for its establishment had little to do with recognizing an area that was under Chinese control. On the contrary, Yuezhou was founded as a means to bring a previously unconquered frontier region under imperial control, and the new citadel was designed to aid the military conquest of the lands to the north of Hepu. To contrast this with the situation in the Red River Plain at the same time, the building of forts and conquest of new territory had not been a feature of life on the Red River plain for over four hundred years. As for the question of where to draw the line, we should really be thinking in terms of frontier regions or areas, not frontier lines. The Chinese southern frontier under the Southern Dynasties was not a line that can be plotted on any map. The extent of lands under Chinese control can only be determined by the location of counties and commanderies, and the extent of those not under imperial control can be ascertained from three sources, the empty patches where no such units were located, the written records of people beyond imperial control, and the distribution of bronze drums, the symbols of local leadership. The combination of these three sources indicates that the Liu-Song Empire initially had control only over points of the major river systems and along the coast, concentrated at river mouths, whereas the Li and Lao dong controlled the territories in the upper reaches of rivers and the hill country. No clear border lines can be drawn, however. James Scott has argued that the societies of upland Southeast Asia would make themselves difficult to govern through living in areas difficult of access to 64

Chen shu j. 9: 7a.

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armies of the states in the lowlands. He describes a ‘friction of terrain’ that hampered the ability of state-building projects in the river plains to gain effective control over the uplands.65 To a certain extent this corresponds to the situation south of the West River, especially in regard to the long-term retention of political independence of the dong against an encroaching Chinese state. Unlike the anarchic ‘Zomian’ societies described by Scott, however, the Li and Lao south of the West River were organized into political groupings and cultivated wet rice on flat land, both of which Scott sees as characteristic of lowland state-building societies.66 It is only the very earliest descriptions from the middle of the fourth century that tell of people without rulers. The foundation of Yuezhou was the beginning of a long process of imperial military action in the lands north of Hepu which eventually led to the disappearance of the autonomous Li and Lao dong in the hill country. Over several centuries military action and administrative expansion into the Li-Lao country eventually led to the assimilation of the peoples who lived there to something close enough to what the imperial center considered normal. The consequence of this was the disappearance of the names Li and Lao from the historical records of the area after the eleventh century. The conquest of the lands south of the West River eventually provided a safer passage to Hepu and the Red River Delta under the Tang Empire. The Sino-Vietnamese frontier did not form along its present boundary for another five hundred years, and yet as we can see from other chapters, within that highland frontier country there was still room for dong and the growth of new polities beyond the reach of those we now associate with the names “China” and “Vietnam”. Bibliography Secondary Sources Condaminas, Georges. From Lawa to Mon, from Saa’ to Thai: Historical and anthropological aspects of Southeast Asian social spaces. Translated by Stephenie Anderson, Maria Magannon, and Gehan Wijeyewardene ed. Gehan Wijeyewardene. Canberra: Department of Anthropology, Research School of Pacific Studies, 1990. Heger, Franz. Alte Metalltrommelen aus Südostasien. Leipzig: K.W. Hiersemann, 1902 Holm, David. Recalling Lost Souls – The Baeu Rodo Scriptures: Tai Cosmogonic Texts from Guangxi in Southern China. Bangkok: White Lotus, 2004. 65 66

Scott, James, The Art of Not Being Governed: An Anarchist History of Upland Southeast Asia, (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2009) 21, 43–4. Ibid. 36–7.

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Holmgren, Jennifer. Chinese colonisation of Northern Vietnam: Administrative Geography and Political Development in the Tongking Delta, First to Sixth Centuries A.D. Canberra: Australian National University Press, 1980 Jiang Tingyu 蔣廷瑜, “Yueshi tonggu de chubu yanjiu” 粵式銅鼓的初步研究, in Gudai tonggu xueshu taolunhui lunwenji 古代銅鼓學術討論會論文集 Beijing: Wenwu Chubanshe, 1982. Li Fang-kuei. A Handbook of Comparative Tai. Honolulu: The University Press of Hawaii. 1977. Li Jinfang 李錦芳. Dongtai yuyan yu wenhua 侗台語言與文化. Beijing: Minzu chubanshe, 2002. Liao Youhua 廖幼華. Lishidilixue de yingyong: Lingnan diqu zaoqi fazhan shi tantao 歷 史地理學的應用: 嶺南地區早期發展之探討. Taipei: Wenjin Chubanshe, 2004. Nguyễn Ngọc San. Tìm Hiểu Tiếng Việt Lịch Sử. Hanoi: Nhả Xuất Bản Đại Học Sư Phạm, 2000. Peng Fengwen 彭豐文. “Xijiang duhu yu lingnan kaifa” 西江督護與南朝嶺南開發. Guangxi minzu yanjiu 廣西民族研究 76 vol. 2 (2004): 62–7. Tan Qixiang 譚其驤 ed. Zhongguo lishi dituji 中國歷史地圖集. 8 vols. Beijing: Zhongguo Ditu Chubanshe, 1982–87 Pham Huy Tong ed. Dong Son Drums in Vietnam. Hanoi: Vietnam Social Science Publishing House, 1990 Pulleyblank, Edwin G. “The Chinese and their Neighbours in Prehistoric and Early Historic Times.” In The Origins of Chinese Civilization, edited by David N.Keightley, 411–66. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983. Scott, James. The Art of not being Governed: an anarchist history of upland Southeast Asia. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2009. Taylor, Keith W. The Birth of Vietnam. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983. Wade, Geoff. “The Southern Chinese Borders in History.” In Where China Meets Southeast Asia: Social and Cultural Change in the Border Region, edited by G. Evans, C. Hutton, and K.E. Kuah, 28–50. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2000. ––––––. “The Lady Sinn and the Southward Expansion of China in the Sixth Century.” In Guangdong: Archaeology and Early Texts ed. Shing Muller, Thomas Hollmann, and Putao Gui, 125–50. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2004. Wang Jun 王均 ed. Zhuangdong yuzu yuyan jianzhi 壯侗語族語言簡志. Beijing: Minzu Chunbanshe. 1984 Yao Shun’an 姚舜安, Wan Fubin 萬輔彬, and Jiang Ting-yü 蔣廷瑜 eds. Beiliu xing tonggu tan mi 北流型銅鼓探秘. Nanning: Guangxi Renmin Chubanshe, 1990. Yao Shun’an 姚舜安, Jiang Tingyu 蔣廷瑜, and Wan Fubin 萬輔彬. “Lun lingshanxing tonggu.” 論靈山型銅鼓 Kaogu, no. 10 (1990): 929–43.

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Yoshikai Masato 吉開將人. “Dōko ‘saihen’ no jidai – issennenki no betonamu, minamichūgoku.” 銅鼓“再編”の時代 －一千年期のベトナム、南中國 Tōyō Bunka 東洋文化 vol. 78 (1998): 199–218. Zhang Junru 張均如 ed. Zhuangyu fangyan yanjiu 壯語方言研究 Chengdu: Sichuan Minzu Chubanshe. 1999 Primary Sources Chen shu 陳書. Yao Silian 姚思廉 (557–637) Bona edition. Taipei: Taiwan Shangwu Yinshuguan, 1983. Hou Han shu 後漢書. Fan Ye 范曄 (398–446) Bona edition. Taipei: Taiwan Shangwu Yinshuguan, 1983. Jin shu 晉書. Fang Xuanling 房玄齡 (578–648) Bona edition. Taipei: Taiwan Shangwu Yinshuguan, 1983. Liang shu 梁書. Yao Cha 姚察 (533–606) and Yao Silian 姚思廉 (d. 637). Bona edition. Taipei: Taiwan Shangwu Yinshuguan, 1983. Lingbiao luyi 嶺表錄異 Liu Xun 劉恂 (tenth century) Congshu Jicheng edition. Shanghai: Shangwu yinshuguan, 1936 Nan Qi shu 南齊書. by Xiao Zixian 蕭子顯 (489–537) Bona edition. Taipei: Taiwan Shangwu Yinshuguan, 1983. Sui shu 隋書. Wei Zheng 魏徵 (581–643) Bona edition. Taipei: Taiwan Shangwu Yinshuguan, 1983. Song shu 宋書. Shen Yue 沈約 (441–513) Bona edition. Taipei: Taiwan Shangwu Yinshuguan, 1983. Taiping huanyuji 太平寰宇記. Yue Shi 樂史 (1930–1007) 1793 edition. Taipei: Wenhai Chubanshe, 1993. Taiping yulan 太平御覽. Li Fang李昉 (925–96) Song edition. Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju edition. 1998. Xin Tang shu 新唐書. Ouyang Xiu 歐陽修 (1007–1072) Bona edition. Taipei: Taiwan Shangwu Yinshuguan, 1983. Yudijisheng 輿地紀勝. Wang Xiangzhi 王象之 (jinshi 1196) 1849 edition. Taipei: Wenhai Chubanshe, 1962. Yuanhe Junxian tuzhi 元和郡縣圖志. Li Jifu 李吉甫 (758–814). Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 1983. Zizhitongjian 資治通鑑. Sima Guang 司馬光 (1019–86) Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 1956.

Chapter 2

Constructing Local Narratives: Spirits, Dreams, and Prophecies in the Medieval Red River Delta Liam C. Kelley

Introduction Here we examine spirits in the medieval Red River delta and stories that were written about them. By “medieval,” I am referring to the long period of time stretching roughly from the eighth or ninth century of the Common Era to the end of the fifteenth century. In this time, the majority of stories about spirits in the Red River delta were created. The people who created these stories constituted a diverse group, including provincial administrators, Buddhist monks, and local monarchs and their officials. However, they all created stories about the spirits for a similar purpose, to control the spirits of that place and the people who worshipped them. These local narratives appeared as different sets of regional powers sought dominance over the localities and their spirits. These tales have been examined before. In 1986, Keith Taylor published a pioneering and detailed article entitled “Authority and Legitimacy in 11th Century Vietnam.” In that article, Taylor employs stories about the spirits to argue that the Lý dynasty (1010–1225), the first Vietnamese dynasty to endure for a considerable period of time, was not a centralized state and did not employ Sinitic forms of governance. Instead, Taylor argues that the Lý tapped into the power of something which he labels “Lý Dynasty religion” and used this power to hold their realm together. This Lý Dynasty religion was not an organized religion, but something more akin to an informal understanding and relationship between local spirits and rulers whereby the spirits would grant their support to rulers they approved. To understand how it worked, it is probably best to cite Taylor directly. … the Lý kings posed as men, not gods, whose superior moral qualities, broadly defined in Buddhist terms as compassionate and humanitarian, stimulated and aroused the supernatural powers dwelling in the terrain of the Việt realm (mountains, rivers, trees, fields) and in the historical memory of the Việt people (deceased heroes); these powers were aroused by royal virtue to declare themselves as protector spirits of the realm.

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Ideas from Chinese classics and histories were occasionally cited as textual authority of explaining or justifying this process of “declaring the unfathomable.”1 In other words, Taylor argued that the spirits of the Việt realm “declared” their support for Lý Dynasty rulers and that this declaration of support was recorded in stories about the spirits which were compiled starting around that time. Further, he also argues that this phenomenon where spirits offered their support to rulers actually began during the millennium of Chinese rule and that two Chinese administrators, Shi Xie in the early third century and Gao Pian in the ninth, had each received such support. Therefore the Lý Dynasty kings, Taylor argues, were tapping into a local tradition of rulership which relied on the assistance of the spirits. In contrast to the continuities in a style of rulership which Taylor detected in stories about the spirits, Olga Dror has more recently argued for different phases in the manner in which spirits were depicted. Employing the same sources which Taylor did, Dror contends that from an early writing which focused on describing spirits as objects of devotion, spirits were later appropriated by the elite and explained back to the folk in terms favorable to the elite’s perspective of what constituted good and bad behavior. In other words, stories about the spirits became, as Dror states, “anti-folk stories” employed by the elite in an effort to mould and control the common people. Finally, Dror also sees a process of historicization in the fifteenth century where mythical information about antiquity was combined with stories about spirits.2 In this paper I examine some of the same stories about spirits which Taylor and Dror have discussed, but put forth a different argument. Like Taylor, I see a continuity in the importance of the spirit-ruler relationship. However, in partial agreement with Dror, I see the stories created about the spirits as anti-folk stories. In particular, rather than contending that the spirits “declared” their support for rulers, I argue that it was more likely the case that rulers created stories in which the spirits were said to have declared their support in order to convince local people that they too should support the ruler. Where I differ 1 Keith W. Taylor, “Authority and Legitimacy in 11th Century Vietnam,” in Southeast Asia in the 9th to 14th Centuries, ed., David G. Marr and A.C. Milner (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies; Canberra: Research School of Pacific Studies, Australian National University, 1986), 146. 2 Olga Dror, Cult, Culture, and Authority: Princess Liễu Hạnh in Vietnamese History (Honolulu: University of Honolulu Press, 2007), 12–30. The term, “anti-folk stories,” is discussed on page 20.

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with Dror is that I think this anti-folk element was present throughout the entire medieval period and perhaps began even earlier. I also differ from Dror in that I argue that we can find the historicization of spirits throughout this entire period as well. Finally, I contend that in order to understand what these stories about spirits were all about, we need to step back and see the Red River delta in a larger context. In the medieval period, local officials all across the various Chinese empires that existed in those years created stories about local spirits. In fact, in some cases many different stories were created about the same spirit over time, as the spirit was transformed from a nature spirit, into a human spirit, into a human spirit which supported the agenda of the local official. Along the way, Buddhists at times played a role in this enterprise, as they were often the first to enter remote areas and begin this process of domesticating nature spirits. This is a practice that has been well documented by scholars who work on Chinese history.3 In the case of Vietnamese history, Tạ Chí Đại Trường and the late Trần Quốc Vượng both have writings on this topic as well.4 However, I have reservations about their work in that they both have attempted to combine local information about spirits today with information from historical sources in order to understand the historical developments of their cults. Such a practice leads to a great deal of speculation. In this paper I will limit my inquiry to what we can understand from the extant texts for this topic.

The Sources and Buddhist Miracles

There are several texts which are important for this topic, and they are all problematic. The two most important texts are the Collection of the Departed Spirits from the Việt Realm (Việt điện u linh tập), hereafter Departed Spirits, and the Arrayed Tales of Selected Oddities from South of the Passes (Lĩnh Nam chích quái liệt truyện), hereafter Arrayed Tales. The Departed Spirits is an early fourteenthcentury collection of biographies of spirits which were granted official titles by the Trần Dynasty for their assistance during the wars with the Mongols in the

3 For an example, see the introductory chapter in Terry F. Kleeman, A God’s Own Tale: The Book of Transformations of Wenchang, the Divine Lord of Zitong (Albany: SUNY Press, 1994). 4 See, for instance, Tạ Chí Đại Trường, Thần, người và đất Việt [Spirits, people and the land of the Việt] (Westminster: Văn Nghệ, 1989) and Trần Quốc Vượng, “The Legend of Ông Dóng from the Text to the Field,” in Essays into Vietnamese Pasts, eds., K.W. Taylor and John K. Whitmore (Ithaca, NY: Southeast Asia Program, Cornell University, 1995), 13–41.

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thirteenth century and is attributed to an author by the name of Lý Tế Xuyên.5 The Arrayed Tales, meanwhile, is a collection of stories which fall in the Chinese chuanqi and anomaly account (zhiguai) genres, some of which are about spirits. This work was likely drafted over an extended period of time and reached a final form in the late fifteenth century.6 What is problematic about these texts is that they were never printed. All the manuscript copies we have of these texts today were hand-written and cannot be dated with certainty. What is even more troubling is that in some cases where we can tell that a text dates from a later period, such as the late nineteenth or early twentieth century, we find that it is also the most detailed. This of course raises many questions as to where all that detailed information came from. In the case of the Departed Spirits, the best known version of that text, and the one which has been translated into modern Vietnamese, is one such, entitled the Complete Compilation of the Collected Records of the Departed Spirits from the Việt Realm (Việt điện u linh tập lục toàn biên), or Complete Compilation. I have tried not to use this version of the Departed Spirits, but have opted instead to use a simpler version out of the hope that the more limited information in this version represents the core ideas that have long been recorded in this text. However, at times I do cite the Complete Compilation, particularly when it mentions sources of information which the other version does not. When I do so, I indicate it in the footnotes.7 In relaying information about certain spirits, the Departed Spirits cites some works which are no longer extant. For instance, it cites two works by the same title, the Record of Jiao Region (Jiaozhou ji). Both these texts were apparently compiled during the period of Tang dynasty rule, the first by a Chinese administrator named Zhao Chang, who served in the region of the Red River delta from 791 to 806, and the other by Zeng Gun, who served there from 866 to 880. The Departed Spirits also cites an early Vietnamese history which is no longer

5 For more on this book see Keith W. Taylor, “Notes on the Việt điện u linh tập,” Vietnam Forum 8 (1986), 26–59. Seeking the assistance of spirits to resist Mongol invasions is a phenomenon which took place in China as well, see Valerie Hansen, Changing Gods in Medieval China, 1127–1276 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press 1990), 144–145. 6 The basic information about this text is covered in Thomas Engelbert, “Mythic History: Representations of the Vietnamese Past in the ‘Lĩnh Nam chích quái,’” in Southeast Asian Historiography Unraveling the Myths: Essays in Honor of Barend Jan Terwiel, ed., Volker Grabowsky (Bangkok: River Books, 2011), 268–275. 7 The version of the Departed Spirits that I am using is A. 47. Hereafter I will refer to that text in the notes as “Vđult.” The reference number for the Complete Compilation is A. 751, and I will refer to that text in the notes as “Vđulttb.”

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extant, Đỗ Thiện’s Historical Records (Sử ký), a work compiled in the twelfth century.8 Even though the above texts no longer exist, from their titles and the citations from them that we find in the Departed Spirits, we can gain an understanding of what kinds of texts these were. Chinese administrators compiled many accounts of local regions, works which combined various types of information concerning everything from the geography and history of the particular region to stories about strange events there. The two Records of Jiao Region likely fit this genre. Meanwhile, the Historical Records, we can assume, was an early effort by a Vietnamese scholar to create a history of the region. More problematic, however, is placing a final text cited in the Departed Spirits, a work known as the Báo cực truyền. Dror translates the title of this text as Stories of the Sublime, while Taylor has translated it as Records Declaring the Ultimate. Taylor has also suggested that this text was compiled sometime between 1069 and 1090.9 That is possible, but as we will see below, in one story in the Arrayed Tales it appears to be cited for information about a prophecy which came true in 1225. So for it to date from the eleventh century, either that prophecy would have to have been accurate or this information about the prophecy would have had to have been altered or added at a later time. Theoretically all this is possible. As a result, we cannot be entirely certain when exactly this text was compiled, and it is not always clear when this text is cited in the Departed Spirits what information actually comes from the Báo cực truyền and what information comes from another source or was added by the compiler. Another problematic aspect concerning the Báo cực truyền is its genre. To date, no scholar has placed this work in any known or recognizable literary category. This is difficult to do, as we only find excerpts cited from this work. Nonetheless, the word “báo” in its title was an extremely important term for Buddhists who used it to refer to karmic retribution or reward. Hence, this title could be translated as Tales of the Extreme Reach of Karmic Retribution/Reward. Such a title would fit a work into the Chinese genre of Buddhist miracle tales, stories which were particularly popular in the Chinese world between the third and seventh centuries, with perhaps the most famous collection of such tales being the seventh-century Records of Miraculous Karmic Retribution/Reward (Mingbao ji). These tales appear to have been influenced both by 8 9

Taylor, Keith W. The Birth of Vietnam (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983), 354. Dror, Olga. Cult, Culture, and Authority: Princess Liễu Hạnh in Vietnamese History. (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2007), 14. Taylor, “Authority and Legitimacy in 11th Century Vietnam,” 145.

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Buddhist avadana tales from India and by the Chinese genre of anomaly accounts. Avadana tales related events which occurred in a person’s life to deeds performed in a previous life, and one of the earliest translators of such tales was a third-century Sogdian monk who was active in the Red River delta, Kang Senghui. Anomaly accounts, on the other hand, dealt with supernatural and other unexplained phenomena. Chinese Buddhist miracles at times combined these two genres, taking a seemingly supernatural phenomenon and explaining it in terms of karmic reward or retribution.10 While we cannot say for sure that the Báo cực truyền was a collection of Buddhist miracle tales, the information cited from it in one of the stories in the Departed Spirits suggests that this was the case. The quotation appears in a story about the Chinese administrator who served in the Red River delta in the early third century CE by the name of Shi Xie. The account of Shi Xie in the Departed Spirits begins with information which is documented in his biography in the third-century Treatise on the Three Kingdoms (Sanguo zhi). It states that his family was originally from the area of what is today Shandong Province, but then moved to Cangwu Commandery in the region of present-day Guangxi Province during the time when Wang Mang (r., 9–23) usurped control from the Han Dynasty. Six generations later, Shi Xie was born. When he was young, Shi Xie journeyed to the Han Dynasty capital to study and became particularly well versed in the Zuo Commentary on the Spring and Autumn Annals (Zuoshi chunqiu). He was recommended as a Filial and Incorrupt, a category for selecting local scholars for government employment, and eventually was sent to the Red River delta to serve as governor of Jiao Region.11 There in the early third century of the Common Era he kept the region at peace while much of the rest of the Chinese empire descended into disorder with the fall of the Han Dynasty. Other Chinese scholars took refuge in Jiao Region at this time, and there is also evidence that there were Buddhists active in the area as well. Shi Xie’s biography mentions “Hu people,” usually a reference to people coming from places such as Central Asia, following his carriage and burning incense, while other sources note that Kang Senghui, the Buddhist monk of Sogdian descent, was active in Jiao Region during this period.12 The Departed

10 11 12

Donald E. Gjertson, “The Early Chinese Buddhist Miracle Tale: A Preliminary Survey,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 101.3 (1981): 287–301. Vđult, 1a-b; Chen Shou, Sanguo zhi [Treatise on the Three Kingdoms], (Siku quanshu ed., orig. comp., 297). Wu zhi, 4:10a–11a. For more on Kang Senghui, see Eric Zürcher, The Buddhist Conquest of China (Leiden: Brill, 1972), 51–55.

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Spirits has the same information, but replaces “Hu people” with “people of the Region.”13 After providing other information about Shi Xie’s activities as a governor, the Departed Spirits cites the Báo cực truyền for the following information, The king [i.e., Shi Xie] was adept at preserving and nourishing life. After the king passed away, over 160 years later at the end of the Jin [dynasty], Linyi [people] raided.14 They excavated the king’s tomb and saw that the king’s body had not deteriorated and that his complexion looked as though he were still alive. They became terrified and reburied him. Local people saw him as a spirit, erected a shrine, and made sacrifices to him. This would seem to represent a local tradition, and yet there are historical problems with it. First of all, people from Linyi did not attack during these years. Instead, it was Chinese officials in the region who led attacks against Linyi. One such person was a regional inspector by the name of Wen Fangzhi who attacked Linyi in 359.15 Not long after this, a legend emerged concerning Wen Fangzhi and Shi Xie’s tomb. However, that legend had nothing to do with Linyi. This legend about Wen Fangzhi and Shi Xie’s tomb was recorded in a fifth century Chinese collection of anomaly accounts compiled by Liu Jingshu and entitled the Garden of Marvels (Yiyuan). The Garden of Marvels records that Shi Xie died in Jiaozhi during the final years of the Han and that he was buried in the “southern border region” (nanjing). It states that his tomb was often covered in mist and that it manifested supernatural potency at indeterminate times. The region then experienced years of unrest. However, the tomb was never excavated by robbers even during this time of turmoil. When in the Jin dynasty’s Xingning era (363–365), Wen Fangzhi was appointed regional inspector of Jiao Region, he personally rode off on his horse to open the tomb. The Garden of Marvels does not report what he found. Instead, it relates that on his return, he fell off his horse and died.16 13 14

15 16

Chen Shou, Wu zhi, 4: 11b; Vđult, 2a. Linyi was a kingdom which existed in the area of what is now southern and south-central Vietnam in the early centuries of the Common Era. It was probably inhabited by an Austronesian people similar to the Cham, or it may simply have been an early Cham kingdom. Fang Xuanliang, Jinshu [History of the Jin] (Siku quanshu ed., orig. comp., 644–646), 8: 13a. Liu Jingshu, Yiyuan [Garden of marvels], (Siku quanshu ed., orig. comp., fifth cent.), 7: 1b. The dates in this account do not match the date of 358 for Wen Fangzhi’s attack on Linyi

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In considering the historical information about Wen Fangzhi’s attack on Linyi, along with the legend of his search for Shi Xie’s tomb, it appears that this account of Shi Xie in the Báo cực truyền is likely a later creation inspired by these other accounts of Wen Fangzhi. Surely local people did not “remember” a story about a raid by people from Linyi when such an attack had never occurred. Instead, it is much more likely that a Buddhist scholar in later years created this story. In doing so, he altered some relevant historical information, changing Wen Fangzhi’s attack on Linyi to a raid on the Red River delta region by people from Linyi and filled out a legend from the Garden of Marvels. Finally, while the Departed Spirits cites the Báo cực truyền for this information, it is likely that in doing so some information was omitted. It is interesting to note, for instance, that the reference to “Hu people” was changed to “people of the Region,” a change which erases a clear reference to Buddhists. Also, the fact that Shi Xie’s body did not decompose was meant to teach readers something. The account in the Garden of Marvels is intended to show the miraculous potency of Shi Xie’s spirit. The Báo cực truyền may have sought to make the same point. However, if it were a collection of Buddhist miracle tales, then perhaps it also emphasized the presence of Buddhists in the region during his time. This appears to be the case since the Báo cực truyền is also cited in a medieval Buddhist work and there it does provide detailed information about the Buddhist community in the Red River delta during Shi Xie’s time.17 Therefore, in the Báo cực truyền, the miracle of Shi Xie’s non-decomposing corpse may have been presented as a miraculous sign of karmic reward for his support of the Buddhist religion during his lifetime. Although we still cannot say for certain, given the above evidence I contend that the Báo cực truyền was likely a collection of Buddhist miracle tales to be translated Tales of the Extreme Reach of Karmic Retribution/Reward. I would also argue that the textual evidence reveals that this story of Shi Xie and his non-decomposing corpse was invented utilizing a broad array of source materials recorded in classical Chinese by members of the elite, Buddhists in this case, who wished to get people to follow their ideas. As such, it was likely just as “anti-folk” as any of the other collections of spirit tales. Further, its use of a miraculous event as a didactic device was a technique shared by other works.

17

in the History of the Jin, but it is obvious that this information is meant to be about the same person. See the Cổ Châu Pháp Vân Phật bản hạnh lục [Spoken records of the moral character of the Pháp Vân Buddha of Cổ Châu], 1a-b, in Nguyễn Quang Hồng, ed., Di văn chùa Dâu: Cổ Châu lục, Cổ Châu hạnh, Cổ Châu nghi [Manuscripts of Dâu temple] (Hanoi: NXB Khoa Học Xã Hội, 1997).

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A good example of this may be seen in the dreams of the Chinese administrators to which we turn next.

Chinese Administrators and Their Dreams

During the centuries when the Red River delta formed the southern part of various Chinese empires, Chinese administrators actively sought to control local spirits, and they did this in various ways. One way was to recognize a spirit and give it an official title and purpose. We can find an example of this in a story in the Departed Spirits about the spirit of a man named Tô Lịch. Citing one of the Records of Jiao Region and the Tales of the Extreme Reach of Karmic Retribution/Reward, the Departed Spirits states that during the period of the Jin dynasty (265–420) Tô Lịch was recommended to the court as a Filial and Incorrupt and was appointed district magistrate of Long Độ, lying at the center of the Red River delta.18 In this position Tô Lịch gained a reputation for being loyal and filial. Later during the Changqing era (821–824) of emperor Tang Muzong’s reign, Protector-general of Annan Li Yuanxi noticed that the water in the river to the north of Long Biên citadel was flowing in the opposite direction it usually did. Seeing this as an inauspicious sign, Li chose a new site for his administrative center based on geomantic principles and moved. As it turned out, this new location was right where Tô Lịch’s residence had been. Li thereupon memorialized the emperor and asked permission to make Tô Lịch’s spirit a city god (thành hoàng). A shrine was built, and Tô Lịch was worshipped. One night Li Yuanxi dreamed that Tô Lịch came and spoke to him, saying, “I have long ruled over this area. Only if you teach my people with righteousness will you be able to reside here for a long time.” Li agreed to do so, and it is significant that Tô Lịch requested Li to establish a relationship with the local people in what was perhaps exactly the same manner that Li himself was explaining his relationship to the people. Here again we have signs of the “anti-folk” elements in these stories. A few decades later, in the 860s, a general by the name of Gao Pian came to the region to drive out invading armies from Nanzhao (now Yunnan). He learned of this spirit when he was having a new citadel built, La Citadel.

18

The Vđult only mentions the Record of Jiao Region and records this man’s name as Tô Bạch. Tô Lịch is how this spirit is referred to today and is how it is called in the Vđulttb. That text also indicates that the story was recorded in the Tales of the Extreme Reach of Karmic Retribution/Reward as well. See Vđult, 8a; Vđulttb, 36b.

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Gao respectfully performed rituals for the spirit and granted it the title of City God of the Protectorate Capital.19 Gao Pian was extremely active in dealing with local spirits. This account of him recognizing and honoring the spirit of Tô Lịch represents only one of his numerous techniques. For instance, the Arrayed Tales cites Zeng Gun’s Record of Jiao Region to record that when Gao Pian wanted to suppress potent traces (linh tích) he would cut open a 17 year-old unwed girl and take our her innards. He would then stuff the body with angelica herb, clothe it in robes, and sit it on a stool. Following this, Gao would offer the stuffed corpse a sacrifice of buffalo and wait for the body to move. Once it did, he would cut off the head of the corpse. This was his technique, the Arrayed Tales records, for dealing with various spirits.20 It was apparently a means to lure the spirit into the corpse of the girl and then kill it when it accepted sacrificial meat. Still another way in which Gao Pian interacted with spirits was to dream or have a vision of an encounter with a spirit. This, for instance, is what is recorded in the Departed Spirits about Gao Pian’s encounter with the spirit of Shi Xie. That text records that after Gao defeated the Nanzhao armies, he passed by Shi Xie’s tomb and encountered an extraordinary man with a joyous expression on his face dressed in rainbow-colored feather robes, the attire of an immortal. Gao was delighted and invited the man into his tent. They talked at length about matters from the time of the Three Kingdoms. Then when Gao Pian finally went to see his guest off, the man suddenly vanished. Surprised at this, Gao inquired who the man had been, and the local people responded by pointing to Shi Xie’s tomb. Gao then intoned the following lines, From the time of the Wei and Wu, To the present, 500 years. In the eighth year of the Xiantong era of the Tang [867], How fortunate to encounter the immortal, King Shi.21 Based on the way in which we view the world today, we can assume that Gao Pian did not actually kill spirits or encounter immortals. Perhaps Gao did perform some form of ritual where a local spirit was enticed and ceremonially killed. However, an encounter with an immortal is something which was probably recounted as a story after the supposed event had taken place. The 19 20 21

Vđult, 8a–8b. Lĩnh Nam chích quái liệt truyện [Arrayed tales of selected oddities from South of the Passes], (orig. 1492 ed., orig. comp. 1380s?), A. 1200, 2: 21b. Hereafter, Lncqlt. Ibid., 2a-b. Wu and Wei were two of the Three Kingdoms, with Yue the third.

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purpose of such a story was likely to impart official meaning onto a local spirit. In the case of Shi Xie, this spirit may have already been worshipped someplace, and Gao Pian may have merely granted his approval to this existing practice. Alternately, he may have altered the meaning of a local spirit by declaring that it was the spirit of Shi Xie and created this story to propagate this view. Either way, the worship of an official who had maintained order in the region closely fit Gao’s own agenda. In other accounts about Gao Pian’s encounters with spirits, there is more evidence to suggest that stories were created at that time to support Gao’s efforts to pacify the region. We can see some evidence of this, for instance, in the case of the spirit of Cao Lỗ. Cao Lỗ is a person mentioned in what is arguably the earliest source to record information about the Red River delta, the Record of the Outer Territory of Jiao Region (Jiaozhou waiyu ji). This Chinese work from either the late third or early fourth century CE is no longer extant, but passages from it are cited in later works, such as Li Daoyuan’s sixth-century Annotated Classic of Waterways (Shuijing zhu). The Record of the Outer Territory of Jiao Region recorded that prior to the period of Chinese control in the region, it had been ruled by Lạc kings who were served by Lạc marquises and Lạc generals. In the third century BCE, they were defeated by a man known as King An Dương. The text then records that King An Dương had in his service a divine person (yiren). In the Record of the Outer Territory of Jiao Region, his name is recorded as Cao Thông; however, in some medieval Vietnamese sources he came to be referred to as Cao Lỗ.22 According to the Record of the Outer Territory of Jiao Region, Cao Thông made a crossbow for King An Dương which with one shot could kill 300 men. This was able to protect him from the army of Zhao Tuo, a Chinese official who initially served the Qin dynasty but then established his own kingdom of Nanyue based in what is today Guangdong Province at the end of the third century BCE following the Qin’s fall. The Record of the Outer Territory of Jiao Region indicates that Zhao fought King An Dương in the Red River delta, but unable to defeat him Zhao withdrew his army to an area known as Vũ Ninh District. Zhao then sent his son, Shi, to submit to King An Dương and to serve him, as part of a ploy eventually to defeat the king. The text also states that 22

The fourteenth-century Brief Record of Annan (An Nam chí lược) refers to him as Cao Thông, whereas the fifteenth-century Complete Book of the Historical Records of Đại Việt (Đại Việt sử ký toàn thư) has Cao Lỗ but notes that other sources refer to him as Cao Thông. See Lê Tắc, An Nam chí lược [Brief Record of Annan ], (Siku quanshu ed., orig. comp., 1333), 1: 10a and Ngô Sĩ Liên, Đại Việt sử ký toàn thư [Complete book of the historical records of Đại Việt], (1697 ed., orig. comp., 1479), A. 3, Ngoại Ký, 1: 7b.

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King An Dương did not know that Cao Thông was divine and treated him badly. Cao Thông thereupon told Zhao Tuo about King An Dương’s crossbow. As all this was happening, King An Dương’s daughter, a girl named Mỵ Châu, was falling in love with Shi. Shi had Mỵ Châu show him her father’s crossbow, at which point he secretly changed its trigger, thus neutralizing its special powers. Zhao Tuo then attacked King An Dương again and this time defeated him.23 The Departed Spirits does not discuss this actual historical personage. Instead it contains information about his spirit. In so doing, it cites earlier works which are no longer extant. In particular, it records that the information about Cao Lỗ’s spirit comes from a Record of Jiaozhi (Jiaozhi ji) which was cited in Đỗ Thiện’s twelfth-century Historical Records (Sử ký).24 The information provided about Cao Lỗ’s spirit revolves around an encounter which Gao Pian had with that spirit in the 860s. It states that after Gao pacified the Nanzhao troops in the Red River delta, he went on a tour of inspection which took him to Gia Định District in Vũ Ninh Prefecture. There he dreamed at night of a man who was nine xích tall and had a look of archaic simplicity and sophistication. This man revealed himself as Cao Lỗ, the former aide to King An Dương, and noted that in the past he had accrued a positive record in punishing bandits. However, he was subsequently slandered and killed by the Lạc marquises. The celestial emperor pitied his loyalty and ordered that he govern the area, calling him the Campaign-Commanding Divine General. Now that Gao Pian was pacifying the Nanzhao army, Cao Lỗ declared that he had come to pay the general a visit. In inquiring why the Lạc marquises had slandered him, the spirit of Cao Lỗ responded, “King An Dương was the vital essence of a golden chicken, the Lạc marquises were the vital essence of a white gibbon, and I am the vital essence of a stone dragon. We just do not match, so we therefore harm each other.” Gao Pian thereupon woke up, informed his subordinates of what he had just dreamed, and intoned the following lines, The mountains and rivers of the Southern Kingdom excel, The dragon’s divinity is everywhere numinous. Jiao Region has ceased to have worries, 23 24

Li Daoyuan, comp., Shuijing zhu [Annotated Classic of Waterways], (Siku quanshu ed., orig. comp., ca. 515–524), 37: 7a–8a. The A. 47 version of the Departed Spirits which I am using just indicates that this information comes from a text called the Historical Records, but does not mention Đỗ Thiện or the Record of Jiaozhi. However, some other versions, such as the Vđulttb, do provide this additional information. See Vđult, 12b and Vđulttb, 53b.

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From this point onward it will see peace.25 It is obvious from the information recorded here about Cao Lỗ that this is the same person as the Cao Thông mentioned in the Record of the Outer Territory of Jiao Region. However, there are some differences as well. The most significant is that Cao Lỗ stated to Gao Pian that early in his career he had “accrued a positive record in punishing bandits.” This is not noted in the Record of the Outer Territory of Jiao Region. Instead, it fits more closely with what Gao was doing in the 860s, and Cao Lỗ’s visit to Gao is an indication of this spirit’s willingness to assist in this endeavor. That is why Gao Pian could confidently intone, “Jiao Region has ceased to have worries/From this point onward it will see peace.” How do we explain this? Was there actually a spirit who visited Gao Pian in his dreams? That is a point which we have no way of verifying. However the Departed Spirits contains some information which can help us decipher what was happening. The text records that, prior to this encounter between Gao Pian and the spirit of Cao Lỗ, it was said that below the nearby Đại Than River there was a dragon cavern. When merchant ships passed by, they would often suffer losses from wind and waves. Travelers would therefore pay their respects at a nearby shrine for protection.26 The text also records that this spirit was colloquially referred to as Commander Lỗ or as the Stone Spirit, but that both these names were wrong.27 The name of the prefecture where this shrine was located, Vũ Ninh, was the same as that of the district to which Zhao Tuo is recorded to have retreated after his initial battle with King An Dương. It is likely that Gao Pian would have been familiar with the extant information on the region and that he would have known about King An Dương and Cao Thông. It is also likely that he would have connected the place name of Vũ Ninh with that story. Whether or not the reference to “Commander Lỗ” indicates that there was already a tradition of identifying a local spirit with that historical personage is not clear. If such a tradition had already been created, it does not appear to have been very strong, for there was a rival name, the “Stone Spirit,” and a practice of seeking protection from an underwater dragon cavern which does not appear to have had any connection to the historical Cao Thông. This story about Gao Pian’s encounter with this spirit ties together all these various strands and provides this spirit with a singular purpose. The spirit is 25 26 27

Vđult, 12b–13a. Ibid., 13a. Ibid., 12b.

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clearly revealed to be the assistant of King An Dương, Cao Lỗ/Thông, and his purpose is to put down unrest. Meanwhile, his essence is that of a “stone dragon,” a reference which would appear to incorporate extant animistic beliefs about this spirit as either a stone spirit or some kind of water spirit. In other words, what Gao Pian appears to have done is to encounter a local shrine and to create a story about it based on some historical knowledge of the region. Further, he did so in order to direct the potency of this shrine towards supporting his own agenda. While we cannot be certain if Gao Pian invented the connection between this local spirit and the historical Cao Thông, or simply elaborated an existing tradition, the case of a spirit known as Lý Ông Trọng more clearly points towards an act of creation. Our information about Lý Ông Trọng comes from a work called the Record of Jiao Region, as cited in the Departed Spirits. Since this story makes reference to Zhao Chang, one of the authors of a book by this title, we can assume that it is referring to the later book of the same title compiled by Zeng Gun in the ninth century. According to the Record of Jiao Region, Lý Ông Trọng was a giant, who stood some two trượng tall. When he was young, he served the district office, but quit after he was flogged by the commander-in-chief. He then engaged in study and became well versed in the Chinese classics and histories. Eventually he went off to serve the Qin dynasty, where the First Emperor of Qin had Lý Ông Trọng lead troops to garrison Lintao, in what is today Gansu Province, to “awe the Xiongnu,” the nomadic tribes then raiding the Qin’s northern frontier. When Ông Trọng became old, having reached the position of metropolitan commandant, he returned to his village. Finally, the Record of Jiao Region reports that at some point the First Emperor had an image of Lý Ông Trọng cast in bronze and placed at the Outer Palace Gate in Xianyang, the Qin Dynasty capital in what is today Shaanxi Province. This bronze image was so big that it could hold dozens of people. These people inside would secretly rock the image back and forth, and this would lead the Xiongnu to believe that it was actually Lý Ông Trọng himself, so they would avoid the place.28 This story shows clear signs of being a fabrication. First of all, it contains anachronisms. The position of metropolitan commandant (sili xiaowei) was not created until 89 BCE, long after the Qin Dynasty had ceased to exist, and the position of commander-in-chief (dudu) was created even later, perhaps in 28

Ibid., 7a. The A. 47 version of the Departed Spirits does not contain the detail about people rocking the statue to scare the Xiongnu. However, that is recorded in the Vđulttb and in Ngô Sĩ Liên’s Complete Book of the Historical Records of Đại Việt. See Vđulttb, 32a and Ngô Sĩ Liên, Đại Việt sử ký toàn thư, Ngoại Ký, 1: 8a.

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the early years of the Common Era.29 Further, there is no evidence in Chinese sources that Lý Ông Trọng, or anyone like him, had ever done what he is credited with in the Record of Jiao Region. Yet, for all the clear signs of fabrication here, there are poems from the Tang period which make reference to a “Wengzhong,” the Chinese pronunciation of “Ông Trọng,” in contexts which relate to the southern regions of the empire. In either the late seventh or early eighth century, when Shen Quanqi was in the Red River delta on his way to exile in Huan Region, now north-central Vietnam, he composed a poem which contained the following two lines: “Commissioner Tuo once ruled over a kingdom/Wengzhong has long roamed the springs.”30 Meanwhile, in the early ninth century, when Liu Zongyuan was heading into exile for the second time, he stated in a poem which he composed for a friend while they were together in Hengyang (now in Hunan Province), the following: “The old road of the Wave Suppressor is amidst the wind and smoke/Wengzhong’s ruins are flattened by grass and trees.”31 “Commissioner Tuo” is Zhao Tuo, the Chinese official who created the kingdom of Nanyue for himself in the area of what is today Guangdong Province in the late third century BCE, while the “Wave Suppressor” is a reference to Ma Yuan, the famous Chinese general who put down the Trưng sisters’ uprising in the first century CE. Hence, these two lines are clearly making allusions to famous people who were historically active in the southern part of the world as it was known to Chinese at the time these two poets penned these lines. Further, the parallelism of these two lines makes it obvious that “Wengzhong” must refer to another such person. Liu Zongyuan is one of the most celebrated Tang dynasty poets, and his collected works contain explanations for passages and terms in his poems which are difficult to understand. These explanations were added during the Song dynasty and, given how contrived and unconvincing the explanation for “Wengzhong” is, it is clear that the commentator was not sure to what this term referred. The commentary notes that in the third century CE, Emperor Ming of the Wei had cast two metal statues and called them “wengzhong.” This same commentary also notes that outside a temple in Henan Province, far to the

29 30 31

Charles O. Hucker, A Dictionary of Official Titles in Imperial China (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1985), 451 and 544. Li Fang, et al., Wenyuan yinghua [Blossoms and flowers from the garden of literature], (Siku quanshu ed., orig. comp., 986), 289: 14b. Liu Zongyuan, Liu Hedong ji [Collected works of Liu Hedong], (Siku quanshu ed., orig. comp., ninth cent.), 42: 28b.

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north of Hengyang, was a temple outside of which stood stone wengzhong.32 Indeed, wengzhong is a term used to refer to stone or metal statues guarding tombs. However, a temple in Henan has no place in a poem about heading into exile in the south. Further, that term’s place in these two poems makes it evident that it is meant to refer to a person, a counterpart to Zhao Tuo and Ma Yuan. As it turns out, there was in fact an historical person who had lived in the area of the Red River delta and whose name was Wengzhong. Actually, that was his courtesy name. His given name was Yao Jun. Originally from the area of what is today Zhejiang Province, he served as the governor of Jiaozhi Commandery in the second century CE during Han dynasty rule. Somewhere around the weakening of the Han Dynasty, Wengzhong quit his job and headed into the mountains to follow a Daoist master. It is perhaps because of this act that Yao Jun is not mentioned in official dynastic histories. However, his story was apparently recorded in a collection of immortals, and that is likely how both Shen Quanqi and Liu Zongyuan were familiar with him.33 Indeed, Shen’s reference to Wengzhong “roam[ing] the springs” has an unmistakable Daoist sensibility to it. However, that this information was not known to the Song-era scholar who wrote explanations for Liu Zongyuan’s poems is important, as it shows that Wengzhong’s biography was not well known and that therefore someone could create a new biography for him. That appears to be exactly what Tang administrator Zhao Chang did in the late eighth or early ninth century. Yet in creating a new biography for Wengzhong, Zhao did not invent entirely new information. Instead, he found inspiration in a passage about the other kind of “wengzhong,” namely, statues of people. There is a reference in the Huainanzi, a philosophical text from roughly the second century BCE, to the Qin Dynasty casting bronze figures. In his commentary to the Huainanzi, the early-third-century scholar, Gao You, explained, “In the 26th year of the First Emperor of Qin’s reign, with All Under Heaven having just been annexed, there was a giant who appeared in Lintao. He was 5 zhang tall and his footprints were 8 chi long. So an image was drawn

32 Ibid. 33 I found a reference to Yao Jun in Ou Daren, Baiyue xianxian zhi [Treatise on the previous worthies of the Hundred Yue], (Siku quanshu ed., orig. comp., sixteenth century), 4: 8b. Ou Daren cites the fifth century Garden of Surnames (Xing yuan), by He Chengtian, and Ge Hong’s Biographies of Immortals (Liexian zhuan) as his sources for information about Yao Jun. The original version of Ge Hong’s famous fourth-century work, however, did not include Yao Jun, so perhaps he was added to a later version.

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of him, and a metal statue was cast in his likeness. This was Wengzhong Junhe.”34 This passage has an obvious parallel in the Departed Spirits where it records that “When the First Emperor had annexed All Under Heaven, he had [Lý Ông Trọng] lead troops to hold Lintao and awe the Xiongnu.”35 Thus, it is likely that Zhao Chang took this account with its reference to “Wengzhong” as his inspiration and created a more elaborate tale about an “Ông Trọng” from the Red River delta who went off to awe the Xiongnu far away in Lintao for the First Emperor of the Qin. In addition to recording Lý Ông Trọng’s biography, the Departed Spirits also contains information about Zhao Chang’s encounter with Lý Ông Trọng’s spirit. It states that during the beginning of the Zhenyuan era (785–805) of Tang Dezong’s reign, when Zhao was protector-general of Annan, he often dreamed that Lý Ông Trọng came and talked about the Zuo Commentary (Zuozhuan), the classics and histories. This detail of course reminds one of the historical record of Shi Xie’s interest in the Zuo Commentary. And whereas Gao Pian would later have an erudite conversation with Shi Xie’s spirit about matters concerning the time of the Three Kingdoms, here we find Zhao Chang engaging in a similar scholarly conversation with the spirit of Lý Ông Trọng. Clearly, spirits in the Red River delta and Chinese administrators had a lot to talk about. Zhao Chang then reportedly visited Lý Ông Trọng’s old residence (perhaps the site of “Wenzhang’s ruins”) and ordered that a shrine be built and that his spirit be sacrificed to. Finally, the Departed Spirits goes on to report that, when Gao Pian came to the Red River delta to fight the Nanzhao armies, he too dreamt that Lý Ông Trọng assisted him. Gao thereupon ordered that Lý Ông Trọng’s shrine be renovated and that he be sacrificed to as a spirit of good fortune.36 Since the Lý Ông Trọng described in this story had never existed, it is doubtful that Zhao Chang visited his residence. It is also doubtful, although not impossible, that the other Ông Trọng/Wengzhong, Yao Jun, was worshipped in the area. As a Daoist, it is more likely that his spirit would have been off “roam[ing] the springs,” in Shen Quanqi’s words. As is, this shrine was located not far from the main administrative center in the region.37 Finally, while this story does not contain evidence of the existence of a prior spirit which Lý Ông Trọng was replacing, like the hints we saw above that Gao Pian may have cre34 35 36 37

Huainan honglie jie [Luminous book of Huainan explained], (Siku quanshu ed., orig. comp., eleventh century), 13: 11b. Vđult, 7a. Ibid., 7a-b. In the fifteenth century that was Thụy Hương Community, Từ Liêm District, not far from Thăng Long. See Ngô Sĩ Liên, Đại Việt sử ký toàn thư, Ngoại Ký, 1: 8a.

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ated the spirit and story of Cao Lỗ to replace the worship of a water spirit, given how clear it is that Lý Ông Trọng’s story is a fabrication, I would argue that this was probably a similar case of a story created out of varied materials recorded in classical Chinese by the elite to transform and harness the support of a preexisting local spirit.

Vietnamese Monarchs and Their Dreams

These techniques which Chinese administrators developed came also to be employed by Vietnamese monarchs. In the case of granting titles, for instance, the Departed Spirits records that when Lý Thái Tổ (r., 1009–1028), the founder of the Lý dynasty, moved his capital from Hoa Lư to La Citadel in 1010, he dreamed that the spirit of Tô Lịch came to pay his respects. When Lý Thái Tổ awoke, he ordered that the spirit be sacrificed to and granted the title of Great King and City God of the Kingdom’s Capital Thăng Long (now Hà Nội), continuing a practice which Gao Pian had earlier established.38 Thus, like Gao Pian, Lý Thái Tổ too dreamed of encountering spirits. According to the Departed Spirits, another such spirit Lý Thái Tổ encountered was that of Lý Phục Man, a general who had served Lý Bí, a localized Chinese who resisted Chinese rule in the sixth century. Lý Thái Tổ encountered Lý Phục Man when the king went on a tour and passed through Lý Phục Man’s home village. In viewing the beautiful river scenery, Lý Thái Tổ sprinkled some wine in the river and intoned, “I have observed this area, with its marvelous mountains and graceful waters. May the potent powers of the earth and outstanding individuals accept this offering.” Then, depending on which version of the Departed Spirits one reads, Lý Thái Tổ either had a vision, or dreamed, of a man that night. This man was large and rotund and had a joyful countenance. The man bowed to Lý Thái Tổ and explained that he was Lý Phục Man and that he had been heroically loyal during his life. After he died, the Thearch on High (Thượng Đế) had praised him and ordered that he protect this area.39 The spirit of Lý Phục Man then stated that, in the early seventh century, during the transition from the Sui to the Tang, he had used his divine powers to help a local Sui administrator, Qiu He, defeat an official from outside the region, Ning Changzhen, who was seeking to take control. During the reign of Tang Suzong (r., 756–762), Lý Phục Man used the same powers to help the Tang 38 39

Vđult, 8a–8b. Vđult, 11a-b. This A. 47 version states that Lý Phục Man appeared, whereas the Vđulttb records that Lý Thái Tổ saw him in his dream that night. See Vđulttb, 47b.

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defeat the Arabs and Persians, perhaps a revisionist reference to the Battle of Talas (a Tang defeat in 751). The spirit of Lý Phục Man stated further that, during the reign of Tang Daizong (763–779), he helped defeat the Cham, then assisted Gao Pian to defeat Nanzhao, Ngô Quyền to defeat the Southern Han, and Lê Hoàn to defeat the Song. After informing Lý Thái Tổ of all these instances in which he had assisted prior rulers with his divine powers, Lý Phục Man requested that he be allowed to continue to serve in his position as protector of his home region and intoned the following lines, The Son of Heaven has encountered darkness, A loyal official has seen his name defamed. In the skies the sun and moon are illumined, Who does not make manifest its form? He then disappeared. When Lý Thái Tổ discussed with his officials what had happened, one explained that Lý Phục Man’s spirit wished to manifest itself in the form of a statue. Lý Thái Tổ thereupon ordered that a shrine be built and a statue molded so that Lý Phục Man could be worshipped as a spirit of good fortune.40 This story is interesting in that, although it is “local” in the sense that it was created by a Vietnamese monarch and is about a man who was definitely from the greater Red River delta region, it nonetheless indicates this spirit’s power by linking him to the Chinese empire and noting his support for the Sui and the Tang. In other words, whereas Chinese administrators were inspired by information which they found in texts from the empire to create stories about local spirits, the local story of Lý Phục Man perhaps already existed, and yet someone still felt the need to connect this story to events beyond the Red River delta. Also, like the stories of encounters between Chinese administrators and local spirits, this encounter between Lý Thái Tổ and Lý Phục Man creates the sense that nothing coercive had taken place. A local spirit, Lý Phục Man in this case, simply declared its support for a ruler, Lý Thái Tổ. That sense, however, can only be appreciated by people who believe that spirits actually manifest themselves in the dreams or visions of others. The villagers in that region were likely such people. As such, I would argue that it is more likely that this story was created by Lý Thái Tổ or one of his officials and is another anti-folk story. Even if it were not deliberately created, but was actually somehow experienced by Lý Thái Tổ, such an act was only made possible by the cultural context (and its written materials) which had long been in place, a cultural context which 40

Vđult, 11b.

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Chinese administrators had helped create locally in the centuries prior to this time. While there were clear parallels between the types of stories which Chinese administrators and Vietnamese monarchs or their officials created about the spirits, these Vietnamese stories did not remain stable. They would change over time. We can see an example of this in the case of two spirits whom we can call the Trương brothers. The Departed Spirits cites Đỗ Thiện’s Historical Records for information about two brothers surnamed Trương who were from a village called Phù Vạn.41 In the sixth century, they supported a local ruler who resisted Chinese control, King Việt of the Triệu. In the end, this king was defeated, not by the Chinese but by a local man named Lý Phật Tự. The two Trương brothers remained loyal to their king after he was defeated by drinking poison and killing themselves rather than agreeing to serve Lý Phật Tự. Later, in the middle of the tenth century, when King Nam Tấn of the Ngô was going to fight a rebel, Lý Huy, he stopped at the river port by Phù Vạn village. The king dreamed there that two men came and introduced themselves, saying that they had come to assist him. The next day the king attacked Lý Huy, but could not defeat him. Again he saw the two Trương brothers in his dream, this time the two were proceeding up two separate rivers with their troops to attack Lý Huy. When the king awoke, he told his assistants about this, and they followed this plan of attack and were victorious. The king thereupon erected a shrine to each of the brothers, one on each of the two rivers that had been employed in the successful attack.42 From warriors who became spirits and helped put down a local rebel, these spirits of the two Trương brothers were subsequently transformed yet again into spirits who helped fight an invading army. The Departed Spirits records that during the reign of Lý Nhân Tông (r. 1072–1127), the Song dynasty sent an army to invade. Lý Nhân Tông ordered general Lý Thường Kiệt to build stockades along rivers to protect the area. One night while his troops were stationed near one of the above shrines, they heard a voice declaring, The Southern Kingdom’s mountains and rivers are occupied by the Southern Emperor, This is clearly allotted in the celestial writing. How can these rebels come and trespass? Watch as they are completely defeated. 41 42

Here again the Vđult does not cite its source, but the Vđulttb does. The Vđulttb also has Phù Lan instead of Phù Vạn. See Vđulttb, 45a. Vđult, 10b.

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And indeed the Song army was defeated. It is interesting to note, however, that the Arrayed Tales also contains this story, but is more detailed and places it earlier during the reign of Lê Hoàn (r. 980–1005 CE).43 So while it is not clear when the spirits of the Trương brothers uttered these lines, what is evident is that in this story the spirits were lending their support to resist an invading army. This is different from the earlier role they had played in putting down a domestic rebel, as well as from the act which had made them spirits in the first place, their decision to remain loyal to their monarch until death.

An Earth Spirit and Prophecies

This transition in the roles which the spirits of the Trương brothers performed is a phenomenon that they shared with other spirits. The phenomenon appears quite clearly in the case of a spirit known as the Heavenly King of Phù Đổng, or more popularly called Thánh Dóng (Saint Dóng). The earliest information which we have about the Heavenly King of Phù Đổng comes from the Departed Spirits, although some versions of that text cite the Tales of the Extreme Reach of Karmic Retribution/Reward as the source for its account of this spirit. The account of the Heavenly King of Phù Đổng states that this spirit was originally an earth spirit (thổ thần). The text then records that in the past when a certain Thiền (C. Chan; J. Zen) Master Chí Thành built a temple in Phù Đổng village, he placed a tablet for the earth spirit to the right of the temple gate. Later, however, the pagoda fell into disrepair and the local people made use of spirit mediums to contact this spirit. As a result, this site became an “obscene shrine” (dâm tự).44 The Departed Spirits goes on to talk about a time in the early eleventh century when another Thiền master, Đa Bảo, was serving in Phù Đổng village. The text records that Thiền Master Đa Bảo wished to eradicate this spirit, and one day on a big tree in front of the temple a poem magically appeared which stated the following, Whoever can protect the Buddhadharma, Let him stay in the Jetavana Park.45 If it is not our Buddhadharma, Then move away from here in haste. 43 44 45

Lncqlt, 2/25a–26b. Vđult, 15b. Jetavana was the name of a park and monastery in northern India where the Buddha did much of his teaching.

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After seeing this poem, Thiền Master Đa Bảo chanted it every night. One evening after he had done so, he heard a resounding human voice stating, The Buddhadharma is full of compassion. Its potent radiance covers the heavens. I am willing to follow it and accept the precepts And permanently to protect the Jetavana Park. The following day, Thiền Master Đa Bảo set up an altar and made a sacrifice of vegetarian offerings to the spirit.46 It is not clear who Chí Thành was, but Nguyễn Tự Cường has suggested that this perhaps refers to Cảm Thành, the man who founded Kiến Sơ Temple in Phù Đổng village in the ninth century, the same temple where Đa Bảo was based in the early eleventh century.47 Regardless of who exactly Chí Thành was, what is clear from the account of these two men’s actions is that, in keeping with the genre of Buddhist miracle tales, it served the didactic purpose of demonstrating the superiority of the Buddhist religion over the power of local spirits. While Chí Thành’s effort to appease the local earth spirit may have failed in the years after his lifetime, the religion ultimately prevailed, as in the end the local spirit declared its support and protection. This account of the Heavenly King of Phù Đổng in the Departed Spirits then records that another poem appeared on the tree before the temple when the first Lý dynasty emperor, Lý Thái Tổ, came to Kiến Sơ Temple one day to visit Thiền Master Đa Bảo. This poem stated that, The Emperor’s moral virtue illumines All Under Heaven, While the repute of his awe holds down the eight directions. The potent spirit enjoys his benevolence, And for this good treatment its gratitude soars to Heaven. After reading the poem, Lý Thái Tổ granted the spirit the title of Soaring-toHeaven Divine King. The poem thereupon immediately disappeared. Lý Thái Tổ found this to be peculiar and ordered that an image be made and sacrificed to.48

46 47 48

Vđult, 15b–16a. Cuong Tu Nguyen, Zen in Medieval Vietnam: A Study and Translation of the Thiền Uyển Tập Anh (Honolulu: Kuroda Institute and University of Hawaii Press, 1997), 48, 107, 113. Vđult, 16a.

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This account of the Heavenly King of Phù Đổng in the Departed Spirits ends with another story about a mysterious event which Lý Thái Tổ later experienced at Kiến Sơ Temple. During a subsequent visit to the temple, Lý Thái Tổ spent the night and dreamed of a poem which prophesied that the Lý dynasty would last for eight generations of rulers.49 Further, the poem even contained information which made it clear who the final Lý dynasty emperor would be, namely Lý Huệ Tông. Such a prophesy was probably created at the time of the fall of the Lý, rather than shortly after its founding, as a means to justify the rise to power of the subsequent dynasty, the Trần. It was likely created in imitation of a prophecy which reportedly had appeared shortly before Lý Thái Tổ came to power. At that time, lightning supposedly struck a tree in Lý Thái Tổ’s home village, which was in the same area as Phù Đổng, and revealed writing on it. A major monk, Vạn Hạnh, interpreted the poem to mean that the current [Former] Lê dynasty was about to fall and that Lý Thái Tổ was about to establish a dynasty under his own name.50 Hence, it appears that a couple of centuries later, as the Lý was about to fall and be replaced by the Trần in 1225, a new story was created on the same model and the name Đa Bảo substituted for Vạn Hạnh, although these two traditions appear to be referring to the same person. That such a prophecy was created in Phù Đổng village might in turn be related to the fact that this village was rather unstable during that period of transition from the Lý to the Trần. We know this from information recorded in Ngô Sĩ Liên’s fifteenth-century history, the Complete Book of the Historical Records of Đại Việt (Đại Việt sử ký toàn thư). The Complete Book records that in 1218 an order was issued to arrest a hermit (cư sĩ) in Phù Đổng village by the name of Nguyễn Nộn on the account that he had obtained a golden piece of jade but refused to offer it to the monarch. Then in 1219, Trần Tự Khánh, a general for the Lý Dynasty and member of the Trần family which would replace the Lý a few years later, submitted a memorial to the Lý throne requesting that Nguyễn Nộn be allowed to atone for his crime by leading troops to put down an uprising. The monarch, Lý Huệ Tông, assented to this request and dispatched Nguyễn Nộn to lead troops to attack some savages whom Trần Tự Khánh had previously been unable to suppress. However, in 1220 Nguyễn Nộn appears to have taken this permission to assist in suppressing rebels a bit further than the court approved, for in that year he occupied Phù Đổng and declared himself the Hoài Đạo Prince. In doing so he also submitted a formal request to serve the court and asked to put down 49 Ibid. 50 Việt sử lược [Summary of Việt history], (Siku quanshu ed., orig. comp., fourteenth cent.), 2: 1b.

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unrest to atone for his crime. However, Lý Huệ Tông apparently disapproved of these actions, perhaps in particular Nguyễn Nộn’s self-declaration as a prince. The monarch prepared to have an edict delivered to order Nộn to cease, but Lý Huệ Tông became ill and did not carry through with this measure.51 Nộn’s military strength subsequently became formidable, and by the time the Trần came to power in 1225, Nộn controlled a much larger area than Phù Đổng village. In 1228 he defeated another rebel leader and declared himself the Đại Thắng [Great Victory] Prince. He then became ill and died in 1229.52 Nguyễn Nộn constituted a challenge to first Lý and then Trần dynasty rule. The fact that he is recorded to have been a hermit and that he possessed some special object, both suggest a certain degree of charismatic potency. From the perspective of a ruling house, it was wise to bring such power under the court’s authority, and that appears to be exactly what the Trần did, as a fourteenthcentury work known as the Brief Record of Annan (An Nam chí lược) records the following information about a shrine in Phù Đổng village called “Soaringto-Heaven Temple”, In Phù Đổng village, there was internal unrest. Suddenly a person appeared with moral awe. The people all followed him. He thereupon led them to put down the unrest. Having done so, he flew away into the sky. He was called the Soaring-to-Heaven King. The people erected a shrine and made sacrifices to him.53 The Brief Record of Annan was compiled by Lê Tắc, a Vietnamese who submitted to the Yuan Dynasty army during the second Mongol invasion of 1285. This information about the Soaring-to-Heaven Temple should therefore represent the situation immediately prior to that time. What it indicates is that this spirit appears to have been transformed from a local spirit which supported the Buddhist religion to a spirit which put down internal unrest (nội loạn) on behalf of the central court. One can imagine that after Nguyễn Nộn died, the Trần court would have wanted to prevent any other charismatic people from Phù Đổng from emulating him. Therefore, perhaps representatives of the court created a new story about this spirit in order to harness this spirit’s power, just as local Buddhists had done for the Lý dynasty. It is not clear if such a story replaced the earlier stories created by Buddhists. Perhaps for a time they coexisted, as the poem above in which the Heavenly King of Phù Đổng indicated its 51 52 53

Ngô Sĩ Liên, Đại Việt sử ký toàn thư, Bản Kỷ, 4: 30a-b. Ibid., 5: 1a, 5a-b. Lê Tắc, 1: 12a. On the Mongol invasions and Lê Tắc, see Anderson and Sun in this volume.

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support for Lý Thái Tổ while he was visiting Thiền master Đa Bảo suggests a convergence of the interests of the local Buddhist and the court. Ultimately, yet another story was created which did largely replace these earlier tales. Starting at the time of the second Mongol invasion, the Trần added to the Heavenly King of Phù Đổng’s official title on three separate occasions, 1285, 1288 and 1313.54 This was likely related to the support which the spirit was deemed to have offered the Trần court during this period. At perhaps the same time that the court was granting these titles, a new story was created about this spirit, for the Arrayed Tales contains a completely different account of the Heavenly King of Phù Đổng. Entitled the “Tale of the Heavenly King of Phù Đổng,” this account takes place in antiquity during the period when the Hùng kings were said to have ruled over the Red River delta. One of the Hùng kings did not perform the ritual of visiting the Shang Dynasty court in China. The Shang king planned to use the pretext of a royal tour of inspection to invade. When the Hùng king heard this, he summoned his officials and asked for advice. One suggested that he seek the assistance of the Dragon King, a reference to the mythical ruler, Lord Lạc Long. The Hùng king set up an altar and prayed for the Dragon King to appear. He finally did and informed the Hùng king that he must prepare for an attack from “Northern bandits” (Bắc tặc) three years hence. In addition to preparing his soldiers, the Dragon King also stated that the Hùng king must seek out “a remarkable talent who has the ability to crush the bandits” and that this person should be granted a title and a hereditary fief.55 The Hùng king followed the Dragon King’s order and dispatched an emissary to fully search the realm. He arrived at Phù Đổng Village where there was a three-year-old boy who could not speak. He could not even sit up. Upon hearing that the emissary had arrived, his mother jested to the son, “I gave birth to this boy, but all he can do is eat and drink. He cannot fight bandits and thereby receive the court’s reward to repay me breastfeeding him.” Hearing this, the boy angrily exclaimed, “Mother, call the emissary to come!” When the emissary arrived, the boy sat up and said, “Quickly return and report to the king to forge an iron horse, 18 xích tall, a sword, seven xích long, an iron whip, and an iron helmet. I will mount the horse, wear the helmet, and engage in battle. The bandits will surely be frightened and defeated. What need is there for the king to worry?” While the emissary returned to report to the king, the boy ate massive quantities of rice and other food, growing to become a giant. He thereupon led the Hùng king’s army to victory, after which he ascended to Heaven 54 55

Vđult, 16a–16b. Lncqlt, 1: 19a–19b.

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on his horse.56 The “Tale of the Heavenly King of Phù Đổng” concludes by stating that the Hùng king commemorated this boy’s merit by granting him the title of Heavenly King of Phù Đổng and by establishing a shrine on an estate in that village. The text then relates how Lý Thái Tổ later invested him as the Soaring-to-Heaven Divine King and built a temple for him next to Kiến Sơ Temple.57 No mention, however, is made in this text about the interactions between this spirit and the Thiền masters who were resident at that temple. This account in the Arrayed Tales concludes a long process whereby this spirit in Phù Đổng village was repeatedly brought under the authority of the powers that be. From the Thiền Masters Chí Thành and Đa Bảo to Lý Thái Tổ to the Trần court to probably some scholar-officials for the Lê Dynasty in the fifteenth century, this local spirit was made to submit and recognize higher powers. These tales, meanwhile, reflected the perspectives of the people who were suppressing the spirit, as well as the specific context of each time. As such, this spirit in Phù Đổng village went from supporting the Buddhist religion, to suppressing internal unrest, to defending the kingdom from outside invaders. Conclusion Taylor was correct in pointing out how important the spirits were for the rulers of the Lý Dynasty. However, the spirits had been important for many years prior to that and would remain so for many years after the Lý period. Controlling the spirits (and their localities) was simply an extremely important task for rulers throughout the medieval period. In executing this task, Chinese administrators, Buddhist monks, and Vietnamese monarchs and their officials all employed stories. As Dror has noted, these were “anti-folk” tales in that they were created by the elite in order to keep the common people in line. They were also stories which can be difficult to call uniquely “Vietnamese” because they were part of a larger world of elite story-telling about spirits. As part of this larger world, these stories created in the Red River delta shared a great deal with the content and techniques of stories told elsewhere in the Chinese empire. That said, while the techniques employed in these stories, such as the reliance on dreams and prophecies, may have remained the same, gradually the content of these stories became more locally specific. This is what Dror was essentially referring to in arguing that there was a process of historicizing the 56 57

Ibid., 1: 20a–21a. Ibid., 1: 21b.

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spirits in the fifteenth century. What I have sought to demonstrate is that spirits were historicized all through the medieval period. Nonetheless, there was a change in the fifteenth century in the content of this historicization process. At that time Vietnamese scholars invented an antiquity for their land and began to connect spirits to that imagined distant past. While the stories discussed here constitute only a small portion of the total number of existing tales about spirits, I argue that these stories reveal important patterns across time which help us understand how important controlling the spirits was for members of the local elite in the past. Selecting from this broad range of Chinese texts, they forged the identity of their locality and its sense of place. Bibliography Chen Shou 陳壽. Sanguo zhi 三國志 [Treatise on the Three Kingdoms]. Siku quanshu ed. Orig. comp., 297. Dror, Olga. Cult, Culture, and Authority: Princess Liễu Hạnh in Vietnamese History. Honolulu: University of Honolulu Press, 2007. Engelbert, Thomas. “Mythic History: Representations of the Vietnamese Past in the ‘Lĩnh Nam chích quái.’” In Southeast Asian Historiography Unraveling the Myths: Essays in Honor of Barend Jan Terwiel, edited by Volker Grabowsky, 268–75. Bangkok: River Books, 2011. Fang Xuanling 房玄齡. Jinshu 晉書 [History of the Jin]. Siku quanshu ed. Orig. comp., 644–646. Gjertson, Donald E. “The Early Chinese Buddhist Miracle Tale: A Preliminary Survey.” Journal of the American Oriental Society 101.3 (1981): 287–301. Hucker, Charles O. A Dictionary of Official Titles in Imperial China. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1985. Huainan honglie jie 淮南鴻烈集解 [Luminous book of Huainan explained]. Siku quanshu ed. Orig. comp., eleventh century. Kleeman, Terry F. A God’s Own Tale: The Book of Transformations of Wenchang, the Divine Lord of Zitong. Albany: SUNY Press, 1994. Lê Tắc 黎崱. An Nam chí lược 安南志略 [Brief record of An Nan]. Siku quanshu ed. Orig. comp., 1333. Li Daoyuan 酈道元, comp. Shuijing zhu 水經注 [Annotated Classic of Waterways]. Siku quanshu ed. Orig. comp., ca. 515–524. Li Fang 李昉, et al.. Wenyuan yinghua 文苑英華 [Blossoms and flowers from the garden of literature]. Siku quanshu ed. Orig. comp., 986.

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Lĩnh Nam chích quái liệt truyện 嶺南摭怪列傳 [Arrayed tales of selected oddities from South of the Passes]. Orig. 1492 ed. A. 1200. Liu Jingshu 劉敬叔. Yiyuan 異苑 [Garden of marvels]. Siku quanshu ed. Orig. comp., fifth cent. Liu Zongyuan 柳宗元. Liu Hedong ji 柳河東集 [Collected works of Liu Hedong]. Siku quanshu ed. Orig. comp., ninth cent. Ngô Sĩ Liên 吳士連. Đại Việt sử ký toàn thư 大越史記全書 [Complete book of the historical records of Đại Việt], (1697 ed., orig. comp., 1479), A. 3. Nguyen, Cuong Tu. Zen in Medieval Vietnam: A Study and Translation of the Thiền Uyển Tập Anh. Honolulu: Kuroda Institute and University of Hawaii Press, 1997. Nguyễn Quang Hồng, ed. Di văn chùa Dâu: Cổ Châu lục, Cổ Châu hạnh, Cổ Châu nghi [Manuscripts of Dâu temple]. Hanoi: NXB Khoa Học Xã Hội, 1997. Ou Daren 歐大任. Baiyue xianxian zhi 百粵先賢志 [Treatise on the previous worthies of the Hundred Yue]. Siku quanshu ed. Orig. comp., sixteenth century. Tạ Chí Đại Trường, Thần, người và đất Việt [Spirits, people and the land of the Việt]. Westminster: Văn Nghệ, 1989. Taylor, Keith W. “Authority and Legitimacy in 11th Century Vietnam.” In Southeast Asia in the 9th to 14th Centuries, edited by David G. Marr and A.C. Milner, 139–76. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies; Canberra: Research School of Pacific Studies, Australian National University, 1986. ––––––. “Notes on the Việt điện u linh tập.” Vietnam Forum 8 (1986): 26–59. ––––––. The Birth of Vietnam. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983. Trần Quốc Vượng. “The Legend of Ông Dóng from the Text to the Field.” In Essays into Vietnamese Pasts, edited by K.W. Taylor and John K. Whitmore, 13–41. Ithaca, NY: Southeast Asia Program, Cornell University, 1995. Việt điện u linh tập 粵甸幽靈集 [Collection of the Departed Spirits from the Việt Realm]. n.d. A. 47. Việt điện u linh tập lục toàn biên 粵甸幽靈集錄全編 [Complete Compilation of the Collected Records of the Departed Spirits from the Việt Realm]. n.d. A. 751. Việt sử lược 越史略 [Summary of Việt history]. Siku quanshu ed. Orig. comp., fourteenth cent. Zürcher, Eric. The Buddhist Conquest of China. Leiden: Brill, 1972.

Chapter 3

Man and Mongols: the Dali and Đại Việt Kingdoms in the Face of the Northern Invasions James A. Anderson

天王號今速如雷, 百里長城四合圍; 龍尾關前兒作戲, 虎貴陣上象驚威. 開疆弧失無人敵, 空壁蠻酋何處歸; 南詔江山今我有, 新民日月再光輝.1

“Imperial orders today spread like thunder, encircling the lands protected by the Great Wall. At Dragon’s Tail Pass the day before yesterday I wrote this verse, seeing the legions of brave troops awed by our might.” “We have opened new territories with little resistance from our foes. Will the barbarian chiefs return to these empty ramparts? Today I possess the mountains and rivers of the Nanzhao (Dali) kingdom. The lives of my new subjects will again shine in radiance.”

∵ Introduction Dissimilar political cultures contributed significantly to both the dissolution of the Dali kingdom (937–1253) and the survival of the Đại Việt (1225–1400) realm during the 13th-century Mongol conquest of the Man (southern barbarians) in modern-day southwest China. Differing frontier policies contributed significantly to the distinct results for these two realms. While the Dali kingdom engaged occasionally with the Song court, its leadership was mostly concerned with managing a coalition of regional chiefdoms in the manner of a Southeast Asian mandala state. In 971, the Dali leadership and representatives of thirtyseven local tribes from what is now eastern Yunnan met at Shicheng (modernday Qujing) to form an alliance, which structured Dali’s frontier politics until the kingdom’s fall in 1253. Yet few of these leaders outside the former Dali court

1 Liu Chenzhong “Zang Chun Ji” juan 1. Cited in Li, Tianming. History of the Song-Mongol War (Song Yuan zhan shi). (Taipei: Shihuo, 1988), 645.

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would resist the dissolution of these alliances by the new Mongol-appointed overlords. In contrast, the neighboring Ðại Việt kingdom under Trần leadership, although most certainly a Southeast Asian “classical state” in Michael Aungthwin’s terminology,2 had adopted various administrative “best practices” from northern (Chinese) regimes, and so Ðại Việt’s frontier clan leaders received titles and ever increasing administrative responsibilities within a political order centered on the court at Thăng Long (modern-day Hà Nội). Consequently, these leaders would remain loyal to the Trần court when it faced the invasions from the Mongol armies. The survival of the Trần in this period would owe a great deal to the participation of its frontier allies. In some ways the Dali and Ðại Việt kingdoms were similar politically. Each depended on clansmen for significant leadership positions, and each faced internecine political conflict at times. Yet, it is the differences in the political orders established by these two kingdoms that should be at the center of any comparison between them, and such differences may only be measured in degrees. The main difference is fundamentally one of upland “mandala state” (Dali) as opposed to lowland “mandala overlord”3 in the process of developing into lowland dynastic state (Ðại Việt). The late O.W. Wolters highlighted the concept of mandala state-building in pre-modern Southeast Asia, and the idea has captivated other researchers in more recent times.4 James Scott in his most recent work, The Art of Not Being Governed: an Anarchist History of Upland Southeast Asia, defines mandala states as “state spaces,” which were “less engines of military conquest than cultural spaces available to all those who wished to conform to their religious, linguistic and cultural formats, whatever their origin.”5 Such states were generally centered on lowland regions with the natural resources and manual labor population required to sustain a core political elite, but there were severe limitations on the extent to which such

2 Michael Aung-Thwin, “The ‘Classical’ in Southeast Asia: The Present in the Past,” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies Vol. 26, No. 1, ‘Perspectives on Southeast Asian Studies’ (Mar., 1995): 75–91. 3 I have borrowed the term “mandala overlord (Mandara kenryokuマンダラ権力)” from Momoki Shiro (who quotes Wolters) in his description of the Lý in “Military Actions and Control of Local Powers in Vietnam under the Lý Dynasty (桃木, 至朗, ヴェトナム李朝の 軍事行動と地方支配.” in Southeast Asian Studies 東南アジア研究 (1987), 24(4): 403. 4 For Wolters’s work on the subject, see O.W. Wolters. History, Culture, and Region in Southeast Asian Perspectives. Rev. ed. (Ithaca, NY: Southeast Asia Program Pub, 1999), 27–40. 5 James C. Scott. The Art of Not Being Governed: An Anarchist History of Upland Southeast Asia. (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009), 28.

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states could easily expand and on the ability of such states to foster strong political allegiances. The land-locked nature of the Dali kingdom marked a sharp contrast with Đại Việt. Researchers such as F.K. Lehman have placed the limit on growth for inland mandala states at no larger than approximately 240 kilometers (150 miles) in diameter, generally not exceeding the distance one could travel on foot in about four days’ time.6 Rugged terrain and lack of convenient communication links were the cause for these limitations, and these factors affected all aspects of political administration. However, water transport vastly expanded the reach of premodern states,7 and kingdoms with access to riverine transport could expand their reach and influences through the movement of goods and armies. Southeast Asian states, such as Ðại Việt, with coastal access to maritime links were positioned for even greater influence. The Dali kingdom, on the other hand, being landlocked with no access to the sea, had to rely on difficult riverine links fostered by intermediaries, mostly among the mountain valley Tai-speaking native settlements (dong) in the small riverine plains to the southwest, south and southeast of the kingdom. To maintain political control within the Southeast Asian region, Scott and other researchers have singled out certain factors, most important of which appear to be the ready manpower and land required for wet-rice agriculture. With these two elements available to an ambitious leadership, centralization of political power was much more easily facilitated, and successful states were often located in lowland areas with the proper population density and nearby lands for cultivation. Yet, this particular arrangement was not necessary. The existence of wet-rice cultivation invariably predates attempts at state-building in certain regions. A would-be ruler needed only attract the support of wet-rice cultivating communities to gain access to these resources in exchange for the benefits of political alliance, including military protection, prestige for local elites, etc. An alliance of “wet-rice archipelagos,”8 as Scott terms it, along dominant trade routes would have been a common arrangement across the political landscape of the Dong world, southwest China and northern mainland Southeast Asia in the premodern period.

6

F.K. Lehman (Chit Hlaing), “Burma: Kayah Society as a Function of the Shan-BurmaKaren Context,” in Contemporary Change in Traditional Society. Volume II: Asian Rural Societies, Ed. Julian Steward (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1967), 13. Cited in Scott, The Art of Not Being Governed, 44. 7 Scott, The Art of Not Being Governed, 44–45. 8 Scott, The Art of Not Being Governed, 36.

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As quickly as these alliances could be formed, however, such arrangements would be tested, challenged, and even dissolved with shifting contacts among communities at the local level. As Scott notes, “The states of Southeast Asia lurched from solicitous measures designed to attract subjects to those designed to capture them and extract as much grain and labor as possible.” Under such conditions, villagers could either acquiesce to state demands or distance themselves from its reach. Fleeing, they could find haven in the highland region Scott and others have named “Zomia,” an area of southwest China, mainland Southeast Asia, and a wide section of eastern South Asia (our Dong world) that lay between the imperial orders of the premodern age.9 The heart of the Dali kingdom may have been located in Scott’s Zomia, but Dali followed the earlier state-building example of the Nanzhao kingdom, which had contested the Tang to its east and the Tibetan Turfan to its northwest for regional domination. The Nanzhao leadership famously attempted to invade nearby Annan (now northern Vietnam), but was eventually driven back by the Tang counterattack led by Gao Pian (see Kelley in this volume). Simultaneously, the Nanzhao leadership fostered an alliance with its Tibetan neighbor, as well as with a number of local chieftains on their eastern frontier.10 Locally powerful leaders collectively referred to as the Cuan were in this period divided and forcibly relocated to sweep away credible local challengers to Nanzhao. Concerns about the latter’s growing local influence prompted the Tang court to become more deeply involved with halting Nanzhao’s territorial advances toward Annan.

A Comparison of Dali and Ðại Việt Political Structure and Frontier Management

The subsequent Dali Kingdom, founded by ethnically Bai local chieftains, left local elite, such as the remaining Cuan clan leaders, in place to secure their loyalty. The modern Chinese scholar Fang Tie argues that, at all levels of the Dali kingdom, the ruling elite relied on the Bai leading clans to maintain their control, and their pragmatic approach was to grant the Duan, Gao, Yang and

9 Scott, The Art of Not Being Governed, 13–14. 10 James Anderson. The Rebel Den of Nùng Trí Cao: Loyalty and Identity Along the SinoVietnamese Frontier. (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2007), 38; also see Kelley in this volume.

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Dong clans, among others, hereditary fiefdoms and titles.11 Semi-autonomous militarized administrative units of various sizes (commanderies jun, prefectures fu and military prefectures zhen) were then established in the Dali kingdom’s territory. With the rise of Dali, the local elites of the new Shicheng Commandery (or modern-day Qujing) received particular attention from the new central court. The emergence of the Yongzhou Dao trade route east into modern-day southern Guangxi led local elites from the region of Shicheng called “the thirty-seven tribes” once again to take part in trading activities.12 In 971, one of the Dali founders, Duan Sushun and representatives of these local elites met at Shicheng to form an alliance. The evidence we have today of the Dali kingdom’s efforts to forge a new state based on regional alliances is the stele (currently preserved in a public park in modern-day Qujing) known as “The Dali Monument to the League of Thirty-seven Tribes (sanshiqi bu huimeng bei).” This stele describes how, having defeated earlier rebellions throughout the region, Duan Zibiao and Duan Yanzhen assembled the local clan leaders and conferred official seals to enhance each leader’s status and to make public the court’s appreciation for their assistance in quelling the rebellion (or at least for not joining the opposition). During the ceremony early that spring, gold and cinnabar were awarded each chieftain, symbolizing the sincerity of the court and the longevity of the agreements made. The Dali kingdom’s overall military strength would depend on this alliance with these local elites. The Chinese scholar Duan Yuming argues that, from the few sources available to us on Dali’s military organization, it is clear that Dali’s armies were the same as the Nanzhao forces, divided into the three categories of standing army, township-based peasant-soldiers, and local militia conscripted from surrounding indigenous communities.13 The strength of the Dali state was heavily dependent on this initial arrangement, and Mongol challenges to the state would quickly cause the unraveling of the alliance. The Dali kingdom’s weaknesses in the face of the Mongol advances may be contributed to these factors, some shared by the Đại Việt kingdom under the Trần. However, the Vietnamese kingdom was structured around a very different political order than the Dali kingdom. Described as one of the “charter” 11

12 13

Fang Tie, “Dali guo de minzu zhidi he duiwai zhengce (National Policies and External Policies in the Kingdom of Dali)” in Baizu wenhua yanjiu 2003 (Bai Cultural Studies, 2003) Vol. 4. (Beijing: Minzu, 2004), 154. Qujing Municipal Historical Committee (Qujing shi Zhengxie Wenshi wei). Qujing Wenshi Ziliao (Materials on the History of Qujing) Vol. 1. (Qujing, Yunnan: Qujing Ribao, 2003), 2–3. Duan Yuming, “Dali guozhun zhidu kaolüe (A Study of the Dali Kingdom’s Military Organization)” Yunnan Minzu Xueyuan Xuebao 4 (1995), 34.

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states of mainland Southeast Asia by Victor Lieberman, the Vietnamese kingdom had since the mid-10th century grown in population, cultivated increasing acreage in the lowlands across the Red River delta, and incorporated the labor of a larger portion of the surrounding populace.14 While the more fluid mandala state of the Dali kingdom never achieved the conditions necessary for a transition to a new political order, the Đại Việt kingdom progressed from its founding until the era of its confrontations with the Mongols through a period of state-building shared by the other Classical Era (800 CE–1200 CE) Southeast Asian states.15 As Lieberman writes, “Through conquest, patronage and expanding religious networks, Angkor, Pagan, and Đại Việt (and less dramatically, Champa) each yoked together a medley of smaller realms and dispersed population clusters in a moment that Herman Kulke terms the transition from regional to imperial states.”16 Yet, by the time of the late 13th-century Mongol attacks, one should not assume that a Confucian-influenced state modeled on northern regimes was fully in place in Đại Việt. Through the Lý period (1009– 1225), the Vietnamese central court had only maintained its standing army in semi-independent locations within the Red River delta, and the region’s widespread land-flood control and irrigation projects had yet to be achieved.17 An example of Vietnamese royal court-frontier relations comes from an 1107 inscription in the highland territory north of the Red River delta. This inscription lays out the ways in which the Hà chieftains of Vi Long became linked to the Lý court in Thăng Long. Placed within the Buddhist matrix of the royal court, these mountain chieftains “deserved,” it stated, to serve this court in “the distant wilds,” protecting the frontier. Given high office and intermarrying with the royal family, the Hà participated in the aristocratic order of the Lý court. 14

Victor B. Lieberman. Strange Parallels: Southeast Asia in Global Context, C 800–1830. Studies in comparative world history. Volume Two. (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 16–17. 15 Lieberman terms this period of change the “Charter Era (c.850 CE- ca.1350 CE).” 16 Lieberman, Strange Parallels, 15; Hermann Kulke, ”The Early and the Imperial Kingdom in Southeast Asian History,” in D.G. Marr & A.C. Milner, Southeast Asia in the 9th to 14th Centuries (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 1986), 1–22. 17 Higiri Masumi, “Research on the Asiatic mode of production theory” (Ajia-teki seisan yōshiki-ron kenkyū nitsuite) in The Role of International and Area Studies in Japan (Nihon no kokusaika to chiiki kenkyū no yakuwari). (Tokyo: Tōkyō Gaikokugo Daigaku Kaigai Jijō Kenkyūjo, 1983). See also Momoki Shiro, “Achievements and Challenges in Japan in the Study of Pre-Modern Vietnamese History – the period of independent dynastic rule (Nippon niokeru Betonamu zen kindai-shi kenkyū no seika to kadai – dokuritsu ōchō-ki no jidai kubun womegutte)” in For a New History (Atarashii rekishi-gaku no tame ni) (1984), 175.

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Spanning the frontier and linked to Yongzhou (now Nanning in Guangxi), they ruled 49 dong and aided in the 1070s border war with the Song, presenting their captives to the Vietnamese throne. In all this, the Hà were honored, thrived, and prospered.18 Through such marriage alliances, the patronage of individual frontier chieftains like the Hà, and the occasional military expedition led by various imperial princes, the Lý, and later the Trần, courts pulled the upland communities of this frontier region into service to the state through tribute, labor, and militia recruitment. As John Whitmore notes, the Tang empire had exercised some local control in the Sino-Vietnamese frontier, but this order had fragmented with the end of the Tang.19 It took Đại Việt some time to reassert lowland political influence in the region. The administrative titles for these regions changed through the Lý-Trần period, but the independent nature of their control stayed largely the same. The Lý court abandoned the Tang-style administrative units employed by the Đinh and Lê courts to adopt a Song-style administration, dividing the provinces (đạo) into smaller military districts (lộ). Under emperor Lý Huệ Tông ( r. 1211– 1225) the total number of lộ was eventually extended to twenty-four in 1222, with each under a native district commander (phủ lộ tư ).20 This militarization of frontier administration had the effect of rewarding loyalty to the lowland court in times of unrest and of limiting local disturbances in times of peace. In 1075 Lý Thường Kiệt (1019–1105) had preempted the Song attack by leading an army composed of both Kinh Vietnamese and upland peoples, most notably the Tai-speaking Nùng clans.21 After the fighting, the Vietnamese conferred more titles and honors on the leaders of the Tai and other groups who had fought the Song, as the 1107 inscription indicated. Where the region of western Guangxi and eastern Yunnan remained just outside the control of the surrounding authorities serving the Song and Dali on their respective frontiers, the lowland-centered Đại Việt kingdom was not located in the midst of a “Zomian” area of political refuge. By the late 11th century, peripheral communities 18 19

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Phan Văn Các and Claudine Salmon, Epigraphie en Chinoise du Viet Nam. Vol. 1 (Paris: École Française d’Extrême Orient; Hanoi: Viện Nghiên cứu Hán Nôm, 1998). #12. John K. Whitmore, “Colliding Peoples: Tai/Viet Interactions in the 14th and 15th Centuries” unpublished conference paper, Association of Asian Studies Annual Meeting, San Diego, CA, 2000, 1. Ngô Sĩ Liên. Đại việt sử ký toàn thư – Bản in nội các quan bản – Mộc bản khắc năm chính hòa thứ 18 (1697). (hereafter TT) (Hà Noi: Nhà Xuat Bản Khoa Học Xã Hôi, 1993). Bản Kỷ, 2:31a. The Vietnamese Nom Foundation (Cary, NC) URL: http://www.nomna.org/DVSKTT/ dvsktt.php?IDcat=36 (Accessed July 20, 2012). Also cited in Henri Maspero. “Etudes d’histoire d’Annam.” in Bulletin de l’Ecole française d’Extrême-Orient 16 (1916), 41. See Anderson, The Rebel Den of Nùng Trí Cao.

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along its northern frontier were close to the political center and expected to serve the interests of the Vietnamese royal court. Situating these outlying regions in the Lý and Trần administrative order, the leaders of the Đại Việt state by the early 13th century, at the latest, employed the “military prefecture (phủ)” as the basic administrative unit.22 Prior to this period the Vietnamese central authorities had applied the term châu for both lowland and upland administrative units, although the upland elites likely accepted the administrative titles thử sứ and tri châu for their honorific value as status enhancers. In the Lý and Trần administrative orders, a “châu” could describe three different kinds of boundaries: (1) an upland district, usually governed by hereditary chieftains (Tai or Mường), who, following the customs of the Tang-style “bridled and haltered (jimi)” system, accepted the titles mục and thủ lịnh (designating slightly lesser status) from the Vietnamese court, but ruling largely autonomously; (2) an upland district, similar to the first, but, due to the political fragmentation of the territory or the weakness of the surrounding clan leaders, administered by a court-appointed lowland official (tri châu), who had under his direct command a group of hereditary chiefs as his thủ lịnh; and (3) a lowland district, ranked similarly to a “county (huyện)” led by a prefect (tri châu).23 The Lý and Trần courts, while adopting titles from the Song system of frontier administration, ruled at less of a distance from their upland subjects.24 Vietnamese rulers would at times attempt to influence the neighboring chieftains directly, while marriage alliances between local rulers and princesses from the Lý and Trần royal houses helped bind these upland areas more closely to the central court. This direct contact with local leaders extended across the Sino-Vietnamese frontier For example, the native Tai-speaking chieftain of the Song empire’s Simingzhou jimi prefecture Huang Bing (Hoàng Bỉnh) maintained extensive contact with Đại Việt, and his daughters all married into the Lý ruling family. Moreover, male members on both sides of Huang Bing’s family received official positions within the Đại Việt court.25 Meanwhile, the administrative regions established north of the Red River delta were intended to 22 23

Maspero, “Etudes d’histoire d’Annam,” 41. Maspero, “Etudes d’histoire d’Annam,” 37. Maspero notes that by the middle of the twelfth century the second kind of collective châu appears from the sources to have been renamed trấn 鎮. 24 Anderson. The Rebel Den of Nùng Trí Cao, 30. 25 Li Zengbo, “Memorial on Instruments of Frontier Management (tiao ju bian shi zou 條具 邊事奏)” in Ke Zhai Za Gao Yi Xu Gao. Cited in Zhang Jinlian, “A Trial Probe into Roads for Transportation in the Song Dynasty and Annam” in Dongnanya Zongku (Around Southeast Asia) 2005 (10): 66.

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contain the local leaders of the Tai-speaking communities that spanned the Sino-Vietnamese frontier. As the French colonial era scholar Henri Maspero argued, the three military prefectures (phủ) of this region, Bắc Giang, Phú Lương, and Đại Thông corresponded with divisions in Tai-speaking clans inhabiting the area.26 Bắc Giang prefecture was the territory long inhabited by the Tai-speaking alliance led by the Huang clan stretching from modern-day Lạng Sơn to the shores of the Tongking Gulf. Phú Lương prefecture consisted of the communities of White Tai (Thái Trắng) between the Red and Lô Rivers and in the region of Thái Nguyên, and Đại Thông prefecture comprised the Taispeaking communities of Black Tai (Thái Đen) and Black Mường in the area of the Black River and the Ba Vì mountains (to the west of modern-day Hà Nội). Maspero noted that there was as well Thanh Hoá prefecture, which to the south bordered Diễn Châu and Nghệ An and to the west the Tai-speaking communities on the frontier of the Ai Lao kingdom.27 An element of tighter frontier control implemented by the Trần court resulted from late Lý weakness. By the end of the twelth century, court mismanagement of the local economy had caused widespread starvation, which in turn generated social unrest. This unrest eventually spread to the upland regions of the kingdom. In 1207, local disturbances broke out among communities around Tản Viên mountain in Quảng Oai (modern-day Ba Vì district west of Hà Nội), where the residents were reported to be raiding surrounding communities. This unrest continued unabated for some time. In late 1218 the renowned Lý general Trần Tự Khánh (d. 1223) led an official expedition against the indigenous inhabitants of Quảng Oai, but the expedition failed to quell the local unrest.28 The following summer, Tự Khánh proposed to the court of Lý Huệ Tông (r.1211- 1224) that Nguyễn Nộn (d.1229), whom Tự Khánh had earlier imprisoned during the court’s factional infighting, be sent to quell the unrest in Quảng Oai, and the expedition was launched later that year.29 Although the latter years of his life are contested in the extant sources, the Complete Book account contends that Nguyễn Nộn established himself as a military presence in the modern-day Bắc Giang region and that his personal control ended with his death in the spring of 1229. When the Trần founders came to power in 1225, the frontier situation remained in the hands of such powerful local leaders, and these were the forces the court needed to co-opt to gain an administrative foothold in the region. 26 27 28 29

Maspero. “Etudes d’histoire d’Annam,” 40. Maspero. “Etudes d’histoire d’Annam,” 40. TT, Bản Kỷ, 2, 30a. TT, Bản Kỷ, 2, 30b. Also see Kelley in this volume.

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The Trần rulers adopted many practices of Chinese rulers, including a strict primogeniture in succession and patrilineal clan structure. As noted above, the Vietnamese leadership sought to incorporate outlying territories and their inhabitants into its political order in a more direct fashion. In addition, the Lý rulers had earlier embarked on a program to create strong and mutually beneficial relations with their neighbors through economic interdependence. The upland peoples collected most of the forest products that the Lý rulers not only used extensively themselves, but also sent as tribute items to the Song court or sold to South Asian and Malay traders. The Vietnamese wanted such products as sandalwood and other ingredients for incense, camphor and other medicines, skins and feathers, and various handicraft items. The Tai of the upland valley communities (dong) and the highland tribes wanted salt, fish products, and finished metal tools and weapons. The strong lowland political core, coupled with direct and growing bonds of economic interdependence between the lowland communities and the upland peoples, resulted in a more cohesive polity that was able to foster a sense of group identity in difficult times. However, one should not assume that the system in place at the time of the Mongol advances in the region mirrored the more tightly structured bureaucracy in place in the Chinese regimes. As Momoki Shiro argues, with the concentration of power during the early Trần dynasty, administration of the frontier military prefectures was divided among powerful local clans, aristocratic elite, and members of the imperial household, rather than evolving into a Chinese-style bureaucratic state system with court-appointed local officials in charge.30 An example of the personal touch used by the Trần court to manage highland chiefs took place in 1280. The prince in charge of the Black River region entered a highland chief’s camp alone and, speaking the local language, ate with him following local custom. This act defused a tense frontier situation just as the Mongol threat hovered over Thăng Long.31

Crisis and Renewal during the Mongol Attacks

The rapid Mongol expansion and military conquest of much of Eurasia in the mid-13th century was precisely the challenge that tested the political stability of both large and small states across the entire region. More often than not, encounters with the Mongol forces resulted in the collapse and disintegration 30 31

Momoki, “Military Actions and Control of Local Powers in Vietnam under the Lý Dynasty”, 404. TT, Bản Kỷ, 5: 40a-b.

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of these polities, but total defeat was not always the outcome. In the examples we are following, Đại Việt prevailed under these conditions and the Dali kingdom did not. We begin with the Mongol attack on southwestern China. Two years after ascending to the throne as kaghan (Great Khan) in 1251, Borjigin Möngke (1208 – 1259) chose his brother Khubilai Khan (1215–1294) to develop an attack strategy to the south, avoiding the Song Army’s main line of defense. Khubilai and his advisers soon announced a plan to attack and defeat the Dali kingdom, thereby bringing men and material resources through the southwest to encircle Song defenses prior to an all-out invasion of the Chinese empire. Mongol forces had sought to attack Dali in 1248, in part from routes that passed through the neighboring Tibet (Tufan) after that kingdom had surrendered to Möngke’s armies, but Song forces based in Sichuan had driven back this attempted invasion.32 In the autumn of 1253, Khubilai ordered one of his generals, Uriyangqadai (1202–1272), eldest son of Chinggis Khan’s leading general Subetai (1176–1248), to assemble an army of 100,000 men in the region of modern-day Henan. The summer of the following year the forces under Uriyangqadai were assembled in Lintao (in present-day northwest Shanxi) for military training.33 At the same time, a second Mongol military commander, Wang Dechen (1222–1259), arrived from Jiading (modern-day Leshan in Sichuan province) to join Khubilai’s forces. That September, Khubilai assembled his conscripted army in Shanxi and launched a three-pronged attack on Dali. Uriyangqadai’s forces took a westerly route across Sichuan’s Hongyuan-Ruoergai grasslands along the eastern end of the Tibetan Plateau. A second force led by Uriyangqadai’s son Aju (1227–1287) together with Wang’s forces, as well as soldiers from the defeated Jurchen Jin kingdom, passed east through Tuocheng (modern-day Hanyuan in Sichuan), crossing the Dadu River, and then south along the ancient Qingxi Road. Khubilai’s army took a more central route from Shanxi and traveled south over 600 miles to arrive in Dali by way of the Jinsha River, headwaters of the Yangzi River. Before leaving Lintao, Khubilai, in standard Mongol fashion, sent an emissary to the Dali court to demand that its leadership surrender prior to the outbreak of fighting. The Dali ruler Duan Xingzhi (r. 1251–1253) refused to negotiate, and his prime minister Gao Xiang (d. 1253) had the Mongol envoys executed.34 Scholars have argued that court affairs were at this point largely in the 32

Li, Tianming. History of the Song-Mongol War (Song Yuan zhan shi). (Taipei: Shihuo, 1988), 640. 33 Morris Rossabi. Khubilai Khan: His Life and Times. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988), 24. 34 Rossabi, Khubilai Khan, 25.

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hands of the ethnic Bai clan leaders Gao Xiang and his brother Gao He, and that Duan Xingzhi may have had little control over this self-defeating response to the Mongol request.35 Instead, the Dali military shored up its defenses along the Jinsha River, stationing the forces of General You Qian in the high mountain passes through which the Mongol army would be forced to pass when arriving from Sichuan. In late autumn 1253, Uriyangqadai again sent an envoy delegation to the Dali court to negotiate their surrender, once more unsuccessfully. When the delegation arrived at the native Bai-led Daguo Garrison (Daguo zhai), the local commander surrendered, while his nephew refused to do so and barricaded himself inside the garrison. In the course of the fighting, the garrison was destroyed and the nephew was killed, but the resistance movement did not spread among the local community.36 Local conflicts continued in this manner, with some native chieftains and their supporters submitting to the Mongol armies, while others continued to resist. The Yuanshi account also noted that Uriyangqadai’s forces attacked all local leaders who failed to ally themselves with the Mongol campaign.37 In early December, the Dali standing army and Mongol forces engaged in their first confrontation. The Mongols under Uriyangqadai assembled across the Jinsha River from the Dali army near Zhongdian. Confronted with the Mongol armies’ crossing the Jinsha River, the local Mosuo chieftain submitted his forces to Mongol control.38 In an important strategic move, Khubilai ordered the further conscription of militia from nearby tribes (most likely ethnically Naxi and Mosuo) in present-day Lijiang to create a lateral force for the attack on Dali’s main force. Khubilai’s chief assistant and military adviser Bayan (Boyan) (1236–1295) then launched a daring nighttime crossing of the Jinsha River on inflated rafts made of sheepskin to catch the Dali commander Gao Taixiang’s army off guard.39 This attack left Gao and his subordinates in a precarious situation, and they hastily retreated to the Dali capital near Erhai Lake. Khubilai’s central group of Mongol forces was able to continue south to subdue the territories of first Jianchuan and then Langong (modern-day Eryuan), 35

Zhang Xilu, “Yuan shizu hu bi lie mie dali guoshi shi kao (An Historical Re-examination of Khubilai Khan’s Overthrow of the Dali Kingdom),” Journal of Dali University 5, 3 (March 2006): 7. 36 Xia Guangnan, Yuandai Yunnan shi di congkao (History and Geography of Yuan Period Yunnan) (Shanghai: Zhonghua, 1935), 108. See also Song Lian. Yuanshi (History of the Yuan) (hereafter Yuanshi) (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1976) 4: 59. 37 Zhang Xilu, “Yuan shizu hu bi lie mie dali guoshi shi kao,” 5. 38 Li, Song Yuan zhan shi, 643. 39 Rossabi, Khubilai Khan, 25

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both located slightly northwest of Erhai Lake.40 These territories both submitted (neifu) to Mongol control and may also have contributed local troops to the conquering army. The eastern group crossed the Jinsha River and joined forces with the western group to work together to attack Dali’s main army with the intention of completely annihilating Dali. Khubilai’s combined forces achieved victory and occupied the Dali capital on December 15 without mass destruction and death when he was able to have an agreement forged between his assistant Yao Shu and the Dali court. Duan Xingzhi and Gao Xiang both fled, but Gao was soon captured and beheaded for his role in killing the Mongol envoys.41 Duan fled to Shanchan (the Dali military prefecture with control over the modern-day Kunming region), where he found allies among those clan leaders who resided on or near the Song frontier.42 This residual force continued to resist the Mongol advance for two years until Shanchan was conquered and the former Dali ruler captured. In autumn 1255, Uriyangqadai seized the Shanchan garrison at modern-day Kunming, taking Duan Xingzhi prisoner and causing Duan’s vanguard of 20,000 soldiers to surrender unconditionally. The entire Dali region was now under Mongol control, and it was with the help of certain indigenous groups that Khubilai Khan’s forces were able to achieve their victory. John Herman notes that most of the local elite who elected to serve the Mongols had not held positions of authority within the Dali political order.43 The Mongol invasion of Yunnan brought in a Mongol overseer to supervise the leadership of Duan Xingzhi and the conquered Dali court.44 Bin Yang notes that the Duan clan was recruited to assist with the further invasions of the Burmese kingdom of Pagan (1044–1287) and the initially successful attack on the Trần in Ðại Việt.45 The Mongols established commanderies throughout the formerly autonomous kingdom and displaced the overarching authority of the Duan. Still space

40

Shi Jianjun, “Hu bi lie zheng dali luxian xin kao (New Textual Research on the March Route Taken by Kublai Khan on his Expedition Against the Dali Kingdom),” in Zhongguo lishi dili luncong (Journal of Chinese Historical Geography) 24, 1 (January 2009): 150. 41 Rossabi, Khubilai Khan, 25 42 In his book, John Herman named these groups as the Azhe (the Luodian kingdom), Awang­ren (the Ziqi kingdom), Bole, Chele, Wumeng, Mangbu, and Wusa clans. See John E. Herman, Amid the Clouds and Mist: China’s Colonization of Guizhou, 1200–1700. (Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Asia Center, 2007), 48. 43 Ibid. 44 Grousset, René. The Empire of the Steppes: A History of Central Asia. (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 1970), 284. Also see Brose in this volume. 45 Yang, Between Winds and Clouds, 93–94. Also see Sun in this volume.

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remained for local self-rule. The leadership of the Ziqi kingdom would continue their resistance until the kingdom’s conquest in 1260. Khubilai and his generals quickly adopted a general policy of leniency toward the conquered population in the capital to appease the people, achieve stability, bring order, and reduce support for remaining Dali resistance in the vicinity. Although the Mongols may have secured the Duan clan’s service through conquest, there were many local leaders who still resisted their advance.46 Khubilai named Uriyangqadai governor of the entire region, and the Mongol general was soon actively seeking allies among the various upland chieftains of the territory (now named Yunnan) to secure final victory for the Mongols. The stele “Khubilai Khan’s Pacification of Yunnan (Shizu ping Yunnan bei),” raised in the aftermath of the campaign, spelled out the Mongol army’s attention to ethnic differences among those who supported and those who resisted the Mongol advance, stating, Soon after seizing Shanchan, Uriyangqadai received the Dali ruler Duan Xingzhi’s offer of surrender. Uriyangqadai made it clear that the former Dali ruler would not be killed. The Yuan army then advanced into the tribal areas to subdue the Thirty-seven clans of the Wuman47 (Wuman buluo sanshiqi), those upland dong settlements of eastern Yunnan that were allied with the Dali leadership. With tribal assistance from these conquered peoples, Uriyangqadai’s forces attacked Jiaozhi (Ðại Việt), capturing its capital (Thăng Long) and taking control of the Temo District’s 36 mountain valley dong (Temo xidong sanshiliu), the lands of the ’Gold Teeth (Jinchi),’ the Bai, the Yi, the ‘Luo spirits (Luo gui) (i.e. Wuman elite of Luodian),’ and the various native tribes of Myanmar – all in succession were brought under Mongol rule.48 Three decades before the threat of Mongol invasion became a concern for the Vietnamese court, serious challenges to the political order had come from within. When the final male ruler of the Lý dynasty, Huệ Tông, died and left no son, his daughter Lý Chiêu Hoàng took charge of state affairs. Acting through her husband who was his nephew49, Trần Thủ Độ (1194–1264) took control of 46 Herman, Amid the Clouds and Mist, 48. 47 John Herman identifies the Wuman collectively as the Nasu Yi ethnic group. 48 Zhang Xilu, “An Historical Re-examination of Khubilai Khan’s Overthrow of the Dali Kingdom,” 6. 49 In the Songshi account, Trần Canh (Trần Thái Tông, 1218–77) is described as Trần Thủ Độ’s son-in-law. Vietnamese accounts more accurately described Trần Canh as his nephew.

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court affairs, and in 1225, after eliminating the remaining Lý clan members vying for the throne, Thủ Độ set the political foundation for the new Trần Dynasty.50 In early 1242, the Song emperor Lizong (1205 – 1264) sent an edict to the new “Prince of the State of Annan (Annan guowang),” Trần Thái Tông (1218– 1277 ), ordering that the honorific title “Successful Official Who Follows the Example of Loyalty and Obedience and Guards the Symbols of Authority,” originally granted to the Lý dynastic rulers, should have two additional characters “Preserves Propriety (shouyi)”.51 In the summer of 1258, Lizong sent out an edict declaring that the unorthodox dynastic change at the Trần court, in which Trần Thái Tông appointed his son Trần Hoảng (1240–1290) emperor as Trần Thánh Tông and promptly “retired” as “senior emperor,” was unfathomable and that the Sino-Vietnamese frontier region should be readied militarily. However, the Song presented no further inquiries regarding the abrupt transfer of power that had occurred in Ðại Việt. There were more pressing issues to attend to with the Mongols’ southern advances. Following the conquest of the Dali kingdom, the Mongol forces turned their attention to Ðại Việt and the surrounding region, launching attacks on the kingdom on three occasions; in 1257–1258, 1284–1285, and 1287–1288. It is important to note here the use of former Dali forces in these southern campaigns, even in the little-discussed first campaign. The final ruler of Dali, now a Mongol puppet official, Duan Xingzhi ordered his younger brothers Xin Zhiri (nd.) and Xin Yifu (nd.) to assemble a Cuan and Bo indigenous militia army of twenty thousand men to serve as the vanguard force for the eventual Mongol assault on the Song. The Yuanshi account notes that Xin Zhiri had the surname Duan, yet his family had long served the powerful Gao clan. Those indigenous militia units not joining Uriyangqadai in his attack on the Song’s southern frontier were ordered to launch the first attack on Đại Việt.52 The Ðại Việt frontier was the site of many forces, Mongol, Han and indigenous, jockeying for position in the period leading up to the Mongols’ final southern assault on the Chinese empire. In Continued Draft of the Manuscript from the Scholar’s Chamber (Kezhai Zagao Yi Xu Gao), the Song local administrator Li Zengbo noted that the Song’s Siming jimi prefecture and the Đại Việt kingdom had long been 50

51

52

Ngô, Sĩ Liên, Đại Việt sử ký toàn thư (Daietsu shiki zensho) (hereafter known as DVSKTT) Vol. 1, ed. Chen Jinghe (Tokyō: Tōkyō Daigaku Tōyō Bunka Kenkyūjo (University of Tokyo Institute of Oriental Culture) Fuzoku Tōyōgaku Bunken Sentā, 1984) 5: 321. James Adams Anderson. “Frontier Management and Tribute Relations Along the Empire’s Southern Border: China and Vietnam in the 10th and 11th Centuries.” (Ph.D. diss., University of Washington, 1999), 354. Yuanshi 166: 3910. Cited in Duan Yuming, “Dali guozhun zhidu kaolüe,” 34.

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close, because the Siming prefect Huang Bing (Hoàng Bỉnh) had maintained contact with the Thăng Long court for some time, and his daughters had all married into the Lý ruling family. Men on both sides of the larger Huang clan had received Vietnamese government positions.53 This assembly of troops caused a disturbance when in autumn 1256 Prince Trần Doãn, son of the second Trần queen Thuận Thiên (1216–1248), tried to flee the kingdom, but was captured by the prefect Huang at Siming and returned to the Ðại Việt court.54 This cooperation of Siming authorities with Đại Việt, forged through the marriage alliances mentioned above, would be significant in the later Mongol campaigns when it appears that the Trần court was able to rely on military and logistical assistance from local militia in this region. In late 1257, Khubilai Khan sent a force of several thousand Mongols and upland Yi militia under the command of Uriyangqadai south into Trần territory, engaging with the Việt forces of Trần Thái Tông on January 17, 1258 at Bình Lệ Nguyên along the Cà Lồ River in modern-day Vỉnh Phúc province.55 Following the strategic retreat of the Trần forces north to Phủ Lỗ, Uriyangqadai pressed his army forward in an assault on the Ðại Việt capital, Thăng Long. However, the Vietnamese struck back at the invaders from the eastern Red River delta, harassing and finally driving out the Mongol-led armies, aided by local forces, including upland allies. When a detachment of Mongol soldiers arrived at Qúy Hoa Garrison, at the heart of Tai-speaking clan power during Nùng Trí Cao’s effort at autonomy two centuries earlier and negotiated away from the Song following the 1075 frontier war, the native garrison commander Hà Bổng Chiêu led his native militia in an ambush on these troops, causing a significant defeat.56 In the absence of Uriyangqadai’s forces the former native elite of eastern Dali and the frontier kingdoms rallied for an anti-Mongol resistance that would last the next ten years. Eventually, during the summer of 1259, the Mongol court called for Uriyangqadai’s forces to pull back from Đại Việt and move northward, joining other Mongol forces the next year near Tanzhou (modernday Changsha, Hunan Province). The target of the Mongol military became once again the Southern Song. In 1260 Uriyangqadai assembled an army of three thousand Mongol cavalry and ten thousand upland militia troops from 53

54 55 56

Zhang Jinlian, “Songchao yu Annan tongdao shikao A Trial Probe into Roads for Transportation in the Song Dynasty and Annam” in Dongnanya Zongku (Around Southeast Asia), 2005 (10): 66. DVSKTT, 5: 338. DVSKTT, 5: 339. DVSKTT, 5: 339.

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western Guangxi, Guizhou, and eastern Yunnan, including peoples once closely allied with the Dali court. This Mongol force attacked Song defenses from the south, passing through modern-day Guilin in Guangxi to strike the Hengshan Garrison and push forward from Tanzhou. A second expedition against Ðại Việt waited until after Khubilai Khan had established his own rule against all opposition and set up his court in Beijing in 1260 (then called “The Great Capital” or Dadu). Initially, it appeared that the Yuan court under Khubilai might leave Ðại Việt in peace. The ruler declared, “All ceremonies and customs (pertaining to Ðại Việt ) should follow precedent (fan yiguan dianli fengsu, yi yi benguo jiuzhi),” and in 1261 the Trần court sent tributary envoys to Dadu, at which time Khubilai Khan enfeoffed the Vietnamese ruler Trần Thánh Tông (r. 1258–1290) as “King of Annan (Annan guowang).”57 The Yuan at this time only requested that Ðại Việt send a tribute mission once every three years, but, as noted in Sun’s essay in this volume, thereafter the Mongol court repeatedly dispatched emissaries with “imperial edicts on all matters.”58 Trần Thánh Tông had not asked the Yuan emperor for permission to take the throne when he did so, and the Trần court continued to maintain tribute relations with the Southern Song until shortly before that dynasty’s collapse in 1279. All this was cause for Khubilai Khan’s dissatisfaction. The Mongols, having taken the throne of China, looked to control the sea lanes of maritime Southeast Asia, this time with their sights set on the conquest of Ðại Việt’s southern coastal neighbor, Champa (Zhancheng). In 1279, Khubilai appointed a trusted Tangut-Mongol military commander Sogetu (Suodu, d. 1285) to the position in the port of Quanzhou of provincial secretary (zuo cheng) “to spread word of the Yuan’s founding” to the various Southeast Asian kingdoms.59 In 1281 a large Mongol naval fleet was sent to Champa, capturing the capital Vijaya in the same year. The Cham king Indravarman V escaped into the mountains. Meanwhile, the Đại Việt court declined requests from the Yuan to assist with these southern expeditions. It may be that the Mongols also wished to prevent a joint anti-Yuan effort by Southern Song Dynasty exiles and Đại Việt. Huang Fei cites the displaced scholar Zheng Sixiao (1241–1318) with his observation that in the early Yuan “many civilian and military officials (of the fallen Song) went into exile abroad, took up official service in Champa, married into the ruling elite in Jiaozhi (Đại Việt), or left to drift abroad in distant kingdoms (zhu wenwu chen liuli haiwai, huo shi Zhancheng,

57 58 59

Yuanshi, 209: 4635. Yuanshi, 209: 4639. Yuanshi, 129: 3152.

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huo xu Jiaozhi, huo bie liu yuan guo).”60 For all these reasons, Khubilai began to increase pressure on the Trần court. In the summer of 1283, the Mongol emperor sent the Uighur official Ariq Qaya (1227–1286) to the Trần capital with an imperial request for help from Jiaozhi (Đại Việt) with troops and provisions for the expedition against Champa.61 At this time the newly enthroned Vietnamese emperor Trần Nhân Tông (r. 1279–1308), with help from his father the senior ruler Thánh Tông, again refused to offer assistance, and the Vietnamese court instead readied its troops, including local militia and former Song soldiers.62 In the summer of 1284 Nhân Tông’s uncle Trần Quốc Tuấn (1226–1300 ), most famously known by his honorific title of the Hưng Đạo Prince, readied local troops at Đông Bộ Đầu Wharf, located outside modern-day Hà Nội, to prepare for the capital’s defense.63 His preparations were certainly in order, because Khubilai’s court soon took the Vietnamese court’s refusal as a reason to attack. In the fall of 1284, Khubilai’s son Toghan (d. 1285) commanded troops from Jinghu to approach and camp on the frontier with Đại Việt at Lộc Châu. In December, an envoy, Trần Phủ, returned to the Vietnamese court to report that Khubilai had ordered Toghan, along with his trusted commanders, Senior Minister Pingzhang Ali and Ariq Qaya, to enter Đại Việt under the pretext of launching the conquest of northern Champa, but instead to divide forces for an invasion of Đại Việt.64 The Mongol forces split into two groups, one attacking by land and one attacking by sea from the south. The Complete Book account famously notes that when Trần Nhân Tông first heard of the attack, he assembled all his trusted advisors, including the senior ruler, for a banquet to solicit their advice, at which time “all called for an attack, a myriad spoke as if with one voice (Giai viết Chiến. Vạn nhân đồng từ, như xuất nhất khẩu ).”65 Trần Quốc Tuấn issued his now famous proclamation “Dispatch to All My Officers (Dụ chư tỳ tướng hịch văn)” calling for retaliation, citing as inspiration to his men the example of

60

61 62 63 64 65

Zheng Sixiao, Xinshi, Vol. 2. (Beijing: Zhongzhu Shuju Kanben, 1894), 70. Cited in Huang Fei, “Lun yuan hu bi lie chao dui annan de zhengfa (A Discussion of the Annam Campaigns by Khubilai Khan’s Court)” in Qiqiha’er shifan gaodeng zhuanke xuexiao xuebao (The Journal of the Qiqihar Junior Teacher’s College) 114, 2 (2010): 95. Yuanshi, 209: 4640. DVSKTT, 5: 354. DVSKTT, 5: 356. DVSKTT, 5: 356. DVSKTT, 5: 357.

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Uriyangqadai’s overthrow of the Dali kingdom and the subsequent campaigns through southern China.66 At the start of this second invasion, Toghan’s collective force pursued two routes in the attack on Đại Việt. Those troops following the land route from Lạng Sơn at the Động Bản Pass encountered and defeated its Vietnamese defenders, resulting in the death of the Vietnamese commander Tần Sầm. Once the Yuan forces were within the pass, Toghan ordered the troops split into six battalions to attack the forces of Trần Quốc Tuấn from separate directions. Six days into the invasion, the Yuan forces had seized the upland garrisons at Vĩnh Châu, Nội Bàng, Thiết Lược, and Chi Lăng, but the Yuan commander did not see any advantage in advancing farther and instead pulled back to the Vạn Kiếp garrison, located in Chí Linh county (now Hải Hưng province).67 After these encounters, the senior ruler Trần Thánh Tông, who had re-entered the battlefield personally, ordered his land forces under the Thánh Vũ Army commander and his naval forces to assist Trần Quốc Tuấn. Avoiding a direct encounter with the Yuan forces, Quốc Tuấn turned for support to the militia assigned to the coastal circuits of Hải Đông, Vân Trà, and Ba Điểm, calling on local commanders to offer their best troops as his vanguard before escaping south by sea.68 Quốc Tuấn also rallied militia and logistical support from surrounding upland districts to supply his troops while he was in hiding.69 Meanwhile, the Yuan forces continued to advance on Thăng Long. The Yuanshi account notes that Trần Thánh Tông along the Phú Lương River (or Cầu River, which was likely an alternative name for the Hồng River)“gave the order that vessels along the (southern) banks of the river should erect a wooden stockade (yanjiang bu bingchuan, li mushan)”70 as a defense against the Yuan army. This defensive measure did little to slow the Mongols’ momentum, and when the Yuan armies had crossed the Phú Lương River, they faced the gates of Thăng 66

67 68 69

70

The original passage is as follows. 骨䚟兀郎何人也 Cốt Đãi Ngột Lang hà nhân dã? 其裨 將赤脩思又何人也 Kỳ tỳ tướng Xích Tu Tư hựu hà nhân dã? 冒瘴厲於萬里之途 Mạo chướng lệ ư vạn lý chi đồ, 獗南詔於數旬之頃 Quệ Nam Chiếu ư sổ tuần chi khoảnh, 使 韃之君長至今留名. The Vietnamese quốc ngữ rendering of Trần Quốc Tuấn’s declaration “Dụ chư tỳ tướng hịch văn (諭諸裨將檄文)” was produced by Ngô Tất Tố in Việt Nam Văn Học: Văn Học Đời Trần (Saigon: Đại Nam 1960). DVSKTT, 5: 357. DVSKTT, 5: 357. The upland districts listed in the DVSKTT account are: Bàng Hà 旁 河, Na Sầm 那 岑, Trà Hương 茶 鄕, Yên Sinh 安 生, and Long Nhãn 龍 眼, among others (DVSKTT, 5, 357). The DVSKTT account claims that 200,000 militiamen were assembled to converge on the Vạn Kiếp garrison. Yuanshi, 209: 4643.

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Long, and the forces led by Thánh Tông and Nhân Tông fell back. The next day, Toghan entered the capital to find an empty palace. The Trần forces continued to regroup on their estates deeper in the Red River delta. At this point in the campaign, the Yuan commanders Li Bangxian and Liu Shiying ordered the construction of garrisons and courier stations and dispatched troops to patrol the frontier areas to prevent Vietnamese troops from returning. Land-based troops led by Toghan’s son Toru Puhua with Poluo Hadaer and sea-based forces led by Li Heng and Wu Maer, among others, continued to pursue Trần Quốc Tuấn. Early in the winter of 1285 Toghan’s warships landed troops near Đà Mạc (in modern-day Bắc Ninh), capturing and executing General Trần Bình Trọng (1259–1285), whose defensive efforts allowed the two Trần rulers to retreat safely. Trần troops had had “Death to the Tartars (Thát Đát)” tattooed on their arms, a slogan that infuriated the Yuan troops, who massacred the first wave of defenders they faced.71 However, local resistance to the Yuan advance was widespread. As the Yuan official Zhang Bang noted about the Trần defenders, “all the kingdom’s commanderies and counties, if faced with an outside invasion, would fight to the death, or should their military strength be inadequate, they were permitted then to flee to the mountain areas, where they would forge ahead and not accept defeat in the struggle (fan guonei jun xian jia you waikou zhi, dang sizhan, huo li bu di, xu yu shanze taocuan, bude ying jiang).”72 The Hưng Phúc Temple Stele, located to the south in An Duyên Township, Quảng Hùng Commune, Thanh Hoá province, is concrete evidence of this coordinated local resistance. The 1860 re-engraved temple tablet commemorates the defense of Thanh Hoá lộ in late 1284 against the armies of Sogetu, who had led the sea-borne force south in this invasion attempt.73 According to this account, a mid-ranked village official (đại toát đại liêu ban phục) Lê Cong Mạnh in the summer of 1284 led the local resistance to the Mongols. Following a protracted and bloody struggle, the Yuan forces entered the village in early 1285. As the stele reports, Midway through 1284, the ‘northern caitiffs (hulu, i.e. Mongol forces)’ came south. The caitiff Prime Minister Sogetu led his army to our kingdom by a sea route and met with the forces of Đại Việt at Cổ Khê (modern-day Kính Village in Quảng Xương Commune, Quảng Hùng District, Thanh Hoá Province). The Marquis (Trần Quốc Toản) led a force of local 71 72 73

DVSKTT, 5: 358. Yuanshi, 209: 4644. Phan Văn Các, et al. Văn Khắc Hán Nôm Việt Nam. Tap 2, Thời Trần (1226–1400). (Taipei: Xinwenfeng, 2002), 174.

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people to resist the attackers at Cổ Bút Village, where the two sides engaged in battle, but the caitiffs repeatedly refused to withdraw.74 However, defeat in this battle did reveal political fissures in the Trần ruling house. In the midst of the fighting, imperial family member Trần Kiện, son of Prince Trần Quốc Khang (1237–1300), Trần Kiện’s retainer and later historian Lê Tắc, Prince Trần Ích Tắc (1254–1329), younger brother of the senior ruler Trần Thánh Tông and uncle of the king, as well as prominent nobility including Văn Chiêu, Prince Trần Lộng, Phạm Cụ Điạ, Lê Diễn, and Trịnh Long fled the battlefield.75 Trần Ích Tắc, Trần Kiện, Trần Tú Á i and Trần Văn Lộng defected to the Mongols.76 The Complete Book notes that uplanders were among those who attempted to avenge this betrayal. Before Toghan was able to send his captives north to Beijing, the Lạng Giang native chieftains (thổ hào) Nguyễn Thế Lộc and Nguyễn Lĩnh, among others, attacked the Ma Lục Garrison, where the captives were being held. Quốc Tuấn’s own slave Nguyễn Địa Lô shot Trần Kiện dead. Lê Tắc threw the defected prince’s lifeless body on the back of a horse to escape in the night, burying him some distance from the fort.77 By late spring, the northern Vietnamese weather gradually began to change and so did the fortunes of the Trần defenders. The Yuan general Sogetu replenished his army with native militia from the Yunnan region, numbering some 500,000 men, along with troops from the Champa campaigns.78 However, the Trần military leaders chose to fight these numbers with new tactics. Quốc Tuấn led his well-supplied army of local militia back to the Vạn Kiếp River. Together with the forces of the native chieftain Nguyễn Lu (nd.), then based at the Yongping garrison in southern Guangxi, Quốc Tuấn engaged in skirmishes with the Yuan forces. The prince employed guerrilla tactics, such as a “scorched earth” defense to deprive the Mongols of supplies. Yuan troop casualties increased, due to logistical difficulties and the fact that foraging proved insufficient. In the well-known battle of Hàm Tử Pass, a contingent of Yuan troops was defeated by a Trần force consisting of former Song troops and native militia.79 Within a month’s time, Toghan decided to pull his troops back into China to Siming prefecture in Guangnan Western Circuit. However, the Siming region 74 75 76 77 78 79

Phan Văn Các, et al. Văn Khắc Hán Nôm Việt Nam, Tap 2, 176: 180–81. TT, Bản Kỷ, 5: 46b. Cited in Phan Văn Các, et al. Văn Khắc Hán Nôm Việt Nam, Tap 2, 174. Lê Tắc, Annam Chỉ Lược (hereafter ANCL). (Beijing: Zhonghua, 2000), 312. See also DVSKTT, 5: 358. DVSKTT, 5: 358. DVSKTT, 5: 359. DVSKTT, 5: 359.

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was surrounded with local forces still loyal to the Trần court, descendants of the local chieftain mentioned earlier in this chapter. In the midst of crossing the Vạn Kiếp River, the Yuan military was ambushed by Vietnamese forces. Many among the Yuan forces drowned or died in battle, including General Li Heng, who was struck by a poisoned arrow upon arriving in Siming.80 The Yuan forces to the south under Sogetu were soon caught in transit by Cham forces, and Sogetu himself was killed.81 In June, Toghan led a small residual force under his command to escape the region, but this Yuan military conquest had ended in failure. Another invasion effort was organized by the Yuan court in early 1286, but the campaign was abandoned after less than a month of military action. However, this did not mark the end of Khubilai Khan’s efforts to subdue Đại Việt. By early 1287, Khubilai had devised a new plan. The Yuan emperor enfeoffed Thánh Tông’s younger brother Trần Ích Tắc as “King of Annan” to replace his nephew Nhân Tông as the new ruler of Ðại Việt.82 This was the reason given for the third invasion attempt. The Yuan court sent a new expeditionary force under Abači (Abachi ), comprised of 70,000 Mongol and Han troops and five hundred warships from the provinces of Huai, Jiangxi, and Huguang, 6,000 troops from Yunnan, and 15,000 native “Li militia (li bing)” from outlying frontier regions. Zhang Wenhu (nd.), son of former pirate and Yuan maritime commissioner Zhang Xuan (nd.), Fei Gongchen (nd.), and Tao Daming (nd.) were entrusted with transporting 170,000 men by sea to enter Đại Việt by various routes.83 The supreme commander for this force was again Toghan, likely wishing to appease his father following the earlier failed campaign. In late autumn 1287, the local Trần official Trịnh Xiển reported to the court that Mongol troops under Prince Atai had seized the garrison at Phú Lương Pass.84 Soon thereafter, the Yuan general Cheng Pengfei (nd.) and his Mongol counterpart Beiluohedaer (nd.) joined the attack with their Han soldiers, accompanied by local forces from Yongping, now a subdued ally of the Mongol empire. The Yuan admirals Omar (nd.) and Fan Ji (nd.) launched their assault on Đại Việt from the sea. Fan and Omar encountered more than four hundred Vietnamese naval vessels at An Bang Bay, located southwest of modern-day Hạ Long Bay at the mouth of the Bạch Đằng River, and defeated this fleet. Despite Trần opposition, Cheng and Beiluohedaer captured the garrisons guarding the 80 81 82 83 84

Yuanshi, 129: 3159. DVSKTT, 5: 360. DVSKTT, 5: 361. DVSKTT, 5: 361. Yuanshi, 209: 4647. DVSKTT BK 5: 362. DVSKTT, 5: 362.

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three passes at Lão Thử, Hãm Sa, and Tì Trúc.85 In December, Toghan arrived at Mao La Harbor, at which point Trần Quốc Tuấn retreated. In order to prevent Quốc Tuấn from assembling troops again at Vạn Kiếp, and thereby blocking the escape route of the Yuan army, Toghan commanded Cheng and Oquqči to construct a sturdier fortification to defend Vạn Kiếp. He also ordered Omar and Abači to take separate water and land routes for an attack on the Trần capital. Shortly thereafter, Toghan led his armies across the Phú Lương River and once again captured Thăng Long.86 This time, after the Yuan had taken the capital, they wantonly engaged in burning and looting. The Annan Xingji account notes that, when Yuan troops entered the Vietnamese capital, they “set fire to the government offices, robbed the graves of the people’s ancestors, held captive or killed young and old in their homes, destroyed the material possessions of the common people, and engaged in all types of ruthless conduct and all manner of evil (fenshao guonei si shou, kaijue zuxian fenmu, lu sha minjia laoshao, cui po baixing chanye, zhu can fu xing, wusuobuwei).”87 By early 1288, the forces led by Trần Quốc Tuấn and his son were on the run and things looked dire for the Trần resistance. However, when Zhang Wenhu and his provisioning fleet arrived at the coast in late 1287, the Mongols encountered Vietnamese warships.88 A successful battle with the Mongols at Vân Đồn Island turned the tide of the fighting and split the invading army.89 In the ensuing battle, Zhang’s fleet became lost and subsequently dumped a large portion of its rice supply at sea before escaping to Qiongzhou near modern-day Haikou on Hainan Island. Due to high winds, Fei Gongchen’s provisioning fleet was unable to enter Đại Việt waters, and he returned to Qiongzhou to join Zhang. The lack of provisions and the weather’s gradual warming, reminiscent of the past failed campaign, caused considerable worry among the Yuan military commanders.90 Therefore, Toghan ordered Omar and Ji Fan to retreat by sea, and in March Toghan decided to lead all the land forces in retreat from the region. However, the Vietnamese army had deployed its military forces of more than thirty thousand men, guarding Nữ Nghe Pass and Khâu Cấp Hill and blocking the Yuan army’s northern exit. 85 86 87

88 89 90

Yuanshi, 209: 4647. Yuanshi, 209: 4648. Xu Mingshan, Annan xingji, preserved in Shuofu j. 51. Compiled by Tao Xiongyi (1370). Biji xiaoshuo daguan Edition. Cited in Huang, “A Discussion of the Annam Campaigns by Khubilai Khan’s Court,” 96. Jung-Pang Lo, “The Controversy Over Grain Conveyance During the Reign of Khubilai Khan, 1260–94,” The Far Eastern Quarterly, 13, 3 (May, 1954): 282. DVSKTT, 5: 363. Yuanshi, 209: 4648.

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Subsequently, the Vietnamese army launched a major counterattack. When the Mongol fleet approached the capital by way of the Bạch Đằng River, Trần Quốc Tuấn’s soldiers used Ngô Quyền’s (897–944) famous iron-tipped pole defense of 938 to trap the fleet in the river at low tide for a second time with great success. In the fighting, the Mongol commander Sogetu was killed and the Yuan forces completely defeated. The Complete Book account notes that so many Yuan troops were drowned or killed, the river ran red in the midst of the battle.91 The entire force led by Fan Ji was destroyed on the Bạch Đẳng, while Abači had earlier contracted a malarial infection, for which he retreated, finally to die in Chengdu. Omar’s forces were still located to the north and Toghan, himself struck by a poisoned arrow, had retreated to Siming. The Yuan military faced another defeat. Soon thereafter, Trần Nhân Tông sent a delegation to Beijing to present tribute and once again to request vassal status, as well as ordering the release of all Mongol prisoners of war.92 The Vietnamese tribute delegation offered the Yuan court a small amount of gold and an apology for its “sins.” That the local frontier communities were able to provide greater assistance to the Trần than they could to the Dali court may be argued from another angle. Huang Fei believes that local uprisings of the early Yuan Dynasty indirectly benefitted the Đại Việt kingdom. According to Yuan official records, in 1284 the Jiangnan-based Xiangting Uprising (Xiangting er qi) involved more than two hundred rebel groups until 1290, when it was noted that more than four hundred groups were active throughout the southeast.93 In the face of so many rebel uprisings, the Yuan court had transferred part of its military to these areas to crack down on dissent, thus weakening the power of the Yuan army during the Đại Việt campaigns.94 Perhaps, but in any case the Yuan military appeared to learn the lesson belatedly that widespread local support for any expeditions against the Đại Việt kingdom would be absolutely necessary. In 1289 the Chengdu Protectorate military commander Liu Delu memorialized Khubilai with the following request, “I wish to take a force of five thousand men to demand the surrender of the southwestern communities of the ‘Eight Barbarians Militarized Region (ba fan shun yuan xuan wei si)’ in order to invade and conquer Jiaozhi (yuan yi

91 92 93 94

DVSKTT, 5: 363 ANCL, 335. Chen Gaohua, Yuanshi yanjiu lun gao (A Compendium of Research in Yuan History) Vol. 122 (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1991), 235. Huang, “A Discussion of the Annam Campaigns by Khubilai Khan’s Court,” 96.

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wuqian ren zhaoxiang ba fan man yi, yong yi jinqu jiaozhi).”95 Liu received approval from Khubilai for the plan, but nothing more. The Mongols further planned attacks in 1291 and 1293, but with the death of Khubilai Khan in 1294, these plans were never realized. After Chengzong (Temür Öljeytü Khan, r. 1294–1307) came to the throne, the Yuan court implemented the conciliatory policy of “great forgiveness, far and near (dasi she you, wu wen yuanjin),” while the Vietnamese court too adopted a matching policy of “great forgiveness (kuanyou)” regarding its northern neighbor.96 The Đại Việt kingdom subsequently continued to act as a tributary vassal throughout the Yuan Dynasty.

Concluding Thoughts

James Scott wrote of would-be rulers of Zomia: State rulers find it well-nigh impossible to install an effective sovereignty over people who are constantly in motion, who have no permanent pattern of organization, no permanent address, whose leadership is ephemeral, whose subsistence patterns are pliable and fugitive, who have few permanent allegiances and who are liable, over time, to shift their linguistic practices and their ethnic identity.97 This was not the case for the frontier communities of the Dali and Đại Việt realms. These communities were well formed and under strong leadership that had been established for centuries. The question for them was: Which way would these local chieftains take their communities, with or against the Mongols? And how would the acts of these chieftains affect the southern Sinic frontier? Rulers of the Dali kingdom were confronted with this problem when the Duan clan sought to defend against the advancing Mongol forces. Although the surrounding clans were willing to ally themselves with the Duan when all could benefit from protection and trade advantages, the Mongols’ superior military powers completely transformed the landscape and left open the possibility of new political alignments for the local chieftains without severe repercussions. The Ðại Việt leadership, on the other hand, could rally local dong chieftains to the defense of the Vietnamese court, because the fortunes of even 95 Yuanshi, 15: 320. 96 Yuanshi, 209: 4650. 97 Scott, The Art of Not Being Governed, 38–39.

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uplands local communities were more clearly linked to the Trần imperial family than to the threatening invaders. Defending one’s own territory meant to choose to defend the Trần dynastic order as well. In such a situation, the Sinitic model of centralized power, dependent on status conferred by one’s participation in the political order, formed a bulwark against institutional disintegration in the face of hegemonic power. The Việt leadership had borrowed the best of the northern administrative tradition and utilized it to gain the loyalty of indigenous neighbors and thereby to fend off the powerful outsiders. By the early 1360s the Trần official Phạm Sư Mạnh would note in a poem describing the Vietnamese side of the frontier in modern-day Lạng Sơn that “The barrier mountain’s strong points determine our strategy./ Streams, mountain torrents, and a screen of tribesmen provide a far-flung (defense).”98 The Trần official regards the reliability of first line of defense by indigenous communities to be similar to that of the rugged terrain of their home region. Yet, we ought not to place too much emphasis on the control of central authorities over peripheral communities, since the indigenous communities joined the conflict on one side or the other for their own reasons. The result was that Dali’s chiefs saw their advantage with the Mongols, while Ðại Việt’s remained firm for the Trần. Just as the Lý rulers had utilized the Tang pattern of dreams and tales to separate themselves from the north, the Trần applied the northern administrative practices to draw the chiefs on their frontier to their side. The Trần leaders even venerated the spirit of the 8th-century upland chieftain Phùng Hưng (d.791) among the court’s most revered deities to bring this supernatural source of power into the service of the kingdom.99 Dali was unable to do this. In this way, the southern Sinic frontier remained north of the Red River delta and came to be south of the Yunnan Plateau, reaching the edge of the mountain slopes leading into the northern mainland of Southeast Asia.

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Excerpt of Oliver Wolters’s translation of Phạm Sư Mạnh’s poem “Thượng Ngao” in Wolters, O.W., Early Southeast Asia: Selected Essays, edited by Craig J. Reynolds (Ithaca: Southeast Asia Program, Cornell University, 2008), 216. O.W. Wolters, Monologue, Dialogue, and Tran Vietnam (unpublished manuscript, 2009), 57, Cornell University Library, https://ecommons.library.cornell.edu/bitstream/1813/13 117/1/Wolters_TranVietnam.pdf

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Bibliography Anderson, James A. “Frontier Management and Tribute Relations Along the Empire’s Southern Border: China and Vietnam in the 10th and 11th Centuries.” Ph.D. dissertation, University of Washington, 1999. ––––––. The Rebel Den of Nùng Trí Cao: Loyalty and Identity Along the Sino-Vietnamese Frontier. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2007. Aung-Thwin, Michael. “The ‘Classical’ in Southeast Asia: The Present in the Past,” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies Vol. 26, No. 1, ‘Perspectives on Southeast Asian Studies’ (Mar., 1995): 75–91. Chen Gaohua. Yuanshi yanjiu lun gao 元史研究論稿 (A Compendium of Research in Yuan History). Vol. 122. Beijing: Zhonghua, 1991. Duan Yuming. “Dali guozhun zhidu kaolüe大理國軍事制度考略 (A Study of the Dali Kingdom’s Military Organization)” Yunnan Minzu Xueyuan Xuebao 雲南民族學院 學報 4 (1995): 33–35. Fang Tie. “Dali guo de minzu zhidi he duiwai zhengce 大理國的民族治策和對外政 策 (National Policies and External Policies in the Kingdom of Dali)” in Baizu wenhua yanjiu 2003白族文化研究 2003. Vol. 4. Beijing: Minzu, 2004. Grousset, René. The Empire of the Steppes: A History of Central Asia. New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 1970. Herman, John E. Amid the Clouds and Mist: China’s Colonization of Guizhou, 1200–1700. Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Asia Center, 2007. Higiri Masumi. “Ajia-teki seisan yōshiki-ron kenkyū nitsuite アジア的生産様式論 研 究について (Research on the Asiatic mode of production theory)” in Nihon no kokusaika to chiiki kenkyū no yakuwari 日本の国際化と地域研究の役割 (The Role of International and Area Studies in Japan). Tokyo: Tōkyō Gaikokugo Daigaku Kaigai Jijō Kenkyūjo, 1983. Huang Fei. “Lun yuan hu bi lie chao dui annan de zhengfa 論元忽必烈朝對安南的 征伐(A Discussion of the Annam Campaigns by Khubilai Khan’s Court)” in Qiqiha’er shifan gaodeng zhuanke xuexiao xuebao 齊齊哈爾師範高等專科學校 學報 (The Journal of the Qiqihar Junior Teacher’s College) 114, 2 (2010): 95–97. Kulke, Hermann. ”The Early and the Imperial Kingdom in Southeast Asian History.” In Southeast Asia in the 9th to 14th Centuries, edited by D.G. Marr & A.C. Milner, 1–22. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 1986. Lê Tắc 黎 崱. Annam Chỉ Lược 安 南 志 略. Beijing: Zhonghua, 2000. Lehman, F.K. (Chit Hlaing). “Burma: Kayah Society as a Function of the Shan-BurmaKaren Context,” in Contemporary Change in Traditional Society. Volume II: Asian Rural Societies, edited by Julian Steward. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1967.

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Li Zengbo 李曾伯. “ Tiao ju bian shi zou 條具邊事奏 (Memorial on Instruments of Frontier Management)” in Ke Zhai Za Gao Yi Xu Gao 可齋雜稿一續稿. Taipei: Shangwu, 1970. Li Tianming. Song Yuan zhan shi 宋元戰史 (History of the Song-Mongol War). Taipei: Shihuo, 1988. Lieberman, Victor B. Strange Parallels: Southeast Asia in Global Context, C 800–1830. Volume Two. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2009. Lo, Jung-Pang “The Controversy Over Grain Conveyance During the Reign of Qubilai Qaqan, 1260–94” The Far Eastern Quarterly, 13, 3 (May, 1954): 263–85. Maspero, Henri. “Etudes d’histoire d’Annam.” in Bulletin de l’École française d’ExtrêmeOrient 16 (1916): 1–55. Momoki Shiro. “Nippon niokeru Betonamu zen kindai-shi kenkyū no seika to kadai – dokuritsu ōchō-ki no jidai kubun womegutte 日本におけるヴェトナム前近代 史研究の成果と課題 – 独立王朝期の時代 区分をめぐって (Achievements and Challenges in Japan in the Study of Pre-Modern Vietnamese History – the period of independent dynastic rule)” in Atarashii rekishi-gaku no tame ni 新しい歴史学 のた めに (For a New History) Issue 175 (1984). ––––––. “Military Actions and Control of Local Powers in Vietnam under the Lý Dynasty (桃木, 至朗, ヴェトナム李朝の軍事行動と地方支配.” in Southeast Asian Studies東南アジア研究 (1987), 24(4): 403–417. Ngô Sĩ Liên 吳士連. Đại Việt sử ký toàn thư 大越史記全書 (Complete Book of the History of the Great Việt). Bản in nội các quan bản - Mộc bản khắc năm chính hòa thứ 18 (1697). Hà Noi: Nhà Xuat Bản Khoa Học Xã Hôi, 1993. ––––––. Đại Việt sử ký toàn thư 大越史記全書 (Complete Book of the History of the Great Việt). Edited by Chen Jinghe 陳荊和. Vol. 1. Tokyō: Tōkyō Daigaku Tōyō Bunka Kenkyūjo Fuzoku Tōyōgaku Bunken Sentā, 1984. Ngô Tất Tố. Việt Nam Văn Học: Văn Học Đời Trần (Vietnamese Literature: the Literature of the Trần Period). Saigon: Đại Nam 1960. Phan Văn Các, et al., (eds.) Văn Khắc Hán Nôm Việt Nam 越 南 漢 喃 銘 文 匯 編 (Han and Nom Epigraphical Texts of Vietnam). Vol. 2. Taipei: Xinwenfeng, 2002. ––––––and Claudine Salmon. Épigraphie en Chinoise du Viêt Nam. Vol. 1. Paris: École Française d’Extrême Orient; Hanoi: Viện Nghiên cứu Hán Nôm, 1998. Qujing Municipal Historical Committee (Qujing shi Zhengxie Wenshi wei). Qujing Wenshi Ziliao 曲靖文史資料 (Materials on the History of Qujing) Vol. 1. Qujing, Yunnan: Qujing Ribao, 2003. Rossabi, Morris. Khubilai Khan: His Life and Times. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988. Scott, James C. The Art of Not Being Governed: An Anarchist History of Upland Southeast Asia. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009.

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Shi Jianjun. “Hu bi lie zheng dali luxian xin kao 忽必烈徵大理路線新考 (New Textual Research on the March Route Taken by Kublai Khan on his Expedition Against the Dali Kingdom),” Zhongguo lishi dili luncong 中國歷史地理論叢 (Journal of Chinese Historical Geography) 24, 1 (January 2009): 146–158. Song Lian 宋濂. Yuanshi 元史 (History of the Yuan Dynasty). Beijing: Zhonghua, 1976. Whitmore, John K. “Colliding Peoples: Tai/Viet Interactions in the 14th and 15th Centuries” unpublished conference paper, Association of Asian Studies Annual Meeting, San Diego, CA, 2000. Wolters, O.W. “Monologue, Dialogue, and Tran Vietnam” Unpublished manuscript, 2009. ––––––and Craig J. Reynolds. Early Southeast Asia: Selected Essays. Ithaca: Southeast Asia Program, Cornell University, 2008. https://ecommons.library.cornell.edu/bit stream/1813/13117/1/Wolters_TranVietnam.pdf. ––––––. History, Culture, and Region in Southeast Asian Perspectives. Rev. ed. Ithaca, NY: Southeast Asia Program Pub, 1999. Xia Guangnan, Yuandai Yunnan shi di congkao 元代雲南史地叢考 (History and Geography of Yuan Period Yunnan). Shanghai: Zhonghua, 1935. Xu Mingshan 徐明善, Annan xingji 安南行記, preserved in Shuofu 說郛 j. 51. Compiled by Tao Xiongyi (1370). Biji xiaoshuo daguan Edition. Zhang Jinlian, “Songchao yu Annan tongdao shikao 宋朝與安南通道試探 (A Trial Probe into Roads for Transportation in the Song Dynasty and Annam),” Dongnanya Zongku 東南亞縱庫 2005 (10): 65- 71. Zhang Xilu, “Yuan shizu hu bi lie mie dali guoshi shi kao 元世祖忽必烈灭大理国史 事考 (An Historical Re-examination of Khubilai Khan’s Overthrow of the Dali Kingdom),” Dali Xueyuan Xuebao (Journal of Dali University) 5, 3 (March 2006): 5–9. Zheng Sixiao 鄭思肖. Xinshi心史 Vol. 2. Beijing: Zhongzhu Shuju Kanben 種竹書局 刊本, 1894.

Chapter 4

Yunnan’s Muslim Heritage Michael C. Brose Introduction Yunnan Province is one of the most diverse places in China today in terms of its social and physical landscape; the formidable topography of rushing rivers and steep mountain terrain giving way to lush plains, where almost anything can be grown, to sub-tropical jungles matches the varied human and cultural landscape, home to some 26 officially-recognized “national ethnic groups” (C. shaoshu minzu) with their various languages and social customs. Because of this diversity, Yunnan continues to be viewed by domestic and international tourists as a type of frontier zone where one can go to see the exotic. Yunnan’s identity as a frontier zone is based in the area’s long history as home to a series of independent states that remained unconquerable objects of desire for successive Chinese dynasties until rather late in China’s imperial past. As Bin Yang has recently demonstrated, Yunnan had for a long time been the independent center or hub of a lively international commercial network that connected mainland China to Southeast Asia by the important transit and trade routes running through it.1 It wasn’t until the Mongols swept through the area as a prelude to their campaign against the Song in the 1250s that “Yunnan” was created as a province and became part of “China.” Yet, in spite of that political integration, Yunnan has continued to occupy a kind of liminal space as a frontier region between China proper and Southeast Asia because of its complex and diverse political and social geography.2 One measure of Yunnan’s distinctive identity is the history and current role of its Chinese Muslim (Hui) communities. This group is often overlooked by scholars and tourists interested in Yunnan. But in traveling the province today it is difficult to miss the many splendid new mosques, often alongside beautifully restored imperial-era predecessors, in most of the important cities in Yunnan. This paper examines the historical 1 Bin Yang, Between Wind and Clouds: The Making of Yunnan (Second Century BCE to Twentieth Century CE) (New York: Columbia University Press, 2009). Overland trade linkages between Yunnan and Southeast Asia are examined in more detail by Ann Maxwell Hill, Merchants and Migrants (New Haven: Yale University Southeast Asian Studies, 1998). 2 Bin Yang’s main focus is on the integration of this area into China proper as Yunnan Province.

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foundations of the Yunnan Hui communities in the Yuan and Ming Dynasties and argues that they were both the result of the unique frontier zone that became Yunnan and that they shaped the formation of that province. The province that is known today as Yunnan did not exist before the Mongol conquest of that region in the 1250s, and in some respects was an unplanned creation. Most readers will know that the region had been home to the two successive independent states Nanzhao and Dali for centuries before the Mongols arrived on their way to conquer Song China. As mentioned in the chapter by Anderson in this volume, the conquest of Dali was necessary for the Mongols to establish a foothold in the far southwest that would serve as a base of operations against both Song China and Southeast Asia. It was similar to other conquest campaigns of that time in two regards; first, the Mongol military included large numbers of non-Mongol military units who were absorbed from rival tribal groups and states that had already submitted to or had been unwillingly conquered in the steppe, Central Asia, and areas of northern China (especially Jurchen, Khitan and Tangut realms). Second, the Mongols relied heavily on local elites, overseen by a small group of Mongol overseers, to keep their hold over the region once the initial wave of conquest had been concluded. This did not, initially, include a strong military presence of Mongol troops stationed in the region, but that changed within two decades for reasons explained below. Once the Mongols realized that a stronger and more permanent military garrison was needed in the region, they constructed an administrative apparatus that was most appropriate for a frontier area geographically and culturally outside China proper. The succeeding Ming state continued to use that frontier administrative apparatus, populating it however by a forced in-migration of Han Chinese soldier-farmers. Yet that attempt at social engineering did not diminish the lingering sense of the new province Yunnan as a frontier zone with a different geography than was true of other provinces in China. This chapter illustrates this story by drawing on the history of Muslims in Yunnan. It argues that both the Yuan and Ming states relied particularly heavily on Muslim personnel to govern this new province on their behalf, because their liminal identity made them uniquely capable administrators of that geographically and socially complex place. Both imperial governments constructed administrative structures and policies that insured Yunnan’s integration into China proper, but those same structures and policies also reinforced the sense of frontier identity in Yunnan that, to some degree, persists down to the present. This legacy is due not least to the activities of the Muslims in both dynasties.3 3 The only comprehensive treatment of Yunnan’s history that focuses on the central role played by Muslim personnel in the governance of that region in Yuan and Ming dynastic eras is

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The Mongol Conquest of Yunnan The situation that faced the Mongols on the ground in the 1250s as they entered the southwest in preparation for the conquest of Song China is a familiar story. The Dali state (937–1253 CE) had maintained its independence even in the face of Song attempts to bring it into the fold. The grand kaghan Möngke assigned two men, Uriyangqadai, the son of the great Mongol general Subetai, and Möngke’s younger brother, prince Khubilai, to attack Song China by going through Sichuan. Their military units were a heterogeneous mix of ethnic groups, and since it was the custom for the Mongols to maintain the integrity of troop commands from states and tribes who had submitted to them, we can be certain that many of those were Muslims. One of the first actions of the Mongols after defeating Dali was to retain the head of the Duan clan, who had headed the Dali state, as the Mongol representative on the ground, with the official title of Governor of Dali (Dali zongguan).4 He shared power with the Chinese general Liu Shizhong (fl. 1250s), who was appointed as Pacification Commissioner (xuanfu shi) of Dali, while Uriyangqadai stayed to mop up any resistance and Khubilai returned north to coordinate the campaign against the Song. By 1257 Uriyangqadai had turned his eye on Annan (Đại Việt) as target of the next Mongol campaign.5 The Mongols largely left the region alone in the 15-year period between 1258, when Khubilai returned north, and 1273, when the Bukharan Sayyid Ajall arrived as provincial governor on orders from Khubilai. In that time Khubilai had become grand khan (in 1260) and his younger brother, Hügechi, granted the title “Prince of Yunnan” with large appanage landed estates in 1267. The Mongols were not, however, unified in their activities and intentions, and Hügechi was assassinated by a group that included a Muslim general on staff in the Provincial Pacification Bureau in 1271 (a certain Baoheding).6 Sayyid ‘Ajall arrived two Jianping Wang’s doctoral dissertation, Concord and Conflict: The Hui Communities of Yunnan Society, Lund Studies in African and Asian Religions, vol. 11 (Stockholm: Almquist & Wiksell International, 1996). 4 Described in Uriyangqadai’s official biography in Yuanshi 121: 2975–82. Fang Guoyu provides extended analysis of this biography concerning the conquest of Dali in Yunnan Shiliao Congkan, vol. 2 (Kunming: Yunnan Daxue chubanshe, 1998), 543–549. 5 See Morris Rossabi, Khubilai Khan: His Life and Times (Berkeley & Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1988), 22–27, for the Mongol conquest of Dali and the southwest; also Anderson in this volume. 6 Khubilai’s official court diaries record the event and actors in detail. See Song Lian, ed., Yuanshi (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju 1992), 133–134. Also see Tu Ji, Mengwuer shiji 76: 10a–11b for a biography of Hugechi and a description of events surrounding his murder.

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years later, and it is only under his administration that regular civil and military offices and personnel were deployed throughout the province. Many of those people were Muslims. Legacy of Sayyid ‘Ajall in Yunnan Sayyid ‘Ajall Shams al-Din (Saidianchi shansiding) is undoubtedly the most well-known Muslim official stationed in Yunnan under the Mongols, and he accomplished a lot in his short rule of five years (1274 to 1279).7 He already had a distinguished career as an administrator in northern China when Khubilai sent him to restore order. His first task was to shift the balance of power away from the military to a civilian bureaucracy. Within a year of his arrival, Sayyid replaced the military system of myriarchy (wanhufu) and chiliarchy (qianhufu) with the standard Chinese civil administrative system of routes, prefectures and counties run by civilian rather than military officials. Military reforms included creating a system of permanent garrisons at strategic locations and shifting the command of all military forces to the civilian Regional Secretariat located at the new regional capital Yunnan fu (present-day Kunming). To ensure a smooth transition to this new structure Sayyid had his eldest son, Nasir al-Din, appointed to head that bureau. Sayyid is best known for his efforts to improve agricultural production in the province, lowering taxes, promoting new regional markets, introducing water control measures, and developing the local mineral wealth. He also included the many indigenous ethnic groups in his state-building project by introducing the native chieftain tusi system whereby local tribal chiefs were awarded titles and material rewards in exchange for keeping the peace in their area for the Mongols.

7

Sayyid ‘Ajall Shams al-Din and his family are well documented in the Yuan sources and have been the focus of several studies. His official biography is in Yuanshi, 125: 3066–3070. Other contemporaneous sources have been compiled and edited by Fang Guoyu, Yunnan Shiliao Congkan, vol. 3. Scholarship on Sayyid includes “Saiyid Aǰall (1211–1279),” in In the Service of the Khan, ed. Igor de Rachewiltz, Hok-lam Chan, Hsiao Ch’i-ch’ing and Peter W. Geier (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 1993), 466–479; Jacqueline Misty Armijo-Hussein, Sayyid ‘Ajall Shams al-Din: A Muslim from Central Asia, Serving the Mongols in China, and Bringing ‘Civilization’ to Yunnan, Ph.D. dissertation, Harvard University, 1996; Na Weixin, Ma Shixing and Na Fang, Yuan Xianyang wang Saidianchi Shansiding shijia (Beijing: Jinri Zhongguo chubanshe, 1996), and Li Qingsheng, Saidianchi Shansiding Zhuan (Kunming: Yunnan Daxue chubanshe, 2000).

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It was under Sayyid’s direction that the Mongol state began to extract gold, silver, copper, iron and even a kind of jade from Yunnan mines.8 This mining production would eventually enable the Ming state to extract as much silver from Yunnan as they were bringing in from foreign sources like the Portuguese.9 He also brought Confucianism into the region by sponsoring Confucian temples and schools. The first schools were established in the old capital Dali, and when he transferred his capital to present-day Kunming, he built schools there as well.10 By the end of the Yuan, Confucian schools had been built in all the important communities across central Yunnan. Sayyid Ajall also promoted his own religious tradition in Yunnan, especially the construction of several important mosques in Kunming.11 Although the sources do not specifically document his sponsorship of Islamic schools, since mosques normally included educational activities and facilities in their physical layout and as an important part of Islamic life, it is undoubtedly the case that the mosques Sayyid sponsored also included Islamic education. In sum, Sayyid was known as an effective administrator who brought the region fully under central Mongol state control and who promoted the welfare of locals. His identity as a Muslim did not overshadow those efforts. But many prominent Yunnan Hui communities today trace their existence back to Sayyid and his descendants, some of whom continued the family tradition of governing Yunnan. After Sayyid ‘Ajall’s death in 1279, his eldest son Nasir al-Din (Nasulading) was promoted first to Military Commander of Yunnan and Assistant Director of the Branch Provincial Secretariat, then as governor of the province (pingzhang) from 1284–91. Nasir al-Din was also an active and effective military leader who led Yuan military forces against rebels causing trouble in far southern Yunnan and northern Burma in 1277, which extended loose Yuan control over those areas for some time to come. Rather than simply wiping these people out, however, Nasir al-Din offered amnesty to 300 villages and added 120,000 households to the Yuan tax registers. He established tax rates and postal stations along the main transportation artery, left troops in military garrison 8

9 10

11

The chapter on “Food and Commodities” in the Yuanshi provides a list of 15 separate sites from which gold, silver, copper, pearls and jade were mined in Yunnan under the Mongols. See Yuanshi, 94: 2377–2385. See Bin Yang, Between Wind and Clouds, ch. 6. Sayyid’s record of establishing Confucian schools in Yunnan is confirmed by in situ dedicatory inscriptions extracted and annotated in Fang Guoyu, “Chuangjian Zhongqing Dali lianglu ‘Ruxue beiji’ 創建中慶大理兩路 ‘儒學碑記,’” in Yunnan Shiliao Congkan, vol. 3, 268–280. See Bai Shouyi, “Saidianchi Shansiding,” in Huizu renwu zhi (Yinchuan: Ningxia Renmin chubanshe, 2000), 14–37.

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stations, and returned to Kunming with 12 elephants submitted by the villages as tribute to the Yuan state.12 Nasir al-Din died in 1292. While we know that Nasir al-Din was a Muslim, this is not the characteristic that the Yuan sources chose to highlight. Nonetheless, it is interesting to note that several Hui clans and three of the most economically vibrant Hui communities in Yunnan today, Nagu (a.k.a. Najiaying) and Shadian towns and a Hui autonomous county in Weishan County all trace their ancestry back to Sayyid or his immediate descendants. Sayyid ‘Ajall’s third son, Qusein (Huxin), also had a distinguished career as a Yuan administrator in Yunnan, after gaining experience first at Dadu as a First Secretary in the Ministry of War, then in high-level positions in Henan, Shaanxi, Hebei, Zhejiang, Jiangsu, Anhui, and Jiangxi Branch Secretariat bureaus. He was sent back to Yunnan in 1297 as second in command in the Yunnan Provincial Secretariat’s office (you chengxiang), serving in that position until 1303. The sources note that he settled a disagreement between some local groups and the Mongol Prince who had been given appanage estates in Yunnan, regulated disbursements of grain from imperial granaries, and got rid of the corrupt officials in charge of that system. Like his father, he also made sure that school lands set up in conjunction with imperially-sponsored Confucian temples were returned from private parties who had taken them. Qusein also established good relations with the king of Burma, who eventually presented a white elephant to the Yuan court as tribute.13 Sayyid’s fifth son, Mas’ud (Masuhu), followed his father and elder brothers in being appointed governor of Yunnan (pingzhang) in the years 1327–1329. Two of Nasir al-Din’s sons continued the family’s established pattern of governing Yunnan; Qusïm (Huxian) served as governor (pingzhang) in 1323, while Šadi (Shadi) was a Junior Vice Councillor in the 1330s. Several other of Sayyid’s sons, grandsons, and great grandsons were not appointed to office in their home province, Yunnan, but followed the family tradition of serving the Mongols as civilian administrators in high-level positions at the Yuan court at Dadu or in other provincial offices across China.14 Altogether the family created for itself a legacy as both the exemplar of Sinic benevolent government and the founders of the Chinese Muslim community in Yunnan.

12 13 14

Yuanshi, 125: 3067. Yuanshi, 125: 3069. See Donald Daniel Leslie, Islam in Traditional China: A Short History to 1800 (Canberra: Canberra College of Advanced Education, 1986), 83–85 for a convenient list of offices that Sayyid ‘Ajall and his descendants held in Mongol China.

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Yuan Dynasty Yunnan While Sayyid ‘Ajall and his descendants set the precedent for good governance in Yunnan, their legacy as the ancestors of Islam in Yunnan probably rests more on administrative structures and patterns they created in their work dealing with the vagaries of this unique frontier zone with its multitude of stakeholders than to any special favors they granted to Muslims at the time. One of the most important structural developments that occurred under their watch that led to the creation of vibrant Muslim communities across the region was the establishment of permanent military garrison units in strategic locations manned by troop units. Those garrisons eventually included both civil and military personnel, and the system complemented the local tusi system.15 Well before Sayyid Ajall’s posting to the Dali region, the Mongol military units that were used in the initial conquests in the 1250s consisted of a variety of ethnic groups from the steppe and Central Asia, a common feature of the Mongol tammachi armies.16 These military units were stationed in tuntian garrisons in 12 different locations across Yunnan with over 28,000 households assigned to over 400,000 mu of fields.17 Moreover, while the sources do not provide information on the specific ethnic identity of every military unit sent to garrison locations in Yunnan, they do give enough description to get a good sense of the multi-ethnic character of the Mongol army there, including many references to Muslim soldiers. For example, an edict in 1303 commanded that a Central Asian Muslim military unit (“Huijun”) of 14,000 men who had been sent to campaign in Burma be returned to their permanent garrison locations 15 The tusi system is beyond the scope of this chapter and will not be discussed. John E. Herman, Amid the Clouds and Mist: China’s Colonization of Guizhou, 1200–1700 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2007) discusses the deployment of the native chieftain tusi system in Mongol and Ming eastern Yunnan and Guizhou in detail. Gong Yin, Zhongguo Tusi zhidu (Kunming: Yunnan Minzu chubanshe, 1992) provides data for each native clan and the location of their native chieftaincy for Yunnan. While this system was designed around existing tribal and clan units, and we would not expect Muslims to be included, it is interesting to note that at least a few Muslims were granted native chieftain status in Yuan Yunnan. 16 On the tammachi armies see Hsiao Ch’i-ch’ing, The Military Establishment of the Yuan Dynasty (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University, Council on East Asian Studies, 1978), and Yang Zhijiu, “Yuandai de tanmachijun,” in Yuanshi lunji (Beijing: Renmin chubanshe, 1984), 200–225. Yuanshi 100, pp. 2575–78 describes the military and civilian tuntian system in Yunnan. The 17 data is summarized by Bai Shouyi, Huizu Renwuzhi, 37.

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in Yunnan, or a request to the court in 1308 to return 1000 Yunnan Uyghur troops (“Yunnan Weiwuer yiqian ren”) who were then living in central Huguang to Yunnan because they had originally been sent to Yunnan by Khubilai.18 Some Muslims even ended up being appointed as native chieftain heads in particularly sensitive locations in Yunnan; two unrelated Ma clans in charge of two different locations in the provincial capital, Yunnan fu, and the Yang clan as chieftains at Dali. By Khubilai’s reign large numbers of troops in Yunnan were required both because of ongoing unrest in the region and to staff campaigns by the Mongols against neighboring states Burma and Đại Việt.19 Most of the references to garrison troops and locations in Yuan-era Yunnan relate to deployment in one or more of those campaigns. And it is from the accounts of leaders of these troop units, as well as other prominent civil administrators in Yunnan that we learn the most about the influx of Muslims under the Mongols and their role in creating the Hui heritage. Yaghan Tegin (Yehan dejin) was the grandson of a Qarluq tribal leader who surrendered to Chinggis Khan in 1219 with 3,000 of his countrymen.20 He cut his teeth as a military leader under Khubilai beginning in 1261 in campaigns against the Southern Tarim Basin city Khotan, and then was sent to Sichuan as a member of the Pacification Bureau where he commanded Mongol, Tangut, Qarluq and Han troops in defeating Song forces. He was transferred to Yunnan in 1280 as one of two Second Privy Councillors (canzhi zhengshi) in the provincial capital where he managed both civil and military matters. The Persian historian Rashid al-Din even makes note of Yaghan Tegin’s role in Yunnan in his description of the provinces of Mongol China during Khubilai’s rule, that Yunnan, known in the Persian sources as Qarajang, was “… a separate kingdom. 18 19

20

See, respectively, entries in the Yuan basic annals (benji), Yuanshi 21: 451 and Yuanshi 22: 506. For the Mongol campaigns off the Yunnan Plateau down into the mountains of Burma (Mian), see Michael A. Aung-Thwin, Myth and History in the Historiography of Early Burma (Athens, OH: Ohio University Center for International Studies, 1998), 36–38, 61–62, 66, 77–78, 85–86, 94. The Mongol campaigns into Southeast and South Asia between 1282–1309 are also summarized in Chen Bangzhan, Yuanshi Jishi Benmo (Taibei: Shangwu yinshuguan, 1982), 6: 25–29. The Turkic Qarluq tribes lived near Kashgar, converted to Islam in the mid-10th Century and founded the Muslim Qarakhanid Dynasty (999–1211). Many Qarluq personnel served as civil and military administrators for the Mongols in China. See Peter B. Golden, An Introduction to the History of the Turkic Peoples (Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1992) for discussion of the identity and role of the Qarluq tribes in the Mongol Empire. Yaghan Tegin has a biography in Yuanshi 133: 3226–27.

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There is a large city there called Yachi [Yunnan fu] and that is where the shing [C. “branch province”] is. The inhabitants are all Muslim, and the governors are Yaghan Tegin and Ali Beg’s son, Ya’qub Beg, who is descended from Yalavach.”21 He was sent on campaign in Burma in 1284, then back in Yunnan pacifying local rebellions and settling some 5,000 soldiers under his command in strategic towns in Yunnan such as Jiandu and Jinchi. In 1291 he was transferred back to Sichuan and eventually promoted Senior Chief Councillor (you chengxiang) in the Yuan central government in Dadu. His eldest, Qonïš Tegin (Huonichi dejin), was appointed as a Regional Military Commander in Yunnan in Togh Temur’s reign (1330–1333), but we do not know anything about his specific duties or activities there. Several Uyghurs also served in Yunnan as civilian administrators or military leaders. The Uyghur state based in the Tarim Basin was one of the first nonnomadic Central Asian states to voluntarily submit to Chinggis, in 1209. Because of that early submission and because of their substantial cultural capital, Uyghur personnel came to be first-among-equals in the large Semuren (“various categories of people”) cohort who served the Mongols.22 They were also the most varied group of Semuren in terms of their religious identity; Uyghurs practiced Buddhism, Nestorian Christianity, Manichaeism, and Islam. Selecting out Muslims from among the Uyghur population in Yuan China is also difficult since the sources do not usually provide a specific religious identity for Uyghur personnel. Nonetheless, the number of prominent Uyghur personnel who served in Yuan Yunnan is important to our goal of identifying the roots of Islamic communities in Yunnan under Mongol rule, for two reasons. First, Uyghur administrators would have been comfortable dealing fairly with a heterogeneous population because of their own legacy coming from a multi-lingual, multi-religious society. They were trusted by the Mongol political elite already and would be the natural choice for administrators in a frontier zone who could pacify the region and build loyalty to the Mongols. Second, many people identified as “Uyghur” in the late Yuan and who emigrated to Yunnan to avoid the chaos that engulfed central China in the transition from the Yuan to the 21

22

Rashiduddin Fazlullah, Jami’u’t-tawarikh, tr. W.M. Thackston (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University, Department of Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations, 1999), 446. Rashid’s description of the provincial capital having been entirely Muslim, while hyperbole, does indicate the strength and reputation of Muslims as provincial governors and administrators at a variety of levels. By no means were all those individuals related to Sayyid ‘Ajall. See my Subjects and Masters: Uyghurs in the Mongol Empire (Bellingham: Western Wash­ ington University Press, 2007) for discussion of the prominence of the Uyghurs in Mongol China.

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Ming are identified as “Muslim” (Hui) after they moved to Yunnan. This last point is important because it may indicate the identity of what was perceived as the politically dominant group in Yunnan at that time. I shall limit discussion of Uyghur personnel who served in Yuan Yunnan to those who served at the highest levels. One of the more prominent Uyghurs who was active in Yunnan was a member of the Uyghur royal clan that continued to inherit the title of Uyghur king (idiqut) long after their ancestor submitted to Chinggis in 1209. Khubilai ordered Susun Tegin (Xu xue dejin) to lead 1,000 Uyghur households to Yunnan in 1285, presumably as a military unit. The next year he was promoted to Minister on the Left in the Burmese Central Secretariat.23 He was accompanied on this campaign by another Uyghur who was from another aristocratic clan active in the Uyghur state before they submitted to the Mongols.24 Qursman (Huo’er siman) was ordered by Khubilai to accompany Susun Tegin in leading the Uyghur garrison troop to Yunnan. Although the sources are silent about Qursman’s role there, since he was a member of the Uyghur Semuren elite, some of the thousand Uyghur troops were undoubtedly under his direct command and may have been fellow clan members. Many civil and military personnel who entered Yunnan in the initial wave of conquests in the 1250s passed their positions on to family members in ways more reminiscent of nomadic patterns of transmission of power than the Chinese system based on selection for office by merit and regular bureaucratic mechanisms. This was certainly the case with Semuren personnel stationed in Yunnan, and a nice example is a Uyghur clan that produced four successive generations of military officials in Yunnan.25 This particular family’s long service in the Southwest began with Möngke’s initial campaign against Sichuan in the early 1250s, when a Uyghur named Basa-qutduq (Basi hudou) was assigned to lead a contingent of Uyghur and other Central Asian troops in the campaign, where he was killed. Khubilai awarded his son, Tekeš (Tiegeshu) with a gold medallion for service and his father’s position. He led troops on campaign to pacify central Yunnan and was then awarded the title of Assistant General 23

24

25

Biographies of most of the men in the Uyghur royal clan are in Yuanshi 122: 2999–3002. Susun Tegin’s activities in Yunnan are recorded in the Yuan Basic Annals, Yuanshi 13: 279– 80. Qursman’s extended family is described as part of the official biography of his greatgrandfather, Qara Igach Buyruq, Yuanshi 124: 3047. Eight generations of this clan served the Mongols in various locations across China in a number of high civil and military postings. The four generations of this Uyghur family are described in Yuanshi 133: 3228–29.

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Regional Military Commander over the local Lolo tribes and concurrently Associate Control Officer in the Yunnan Control Office. His son Toqluq Šagan (Tuoli shiguan) in turn inherited his father’s assorted offices in the same Yunnan bureaus, and he was most likely accorded an official biography in the Yuan Dynastic History because of his valorous record of leading troops numerous times to suppress rebellions in the region. This family’s record in the sources ends with the fourth generation family member Čïnač (Suonanban) also inheriting his father’s and grandfather’s titles in the Yunnan Regional Military and Control offices and the other material awards originally given by Khubilai. The above are just a few examples of the many Central Asian personnel who served in civil and military capacities in Yunnan and who were undoubtedly Muslim or associated with Muslims. Sayyid ‘Ajall probably did not envision establishing a precedent for Muslims as much as for loyal subjects of the Mongols in positions of authority in that far-off province, especially in the civil bureaucracy. And while several of his descendants followed him as provincial governors or other high offices in Yunnan, his family did not enjoy a hereditary lock on positions. Yet it is curious that many of the civil administrators at the provincial level were Muslims with backgrounds in Islamic Central Asia. This in itself was not remarkable since the Mongols relied heavily on Central Asians to staff upper level administrative offices across China. What set Yunnan apart from the rest of Mongol China was the fact that Muslims created a legacy across the province because of their permanent stationing in garrison locations that has remained alive down to the present. Given the fact that Yunnan was the last redoubt of Mongol power and resistance to the Ming, it is surprising that those Yunnan Muslim communities were not eliminated. In fact, the influx of troops and the directed settlement in the region of soldier-farmers under the Ming founder guaranteed the survival and growth of those communities. Muslim Governors in Ming Yunnan Yunnan was the last stronghold for Mongol loyalists, and this may have been because the remaining Mongol elite felt more comfortable in that frontier area because of the large number of Central Asian and Mongol personnel living there as much as because of its geography and difficulty of penetration by outside forces. In any event, Ming Taizu (r. 1368–98) did not get around to dealing with Yunnan until the 1380s, at which time he sent two Muslim generals, Lan Yu (d. 1393) and Mu Ying (1345–92), to deal with the Mongol prince Basala-

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warmi who had ensconced himself there as the last Mongol Prince of Liang (Liang Wang) and resisted submission.26 Mu Ying came from Anhui and was adopted as a boy by Zhu Yuanzhang and his future-Empress Ma, a Muslim. Mu was Zhu’s personal military aide on the field from the time he was 18. In 1377, Mu was appointed Vice Commander of a military expedition to western Sichuan and in 1381 sent from there to obtain the submission of the Mongol prince Basalawarmi, who had already killed two Ming officials and clearly intended to continue as the head of his independent Mongol Princedom. Mu Ying and Lan Yu led a force of some 300,000 soldiers into Yunnan, and Basalawarmi committed suicide in 1382 at Kunming when it became clear that the Ming forces were closing in on him. Then Mu and Lan turned to the other source of problems for the consolidation of Ming rule of Yunnan, the Duan clan who had continued to hold power over the old Dali area in the western part of the province under the Mongols in return for their loyalty and the loyalty of the indigenous local tribes connected to them. Sayyid ‘Ajall’s transfer of the regional capital from Dali east to present-day Kunming illustrates the independence of the Duans in the Yuan era.27 Mu Ying attacked the Dali plain from three different directions and captured the head of the Duan clan and his two sons in 1382, all of whom he sent to the Ming court at Nanjing. Both sons were later sent back to Yunnan with hereditary positions as judges in charge of Ming military garrisons, positions similar to the powers granted to other native chieftains in the tusi system. Thereafter, Nanjing could control the Duan clan while also cultivating good relations with other native chieftains who were allied to the Duans. In 1385 Mu Ying was ordered to stay on in Yunnan as regional military commander and was given the position of Chief of a special military command there, a hereditary position that his sons would receive, along with 20,000 mu 26

27

Lan Yu’s official biography is in Zhang Tingyu, ed., Mingshi (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1974), 132: 3863–66. Mu Ying’s official biography is in Mingshi 126: 3756–65. On Mu Ying see also Frederick W. Mote’s biography in L. Carrington Goodrich, ed, “Mu Ying,” Dictionary of Ming Biography, 1368–1644 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1976), 1079–83, and Peter Rupert Lighte, The Mongols and Mu Ying in Yunnan – At the Empire’s Edge, Ph.D. dissertation, Princeton University, 1981. Basalawarmi’s appointment as the last Prince of Liang in Yunnan is documented in Mingshi 124: 3719–20. Mu Ying’s Muslim credentials are examined by Li Qingsheng, Ming Qianningwang Mu Ying Zhuan (Kunming: Yunnan Minzu chubanshe, 2006). Other important Ming and Qing era accounts of Mu Ying and his family’s activities in Yunnan have been compiled and annotated in Fang Guoyu, “Ming Zhenshou Yunnan Mushi Shiji” 明鎮守雲南沐氏事蹟, in Yunnan Shiliao Congkan, vol. 3, 685–97. For the Duan clan, see Anderson in this volume.

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of land as his personal fief. The court also ordered that the 300,000 troops who had gone with Mu to Yunnan be stationed there permanently, and all the officers in that group were promoted one level in rank and granted hereditary tenure of their positions. Mu Ying stationed those troops in strategic garrisons situated on the important trade and transit routes around and across the province. In fact, many of those Ming garrisons simply took over and expanded established Yuan garrisons whose residents, originally Yuan troop units, had been living there for two or three generations and were now considered native or permanent residents. The orders for the permanent settlement of Mu’s troops in garrisons as permanent soldier-farmer residents was part of the Ming emperor’s strategy to move as many Han Chinese into the area as possible to quell any lingering resistance to Ming rule. This settlement pattern in the early Ming opened up new land and opportunities for people back in central China, and several other waves of in-migration from eastern provinces followed through the end of the dynasty.28 Since many of the troops under Mu and Lan were Muslims, local records illustrate the fact that that settlement strengthened existing communities of Muslims and began some new communities. Mu Ying was a sensitive administrator of Yunnan, in much the same style as Sayyid ‘Ajall before him. He continued the former native chieftain tusi system, but now within a three-tiered pacification bureau that was staffed by native chieftains with Chinese clerical offices and overseen by the provincial Regional Military Affairs office. He poured a lot of money into rebuilding transport and other infrastructure, and he encouraged local markets in counties across Yunnan. Much of this investment had to do with harnessing Yunnan’s rich mineral deposits, not least of which was silver. Mu Ying had five sons, and the 28

As Herman notes, Ming Taizu wanted to populate the entire southwest region with loyal subjects as quickly as possible, and did this by establishing garrisons in 28 locations along the main transit routes in Yunnan and encouraging soldiers who had been sent there in various military campaigns to settle permanently in those garrison locations as soldierfarmers. See Herman, Amid the Clouds and Mist, 85–88, and list of Ming garrisons in Yunnan, 242–43. Chen Qingjiang, Mingdai Yunnan Zhengqu Zhisuo Yanjiu (Beijing: Minzu chubanshe, 2002), 200 has mapped the locations of all of the Ming garrisons. For a study of migration of Han Chinese into Yunnan in the Ming, see also Lu Ren, Bianqian yu Jiaorong – Mingdai Yunnan Hanzu Yimin Yanjiu (Kunming: Yunnan Jiaoyu chubanshe, 2001). While beyond the scope of this paper, it is interesting to note that some of the important Hui communities in Yunnan today trace their initial founding to Muslim troops who were brought into the area by Mu Ying. See, for example, the historical account of a Hui community in northeastern Yunnan published recently in Zhaotongshi Minzu Zongjiao shiwuju, comp., Zhaotong Shaoshu minzu zhi (Kunming: Yunnan Minzu chubanshe, 2006), 102–136.

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family continued to live in Yunnan where they inherited Mu Ying’s official position as head of the special defense garrison of Yunnan until the 12th generation descendant accompanied the southern Ming Yongli Emperor, last in the Zhu line, in flight into exile in Burma in 1659. As with Sayyid ‘Ajall, the Muslim Mu Ying was not known as a zealous propagator of his religion and did not grant any particular favors to his co-religionists at the expense of other groups. But his benevolent administration, carried on by his descendants, and his adoption of Yunnan as his family’s home, affirmed the existence of many Hui communities in Yunnan. We can see his legacy borne out in the fact that several important Yunnan Hui clans and communities today trace their heritage back to Mu and his family.29 Similar to the Yuan, the Ming sources contain numerous accounts of Muslim military and civilian personnel from central China who were assigned to duty in Yunnan. Some eventually settled there and contributed to the legacy of the growing Hui communities just described, while others continued their careers by reassignment to other locations in China. The Ming sources also, however, illustrate the maturing of the Yunnan Hui community in the Ming era in one way quite different from the Yuan sources. It is to those stories of some Yunnan Hui persons that we now turn. We see in these stories the outlines of a distinctive history of Muslims in China; Yunnan’s unique history of conquest, settlement and inclusion into China that was begun with the Mongol conquest included the seeding of a Chinese Muslim community that came into its own by the end of the Ming Dynasty. That community was in many ways unique, different from Muslim communities in other parts of China, and this reflected the particular geographic, social, and political space that was Yunnan as well as the particular history of that people.

29

To cite just two examples of this legacy, a large Hui clan with the surname Ma, who live in Jianshui Town in south-central Yunnan, claim descent from a Muslim military officer whose hometown was Nanjing and who was sent to Jianshui as a battalion commander under Mu Ying. Another large Hui clan, also surnamed Ma, who live in the town of Najiaying, not far from Jianshui, also with a large Hui population, claim they settled in that place in the early Ming as county magistrates who at that time had the surname Na. The town’s name Najiaying (“Na family barracks”) bears out that story. This legacy of the contemporary Yunnan Hui communities is beyond the scope of this paper, and will be the focus of a separate article.

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Baoshan There are many examples that illustrate this evolution of Hui communities from their founding as military garrisons to regular towns and cities, but one will suffice here. One of the most prolific Hui communities in Yunnan today is located in and around the western town of Baoshan. This place, known as Jinchi before the Mongol conquest and throughout the Yuan Dynasty, was situated on the main north-south transit route between Sichuan and Burma. During the Yuan Dynasty it was included with Dali into a single military pacification bureau that was the most important in the region because it spanned the entire western part of Yunnan that included the old Dali state. Over eight thousand military households were settled into the Dali-Jinchi Pacification Bureau over the course of the Yuan Dynasty, and we know that among these were many Muslims. Illustrating this in Jinchi is the fact that of the five officials assigned to control specific military colonies, one was designated specifically to oversee the garrison of Muslim troops (Huihuijun qianhusuo).30 The Ming continued to staff the garrisons in that region and assigned five battalions of soldiers to settle permanently in Jinchi, which the Ming renamed Yongchang Prefecture (Yongchangfu).31 That part of western Yunnan became one of the most vibrant Hui communities in the Ming, as seen by the records of some of its more famous local Hui men. For example, there is the interesting fact that men of the Hui Ma family were appointed to the position of county magistrate over a county in Yongchang for 11 generations, through the entire Ming era. This position was similar to a native chieftain tusi except that in this case it was a county and not a tribe and its tribal area under their authority. The county records include an interestingly detailed account of that family’s history as local officials and their direct interactions with the Ming court that begins in 1380 via a series of imperial edicts confirming their appointment.32 In that year a certain Ma Suofei, a native of Yongping County who had been serving as an interpreter for the Mongol authorities before the Ming, submitted to the Ming and was then conferred the position of county magistrate of his home county. He held that position for 30 31 32

See “Yuandai zhujun Yongchang” 元代駐軍永昌, in Li Genyuan comp., Yongchangfu wenzheng (Kunming: Yunnan Meishu chubanshe, 2001), 3162. Yin Jishan, comp., Yunnan tongzhi, 1736; 12.3a. See “Yongpingxian xiancheng” 永平县县丞, in Li, Yongchangfu wenzheng, p. 3201 for a record of the imperial edicts from several Ming emperors confirming this family’s status. Gong Yin, Zhongguo Tusi Zhedu, 657–58 lists the names of all 11 generations of Ma men who were appointed as county magistrate of this native chieftain area (tu xiancheng) which was in the same category as a regular native chieftaincy (tusi) in the Ming.

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twenty-three years, after which two of his sons had an audience with the Yongle Emperor, who issued an edict confirming them as inheriting their father’s official position. The family continued to inherit the position throughout the Ming, confirmed by four subsequent imperial edicts, the last of which was issued by the Zhengde Emperor in 1510. Several interesting facts emerge from this account. First, we see that the locally-prominent Muslim Ma family had already become established social and political entities in their home county Yongping by the time of the Ming takeover. The sources specifically record the clan’s late-Yuan ancestor as submitting to the Ming, which probably indicates a high degree of local autonomy by local leaders. That the Ming chose this Muslim family to be in charge of local affairs, with powers similar to other native chieftains in Yunnan, probably also indicates that that county Yongping, if not the greater prefectural area in which it was situated, had a large Hui population. While only a few Hui were appointed as tusi native chieftains in Yunnan during the Ming, the appointment of the Ma family may not be surprising since the larger prefecture in which they lived and worked was home to many Hui. Some of those people became well-known scholars and public servants in the Ming. A brief examination of some of their stories will illustrate the strength of the Hui community at that time. There is no better example of the emergence of prominent Hui in Ming Yongchang Prefecture than the Shan clan (Shanshi). Altogether 21 men from this extended clan took part in the Ming civil service exams, succeeding in all three levels of the exams. At least three members of this extended clan became known for their poetry. Shan Jidi (d. 1637) achieved the juren degree in 1585 and was then appointed to serve as a clerk in the Ministry of Personnel at the Ming capital. He wrote several collections of poems and became well known for his literary production. His hometown gazetteer, Yongchang, describes him in terms that would have been fitting for any high-minded Confucian scholar-official, “His heavenly nature is honest and filial, his household is run with solemnity and justice, he is happy in encouraging people, but does not like people who use flattery.”33 His oldest son, Shan Zhongyan (1597–1642), achieved the jinshi degree in 1625 and was thereupon assigned to the rather important position of Vice Minister on the Right in the Ministry of Rites (libu youshilang) and was later promoted to be an academician in the Ming Hanlin Academy. Zhongyan too was known for his poetry, and it was undoubtedly his literary rep­ utation that contributed to his appointment in the prestigious Hanlin. We know less about the formal career of his younger brother, Shan Zhongtong 33

Liu Yuke, Yongchang fuzhi 1885 ed., 42.6a.

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(fl. 1620–1650) except for the fact that he achieved the juren degree in 1627 and that he also wrote poetry. A cousin named Shan Yinglei (fl. 1630–60) followed the family tradition of writing poetry, but we do not have any other details of his life.34 The Shan are one of the more prominent and numerous of the several Hui clans in the Baoshan area today. The political and cultural activities of men of the Shan clan in Ming and Qing China are but a few examples of the evolution of Yunnan Hui from immigrants who were moved there by the state to serve as soldiers or civil administrators to permanent residents of local communities who crafted lives as members of the shidafu scholar-official class, with highly successful careers and reputations at local and national levels. While some of these Hui from Yunnan went on to do fine work in bringing Islam into the Sinic world, many others were known more for their activities and accomplishments as typical Chinese literati, writing poetry, competing successfully in the state exams, or continuing to serve in military positions like their ancestors who first settled in Yunnan. The Hui communities from which these people came were a reflection and product of Yunnan’s unique history and geography as a frontier zone. Conclusion Was it only coincidence that Muslims were chosen by both the Mongol and the Ming Chinese states to govern and populate Yunnan? The far southwest had (and still has) a unique geographic, economic, and social pattern, different from central China and from Southeast Asia proper. In the imperial period it occupied a liminal political, economic and cultural space and only a savvy administrator used to managing different types of peoples and cultures could manage the shift from unconquered area to province that the Chinese state demanded after the 1250s. Both Sayyid ‘Ajall and Mu Ying were precisely the kinds of administrators who could pull that off, thanks to their personal experience as liminal subjects who understood the needs and views of other liminal subjects, not to mention the fact that both men had already racked up impressive records of success as civilian and military leaders in other parts of China under their respective imperial masters. Sayyid ‘Ajall was a member of the large Semuren class from Central and Western Asia, so identified by their Mongol masters because of their early, often voluntary submission. I have argued elsewhere that members of that class 34

See Wang Zihua and Yao Jide, comp., Yunnan Huizu Renwu Beizhuan Jingxuan (Kunming: Yunnan Minzu chubanshe, 2004), 88–92 for studies of these men and their poetry.

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occupied a liminal space in Mongol China because they were simultaneously subjects and masters, situated between the Mongols and the Chinese population.35 Semuren like Sayyid ‘Ajall were chosen as administrators over the Chinese precisely because their liminality rendered them both powerful and powerless and because they were uniquely prepared to deal with a literate, sedentary population like China’s due to their own backgrounds as elites from multi-cultural states in Central Asia. Moreover, the Mongols believed that Muslims were especially suited to international trade and used them in select positions as imperial brokers and traders. So it is not surprising that a man like Sayyid ‘Ajall from Bukhara, one of the most legendary and important international trading cities in Central Asia, was chosen to administer Yunnan, a place with a similar long history as a hub of international trade. Mu Ying’s liminal status is a bit harder to discern from the Ming sources, but he did occupy a space similar to that of Sayyid ‘Ajall. While Mu was from China proper, there is no doubt of his Muslim identity, even though it was obscured in his early years; he used the Zhu surname until ordered by Ming Taizu to go back to his own surname once he became an adult, his adopted mother and his own wife were both Muslims, he ate only lamb, and he rebuilt an important mosque in Xining when he was stationed there, to name but some of his better known attributes.36 Moreover, while many non-Chinese non-Muslim Yuan Semuren continued to live and work as government officials in China after the Ming takeover, most tried to blend into the landscape and obscure their nonChinese origins by adopting Chinese-style surnames. This was obviously not of concern to Mu. But he must have felt some of the same sense of liminality as a Muslim representing the Ming court in that frontier region because the sources are quiet concerning any overt actions he took to benefit Muslims during his administration in Yunnan. Mu is portrayed as a typical Chinese official, especially in his actions to reclaim lost farmland and his sponsorship of Confucian academies and temples. But we know that hundreds or thousands of Muslims came to Yunnan under Mu or later. His sensitivity to the needs of the local native chieftains and his work to make sure they were heard also speaks to his empathy with liminal subjects, an empathy that a Han Chinese may not have felt or understood. It is also interesting that the Mu family continued to call Yunnan home long after the Ming was deposed. A cynical observer might attribute that to their large landholdings in the province, but it might also be 35

Brose, Michael C. Subjects and Masters: Uyghurs in the Mongol Empire. (Bellingham, WA: Center for East Asian Studies, Western Washington University, 2007). 36 Li, Ming Qiangning Wang Mu Ying Zhuan, 12–26, discusses these and other attributes that clarify Mu Ying’s identity as a Muslim.

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because the Muslim Mu clan genuinely felt at home in that province that had become home to so many other Muslims who had formed strong communities. Those communities, already by the mid-Ming producing native sons who competed successfully at local and national levels for official positions and reputations as members of the broader Chinese literati, may also be products of Yunnan’s legacy as a frontier region. Certainly there were Hui from many other parts of China who had similar career paths as the men from Yunnan. But Yunnan seems unique in the number and distribution of strong Hui communities that were established either under the Mongols or in the early Ming and that continue to enjoy that legacy today. We have touched on a few examples of renowned Hui from one community in western Yunnan in the Ming, but they are only representative examples of many more people from other communities across the province that trace their founding to this same period. The Hui are now one of the 26 officially recognized national minority groups living in Yunnan and the only national minority group in China so designated solely because of their practice of a specific religion. The Yunnan Hui are a lively, diverse group with roots that go back as far as the founding of the province. They are playing a growing role in the local and provincial economy and society, illustrated not least by the many new mosque complexes being built across the province at this moment. But their orientation is as much south and west as it is east, with new links to the wider Islamic world via tourism, the internet and education.37 Yunnan’s history as a liminal frontier zone seems to be alive today, now a place where China and the wider Islamic world meet and interact in ways that do not threaten the central state because it is all part of that province’s complex tapestry of many ethnic groups and cultural traditions. Bibliography Armijo-Hussein, Jacqueline Misty. Sayyid ‘Ajall Shams al-Din: A Muslim from Central Asia, Serving the Mongols in China, and Bringing ‘Civilization’ to Yunnan. Ph.D. dissertation, Harvard University, 1996. Aung-Thwin, Michael A. Myth and History in the Historiography of Early Burma. Athens, OH: Ohio University Center for International Studies, 1998.

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For example, Yunnan’s many new and historic mosques are featured in Islamic heritage tours of China promoted on the internet.

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Bai Shouyi. “Saidianchi Shansiding” 賽典赤贍思丁. In Huizu renwu zhi 回族人物志. Yinchuan: Ningxia Renmin chubanshe, 2000: pp. 14–37. Brose, Michael C. Subjects and Masters: Uyghurs in the Mongol Empire. Bellingham: Western Washington University Press, 2007. Buell, Paul D. “Saiyid Aǰall (1211–1279).” In In the Service of the Khan, ed. Igor de Rachewiltz, Hok-lam Chan, Hsiao Ch’i-ch’ing and Peter W. Geier. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 1993: 466–479. Chen Bangzhan. Yuanshi Jishi Benmo 元史紀事本末 . Taibei: Shangwu yinshuguan, 1982. Chen Qingjiang. Mingdai Yunnan Zhengqu Zhisuo Yanjiu 明代云南政區治所研究. Beijing: Minzu chubanshe, 2002. Fang Guoyu, comp. Yunnan Shiliao Congkan 雲南史料叢刊. Kunming: Yunnan Daxue chubanshe, 1998. ––––––. “Ming Zhenshou Yunnan Mushi Shiji” 明鎮守雲南沐氏事蹟. In Yunnan Shiliao Congkan. Kunming: Yunnan Daxue chubanshe, 1998: vol. 3, pp. 685–97. Golden, Peter B. An Introduction to the History of the Turkic Peoples. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1992. Gong Yin. Zhongguo Tusi zhidu 中國土司製度. Kunming: Yunnan Minzu chubanshe, 1992. Herman, John E. Amid the Clouds and Mist: China’s Colonization of Guizhou, 1200–1700. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2007. Hill, Ann Maxwell. Merchants and Migrants. New Haven: Yale University Southeast Asian Studies, 1998. Hsiao Ch’i-ch’ing. The Military Establishment of the Yuan Dynasty. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University, Council on East Asian Studies, 1978. Leslie, Donald Daniel. Islam in Traditional China: A Short History to 1800. Canberra: Canberra College of Advanced Education, 1986. Li Genyuan, comp. Yongchangfu wenzheng 永昌府文征. Kunming: Yunnan Meishu chubanshe, 2001. Li Qingsheng. Saidianchi Shansiding Zhuan 賽典赤贍思丁傳. Kunming: Yunnan Daxue chubanshe, 2000. ––––––. Ming Qianningwang Mu Ying Zhuan 明黔寧王沐英傳. Kunming: Yunnan Minzu chubanshe, 2006 Lighte, Peter Rupert. The Mongols and Mu Ying in Yunnan – At the Empire’s Edge. Ph.D. dissertation, Princeton University, 1981. Liu Yuke. Yongchang fuzhi 永昌府志, 1885. Lu Ren. Bianqian yu Jiaorong – Mingdai Yunnan Hanzu Yimin Yanjiu 變遷與交融 – 明 代云南漢族移民研究. Kunming: Yunnan Jiaoyu chubanshe, 2001. Mote, Frederick W. “Mu Ying.” In Dictionary of Ming Biography, 1368–1644, ed. L. Carrington Goodrich. New York: Columbia University Press, 1976: pp. 1079–83.

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Na Weixin, Ma Shixing and Na Fang. Yuan Xianyang wang Saidianchi Shansiding shijia 元咸陽王賽典赤贍思丁世家. Beijing: Jinri Zhongguo chubanshe, 1996. Rashiduddin Fazlullah. Jami’u’t-tawarikh, tr. W.M. Thackston. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University, Department of Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations, 1999. Rossabi, Morris. Khubilai Khan: His Life and Times. Berkeley & Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1988. Song Lian, ed. Yuanshi 元史 . Beijing: Zhonghua shuju 1992. Tu Ji, comp. Mengwuer shiji 蒙兀兒史記 . Taibei: Shijie shuju, 1983. Wang, Jianping . Concord and Conflict: The Hui Communities of Yunnan Society, Lund Studies in African and Asian Religions, vol. 11. Stockholm: Almquist & Wiksell International, 1996. Wang Zihua and Yao Jide, comp. Yunnan Huizu Renwu Beizhuan Jingxuan 雲南迴族人 物碑傳精選. Kunming: Yunnan Minzu chubanshe, 2004. Yang, Bin. Between Wind and Clouds: The Making of Yunnan (Second Century BCE to Twentieth Century CE). New York: Columbia University Press, 2009. Yang Zhijiu. “Yuandai de tanmachijun.” In Yuanshi lunji 元史論集. Beijing: Renmin chubanshe, 1984: pp. 200–225. Zhang Tingyu, ed. Mingshi 明史. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1974. Zhaotongshi Minzu Zongjiao shiwuju 昭通市民族宗教事務局, comp. Zhaotong Shaoshu minzu zhi 昭通少數民族志. Kunming: Yunnan Minzu chubanshe, 2006.

Chapter 5

Gunsmoke: The Ming Invasion of Đại Việt and the Role of Firearms in Forging the Southern Frontier1 Kenneth M. Swope

Introduction According to the Official History of the Ming Dynasty, the Yongle Emperor (r. 1403–1424) decided to establish the capital firearms training divisions (shenji ying) in the early fifteenth century because the Ming had captured new firearms and firearms experts during their invasion and occupation of Đại Việt.2 While proven to be erroneous by generations of scholars, this claim of Vietnamese involvement nonetheless reflects the fact of a good deal of technological exchange taking place in Asia in the wake of the collapse of the Mongol Yuan dynasty (1279–1368) in China. This included the sharing of weapons and printing technology in Northeast Asia, the diffusion of rice strains and planting methods from the south to the north, and the transmission of ceramic technologies from Korea to the rest of Asia and from China to points in South and Southeast Asia. Indeed, recent scholarship has highlighted the importance of print technology and Chinese bureaucratic forms in facilitating the centralization and expansion of political power in Southeast Asia, most notably Đại Việt.3 It should be stressed, moreover, that such exchanges were in some ways merely a redirection of processes begun during the so-called Pax Mongolica, which witnessed a significant degree of cultural and technological exchange between East and West.4 Additionally, as a result of such exchanges, “Đại Việt 1 Originally presented at the Association of Asian Studies Annual Meeting, Honolulu, 2011. 2 See Zhang Tingyu, et al., comps., Mingshi 12 vols. (Taibei: Dingwen shuju, 1994), 2264. Hereafter cited as MS. 3 Kenneth R. Hall, A History of Early Southeast Asia: Maritime Trade and Societal Development, 100–1500 (Lanham: Rowman and Littlefield, 2011), 248–252. Also see Momoki Shiro, “Dai Viet and the South China Sea Trade: From the 10th to the 15th Century,” Crossroads: An Interdisciplinary Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 12.1 (1998), 1–34. 4 On these exchanges, see Thomas T. Allsen, Culture and Conquest in Mongol Eurasia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001). On the redirection of trade back to the sea after the dissolution of the Yuan empire in China, see Anthony Reid, Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce, 1450–1680, Volume Two: Expansion and Crisis (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993).

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villages began producing ceramics and silks for export (mainly to countries other than China), and improved technology in the late Trần period made possible the manufacture of Yuan-style brown underglaze wares that commanded good prices on the international market. During the early Lê period, blue and white wares and polychrome enameled ceramics from Đại Việt found their way to such remote places as Japan, Egypt and Turkey.”5 While the Mongols have long been recognized as major transmitters of military technology throughout the globe, until recently scholars have paid far less attention to the important role played by the succeeding Ming dynasty in continuing these efforts, albeit not always intentionally. Indeed, Sun Laichen has identified the Ming as the world’s first “gunpowder empire” and suggested that the dissemination of Ming firearms technology to Southeast Asia was critical in regional power struggles, state formation, and frontier delineation.6 Moreover, even as they sought to protect their gunpowder technology from falling into the hands of potential foes, the Ming recognized how this technology could contribute to regional stability and shared it with their allies, most notably Chosŏn Korea. Using textual and archaeological evidence, here we examine some of the ways in which firearms technology was disseminated throughout fifteenth-century Asia and had an impact on the southern frontier by examining the role played by these weapons in the Ming war in Đại Việt.7 We also consider ways in which firearms were viewed by combatants at the time as force multipliers and contributors to political and military stability. In light of the mounting evidence to the contrary, it is surprising that many military historians continue to ignore the fact that Asians not only invented, but improved upon gunpowder technologies and used them to great effect long before the coming of Western gun traders.8 Moreover, innovations in the manufacture and deployment of gunpowder weapons often proved critical in state-building efforts and in the maintenance of regional stability, a process

5 Momoki, “Đại Việt,” 20. 6 Sun Laichen, “Ming-Southeast Asian Overland Interactions, c. 1368–1644” (Ph.D. Diss., University of Michigan, 2000). 7 For a recent overview of Ming-Vietnamese relations, see Zheng Yongchang, Zhengzhan yu qishou: Mingdai Zhong-Yue guanxi yanjiu (Tainan: Changda chubanzu, 1997). 8 See the discussion in Peter A. Lorge, The Asian Military Revolution: From Gunpowder to the Bomb (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 7–10. Also see Sun Laichen, “Military Technology Transfers from Ming China and the Emergence of Northern Mainland Southeast Asia, (c. 1390–1527),” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 34.3 (Oct., 2003), 495–497.

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historians have often confined to the Western experience.9 Yet, as Peter Lorge has recently and provocatively argued, Europeans only began to exploit gunpowder technologies profitably when their states became more like the imperial bureaucratic Chinese state.10 By extension, the same argument can be made for Southeast Asian states, most notably Đại Việt. While much has been made of Vietnamese cultural and institutional borrowing from Ming China and its importance in the maturation of the Vietnamese state, until recently far less attention has been paid to military borrowings.11 Historians have, however, noted the military implications of the adoption of the Ming bureaucracy and bureaucratic institutions for the successful “Advance to the South,” or Nam Tiến.12 For example, the rulers of the Lê and Nguyễn from the fifteenth through the seventeenth centuries, following standard Chinese practice, appointed military governors to preside over newly conquered areas and used military and penal colonies to help consolidate their gains. Indeed, one scholar has suggested that “the military colonies were perhaps the most important government institution during the expansion in the South.”13 This is undoubtedly due to the general ignorance of Chinese military history in the West and a lack of interest in and appreciation of the military traditions of East and Southeast Asia prior to the large-scale arrival of Westerners in the sixteenth-century. Additionally, such an emphasis serves to reinforce the notion that Western superiority was primarily responsible for engendering military change and by extension state development, in Southeast Asia.14 This is not to say that Asians did not eagerly adopt superior Western firearms when 9

For the classic formulation of the Military Revolution thesis for the West, see Geoffrey Parker, The Military Revolution: Military Innovation and the Rise of the West, 1500–1800 2nd ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996). On the relationship of military efficacy to state formation, see Charles Tilly, Coercion, Capital, and European States, 990–1990 (London: Basil Blackwell, 1990). 10 Lorge, Asian Military Revolution, 9. 11 On the institutional and cultural fronts, see John K. Whitmore, Vietnam, Ho Quy Ly and the Ming (1371–1421) (New Haven: Yale Center for International and Area Studies, 1985); and Alexander Woodside, Vietnam and the Chinese Model: A Comparative Study of Chinese and Vietnamese Government in the First Half of the Nineteenth Century (Cambridge, MA Harvard University Press, 1988). On Chinese military influence on Vietnam and vice versa, see Sun Laichen, “Chinese Gunpowder Technology and Đại Việt, ca. 1390–1497,” in Viet Nam: Borderless Histories, ed. Nhung Tuyet Tran and Anthony J.S. Reid (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2006), 72–120. 12 See, for example, Michael G. Cotter, “Towards a Social History of the Vietnamese Southward Movement,” Journal of Southeast Asian History 9.1 (Mar., 1968): 16. 13 Ibid., 19. 14 Lorge, Asian Military Revolution, 22.

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they became available in the sixteenth century, but rather to note that the introduction of these weapons, rather than revolutionary, was evolutionary in the sense that leaders and military commanders had a long history of appropriating gunpowder technologies from one another. Furthermore, as will be demonstrated herein, such exchanges were not unilateral. Though the Ming generally led in technological innovation and dissemination of new technologies, Ming emperors and military commanders were savvy enough to recognize superior technologies and tactics and to adopt them for themselves no matter what their origins. This may be seen in the Ming request of war elephants from Đại Việt (Annan) to aid in its pacification of recalcitrant tribal groups in the southwest.15 It is also evidenced by the Ming adoption of socalled “wooden wad” technology from Đại Việt to increase the range of their fire lances upon encountering this technology during their occupation there (as the province of Jiaozhi) in the first decade of the fifteenth century.16 Indeed, contrary to popular perceptions, gunpowder played an important role in Chinese warfare from its initial discovery. Its importance only increased as delivery systems diversified and became more complex. Firearms were crucial in the campaigns of Zhu Yuanzhang (1328–1398, r. 1368–1398) to defeat his rivals and found the Ming dynasty, most notably the Poyang Lake campaign and in the reduction of the walls of Suzhou.17 The centrality of firearms to Ming warfare was underscored when the founder’s son, the Yongle Emperor (r. 1403–1424), established the world’s first firearms training divisions, the aforementioned shenji ying.18 It is unclear whether these divisions existed in Nanjing or were only created upon the transfer of the primary capital to Beijing in 1420, though Sun opines that they were established at the latter place and time in direct response to their demonstrated efficacy during the fighting in Đại Việt.19 However, it is noted that amongst the Ming commanders initially sent to chastise the Vietnamese in 1406 were the shenji jiangjun (heavenly firearms commanders) Cheng Kuan and Zhu Gui.20 This force consisted of some 75,000 15 Whitmore, Ho Quy Ly, 41; on Yunnan at this time, see Brose in this volume. 16 On this technology, see Li Bin, “Yongle chao yu Annan he huoqi jishu jiaoliu,” Zhongguo gudai huoyao shi yanjiu (1995): 150–152; and Sun, “Chinese Gunpowder Technology and Đại Việt,” 89–93. 17 See Edward L. Dreyer, “Military Origins of Ming China,” in The Cambridge History of China, Volume 7: The Ming Dynasty, 1368–1644, Part One, ed. Frederick W. Mote and Dennis Twitchett (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 82–93. 18 Li, “Yongle yu Annan,” 147. 19 Sun, “Gunpowder Technology and Đại Việt,” 85. 20 Gu Yingtai, Mingshi jishi benmo repr. In Lidai jishi benmo 2 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1997), 346–347. Hereafter cited as MSJSBM.

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troops under twenty commanders mustered from all over the Ming empire.21 This total would increase to around 215,000 over the next few months. Sun suggests that, in this era, about 10% of Ming troops were equipped with firearms, though my research indicates the Ming forces strived to reach higher ratios when possible.22 Clearly, such forces were designed to overawe their presumably numerically and technologically inferior enemy. The Ming intervention in Đại Việt was connected to a succession dispute.23 A Vietnamese usurper named Hồ Quý Ly had killed most of the incumbent royal Trần family and placed first himself, then his son on the throne.24 The Ming initially accepted his explanation that the royal line had died out and that the new ruler was related to the old king and prepared to invest the Hồ clan as rulers of Annan (Đại Việt). But in the autumn of 1404 a Trần refugee reached Nanjing and recounted the story of the usurpation, requesting Ming aid in restoring the throne to the Trần family. Though dubious of this man’s claims, the Ming decided to investigate.25 When another Vietnamese envoy confirmed the man’s tale, the Ming issued an edict demanding that the Hồ renounce their claims and accept the Trần claimant as the rightfully invested Ming tributary ruler. Hồ Quý Ly agreed, but his men subsequently ambushed and annihilated the small Ming escort column that accompanied the Trần claimant just after they crossed the Vietnamese border.26 This prompted the

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26

For a detailed discussion of Ming troop dispatches and a table with specific dates, see Zheng, Zhengzhan yu qishou: Mingdai Zhong-Yue guanxi yanjiu, 36–50. Sun, “Military Technology Transfers,” 498. Some sources give the outrageously high figure of 800,000 Ming troops being mobilized for the campaign in Annan. See Zhao Zhongchen, Ming Chengzu zhuan (Beijing: Renmin chubanshe, 1995), 339. This biography of the Yongle Emperor offers an overview of the Ming occupation of Vietnam on pp. 339–351. Also see Zheng, Zhengzhan yu qishou: Mingdai Zhong-Yue guanxi yanjiu, 46, concerning the figure of 800,000. For a discussion of the details of the Ming dispute with the Ho, see ibid., 26–36. Hồ Quý Ly was able to take advantage of unrest in Đại Việt caused by repeated invasions from Champa, the kingdom based in what is now central Vietnam. See Shih-shan Henry Tsai, Perpetual Happiness: The Ming Emperor Yongle (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2001), 178–179, and Whitmore, Ho Quy Ly, 73–74. Tan Qian, Guoque 10 vols. (Taibei: Dingwen shuju, 1978), 968. Hereafter cited as GQ. For details on the process of usurpation, see Whitmore, Ho Quy Ly, 53–63. Also see MSJSBM, 345–346, and MS, 8324. Chen Jian, Huang Ming tongji 2 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2008), 423. Hereafter cited as HMTJ.

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Ming to charge the usurper with twenty great crimes and assemble a punitive expedition.27 The consequent larger Ming invasion force was alert for ambushes and much better prepared, with extensive supplies and stores of medicine, in addition to the firearms.28 They advanced in multiple wings and smashed through formidable Vietnamese defenses rather easily. They forced Hồ Quý Ly to torch and abandon his Western Capital while using firearms and new tactics to frustrate the elephant cavalry sent against them, for example concentrating fire at the handlers and the trunks of the elephants.29 Notably, the Ming supposedly deployed firearms to great effect against Vietnamese elephants in the bloody street fights for control of the Eastern Capital (now Hà Nội).30 This use of firearms is noteworthy in that it appears to have been standard operating procedure for the Ming to employ guns as force multipliers and against technologically inferior foes in particular, where it was believed the foes could be overawed into ready submission. Hence we see the use of such arms in their initial conquest of Yunnan in the 1380s and throughout the Ming period in expansive campaigns in the southwest frontier.31 Zhang Wen has recently argued that firearms were integral to the incorporation of formerly aboriginal lands into the regular administrative structure of the Chinese empire in the late imperial era, suggesting that the relationship between superior military technologies and bureaucratic administrative advances in China was in fact similar to the processes taking place in Southeast Asia, which will be noted below.32 There were two main weapon making bureaus in China. The junqiju was required to produce 3000 bowl-sized muzzle cannon (wan kou chong), 3000 hand-guns, 90,000 arrow heads, and 3000 signal guns every three years. But 27

The crimes as listed in the Ming shilu are enumerated and discussed in Zheng, Zhengzhan yu qishou: Mingdai Zhong-Yue guanxi yanjiu, 50–52. 28 On Ming strategy and planning, see Zhao, Ming Chengzu zhuan, 345–346. For a list of major command assignments, see HMTJ, 426. 29 See HMTJ, 429–430, and MSJSM, 348. 30 MS, 4220. 31 Li “Yongle yu Annan,” 149. On the use of firearms in the late Ming during the suppression of the rebellion of the Miao chieftain, Yang Yinglong, see Kenneth M. Swope, “To Catch a Tiger: The Ming Suppression of the Yang Yinglong Miao Uprising (1587–1600) as a Case Study in Ming Military and Borderlands History,” in New Perspectives in Southeast Asian History and Historiography, ed. Kenneth R. Hall and Michael Aung-Thwin (London: Routledge, 2011), 112–140. For the Ming in Yunnan, see Brose in this volume. 32 Zhang Wen, “Huoqi yingyong yu Ming-Qing xinan diqu de gaitu guiliu,” Minzu yanjiu 2008.1 (2008): 85–94.

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there were also considerable numbers of other weapons manufactured. Judging from archaeological evidence, at least 160,000 firearms of all sorts were manufactured between 1403–1521, and the number was certainly much larger than this, given that many such weapons were destroyed, lost, captured, or melted down to be re-used. For example, in 1465 alone, some 300 Grand General Cannon (da jiangjun pao) and 500 cannon cartridges were made. By 1450, 50% of some frontier units had cannon, and by the late 1460s perhaps a third of all Ming units carried firearms.33 They also saw use on ships, as on the Zheng He expeditions. Throughout the period under consideration here and probably for the entire Ming period, it should be noted that the vast majority of Ming firearms were domestically manufactured. Returning to the situation in Đại Việt, Sun estimates that around 21,500 Ming soldiers in what was now the Ming province of Jiaozhi carried firearms, this figure representing the period after the Ming had escalated their troop commitments there.34 As the Ming occupation of Đại Việt wore on, firearms proved useful time and again in aiding the Ming to quickly quell Vietnamese uprisings.35 Particularly striking from a military standpoint are the variety of weapons used and the variety of settings in which these were employed. This attests to the Ming adaptability and readiness to utilize firearms in contradistinction to Western characterizations of the Ming as pacifistic and disinterested in military technologies. The Ming deployed firearms in breaking elephant cavalry charges, attacking heavy fortifications, and on shipboard. In at least one case, they used their firepower to overwhelm Vietnamese defenders who turned heavy crossbows against them.36 All told, the Ming left an occupation force of some 87,000 scattered in 39 citadels around their new province, though most were concentrated in the Red River delta area.37 These forces would be bolstered by frequent infusions of new troops as circumstances dictated, the Ming quickly coming to the realization that their strength was insufficient and that military force alone could not suffice to bring the Vietnamese to heel.38 Indeed, over time, the Ming lost their technological advantage. The Viet­ namese were already aware of the benefits of firearms in warfare and had used them effectively against the Chams to their south in 1390. So when the local 33 Sun, “Military Technology Transfers,” 498. 34 Sun, “Gunpowder Technology and Đại Việt,” 78. 35 Ibid., 79–80. 36 GQ, 979. 37 Whitmore, Ho Quy Ly, 112. 38 Zhao, Ming Chengzu zhuan, 351. On continued Ming dispatches of troops and the debates surrounding the efficacy of such policies, see Zheng, Zhengzhan yu qishou: Mingdai Zhong-Yue guanxi yanjiu, 71–82.

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Vietnamese resistance began in earnest, one of the first things the rebels did was to establish arsenals to manufacture weapons. In fact this was most likely an extension of preparations begun by Hồ Quý Ly in anticipation of the Ming invasion.39 And as the rebels acquired more and more Ming firearms, the tide of the occupation started to turn. Lê Lợi himself noted, “(Our) firearms piled up and (our) gunpowder stores were filled.”40 This was nowhere more evident than in the successful Vietnamese siege of Xương Giang that signaled the end of Ming power in the Red River delta.41 Vietnamese sources confirm that, despite their own establishment of arsenals, most of their weapons were captured from the Chinese or brought to them by defectors. Since many Vietnamese served as assistant commanders and vice commanders and as officers in guards and companies (the colonial administration mirroring the Ming), it can be reasonably presumed that these men gained training in the use of firearms and passed this training onto the rebels when they joined the resistance movement. This would not be the only case of unintentional technology transfer on the part of the Ming. A century later, deserters apparently transmitted Ming firearms technology to Burma in the early 1500s after a Ming rout of the Maw Shans in a border clash, and Ming guns most likely entered the rest of Burma and northeast India around the same time via traders.42 The Vietnamese refused Ming demands to return captured weapons after peace was restored in 1428 between the states.43 This Ming request in itself is ironic given that they claimed to have acquired 135,900 horses, cows, and elephants as well as over two million weapons in their initial conquest of Đại Việt.44 More significant perhaps than the sheer numbers of weapons (inflated or not) are the kinds of technologies the Chinese acquired, or more accurately, the refinements to existing technologies they gained. First of all, the Viet­ 39 Whitmore, Ho Quy Ly, 84, and Lo Jung-pang, “Intervention in Vietnam: A Case Study of the Foreign Policy of the Early Ming Government,” Tsing-hua Journal of Chinese Studies 8 n.s. 1–2 (1970): 171. 40 Quoted in Sun Laichen, “Chinese-style gunpowder weapons in Southeast Asia: Focusing on Archaeological Evidence,” in New Perspectives on the History and Historiography of Southeast Asia: Continuing explorations, Michael Arthur, Aung-Thwin, and Kenneth R. Hall ed. (London & New York: Routledge. 2011), 115. Translation slightly modified. This is taken from a letter Le wrote to the Ming commander-in-chief, Wang Tong. 41 Sun, “Gunpowder Technology and Đại Việt,” 88. 42 Sun, “Military Technology Transfers,” 501–506. 43 MS, 8325. 44 MSJSBM, 349. The figure given in this source for the weapons is over twenty million, but that must be due to a copyist’s error. See Yuan-kang Wang, Harmony and War: Confucian Culture and Chinese Power Politics (New York: Columbia University Press, 2011), 153.

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namese seem to have refined the design of the shen qiang, or fire lance, by placing behind the arrow a wooden wad made of ironwood, which was native to the region. This greatly extended the effective range of the weapon out to some 300 paces.45 The technique is not found in older Chinese guns, but has been found in specimens dating from 1415. The Vietnamese also appear to have devised a priming pan lid to prevent fuses on matchlocks from getting wet in the steamy tropical climate. Surviving Chinese guns from as early as 1415 possess this innovation, which has not been reliably confirmed in Ming weapons prior to 1410.46 Moreover, this innovation would later apparently be incorporated into European-style cannon manufactured in China over the next hundred and fifty years, though the technique was abandoned in the late sixteenth century as more modern European firearms made their appearance in East Asia.47 These improvements were most likely introduced by Vietnamese craftsmen sent to Nanjing in the wake of the initial Ming invasion. Altogether some 17,000 captives were taken back to China, and at least some were renowned as firearms experts. Their lives were spared in exchange for their service in the Ming ministry of works.48 Their descendants served the Ming until 1489, and the official Hồ Nguyên Trừng, Hồ Quý Ly’s captive son, was later honored as a god of firearms.49 Later Ming records indicate that certain firearms had been transmitted from Đại Việt and adopted to great effect against the Mongols, but Li Bin and Sun Laichen have persuasively argued that it was these improvements, rather than the weapons themselves, that were gained from Đại Việt. And a Qing era source specifically states that what the Ming acquired in the invasion of Đại Việt were “firearms techniques,” after which they established the firearms training division so as to drill the men in the use of firearms.50 This testifies to the importance of technological diffusion and exchanges among the states of Asia prior to the Western engagement in the region. In the other direction, after the withdrawal of the Ming in 1427, the Lê dynasty (1428–1527) in Đại Việt added specialized firearms units to its military and created many warships equipped with heavy cannon for its navy. Firearms arsenals were also added to pre-existing arsenals.51 To facilitate greater weapons production, much copper and other materials were imported into Đại Việt 45 46 47 48 49 50 51

See Li, “Yongle yu Annan,” 151–152; and Sun, “Gunpowder Technology and Đại Việt,” 89–91. Ibid., 91–93. Sun, “Chinese-style gunpowder weapons,” 86–87. Sun, “Gunpowder Technology and Đại Việt” 91–92. Li, “Yongle yu Annan,” 156. Long Wenbin, Ming huiyao 2 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1998), 1188. Sun, “Gunpowder Technology and Đại Việt,” 95.

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from Yunnan and other provinces of southern China, and illegal trade in weapon-making materials flourished. The Vietnamese then turned this technology against their Southeast Asian rivals as they fought their neighbors to the south and west, most notably in the decisive defeat of Champa in 1471.52 Furthermore, in addition to manufacturing and deploying Chinese-derived weapons against their Cham foes, the Vietnamese reorganized their military along Chinese lines and encouraged their officers to study the Chinese military classics (wujing qishu) by instituting military examinations modeled after those of the Ming.53 Thus, while scholars such as John Whitmore and Momoki Shiro have long contended that bureaucratic and administrative centralization spurred by the Ming occupation was crucial to the Vietnamese defeat of Champa, only recently have they recognized the fact that improved Chinese-derived military technology was a vital component of this process.54 This technology also aided additional Vietnamese expansion that would lead to their country’s present size. As Momoki observes, the Sinicization of Dai Viet “enabled it eventually to defeat Champa and seize the port cities of modern central Vietnam” by virtue of the fact they helped revive Dai Viet’s commercial strength and facilitated the development of new export commodities in addition to the ready production of firearms.55 In fact, archaeological and textual information suggests that so many firearms were being manufactured in Vietnam in the late fifteenth century that the government had to establish additional weapons depots specifically for the storage of these firearms.56 Yet it should be noted that there is still disagreement as to the relative prowess of the Vietnamese vis-à-vis their neighbors in this regard. Sun Laichen contends that the Vietnamese, almost uniquely amongst the peoples of Southeast Asia, became noted and feared for their use of firearms, even eliciting positive appraisals from Western visitors concerning their firearms prowess.57 He likewise asserts that many of their foes, most notably the Chams, possessed virtually no firearms and thus were at the mercy of their more technologically adept northern neighbors.58 Given the level of interaction amongst the various Asian states and the fact that both Champa and Đại Việt were Ming tributaries and that the Ming sought to counterbalance the power of the Vietnamese, this 52 Ibid., 98–105. 53 Sun, “Chinese-style gunpowder weapons,” 76–77. 54 Whitmore, Ho Quy Ly, 129–130. 55 Momoki, “Đại Việt,” 23. 56 Sun, “Chinese-style gunpowder weapons,” 79. 57 Sun, “Military Technology Transfers,” 508. 58 Sun, “Gunpowder Technology and Đại Việt,” 101.

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seems unlikely, though hard evidence is lacking.59 Certainly the climate would have ruined many weapons, and others might have been melted down to be re-used. Peter Lorge asserts that both the Vietnamese and the Chams made regular use of firearms in their struggle, but that Champa’s defeat was due to “a failure to develop politically and institutionally” rather than mere technological inferiority.60 In any event, it seems reasonable to assume that firearms played a critical role in state and frontier formation and consolidation in Asia in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries and that the majority of the firearms in question – almost all prior to 1511 – were Chinese in origin or derived from Chinese rather than European models. This weaponry was instrumental in forging China’s southern frontier, in the Yuan and Ming conquest of Yunnan, and in the Vietnamese re-establishment of their northern border, as well as in the ability of indigenous peoples of northern Southeast Asia to push back against the Ming efforts. Likewise it is striking how many features of the Chinese bureaucratic state, whether consciously adopted and copied as in the case of the Vietnamese or coincidentally mimicked as in other cases, were present in these emerging polities. In this sense, Lorge’s assertion that European states became more “modern” militarily and organizationally by becoming more like the Chinese state seems perfectly tenable.61 In Đại Việt, being able to adapt northern forms and turn these forms, Tang tales, Song administration, and Ming weaponry, against the Chinese allowed the Vietnamese to strengthen their independence and maintain their frontier. This military standoff between Đại Việt and the Ming would continue through the sixteenth century as neither the Vietnamese Mạc dynasty (1528–1592) nor the Ming wished to risk further frontier warfare.62 Finally, viewed in this larger context, the Ming (and wider Asian) adoption of superior European firearms upon their arrival in the sixteenth century also makes perfect sense. Leaders and military commanders were eager for technologies that could give them a military edge and provide them with domestic stability. In light of the gradual disintegration of the hereditary Ming military system and the diminishing size of Ming armies due to desertion and other factors, the desire for better firearms as a force multiplier would make the Western weaponry attractive. The most famous example of the newer technology was the Portuguese cannon known to the Chinese as the folangji, which

59 See Sun, “Chinese-style gunpowder weapons,” 91–92. 60 Lorge, Asian Military Revolution, 106. 61 Ibid., 21. 62 See Baldanza in this volume.

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was manufactured in a variety of sizes and for a variety of land and sea uses.63 Yet it is worth noting that a late Ming source states that, while these weapons were made most famous by virtue of their adoption by the renowned Ming general Qi Jiguang (1528–1588), in fact specimens could be found in storehouses dating back to the Yongle era.64 While stressing this continuity, the author of this piece is most likely confusing the European-derived cannon with the older domestic models, but this recognition that the Ming had been regular adopters and utilizers of the latest military technology is an important one. It reminds us to reconsider the role of military technology and technological diffusion in Asian state-making, state-breaking, and frontier-forging. We need only follow the trail of gunsmoke. Bibliography Allsen, Thomas T. Culture and Conquest in Mongol Eurasia. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001. Chen Jian. Huang Ming tongji. 2 vols. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2008. Cheng Dong. “Mingdai houqi youming huopao gaishu,” Wenwu 1993.4 (1993): 79–86. Cotter, Michael G. “Towards a Social History of the Vietnamese Southward Movement.” Journal of Southeast Asian History 9.1 (Mar., 1968): 12–24. Dreyer, Edward L. “Military Origins of Ming China,” in Frederick W. Mote and Dennis Twitchett, eds., The Cambridge History of China, Volume 7: The Ming Dynasty, 1368– 1644, Part One (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988). 58–106. Gu Yingtai. Mingshi jishi benmo. Repr. in Lidai jishi benmo. 2 vols. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1997. Hall, Kenneth R. A History of Early Southeast Asia: Maritime Trade and Societal Development, 100–1500. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2011. Li Bin, “Yongle chao yu Annan he huoqi jishu jiaoliu,” in Zhong Shaoyi (ed.) Zhongguo gudai huoyao shi yanjiu (Beijing: CASS, 1995), pp. 147–158. Lo Jung-pang, “Intervention in Vietnam: A Case Study of the Foreign Policy of the Early Ming Government,” Tsing-hua Journal of Chinese Studies 8 n.s. 1–2 (1970): 154–182. Long Wenbin. Ming huiyao. 2 vols. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1998. Lorge, Peter A. The Asian Military Revolution: From Gunpowder to the Bomb. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008. 63

64

On this weapon and late Ming firearms in general, see Cheng Dong, “Mingdai houqi youming huopao gaishu,” Wenwu 1993.4 (1993): 79–86. There is a chart of the physical characteristics of the surviving specimens of folangji on page 80. See Tan Qian, Zaolin zazu (Beijng: Zhonghua shuju, 2006), 33.

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Momoki Shiro. “Dai Viet and the South China Sea Trade: From the 10th to the 15th Century.” Crossroads: An Interdisciplinary Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 12.1 (1998): 1–34. Parker, Geoffrey. The Military Revolution: Military Innovation and the Rise of the West, 1500–1800. 2nd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996. Reid, Anthony. Southeast Asia in the Age of Commerce, 1450–1680, Volume Two: Expansion and Crisis. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993. Sun Laichen. “Chinese Gunpowder Weapons in Southeast Asia: Focusing on the Ar­ chaeological Evidence.” In New Perspectives in Southeast Asian History and Historiog­ raphy, edited by Kenneth R. Hall and Michael Aung-thwin, 75–111. London: Routledge, 2011. ––––––. “Chinese Gunpowder Technology and Đại Việt, ca. 1390–1497.” In Viet Nam: Borderless Histories, edited by Nhung Tuyet Tran and Anthony J.S. Reid, 72–120. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2006. ––––––. “Military Technology Transfers and the Emergence of Northern Mainland Southeast Asia, (c. 1390–1527).” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 34.3 (Oct., 2003): 495–517. ––––––. “Ming-Southeast Asian Overland Interactions, c. 1368–1644.” Ph.D. Diss., University of Michigan, 2000. Swope, Kenneth M. “To Catch a Tiger: The Ming Suppression of the Yang Yinglong Miao Uprising (1587–1600) as a Case Study in Ming Military and Borderlands History.” In New Perspectives in Southeast Asian History and Historiography, edited by Kenneth R. Hall and Michael Aung-Thwin, 112–140. London: Routledge, 2011. Tan Qian. Zaolin zazu. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2006. ––––––. Guoque. 10 vols. Taibei: Dingwen shuju, 1978. Tilly, Charles. Coercion, Capital, and European States, 990–1990. London: Basil Blackwell, 1990. Tsai, Shih-shan Henry. Perpetual Happiness: The Ming Emperor Yongle. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2001. Wang, Yuan-kang. Harmony and War: Confucian Culture and Chinese Power Politics New York: Columbia University Press, 2011. Whitmore, John K. Vietnam, Ho Quy Ly and the Ming. New Haven: Yale Center for International and Area Studies, 1985. Woodside, Alexander. Vietnam and the Chinese Model: A Comparative Study of Vietnamese and Chinese Government in the First Half of the Nineteenth Century. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1988. Zhang Tingyu, et al., comps., Mingshi 12 vols. Taibei: Dingwen shuju, 1994. Zhang Wen. “Huoqi yingyong yu Ming-Qing xinan diqu de gaitu guiliu.” Minzu yanjiu 2008.1 (2008): 85–94. Zhao Zhongchen. Ming Chengzu zhuan. Beijing: Renmin chubanshe, 1995. Zheng Yongchang. Zhengzhan yu qishou: Mingdai Zhong-Yue guanxi yanjiu. Tainan: Changda chubanzu, 1997.

Chapter 6

A State Agent at Odds with the State: Lin Xiyuan and the Ming Recovery of the Four Dong1 Kathlene Baldanza

Introduction In 1536, Lin Xiyuan (c.1480–1650), the recently-appointed magistrate of Qinzhou in the far south of the Ming empire, climbed the city wall and surveyed his new home. Qinzhou was a port city in Guangdong province along the southeast coast of China, a mere day’s travel from the Vietnamese border.2 The location was deemed so undesirable by most of the Chinese elite that it was reserved as a post for poorly performing bureaucrats or for disgraced officials. Lin had recently been demoted after a career full of ups and downs. Describing that day, Lin wrote in his gazetteer, “When I arrived here, I climbed the wall and looked out in every direction. I saw that the auspicious mist (wangqi)3 of Qin was all in the west. Nearby are the villages of Zhonghe, Yongle and Daohua, more distant are the counties of Guangxi and Jiaozhi [Đại Việt]. One must pass through Qinzhou to get to these places. It would not do to shut this door – I suggest we open it.”4 An area known as “the four dong (si dong),” lost to the Ming in 1427, lay due west of Qinzhou city. The four dong marked the beginning of Đại Việt territory. Lin quickly intuited that his hopes for promotion lay to the west and set out to repair the western wall and bridge of the city to encourage increased interaction. Lin would complete several similar projects during his time in Qinzhou, but his biggest accomplishment was his role in impelling the Mạc government of Đại Việt to return the four dong to Ming rule. * I would like to thank the editors, Christopher Moore, Peter Perdue, and Siyen Fei for their helpful comments on this article. 1 Originally presented at the Association of Asian Studies Meeting, Philadelphia, 2010. 2 Due to 20th century redistricting, Qinzhou is now located in Guangxi province. In the Ming, it was in Guangdong province. 3 This phrase is used to symbolize imperial good fortune. 4 Qinzhou Zhi (Shanghai: Shanghai gu ji shu dian ying yin, 1982), 7:7; also quoted in Du Shuhai, “Qinzhou Xibu de Difangshi yu Dudong zhi Minzu Xian Jiyi de Chuangzao” (The Creation of the Memory of the Ancestors of the Du and Dong People and Local History in Western Qinzhou), Minzu Yanjiu, 2 (2009): 73. Many of the Ming documents cited here are also used in Du Shuhai’s article. ©

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In this essay, I assess the impact of one man, Lin Xiyuan, on shaping the international border. Lin Xiyuan brought his prodigious energy and will power to this outpost of the Ming state, extending its borders through an act of administrative imagination. In the case of the Ming’s conquest of the four dong, it was Lin who dreamed it, researched it, and made it so. Dismissed by his colleagues as a meddler, Lin Xiyuan did not have recourse to Ming military power. Instead, he made use of other tools of conquest: assertion of historical claims, creation of maps, promotion of Chinese culture, and encouragement of economic ties. Yet despite the Ming’s acquisition of the four dong, the frontier would remain difficult to manage and control. Like the career of Lin Xiyuan, Chinese imperial progress in the south was uneven, and true progress was hard to see. For urban elites like Lin, the map of the Ming empire seemed unambiguous, with divisions between states, provinces, counties and towns as clear as ink on paper. The closer one moved to the borderline that separated Đại Việt from China, however, the more the line receded. Where Lin carried with him from Nanjing clear-cut ideas of administrative units, ownership, and subjectivity to the state, such ideas held less weight in the borderlands. In Qinzhou, imperial projections met local realities and fell apart. The recovery of the four dong from the Mạc is the story of how a border was drawn and redrawn by state agents, transgressed by local residents, and appropriated by later historians. It demonstrates that “China’s march toward the tropics”5 was not a linear process, but one marked by advances, retreats, and enduring resistance. In reality, this trade of land was an administrative coup, a paper change that had little local impact. The four dong were written into the Ming map of empire but remained outside the control of the state. This was due in part to the mobility of the inhabitants of the four dong region. Neither Chinese nor Vietnamese in terms of culture, language, or ethnicity, they moved freely between the two states, as did rebels and refugees. The Ming state may have claimed the area as its own, but it would have trouble ruling this territory, even a century later.

5

For the classic study on this topic, see Herold Wiens, China’s March towards the Tropics: a Discussion of the Southward Penetration of China’s Culture, Peoples, and Political Control in Relation to the Non-Han-Chinese Peoples of South China, and in the Perspective of Historical and Cultural Geography. (Office of Naval Research, US Navy, 1952) and for a re-visitation that puts more emphasis on the agency of indigenes, see John E. Herman, Amid the Clouds and Mist: China’s Colonization of Guizhou, 1200–1700 (Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Asia Center, 2007), esp. 3–6.

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History of the Four Dong The four dong (Silin, Gusen, Jianshan, and Boshi),6 a borderland district located between Đại Việt and China not far from the coast in present-day Guangxi along with the towns Tielang and Ruxi, had defected from China during the early years of the Lê dynasty (1428–1527) of Đại Việt nearly a century before the establishment of the Mạc (1528). The four dong lie nestled in a mountain valley between present day Móng Cái (Vietnam)/Dongxing (China) on the border and Fangcheng Harbor to the south/southwest of Qinzhou. They were arrayed in a roughly east-west orientation to the south of the Shiwan mountain range, accessible through a number of mountain passes.7 The four dong and the surrounding area had long been marginal to both Vietnamese and Chinese government control, occupied by people who fell between the two states, both culturally and politically.8 Even before the area was lost to Đại Việt, the Ming state struggled to assert control over the area’s valuable pearl beds and active trade routes.9 Although the four dong region is dotted with low mountain ranges, inhabitants passed freely over the border on foot and by sea. As both the Chinese and Vietnamese states expanded their reach in the sixteenth century, this frontier became a contested borderland. The term dong (usually 峒 in these sources, but also written 洞 or 峝) commonly occurs in place names. The character 峒 (dong) is the Chinese transliteration of a Tai word meaning “mountain valley” or “level ground between cliffs and beside a stream,”10 and also similar in pronunciation to the Vietnamese word for “field” (đồng). The presence of this word in place names therefore 6

7 8

9

10

Boshi is also known as Hezhou or A’mu. Jianshan is also known as Luofu. The name and number of the dong vary from source to source. Vietnamese scholars include a fifth dong. See Hoàng Lê, “Thời Thế Tạo Ra Anh Hùng,” in Đăng Lợi Ngô et al. Mạc Đăng Dung và Vương Triều Mạc [Mac Dang Dung and the kings of the Mac dynasty] (Hanoi: Hội sử học Hải Phòng, 2000), 19. Liang Tianxi, Feng Shiyang and Jiang Meizhong, Annan Laiwei Tuce (Beijing: Shumu Wenxian Chubanshe, 1988), 469–470. M. Churchman, “‘The People in Between’: The Li and the Lao from the Han to the Sui,” in The Tongking Gulf Through History, ed. N. Cooke, T. Li, & J.A. Anderson (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011), 67–83. Brian A. Zottoli, “Reconceptualizing Southern Vietnamese History from the 15th to the 18th Centuries: Competition along the Coasts from Guangdong to Cambodia,” (PhD Dissertation, University of Michigan, 2011), 74–77. E.G. Pulleyblank, “The Chinese and Their Neighbors in Prehistoric and Early Historic Times,” in The Origins of Chinese Civilization, ed. D. Keightley (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983), 430. Thanks to Catherine Churchman for this reference.

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indicates that the original residents were non-Han.11 The term can be translated as either settlement or chiefdom, implying a confederation of agricultural villages. A thousand years earlier in the medieval period, the four dong were collections of loosely connected settlements located in mountain valleys in the frontier.12 To complicate matters, this area consistently alternated either between rule by a Chinese or a Vietnamese state, or by independent chiefdoms under the hereditary rule of one family. The four dong were first established as an administrative unit during the Sui dynasty (597), but began to have records only in the Song.13 Although Guangdong had long been governed by northern states, it is only after the Tang (618– 907) that Han Chinese presence there began to slowly increase. As late as the Song dynasty (960–1279), Chinese central rule had not fully penetrated the area, which was occupied by a Tai-speaking band of Zhuang/Nùng people. As the strength of Vietnamese states grew, there was more movement of people across the border and, as a result, more unrest. In the 10th and 11th centuries, Qinzhou was raided several times, though it is unclear if the perpetrators were lowland Vietnamese or highland Nùng.14 Du Shuhai has written a thorough history of the area, analyzing the genealogical records of local leaders. He makes several conclusions about the nature of dong society. First, he notes that local rule was at the heart of local society. Even when the area was classified as a regular administrative unit of China, as in the Song dynasty, rule by transient central officials remained quite loose. Indigenous leaders derived their authority from their ability to allocate land to local residents, based on the number of people in a household. Though the central Chinese government built garrisons and deployed locals to guard the 11

12 13 14

Since the word was transliterated into the Chinese language based on its sound rather than its meaning, the semantic value of the character (namely ‘cave’) should be disregarded. However, the term is sometimes misleadingly translated into English as ‘grotto.’ Not only does this translation not convey the true meaning of the word, it gives the impression of an artificial cave or planned landscape architecture. ‘Village’ is a better, though not perfect, translation. See Richard David Cushman, “Rebel Haunts and Lotus Huts: Problems in the Ethnohistory of the Yao” (Ph.D. Dissertation, Cornell University, 1970), 190. He writes that there were five kinds of villages in the tribal areas of Guangxi in the Ming: dong 峒, xiang 鄉, li 里, cun 村, and bao 堡. For the earlier period, see Churchman in this volume. Because of the difficulties of precise translation, I have chosen simply to render the area as the four dong rather than designate an English equivalent. Du, “Qinzhou xibu,” 67. James Anderson, The Rebel Den of Nùng Trí Cao: Loyalty and Identity along the Sino-Vietnamese Frontier (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2007), 54–70.

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border with Đại Việt, Du Shuhai argues that it was difficult for central control to penetrate dong society.15 By the Ming (1368–1644), the Chinese social presence in the region had greatly increased, especially along the coastline, leading to more local conflict. In fact, from Tang to Song, Qinzhou’s appearance in the official histories is generally a story of violence and raids, speaking to the unstable mix of Chinese, Vietnamese, and native inhabitants, as well as the new opportunities for trade represented by their coming together. Early in the fifteenth century, for two decades (1407–27), the Ming occupied Đại Việt as their province of Jiaozhi and controlled the lowlands north and south of the four dong. Nevertheless, three major raids on Qinzhou were recorded in the Ming Veritable Records. Later, during the Đại Việt leader Lê Lợi’s war of resistance against the Ming (1418–1427), the local leaders of the four dong, Silin, Gusen, Jianshan, and Boshi, consisting of 292 households and twenty-nine villages, voluntarily broke off from the Ming to defect south of the border to the Lê government of Đại Việt. In exchange, they received in traditional fashion from the Vietnamese official titles, seals, and the right to pass on their positions to their descendants, as recorded in a later gazetteer.16 Local leaders thus leveraged their marginalized position between the two states, arranging the settlement most beneficial to themselves.17 At that time, the Lê claimed this area as ancient territory of Đại Việt. Once the war was resolved and Lê Lợi accepted by the Ming as the legitimate ruler of that kingdom, the two states negotiated the contested border. Since the Ming had recently lost control of Đại Việt, there were naturally border towns claimed by both states. The Lê agreed to cede some territory to the Ming, but remained adamant on the subject of the villages to the southwest of Qinzhou. They requested that Ming officials carefully investigate the history of the region. The Ming government’s task was made harder by the fact that the inhabitants appear to have been more inclined to Vietnamese rule. The land ultimately remained under Vietnamese jurisdiction. Throughout the fifteenth century, the Ming government, continually frustrated with what seemed to them Đại Việt’s refusal to control its inhabitants along the border, accused Vietnamese inhab15 16

17

Du, “Qinzhou xibu,” 67. Qinzhou Zhi, 6: 25 and in the “Valley Dong” (xidong) section. This section lists these dong: Boshi, Jianshan, Tielang, Shiluo, Silin, Ruxi, Gusen and Shixiu. Although the name and number of dong differ depending on the source, they are located in the same general area; Du, “Qinzhou xibu,” 71. For the Ming occupation of Đại Việt, see Swope in this volume. This is in keeping with the border dynamics studied in Anderson’s Rebel Den and in his article in this volume and in Du Shuhai’s article.

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itants of stealing from pearl beds and of crossing the border to engage in illegal trade.18 This remote and uncooperative region was an ideal arena for the ambitious Ming official Lin Xiyuan. The Four Dong in Vietnamese Histories Vietnamese histories have made the loss of the four dong the defining action of the Mạc dynasty, enduringly tainting its legacy. In Vietnamese histories like the Complete Book of the Chronicle of Đại Việt (Đại Việt Sử Ký Toàn Thư), in its final version written by historians of the restored Lê, loss of Vietnamese territory to the Ming symbolized the cowardice and corruption of the Mạc dynasty.19 For these later historians, the Mạc dynasty was an illegitimate interregnum, to be thoroughly discredited in order to legitimate the Restoration of the Lê in 1592. While the Lê traced their lineage to Lê Lợi and his heroic resistance to the Ming, they presented Mạc Đăng Dung in contrast as a weak-willed capitulator. Throughout the Vietnamese histories, Mạc actions are described as craven bribery – in the Lê telling, the Mạc paid off the Ming with land in order to retain their illegitimate control of power rather than confront Ming troops on the battlefield, as had the great hero Lê Lợi.20 This assessment of the Mạc, clearly due in part to the Lê dynasty’s monopoly on historical writing from 1592 to 1788, has proven to be remarkably persistent. Well into the 20th century, the Mạc loss of land to the Ming was regarded as one of the most disgraceful episodes in all Vietnamese history. Trần Trọng 18 19

20

Du, “Qinzhou xibu,” 71; for the opposing Vietnamese view, see Whitmore in this volume. This is true too of less widely available histories, such as the Nam Sử Lảm Yếu A.1371. This late 18th century text contrasts Lê Lợi’s heroics with Mạc corruption in juan 114: 57–58. The author contends that the Ming emperor was only willing to accept Mạc and re-open diplomatic relations after Mạc bribed China with a large amount of money and the two subprefectures of Gui and Shun. The surrender of the four dong is presented as a later instance of the same dynamic of using bribes in exchange for recognition. On Mạc offering bribes to the Ming to gain ascendency over the Lê,see for example Chen Jinghe, ed., Đại Việt Sư Ký Toàn Thư (TT) (Complete historical records of Đại Việt) (Tokyo: Tokyo Daigaku Toyo Bunka Kenkyujo Fuzoku Toyogaku Bunken Senta, 1984), 837: When the Ming court sent agents to find if there was a living Lê heir, “Mạc (people) made excuses, embellished the facts, and bribed (the Ming agents) with gold and silver… Đăng Dung was afraid that the Ming would punish him, so he planned to give the land and people of the two subprefectures of Gui (Quy) and Shun (Thuận) along with two gold statues and all kinds of precious goods.” Mạc bribery of Ming officials is also mentioned on 838 and 909.

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Kim, author of the influential Việt Nam Sử Lược (An Outline History of Vietnam), first published in 1920 and still in print today, condemned Mạc Dăng Dung as a traitor for surrendering the dong to China. It is only recently that Vietnamese historians have begun to rehabilitate the Mạc and re-examine the loss of the four dong.21 In contemporary Vietnamese studies, Đinh Khắc Thuận and the late Trần Quốc Vượng are at the forefront of scholarly attempts to rehabilitate the Mạc. Thuận presents Mạc Đăng Dung as a patriot who would do anything to protect his homeland, even when that entailed ceding China a small and remote piece of land to prevent the Chinese from invading. For Thuận, this action fits into the inescapable pattern of asymmetric relations between big and small states: small countries must bend to the demands of powerful states, to prevent their complete destruction.22 Trần Quốc Vượng had a different approach. He disputed that the Mạc lost territory to China, claiming that the land already belonged to China and thus the exchange was an act of “fictive vassalage.”23 This position overlooks the fact that the Vietnamese state claimed the area for more than a century, from the establishment of the Lê in 1427. Neither of these explanations is entirely satisfactory. Vượng’s explanation was essentially sleight-of-hand, while Thuận’s argument emphasizes expediency – the Mạc had no choice. In contrast, I argue that Mạc Đăng Dung was able to negotiate with Ming state agents, reaching a compromise over this frontier territory acceptable to both sides.24 Rather than patriotically defending their homeland, the Mạc were working to secure their family’s hold on political power. The exile Lê regime had taken refuge in the Lao mountains and represented a more immediate threat to Mạc survival than did the Ming.

21

22 23

24

Important to this effort is the conference volume Đăng Lợi Ngô et al. Mạc Đăng Dung và Vương Triều Mạc [Mac Dang Dung and the Kings of the Mac Dynasty] (Hanoi: Hội sử học Hải Phòng, 2000). Đinh Khắc Thuân, Lịch Sử Triều Mạc: Qua Thư tịch và Văn bia (Hanoi: Nhà Xuất Bản Khao Học Xã Hội, 2001), 71–74. Trần Quốc Vượng, “Mấy Vấn Đề Về Nhà Mạc” in Đăng Lợi Ngô et al. Mạc Đăng Dung và Vương Triều Mạc (Hanoi: Hội sử học Hải Phòng, 2000), 167. In this essay, Trần also challenges the long-standing theory that Mạc Đăng Dung presented the four dong to China as a bribe in order to win their support. Kathlene Baldanza, ‘The Ambiguous Border: Early Modern Sino-Việt Relations,’ Ph.D. dissertation (University of Pennsylvania, 2010).

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In the sixteenth century, both states could make a case for ownership of the four dong. That it would end up in Chinese hands was due in large part to the persistent pro-war agitations of the Ming official Lin Xiyuan.25 Lin Xiyuan Lin Xiyuan’s research into the administrative history of the four dong and his forceful memorials to the throne helped precipitate the diplomatic crisis between the Ming and the Mạc. In particular, he championed the cause of reclaiming the four dong as Chinese territory. Lin, a native of Fujian province, had become a presented scholar (jinshi) in 1517. He was an energetic and outspoken official, qualities that earned him promotion and demotion in succession. He began his career as a junior judge in the Court of Judicial Review in Nanjing, a central agency that oversaw and reviewed judicial proceedings as well as the conduct of officials.26 Lin was quickly promoted to senior judge, only to be transferred after criticizing a superior. Ill and unable to get along with colleagues, he left government service altogether for a period of three years. Before being appointed magistrate of Qinzhou in 1535, Lin had re-entered government service and even served a short stint in Guangdong, as assistant surveillance commissioner. After criticizing central government’s handling of a rebellion of soldiers in Liaodong, Lin was “charged with false reporting” and demoted.27 In 1535, based on his years of service, the Ministry of Personnel suggested that the fifty-five year-old Lin retire or be sent to a peaceful place. Lin would not hear of it. He instead “requested a place where he could be of service,” and so was assigned to Qinzhou along the border with Đại Việt. 28 Reacting to this assignment, his contemporary Zhang Yue, the prefect of Huian, wrote of Qinzhou: “The people who live there are narrow-minded with uncouth customs. 25

26

27

28

See Cheng Wing-sheong, Zhengzhan yu qishou: Ming dai Zhong-Yue Guanxi Yanjiu (Attack and Abandon: Research on Sino-Viet Relations in the Ming) (Tainan: Guoli Chenggong Daxue Chubanzu, 1998), 157–159, 160–1, 165–166, 168, 173. Cheng argues that Lin was the catalyst for the Jiajing emperor’s initial interest in declaring war on Đại Viêt. Charles O. Hucker, Dictionary of Official Titles in Imperial China (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1985), Entry 5986. Lin Xiyuan gives a brief sketch of his career in Tongan Lin Ciya, 4: 519. Bodo Wiethoff, “Lin Hsi-yuan,” in L. Carrington Goodrich and L. Chaoying Fang, eds., Dictionary of Ming Biography (New York: Columbia University Press, 1976), 920; Du, “Qinzhou xibu,” 72–3. Du, 73; Tongan Lin Ciya, 4: 519.

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Even the scholars there are coarse and vulgar.” Ten years, he wrote, would not be enough to enlighten them.29 Lin enthusiastically took up the challenge. Yet Qinzhou was not an easy posting. More vexing still than uncouth scholars, at the time of Lin’s appointment Qinzhou was a dangerous and unstable area, plagued by frequent raids, as reported in the Jiajing period gazetteer. Lin initiated various projects, such as extending education and repairing government buildings. For example, from 1536 to 1538, he commissioned the construction of government buildings including a prison, a temple, a ceremonial gate, halls, storehouses, and a watchtower and suggested relocating several military inspectorates (Xunjiansi).30 He rebuilt a home for poor widows and orphans and erected a memorial archway.31 Lin built eighteen community schools (Shexue) in order to transform the customs people of the area to Chinese civilization and arranged for land and shops to support them.32 In explaining his rationale for founding the schools, Lin drew on classical sources and applied them to the local situation. He saw education as a key component of his mission, explicitly stating his goal to use the schools to “transform the people” (hua min) and change local customs. Paraphrasing Mencius, Lin wrote, “If people are well-fed, warmly-dressed, and comfortably-housed but lack education, they are little better than beasts.” Education, Lin believed, was proven to “inspire obedience.”33 Going further than Mencius, Lin wrote that the five relationships, a key part of the content of Confucian education, differentiated China (Zhongguo) from the Yidi (non-Han) people. He hoped that through his initiative, education would reach everyone, even in the most remote corners of the district. Lin saw education as a way to encourage the local people to adopt northern customs and to bind them more closely to the center. Alongside his building and pedagogical tasks, Lin compiled a gazetteer for Qinzhou, the Qinzhou Zhi (Gazetteer of Qinzhou) in which he carefully recorded his predecessors’ and his own civic activities. Gazetteers were increasingly popular during the Ming, anthologizing writings on local geography, poems on famous sites, biographies of notable residents, and the locality’s history. Compiling the gazetteer required Lin to research the administrative history of the 29 30 31 32 33

Qinzhou zhi, 5: 6. Qinzhou zhi, 6: 23–25. Qinzhou zhi, 7: 15. Qinzhou zhi, 5: 7–8. This includes a school in the village of Zhonghe, mentioned on the first page of this essay and one in Tielang, an area with jurisdiction over Gusen and Silin. Qinzhou zhi, 5: 8. This essay also appears in Lin Xiyuan, Tongan Lin Ciya Xiansheng wenji shiba juan (Tainan: Zhuang Yan Wenhua, 1997), 10: 629–630.

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region, making him an expert in the changing status of the four dong. We may discover Lin Xiyuan’s thoughts and ambitions through the gazetteer and in his memorials to the throne.34 Lin’s ambitions are outlined in a speech he recorded in the Gazetteer. Upon arriving at his post, he made a sacrifice to the city god. Lin Xiyuan’s words on the occasion of the sacrifice reveal an attitude of optimism in spite of his undesirable official appointment in Qinzhou. They also reveal a keen interest in nearby Đại Việt. In his speech, Lin began by mentioning his predecessor, Yuan Shi, a man with whom he unsurprisingly identified. In the speech, Yuan serves as a stand-in for Lin Xiyuan himself. Yuan too “was demoted and sent to this place because of events outside his control.” Although “Yuan had never even dreamed of Qinzhou, he had heard that Qinzhou was near to Annan (Đại Việt) and that … those who were interested in Annan always paid attention to Qinzhou.” Lin mused that “the Creator may have had a hand in this,” sending an industrious but disgraced administrator to a wild and overlooked frontier, a place where careers could be built anew. After all, he continued, the famed poet-official Su Shi (1037–1101) of the Song dynasty “transformed the people through his will and his writing” while in exile on Hainan Island. “Who is to say that Qinzhou is not a latter day Hainan?” When Lin alluded to Yuan Shi’s “private ambitions” to be like Su Shi, he was clearly signaling his own desire to transform the local people to the civilization of the north as well as to transform his undesirable post into a stepping stone to better things. Lin’s speech betrays a quirky and unorthodox mind, steeped in classical allusions, written in grandiose literary Chinese and evoking unusual concepts like “Creator” and “spirits.”35 Instead of dwelling on his current disfavor, Lin hopefully preferred to cast himself as a successor to Su Shi, with an important place in a design of cosmic proportions. He quickly set about to realize these lofty aspirations. Lin’s best chance to attract positive imperial attention and rescue his career came from the political crisis in Đại Việt spurred by the rise of the Mạc and their 1527 overthrow of the Lê. A decade later, the Ming government was deliberating whether to treat the Mạc as usurpers of the Đại Việt throne and thus deploy troops to dethrone them, or instead to accept them as a legitimate dynasty. As argued by the Taiwan-based historian Cheng Wing-sheung, Lin would become perhaps the strongest voice calling for war with the Mạc. Lin did not

34 35

Wiethoff, “Lin Hsi-yuan,” 921. On gazetteers, see Dennis in this volume. Qinzhou zhi, 10: 9.

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wish, however, to restore the throne to the Lê, but rather to conquer Đại Viêt and rule it as part of the Ming empire.36 By 1537, Lin was so confident that there would be a Ming military response to unrest in Đại Việt that he ordered the construction of ten chambers to serve as storehouses for troop provisions.37 In May 1538, Lin’s first memorial concerning the Mạc arrived at the court. Lin’s memorial was the strongest argument for war yet presented before the throne.38 Lin’s memorial titled “My humble opinion in support of attacking Annan” is a painstaking response to all possible reasons not to attack Đại Việt, which Lin feared were gaining favor in Beijing.39 Lin offered rationale for attacking not only the four dong but the entire territory of Đại Việt. In response to those colleagues who claimed that distant Đại Việt lacked any significance and that its subjugation would only burden China, he wrote, “Annan’s land is fertile and the people are rich. Its ivory, jade and incense would be beneficial to our country. Attaining their land would enrich our country, even more than Guizhou or Guangxi.”40 He enumerated three reasons for China to launch a military campaign against Đại Việt, two reasons that it should annex Đại Việt as commanderies and districts (Junxian) of China, and explained four conditions that made it possible to take Đại Việt at that point in time. In the memorial, Lin argued that Đại Việt should be attacked as a message to other foreign states, in order to avoid setting a precedent that the Ming could be provoked with impunity. He continued: The second reason: when we abandoned Annan at the beginning of the Ming, Annan consequently at that time attacked Ruxi and Tielang’s four dong of Qinzhou and they established it as Xin’an (V. Tân An) zhou. I have heard that the people often think of returning to the speech and clothing [of China].41 The third reason: the government of Annan persists in error with no thought of repenting. It is appropriate to seize this moment to 36 37 38

39 40 41

Cheng Wing-sheung, “Zhengzhan yu Qishou,”157–172. Lin thoroughly lays out his position in a memorial anthologized in Tongan Lin Ciyan, 4: 496–502. Qinzhou zhi, 4: 31. Zhao Lingyang, ed. Ming Shi Lu zhong zhi Dongnan Ya Shi Liao (Historical materials related to Southeast Asia in the Ming Veritable Records) Volume 2 (Hong Kong: Xue jin chu ban she, 1968–1976), 510–11. Du reproduces a large segment of this memorial, 75; Li Xiyuan, Tongan Lin Ciyan, 4: 496– 505. Tongan Lin Ciya, 4: 505; Du, 75. And therefore wish to rejoin the Ming. Incidentally, Tân An is mentioned as the home prefecture of Mạc Đăng Dung himself in Chinese sources, Nam Nguyen, Writing as

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announce their mistake, upbraid them, and make them change to the right.42 Why then take the step of annexing all northern Vietnam, a move that had proved to be a disaster for the Ming in the previous century? Here Lin set out the two reasons for incorporating the land into the Ming empire. The first reason is historical, looking to northern Vietnam’s long history as a Chinese colony before the Ming dynasty: Annan was originally China’s sovereign territory. Since we separated they have expelled our people who dressed in the Chinese fashion. Now they wear their hair short, go around barefoot, and have barbarian customs. They would certainly be rectified by Guan Zhong.43 In the Spring and Autumn age they were strict about this. The second reason for annexing Vietnam points out the illegitimacy of both Vietnamese regimes: “The Lê family unjustly obtained the country.44 Đăng Dung inherited their strategies. Neither one of them should have obtained control of the country.” In his closing arguments on the four favorable conditions for the Ming, Lin first noted the chronic political instability of Vietnam, and then the current danger of Vietnam forming two states. It has been six centuries since they broke away from us, yet the surname of their emperor has changed five times. Although the dynasties kept changing, the land had not been divided. But now that the land has been split apart, Heaven’s intention can be deduced and known. In Lin’s view, the situation in Vietnam was literally Heaven-sent, both an opportunity and a mandate for Ming conquest: Although it is said that [Mạc] Đăng Dung’s power already has a foothold, many important (local) officials have yet to follow him, they all form

42 43 44

Response and as Translation: Jiandeng Xinhua and the Evolution of the Chuanqi Genre, Particularly in Vietnam (PhD Dissertation, Harvard University, 2005), 236. Du Shuhai, “Qinzhou xibu,” 74; Cheng Wing-sheung, “Zhengzhan yu qishou,” 161. Guan Zhong was a Spring and Autumn period official praised in the Analects for championing Chinese customs. Because they rebelled against Ming rule.

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marriage ties to strengthen their alliances, and now three families [Lê, Mạc, and Nguyễn] are at war with one another. The (Vietnamese) peoples’ hearts are full of misgivings, they are all willing to restore the former dynasty. Đăng Dung is shaking with fear at the thought of the arrival of the Chinese army-- by day he throws around massive amounts of money to win the people, like he is scattering bribes in the wind. The (final) reason: once Annan is divided, it will be difficult to put it back together. The three families are all grasping power and definitely will not yield to one another. They will all lose, and seem to be willing to let that happen. This is Heaven’s way of giving us an opportunity to put Jiaozhi back together (under Chinese rule).45 Lin concluded his list by noting that the border people covet land and that their rebellions have caused dozens of deaths. A Ming army, Lin argued, could win the people’s hearts in no time. Lin’s thorough argument for war went against the current of the bureaucracy and was more forceful and direct than the arguments of any pro-war colleagues. Unlike his more cautious colleagues, he made it explicit that overthrowing the Mạc dynasty would entail annexing the Red River delta, as the Ming had done a century previously after the overthrow of the Vietnamese Hồ dynasty (1400–1407), with disastrous results. In Du Shuhai’s recent assessment, Lin Xiyuan was “flamboyantly ambitious and blindly optimistic.”46 Despite Lin’s impassioned plea, Ming court officials greeted his memorial with indifference.47 But Lin Xiyuan remained a persistent pro-war voice, memorializing a total of four times on the subject. In May of 1540, Lin again urged the court to go to war, sending a detailed packet of military strategy and advice to the court. This time, he emphasized the recovery of the four dong. I have heard that Mạc Đăng Dung of Annan has requested to surrender and that high-ranking ministers have been specially appointed to investigate. Those who surrender should present their land and people, but recently (the Mạc) have killed our soldiers and stolen our warships.48 Is 45 46 47 48

Du, “Qinzhou Xibu,” 74, Lin Xiyuan, Tongan Lin Ciya, 4: 504. Du, “Qinzhou Xibu,” 75. Historian Cheng Wing-sheung calls Lin a “radical” with an “Annam complex,” 181. Ming Shi, 6719–20. Cheng Wing-sheung writes about this incident, purported by Lin to have occurred in 1538, 173.

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this the behavior of those who surrender? Who will those high-ranking officials who were sent to investigate talk to? If (the Vietnamese) conduct investigations in their country, they will use surrender to trick us, and we will not find out the real situation. If they investigate on our side of the border, then our border officials will support their request, not daring to say anything different. I think that if we want to find out where things stand, we should set a date with them on which they must return our four dong, accept our calendar, follow us, and surrender. Otherwise, they are indeed deceiving us (about the sincerity of their surrender). If the Mạc were indeed deceiving the court, he continued, then the Ming would have no choice but to raise an army against them. Lin gave specific instructions on what routes this army should use to enter Đại Việt, as well as detailed suggestions on where to raise troops and how many to send, reflecting his intimate knowledge of the border area.49 Lin’s plaint was not successful. The Jiajing emperor himself commented that Lin should allow the officials appointed to handle Đại Việt to do their jobs and desist in spreading “reckless talk (wangyan).”50 Lin’s strong support of war with Đại Việt made him an exception within the bureaucracy. Lin Xiyuan’s meddling was resented by Cai Jing and Mao Bowen, among the “high-ranking officials” he mentioned in his memorial.51 They sent him on a fool’s errand to Fujian province to raise troops for an Annan campaign, keeping him well out of the way of ongoing negotiations at the border.52 By the time he returned, Mạc Đăng Dung had already surrendered. Even worse, Lin Xiyuan’s direct involvement in what was essentially not his concern rankled his superiors. As a result, he was “found guilty of usurpation of authority and neglect of his proper duty,” dismissed from government service, and sent home to Fujian.53 However, Lin’s involvement was effective in at least one respect. Though Ming sources do not grant Lin an important role, Mạc Đăng Dung’s letter of surrender to the Ming does. In that document, Mạc Đăng Dung wrote, “Recently, I heard that Lin Xiyuan, the subprefectural magistrate of Qinzhou, memorialized that the two cities Ruxi and Tielang and the four dong Silin, 49 50 51 52 53

See for example Lin Xiyuan, Tongan Lin Ciya, 4: 503–4. Ming Shi Lu, 514–5; Cheng Wing-sheong, “Zhengzhan yu Qishou,” 174; 178. Zhang Yue warned Lin not to aspire to be like Ma Yuan, the Han dynasty general who put down the rebellion of the Trưng sister, Cheng Wing-sheung, 165–6. Lin Xiyan, Tongan Lin Ciyan, 4: 520. Wiethoff, “Lin Hsi-yuan,” 921; Cheng Wing-sheung, 175–6. On the Mạc-Ming negotiations, see Baldanza, ‘Ambiguous Border,’ 83–119.

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Jinle, Gusen, and Liaoge are all the former territory of Qinzhou. If that is indeed the case, I will obey orders (and return the land).”54 Lin Xiyuan could not resist plaintively recording this line in yet another memorial to the emperor, insisting that “the Mạc bandits did not want to return the occupied land of the four dong” until he himself had insisted on it as a condition of surrender.55 Thus, although the Ming court had rejected Lin Xiyuan’s memorial, thwarted his desire for war, and eventually fired him, his suggestions entered into the negotiation process. The return of the four dong became a matter of treaty, though actual incorporation into the Ming central administrative structure would prove more elusive. Lin Xiyuan attempted, and succeeded, in extending the Ming state by using the international crisis as an opportunity for (ill-fated) self-promotion. He marshaled various techniques to articulate the border: marking civilization versus barbarity, both promoting civilization within Qinzhou and labeling some residents of the four dong as leaning towards Chinese customs; repairing and improving the city infrastructure not only to protect residents but also to foster economic exchange; conducting historical research and promulgating his findings through his Qinzhou zhi; and by making military recommendations for reinforcing or exploiting particular mountain passes. In the end, Lin’s involvement in reclaiming the four dong brought him both punishment and reward. After the Ministry of War read Cai Jing’s memorial on the surrender, they added this addendum: “The first proponent of the recovery of the dong was the Assistant Surveillance Commissioner Lin Xiyuan. Although he has now been removed, his achievement cannot be ignored.” He was issued a present of silver and silk.56 54 55 56

Ming Shi Lu, 517. This is also recorded in the Vietnamese history Đại Việt Sư Ký Toàn Thư, though Lin Xiyuan is not mentioned. TT, 847. Lin Xiyuan, Tongan Lin Ciya, 4: 521. Ming Shi Lu, 517. Though no longer a Ming official, Lin Xiyuan remained active, and continued to voice opposition to government policies, in particular policies limiting international trade. In his twilight years, Lin was involved with illegal smuggling, becoming the middleman or “harboring host (wozhu)” for “pirates” – foreign traders who sought a way to sell their goods in China while evading government restrictions, Wiethoff, 922. The 1540’s were also the height of the wokou “pirate” troubles along the Chinese coast, as Japanese and Chinese sailors worked together to circumvent the strict anti-trading policies of the Ming. (For more on this topic, see Kwan-wai So, Japanese Piracy in Ming China During the Sixteenth Century, East Lansing: Michigan State University Press, 1975.) Lin, along with his neighbors living near the coast, urged the central government to lift the restrictions on maritime trade, while continuing to defy the bans on the sly. His intimate knowledge of the inner workings of the government and his connections to the bureaucracy insulated

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The Four Dong after Lin Xiyuan In December of 1542, the ruler of Đại Việt, Mạc Phúc Hải, sent a formal letter to the Ming court, announcing the death of his grandfather Mạc Đăng Dung and formally ceding the four dong to the Ming.57 He letter gave the approximate population and area of each locality, listing the borders of each place. In this accounting, the place names Silin, Gusen, Hezhou (formerly Boshi), Jinle, Anliang, and Luofu (formerly Jianshan) were used. According to Mạc Phúc Hải’s report, the area comprised more than 844 households and more than 3,470 individuals. Although it is difficult to assess the exact dimensions of the territory from Mạc Phúc Hải’s description, he describes roughly 4,195 square li of land.58 Yet, despite the four dong’s official reentry into the map of the Ming empire, the border remained porous. In the official histories of both Vietnam and China, the exchange of land appears to have been an open and shut case. Nevertheless, while the border was easy to draw on the map, it was difficult to enforce that line on the ground. A Ming border official who played a significant role in brokering the Ming-Mạc rapprochement, Vice Surveillance Commissioner of Guangxi Weng Wanda, best expressed the problems of administering the four dong. Soon after the Ming received the land, Weng noted that “the dispute over the four dong has been going on for a long time” and that resentment had been gathering. He acknowledged that the people living there were not compliant. At that point, even giving back part of the land would cause a rift, given the divided loyalties of the area. He thought that the land could neither be effectively administered as a county nor as a department. He suggested that the four dong be placed under the jurisdiction of Nanning, with an Assistant Prefect to govern and make arrests, and a Commander to defend it. Weng further suggested instituting dong elders and the baojia system of local law enforcement to keep the peace at the local level. If we comfort and reward the people in this way, Weng argued, the area could become peaceful and profitable within five years.59 Although Weng’s suggestions were not taken up, it demonstrates him from prosecution, while his involvement in trade enabled him to amass a legendary fortune. Timothy Brook, “Communications and Commerce,” in Cambridge History of China: Ming Dynasty, 1368–1644, Part II, ed F.W. Mote and Denis Twitchett (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998) ,̣ 696. 57 MSL, p. 521. 58 A li is about a third of a mile. Annan Laiwei Tuce, 469–470. 59 Weng Wanda. Weng Wandi Ji [Collected Words of Weng Wanda] (Shanghai: Shanghai Guji Chubanshe, 1992), 98.

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that Ming border officials were aware of and concerned about the problems of incorporating and controlling the four dong. The opportunities and perils of cross-border trade also caused problems for Ming officials. After Lin Xiyuan, officials stationed to Qinzhou were less friendly towards trade, deeming it the cause of the cross-border raids. Corruption was an issue, as officials there were far from the oversight of the central government and more inclined to the local situation. In fact, as cross-border raids continued to plague the Ming administration, the entire endeavor of direct central rule of the four dong came under question, and officials suggested selfrule by dong leaders or militarizing the border as an alternative. The Ming Veritable Records show that the “illegal” movement of people and goods across the border continued unabated, leading to instances of crossborder raiding, looting, and kidnapping that frustrated the local Ming officials. Nor was the political situation clear: in addition to the competing governments of the Lê and the Mạc in Đại Việt, various indigenous “chieftains” and “bandits” appear in the Ming Veritable Records. Qinzhou in particular was vulnerable to attack, given its location as the Ming port nearest to the border. Political unrest in Đại Việt only exacerbated instability on the southeastern border. The Mạc were expelled from the Vietnamese capital of Thăng Long (now Hà Nội) in 1592 by the resurgent Lê. The Mạc royal family and their followers set up a rump government south of the Ming border inland from Qinzhou, in Cao Bằng. Despite the Lê dynasty’s nominal control of Đại Việt, the Mạc remained a threat and the country unsettled. Displacement and unrest kept people from their fields, leading to famine.60 Mạc-Lê battles persisted as late as 1667.61 Rebels and refugees, including Mạc remnants, sought refuge in the border area, and even across the border in Ming territories including the four dong and Siming.62 In his research on early 17th century Vietnamese attacks on Qinzhou, Niu Junkai discovered that many of the bandits raiding Qinzhou, the four dong, and other border areas were remnants of the Mạc.63 Facing frequent famine 60 61 62

63

TT, 903. Ibid, 985. Niu Junkai, “Wanli nianjian Qinzhou shijian yu Zhong Yue guanxi” (The Qinzhou Incident and the Relationship Between China and Vietnam during the Wanli Period of the Ming Dynasty), Haijiao shi yanjiu 2 (2004): 69–76; Geoff Wade, translator, Southeast Asia in the Ming Shi-lu: an open access resource, Singapore: Asia Research Institute and the Singapore E-Press, National University of Singapore, http://epress.nus.edu.sg/msl/entry /3243 (accessed March 17, 2010). The DVSKTT mentions Mạc royal family members fleeing to Siming on page 900. On the refugee Mạc, see Ong in this volume. Niu, “Wanli Nianjian Qinzhou,” 70–72.

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and prevented by Ming officials from trading in China, these communities at times resorted to plundering Chinese towns, both for material gain and to settle scores with Ming officials or dong leaders. One group, led by the Mạc remnant Ông Phúc, resorted to banditry when Ming officials denied their request to settle across the border in one of the four dong, Silin.64 Although these raids were not an attempt to extend the territory under Vietnamese control, they were destabilizing to local society and distressing, even life-threatening, to Ming officials. The Ming government sought Vietnamese, especially Lê, assistance in capturing the culprits. According to Niu, the Lê government was willing to help the Ming only insofar as it helped them to eliminate Mạc supporters, but their aid was otherwise perfunctory.65 Still consolidating their control of Đại Việt and fighting the Mạc and their supporters, the Lê government likely had little control over the inhabitants of its far northeast corner. Attacks on Qinzhou intensified in 1604, with nearly a dozen in just two years.66 In late 1607, up to one thousand people participated in a raid on Qinzhou, apparently to retaliate against Ming officials who had not allowed some Vietnamese traders to do business there. A few months later an even larger raiding party, many of them participants in the earlier attack, stormed the city through Lin’s now broken wall and plundered Qinzhou. In both cases Ming defense of the city was virtually non-existent and certainly not effective.67 One of Lin’s successors, Dai Yao, was governor-general at that time. Like Lin, Dai too would be both praised and blamed for his management of this difficult area. In his report to the throne, Dai Yao wrote, “This was the result of the various [Ming] officials failing in their duties.”68 He recommended increasing troop strength at the border, reestablishing local dong leaders to help them restrain the local people, and forbidding all cross-border trade.69 The Wanli emperor disagreed, placing responsibility squarely on Dai’s shoulders and giving him ten months to capture the ringleaders. Unable to rely on the Lê to make sufficient arrests, Ming troops crossed the border into Vietnam in 1608, killing 400 people and arresting 1000 more. Despite these numbers, the campaign was not entirely successful: many innocent people were caught in the 64 65 66 67 68

69

Niu, 72–3. Niu, 71. Ibid, 72. Raids by people labeled as Vietnamese (Jiao) were nothing new in Qinzhou, see Qinzhou zhi juan 9, 16–17 for a list of 16th century attacks. Niu, 73. Geoff Wade, translator, Southeast Asia in the Ming Shi-lu: an open access resource, Singapore: Asia Research Institute and the Singapore E-Press, National University of Singapore, http://epress.nus.edu.sg/msl/entry/3175 (accessed March 17, 2010). Niu, 70 and 75;Wade, entry 3200.

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Ming dragnet, and a Ming soldier was accused of killing 12 inhabitants of the four dong. Villagers from the four dong fled in fear of the “endless searching and killing” perpetrated by the Ming troops, creating a crisis for local officials.70 Dai Yao was demoted and made a commoner for his failure to protect Qinzhou. The campaign failed to settle the border region. In 1615, Dong Yuanru, the regional inspecting censor of Guangxi, memorialized that the buffer zone of native chieftaincies (Tusi) was receding, exposing the inner territory of Ming China to attack and harassment by the Vietnamese. He recommended militarizing the border. In his view, rule by the Tusi was exploitative, leading the impoverished people under their rule to seek economic advantage in cooperation with Yi people across the border.71 Disputes often broke out over trade, and it is clear that Ming officials like Dong Yuanru blamed unrest on trade. But attacks were also launched by those seeking refuge, as in 1618, when a Vietnamese “bandit” surnamed Ông and his followers attacked Sile Fort and the surrounding area and pronounced that they were reclaiming it. Although they were unsuccessful, the Ming official in charge of the area was fired and subsequently investigated for his failure to gather intelligence before the attack.72 Qinzhou was a trap for officials. Incapable of preventing attack by bandits, pirates, and refugees, Ming officials were investigated, blamed, and fired when the inevitable happened.73 Even though it was officially Ming territory, the inhabitants of the four dong did not necessarily side with the Ming administrators; in 1620, when imperial troops were driven to Gusen by a pirate attack, the locals fired on them with bows and arrows.74 The problem of loose Tusi rule was not restricted to the four dong. In 1624, it was reported that Vietnamese troops had occupied 272 villages in the Taiping and Siming area, probably a larger area than that constituted by the four dong.75 In 1627, harassment of the southern border was general, all the way from the coast to Yunnan. The remnants of the Mạc participated in this trend. They were in desperate need of resources and located tantalizingly close to the border and to wealthy Chinese centers like Qinzhou. In 1629, Mạc Kính Mão raided Qinzhou and Tielang dong, capturing men and women and seizing water buffalo, pigs and goats, probably to aid in his stand against the Lê.76 This fron70 Niu, 73. 71 Wade, Southeast Asia in the Ming Shi-lu, entry 3243. 72 Wade, Southeast Asia in the Ming Shi-lu, entry 3270. 73 The Ming Shilu contains too many of these cases to mention specifically, of both military and civilian administrators. 74 Wade, Southeast Asia in the Ming Shi-lu, entry 3277. 75 Wade, Southeast Asia in the Ming Shi-lu, entry 1025. 76 Niu, 70.

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tier region with its four dong remained, as it had for centuries, a borderland open to indigenous activism, uncontrolled by exogenous forces. Conclusion The ups and downs of Lin Xiyuan’s career parallel the non-linear progress of southern expansion during the Ming. Lin Xiyuan treated his frontier posting as an opportunity to revive his career, drawing imperial attention to local issues. Dai Yao was victim to the competing interests of the borderland: the Mạc, the Lê, and local inhabitants willing to make alliances most advantageous to themselves or failing that to engage in “illegal” activity. True adaptability obtained for the indigenous dong inhabitants, who, in this period before the complete centralization of state power, leveraged their marginality and applied their own agendas. Lin Xiyuan, acting on his own authority rather than at the behest of the state, asserted a historical claim to the four dong. Though it would take more than a century, the imagined map of empire became real through this process of attrition. In the Ming, the expansive Chinese state worked to centralize power, on occasion converting native chieftaincies (Tusi) at the margins to regular administrative units, bringing non-Chinese inhabitants into the fold of the Confucian state, and forging the frontier in the south.77 The four dong indicates a case in which this imperial mapping of space was an afterthought, haphazard and accidental. As Dai Yao’s request to turn the administration of the four dong back to native chieftaincies (Tusi) illustrates, state expansion was not always continuous progress towards increasing control. Thanks in large part to the work of Lin Xiyuan, Đại Việt lost its sovereign territory back to the Ming. Yet there would remain a disconnect between national projections and local realities. As late as the 17th century, parts of the borderlands were still very much frontier, too distant from both Thăng Long and Beijing to be ruled effectively by either. It would be another century and indeed an entirely different state, that of the Qing, before China could administer the region in reality and not just in name, as the southern frontier gradually took shape via the actions of officials sent out by Beijing.

77

For two excellent studies of late imperial southern expansion, see C. Patterson Giersch, Asia Borderlands: The Transformation of Qing’s Yunnan Frontier (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2006); and John E. Herman, Amid the Clouds and Mist: China’s Colonization of Guizhou, 1200–1700 (Cambridge: Harvard East Asian Monographs, 2007).

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Bibliography Primary Sources Chen Jinghe, ed. Đại Việt Sử Ký Toàn Thư (Complete historical records of Đại Việt) Reprint, Tokyo: Tokyo Daigaku Toyo Bunka Kenkyujo Fuzoku Toyogaku Bunken Senta, 1984. Liang Tianxi 梁天錫, Feng Shiyang 馮時暘, and Jiang Meizhong 江美中. Annan Laiwei Tuce 安南來威圖冊 (An illustrated account of the over-awing of Annan). Reprint, Beijing: Shumu wenxian chubanshe, 1988. Lin Xiyuan, Tongan Lin Ciya Xiansheng Wenji 同安林次崕先生文集十八卷 (Collected works of Lin Ciya). Reprint, Tainan: Zhuangyan wenhua shiye youxian gongsi, 1997. Nam Sử Lảm Yếu 南史攬要 (Outline of Southern History). Hanoi: Institute of Han-Nom Studies, MS. A.1371. Qinzhou Zhi 欽州志(Gazetteer of Qinzhou) Reprint, Shanghai: Shanghai Guji shudian yingyin, 1982. Weng Wanda 翁萬達. Weng Wandi Ji 翁萬達集 (Collected Words of Weng Wanda). Reprint, Shanghai: Shanghai Guji Chubanshe, 1992. Zhang Tingyu, ed. Ming Shi 明史(History of the Ming). Taipei: Taiwan Zhonghua, 1965. Zhao Lingyang, ed. Ming Shi Lu zhong zhi Dongnan Ya Shi Liao 明實錄中之東南亞史 料 (Historical materials related to Southeast Asia in the Ming Veritable Records), Volume 2. Hong Kong: Xue jin chu ban she, 1968–1976. Secondary Sources Anderson, James. The Rebel Den of Nùng Trí Cao: Loyalty and Identity along the SinoVietnamese Frontier. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2007. Baldanza, Kathlene. “The Ambiguous Border: Early Modern Sino-Việt Relations.” Ph.D. dissertation, University of Pennsylvania, 2010. Brook, Timothy. “Communications and Commerce.” In The Cambridge History of China, vol. 8: The Ming Dynasty, pt. 2, ed. F.W. Mote and Denis Twitchett, 579–707. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. Cheng Wing-sheong 鄭永常. Zhengzhan yu qishou: Ming dai Zhong-Yue Guanxi Yanjiu 征戰與棄守：明代中越關係研究 (Attack and Abandon: Research on Sino-Viet Relations in the Ming). Tainan: Guoli Chenggong Daxue Chubanzu, 1998. Churchman, Michael. “‘The People in Between’: The Li and the Lao from the Han to the Sui.” In The Tongking Gulf Through History. Ed. Nola Cooke, Li Tana, and James Anderson. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011. Cushman, Richard David. “Rebel Haunts and Lotus Huts: Problems in the Ethnohistory of the Yao.” Ph.D. dissertation, Cornell University, 1970. Đăng Lợi Ngô et al. Mạc Đăng Dung và Vương Triều Mạc (Mac Dang Dung and the kings of the Mac dynasty). Hanoi: Hội sử học Hải Phòng, 2000.

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Du Shuhai. “Qinzhou Xibu de Difangshi yu Dudong zhi Minzu Xian Jiyi de Chuangzao” (The Creation of the Memory of the Ancestors of the Du and Dong People and Local History in Western Qinzhou). Minzu Yanjiu 2 (2009): 67–76. Giersch, C. Patterson. Asia Borderlands: The Transformation of Qing’s Yunnan Frontier. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2006. Herman, John E. Amid the Clouds and Mist: China’s Colonization of Guizhou, 1200-1700. Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Asia Center, 2007. Hoàng Lê. “Thời Thế Tạo Ra Anh Hùng” (The conditions that created a hero). In Mạc Đang Dung và Vương Triều Mạc. Ed. Đăng Lợi Ngô et al, 11–22. Hanoi: Hội sử học Hải Phòng, 2000. Hucker, Charles O. Dictionary of Official Titles in Imperial China. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1985. Nguyen, Nam. Writing as Response and as Translation: Jiandeng Xinhua and the Evolution of the Chuanqi Genre, Particularly in Vietnam. Ph.D. Dissertation, Harvard University, 2005. Niu Junkai. “Wanli nianjian Qinzhou shijian yu Zhong Yue guanxi” (The Qinzhou Incident and the Relationship Between China and Vietnam during the Wanli Period of the Ming Dynasty), Haijiao shi yanjiu 2 (2004). Pulleyblank, E.G. “The Chinese and Their Neighbors in Prehistoric and Early Historic Times.” In The Origins of Chinese Civilization. Ed. D. Keightley, 411–466. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983. So, Kwan-wai. Japanese Piracy in Ming China During the Sixteenth Century. East Lansing: Michigan State University Press, 1975. Trần Quốc Vượng. “Mấy Vấn Đề Về Nhà Mạc” (Some problems concerning the Mac). In Mạc Đăng Dung và Vương Triều Mạc. Ed. Đăng Lợi Ngô et al, 156–168. Hanoi: Hội sử học Hải Phòng, 2000. Wade, Geoff, translator. Southeast Asia in the Ming Shi-lu: an open access resource, Singapore: Asia Research Institute and the Singapore E-Press, National University of Singapore, http://epress.nus.edu.sg/msl/ Wiens, Herold. China’s March towards the Tropics: A Discussion of the Southward Penetration of China’s Culture, Peoples, and Political Control in Relation to the NonHan-Chinese Peoples of South China, and in the Perspective of Historical and Cultural Geography. Office of Naval Research, US Navy, 1952. Wiethoff, Bodo. “Lin Hsi-yuan.” In Dictionary of Ming Biography. Ed. L. Carrington Goodrich and L. Chaoying Fang, 919–922. New York: Columbia University Press, 1976. Zottoli, Brian A. “Reconceptualizing Southern Vietnamese History from the 15th to the 18th Centuries: Competition along the Coasts from Guangdong to Cambodia.” Ph.D. Dissertation, University of Michigan, 2011.

part 2 Shaping the Southern Frontier

∵

Chapter 7

Imperial Ideal Compromised: Northern and Southern Courts Across the New Frontier in the Early Yuan Era1 Sun Laichen “(In 1275), [our Viet] emperor listened to none of these [demands of the Yuan].”2 “(In 1281), due to the rude behavior of the embassy from China before the great [Burmese] king, the royal order was thus given: ‘Execute all the ten ministers and 1,000 cavalry.’ …’ Whoever shows contempt for this King will be executed.’”3

∵ Introduction Ever since John Fairbanks’s seminal study on the “Chinese world order” (as epitomized by the tributary system) in the mid-20th century, works in this regard have mushroomed.4 Over the years, however, scholars, including those residing in China, have started to discern and criticize some deficiencies and shortcomings in Fairbank’s “tributary system” model and related studies. According to these critiques, the model is very biased, as it emphasizes much more the Chinese side of the story or China’s dominant role than that of other smaller and weaker polities; it is also heavily Sinocentric as it views historical events from an idealized Chinese perspective (due to overwhelming reliance on Chinese sources which dwell on foreign missions coming to the Chinese capital to pay tributes) and overstresses the ritualistic aspect of the tributary 1 I thank John Whitmore and James Anderson for commenting on earlier drafts of this paper. 2 Đại Việt sử ký toàn thư (The Complete Book of the Historical Record of Đại Việt) (Tokyo: Tokyo Daigaku Toyo Bunka Kenkyujo, 1984) (henceforth as The Complete Book), 1: 349. 3 U Kala, Maha rajavan kri (Yangon: Hanthawaddy Ponnhipdaik, 1960–1), 1: 298. 4 John King Fairbank, ed., The Chinese World Order: Traditional China’s Foreign Relations (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1968).

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system including the ceremonies concerning receiving foreign envoys and tributary goods, granting seals and gifts, etc.; it is also rigid, static, monochromatic, monolithic, and unchanging, as it fails to treat the flexibility, change, and variance associated with related events.5 All in all, to simplify the matter, one can term all these “Sinocentrism,” or more precisely speaking, “historiographical Sinocentrism” as shown in modern scholarly works (vis-à-vis “historical Sinocentrism” as existed in the Chinese mind up to the breakdown of the so-called tributary system in the late nineteenth century and even after). Hence, there is a need to look at China’s foreign relationship from a nonChinese perspective. There have been a few pioneering studies already (here in terms of China’s historical relationship with Southeast Asia),6 but many more are needed. Following this tradition, I have done some research regarding the historical relationship between Burma and China. I purposely called this relationship “Burmo-Chinese” instead of “Sino-Burmese” (as I looked at this from Burma’s perspective) and proposed to conduct a “Foreign-Chinese historical relationship” (Wai Zhong guanxishi) to combat the popular “Sino-Foreign historical relationship” (Zhong Wai guanxishi) within China.7 In this research, I will continue to pursue this approach by moving from Burma to the whole mainland Southeast Asia, and from the nature of relationship and cultural influence to diplomatic/ceremonial matters, and by focusing on the early Yuan’s times. 5

6

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Zhang Feng, “Rethinking the ‘Tribute System:” Broadening the Conceptual Horizon of Historical East Asian Politics,” Chinese Journal of International Politics 2 (2009): 597–626; Chen Zhigang,”Guanyu fenggong tixi yanjiu de jige lilun wenti,” Qinghua Daxue xuebao 6 (2010): 60. E.H. Parker, “Burma’s ’Supposed’ Tribute to China,” The Imperial and Asiatic Quarterly Review and Oriental and Colonial Record 6, 11 & 12 (1898): 152–173; Xu Yunqiao, “Zhengzhao rugong Qingting kao,” Nanyang xuebao 7, 1 (1951): 1–17. Sun Laichen, “Suzerain and Vassal, or Elder and Younger Brothers: The Nature of the Burmo-Chinese Historical Relationship,” paper presented at the 49th Meeting of the Association for Asian Studies, Chicago, March 13–16, 1997; idem, “Lun Mian Zhong (Wai Zhong) guanxishi yanjiu (1) – yi Zhongguo dui zaoqi Miandian de ‘yingxiang’ wei zhongxin”, Yatai yanjiu luncong 3 (2006): 210–233. In 2005, Niu Junkai published an article “Sangui jiukou yu wubai sankou: Qingchao yu Annan de liyi zhizheng,”Nanyang wenti yanjiu 1 (2005): 46–52, dealing with the Qing-Annan nearly 100 year dispute (1667–1761) on protocol for the latter to receive the imperial edict. Recently, in 2009, two books adopted a similar or “looking-at-China-from-periphery” approach: Ge Zhaoguang, ed., Cong zhoubian kan Zhongguo (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 2009); Anthony Reid and Zheng Yangwen, eds., Negotiating Asymmetry: China’s Place in Asia (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2009). Both include chapters on Vietnam’s, Siam’s, Burma’s relationship with China in early modern and modern times.

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Until the mid-thirteenth century, the southern frontier had run along the coast and up the river valleys and their tributaries. It did not penetrate deeply into the highlands or the Yunnan plateau. As a consequence, the polities of the northern Southeast Asia (defined in this chapter as to include northern parts of modern mainland Southeast Asia and southern parts of modern south China such as Yunnan and Guizhou) had had limited contact with the Celestial Court and limited experience with handling its envoys. Even Đại Việt was relatively unengaged with its northern neighbor. In addition, the high-handed policy and harsh, tough, haughty, and rude attitudes of the Mongol Yuan in these contacts (as elsewhere) distinguish it from other dynasties in China before or since. These attitudes on occasion would bring death or injury to the Mongol Yuan envoys, leading the Yuan to invade when it happened.8 This justifies treating the activities of the envoys of the Yuan across northern Southeast Asia as a unit. Ceremonies and protocols had a paramount place in the Chinese tributary system and they were centered around the supremacy of the Chinese emperor.9 But so far, most studies examine them as they took place within China (particularly in the Chinese capitals) and in the lands of its two most loyal and obedient vassal states, Korea and Ryukyu. Here, the Chinese ideal and the imperial orders were followed, and the procedure and protocol as stipulated by the Chinese went unchallenged. 10 One can say that this is Sinocentric, as it ignores or slights the challenges to the Chinese ideal and the imperial orders and the disputes over protocol between Chinese envoys and other foreign courts. Hence, this chapter moves away from the Chinese capitals to foreign capitals and places beyond the southern frontier to look at the ways Chinese 8

9 10

A recent study on Mongol Yuan envoys points out that many of them met tragic ends and some were executed. An incomplete statistics shows that among the 242 missions, envoys on twenty three were executed, three jailed, and three humiliated. See Miao Dong, Yuandai shichen yanjiu (Ph. D. dissertation, Nankai Daxue, 2010), 182, 195, 208–209, 221–227. As one aspect of its foreign (and even domestic) policy, Yuan demands for hostages from conquered countries (as well as from its officials) were unprecedentedly (throughout Chinese history) direct, non-negotiable, and even insatiable. See Chen Jinsheng, Teshu shizhe de teshu shiming – zhizi zai gudai minzu guanxi zhong de zuoyong yanjiu (Lanzhou: Lanzhou Dazue Chubanshe, 2008), especially 77–92. John E. Wills, Jr., Embassies and Illusions: Dutch and Portuguese Envoys to K’ang-hsi, 1666– 1687 (Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1984), 15, 24, 177–179. Ta-tuan Ch’en, “Investiture of Liu-ch’iu Kings in the Chi’ing Period,” in Fairbank, The Chinese World Order, 135–164; Huang Zhilian, Tianchao lizhi tixi yanjiu, vol. 1, Yazhou de Huaxia zhixu: Zhongguo yu Yazhou guojia guanxi xingtailun (Beijing: Zhongguo Renmin Daxue Chubanshe, 1992), 235–242.

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embassies and the imperial orders they carried were treated by these rulers during early Yuan times. It alerts that despite that the Vietnamese have been lumped with the Koreans and Ryukyuans by scholars,11 they kept more distance from and resisted more the Chinese ideal than the latter two. This distinction must be kept in mind. Some elements of the Chinese imperial ideal were that all foreign countries were vassals of China and their rulers had to follow the imperial order to come to the Chinese capital; and conquered rulers (and their subordinates) must kowtow to the edicts of the Chinese emperor carried by Chinese diplomats to their own capitals (see the section below). Yet the actual process of reading these edicts was complicated and varied from country to country and time to time. This chapter reveals that the Chinese imperial ideal was frequently compromised: those rulers did not follow the imperial commands, did not kowtow to the imperial edicts, did not treat the Chinese embassies according to Chinese rules and expectations, and resolutely resisted going to the Chinese capital to submit in person. The “Chinese world order” came to be challenged in these southern capitals, an aspect which has been largely ignored by scholars. This was particularly the case in the Yuan epoch as the southern frontier shifted and, for the first time, courts across northern Southeast Asia came more directly and closely into contact with the northern regime. Hence, this research argues that without looking at the “tributary system” from the southern periphery our understanding of this system is incomplete, inaccurate, and Sinocentric. Regarding the geographical scope of this essay, it includes polities in what I call northern Southeast Asia, particularly in modern Yunnan, Guizhou, Burma, Chiang Mai, and Vietnam (Đại Việt ). As sources for Đại Việt are much more abundant than for other polities, my discussion on it will be much more detailed. Ancient Chinese Ideal of Diplomatic Protocols To better under the discussion in Section III, I will outline the basic ceremonies and protocols related to the tributary system in later times. They were characterized by the hierarchical nature and can be traced to the times before the Zhou (such as the Shang and even earlier) but were formalized during the

11 Wills, Embassies and Illusions, 173, 177.

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Western Zhou (mid-11th century–771BCE).12 This hierarchy was based on size, strength, and power of the polities involved. The person sitting at the apex was the Son of Heaven of the Zhou, and below him the different feudal lords each having his own fief. The highest form of meeting between the Son of Heaven and the feudal lords below him was the grand conference called huitong (meaning grand meeting involving all the parties) either at the capital or somewhere else. Its core was for all the participants to form an alliance, and the activities included setting up altars, sacrificing bull ears and taking blood oath, making sacrifices to the sun, the moon, rivers, and mountains, and the Son of Heaven entertained the feudal lords with grand meals, etc. This concept was later applied to foreign countries. It was ironically the alien dynasties Khitan Liao (915–1125) employed the name Huitong House (Huitong Guan) for their ambassador’s house, and this was inherited by the Jin (1115–1234), the Yuan, the Ming, and the Qing. The Liao’s model was derived from the Zhou’s ideal: “When the Zhou had conquered the world, more than 800 kingdoms came to meet together.” This huitong ideal was discussed in detail in Zhang Xingjian’s (?–1215) 120-volume work on rituals (the Lili cuan) and even Jin dances (sihai huitong zhiwu, meaning “grand dance party of the four seas”) reflected this ideal.13 Another important concept of the Zhou was concerned with the coming of the feudal lords and foreign rulers to the capital to have an audience with the Son of Heaven. The frequency of this audience was based on distance from the capital, thus those lords whose fiefs were 500, 1,000, 1,500, 2,000, 2,500, 3,000 li away from the capital came to have an audience every year, every two years, every three years, every four years, every five years, and every six years respectively. Beyond Jiuzhou (referring to China) were foreign countries, and their rulers came to the capital “once in a life time (shiyijian; abbreviated as shijian in later times).” All should bring tributary goods to the Son of Heaven. 14 The concepts of huitong and shijian passed to the Mongols of the Yuan, as they named ambassadors’ house Huitong House and required foreign rulers to come to perform the above-mentioned protocols. As shown below, Khubilai’s 12

13

14

Yang Zhigang, Zhongguo liyi zhidu yanjiu (Shanghai: Huadong Shifan Daxue Chubanshe, 2001), chapters 1–2; Li Yunquan, Chaogong zhidu shilun – Zhongguo gudai duiwai guanxi tizhi yanjiu (Beijing: Xinhua Chubanshe, 2004), 1–14. Zhang Erguo, “Xian Qin shiqi de huimeng wenti,” Shixue jikan 1 (1995): 11–18; Wang Jing, Zhongguo gudai zhongyang keguan zhidu yanjiu (Harbin: Heilongjiang Jiaoyu Chubanshe, 2002), chapters 4–6; Liao shi, j. 70, biao 8, Shuguobiao. Li Siyan (Gu Sili, comp., Yuanshi xuan chuji [Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 1987], 180) wrote a poem on the Huitong House in Dadu (modern Beijing), saying that the site was originally the Prince Yi’s House (Yiwang fu) of the Jin dynasty. Zhouli, qiuguan 5, daxingren; Yang Zhigang, Zhongguo liyi zhidu yanjiu, 387–388.

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claim in his edict to Đại Việt in 1267 that the six demands (liushi ) the Mongols imposed on Đại Việt and other polities were century-old and not new creations had a remote historical basis (but rarely practiced). For example, that foreign rulers should seek audience with the emperor was derived from the Zhou huitong and shijian ideal. The Mongols acquired these cultural lessons either directly from the Chinese or indirectly from the Turks.15 Based on our discussion above, the channel of the Liao and the Jin was also possible. But these ideals were mostly empty words, as throughout Chinese history, foreign rulers rarely came to China. At least from the Tang dynasty on, more detailed protocols were stipulated to receive foreign rulers (“fanzhu chaojin li” for the Tang; “waiguo junzhang laichao” for the Song; “fanwang chaogong li” for the Ming). The Ming court especially innovated by requesting foreign rulers to practice the protocol for three days in the Chinese capital before having audience with the Ming emperor. These protocols were most of the time on paper, as not a single foreign ruler ever came to the Song, only a handful petty chieftains arrived in the Ming court.16 Mongol brute force forced some rulers of the conquered polities to fulfill these ideals. For instance, Barchukh Art Tegin, the ruler of the Uighurs of Turfan paid homage to Chinggis Khan in 1211 in person; the 24th king Wonjong (Wang Sik/Ceon, r. 1260–74) of the Koryo dynasty was required by Khubilai to perform the shijian ceremony (xiu shijian zhili), hence he visited the Yuan court twice (1264 and 1269) in person; and the 25th king Chungryeol (Wang Sim/Cun/Geor. 1274–1308) of the Koryo visited Yuan court in person in 1293 for the same reason.17 However, even brute force and warfare of the Mongols failed to make any Southeast Asian rulers to come to China. The haggling between Yuan envoys and the Vietnamese court is especially recorded in detail (see below). Performing the kowtowing and seating arrangement were also a hierarchical matter. Among the feudal kingdoms during the Zhou times, whenever a king of any kingdom was about to ascend the throne, the rulers of smaller kingdoms would go to congratulate in person, while those of bigger ones would send envoys. The protocol for the ruler of a kingdom to receive a gui (equivalent to state letters) from envoys from an equal kingdom was for them to sit 15

16 17

Thomas T. Allsen, “The Yüan Dynasty and the Uighurs of Turfan in the Thirteenth Century,” in Morris Rossabi, ed., China among Equals: The Middle Kingdom and Its Neighbors, 10th–14th Centuries (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983), 268. Yang Zhigang, Zhongguo liyi zhidu, 397–405. Allsen, “The Yüan Dynasty,” 247; Yuan shi, j. 208, liezhuan 95, waiyi 1, Gaoli; Li Yunquan, Chaogong zhidu shilun, 209.

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east vs. west (symbolizing equality); these envoys did not kowtow to the rulers of other equal kingdoms, but they did so to their own rulers when reporting to them upon returning to their own kingdoms, and to those of bigger kingdoms. The order ascending on steps to the audience hall was based on status: if the hosts and guests were equal, they would ascend simultaneously; if the status of the former was higher than that of the latter, the former would ascend first. In addition, domestic visits were also based on status.18 According to the Chunqiu Zuozhuan, the seating order of the envoys was even in front of that of the feudal lords, because they carried the edicts of the kings.19 Yuan envoys would dispute with the Vietnamese court twice on this point. From the Han times on, the Chinese dynasties increasingly had to deal with foreign kingdoms and their rulers and envoys to China’s capitals. Thus, a set of sophisticated protocols in receiving these rulers and envoys had been more developed. Without exception, the basic and fundamental rule was for foreign rulers and envoys to kowtow to the Chinese emperor most of the time, with the notable exception being during times such as the Song when China lived through a multi-state system and Song China was an equal to or even weaker than other kingdoms such as Khitan Liao and Jürchen Jin. Song China had to pocket is pride and treated these kingdoms as equal. This clearly shows the socalled tribute protocol was based on strength and power.20 Also from the Han dynasty on, more and more envoys from the Central Plain were sent to foreign countries, and a set of protocol should have been developed (though not systemized until the Ming dynasty), with one major element being foreign rulers and officials kowtowing to the edicts and seals of the Chinese emperor brought by the Chinese missions to foreign courts. The Qing inherited the Ming system without much change.21 All the above-mentioned ideals were compromised in reality. One of the earliest incident was in 196 BCE, when Zhao Tuo (V. Triệu Dà), the king or emperor (as he himself declared so) of Nanyue, greeted Han envoy Lu Jia in the native Yue way by not following the Chinese rule as a vassal. When Lu Jia 18 19 20

Yang Zhigang, Zhongguo liyi zhidu, 389–395. Chunqiu Zuozhuan zhengyi, j. 13, Xi 6, Jin 14. Lien-sheng Yang, “Historical Notes on the Chinese World Order,” in Fairbank, the Chinese World Order, 20–21; Rossabi, China among Equals; Li Yunquan, Chaogong zhidu shilun, 209. 21 Wills, Embassies and Illusions, 15, 173, 177; Yang Zhiqang, Zhongguo liyi zhidu, 405–406; Li Yunquan, Chaogong zhidu shilun, chapters 2 and 4. Wills argues that the so-called “tributary system” did not form until the Ming times. For the detail of Ming stipulation of foreign countries receiving the edict of the Chinese emperor, see the Da Ming huidian, j. 58, “faguo yingzhao yi” (http://wenxian.fanren8.com/06/10/15/60.htm).

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reprimanded Zhao Tuo for his impropriety and threatened by sending troops, Zhao Tuo apologized (and allegedly kowtowed), but still asked Lu Jia that between Zhao Tuo and the Han emperor and generals who was greater.22 During the reign of Zhao Hu, grandson of Zhao Tuo, the Han helped Nanyue defeat the latter’s enemy state Minyue (in modern Fujian province), and sent envoys to persuade Zhao Hu to visit the Han court in person. Upon the warning of his ministers that the Han would not allow him to return if he went, Zhao Hu did not travel to see the Han emperor on the excuse of being ill.23 This is also the first example of a foreign ruler who refused to visit the Chinese court on account of being sick (many more examples later, especially during the Trần dynasty of Đại Việt.) In 990 CE, the king of Đại Việt Lê Hoàn refused to kowtow to the edict of the Song emperor, with the excuse that he recently fell from horse in fighting with barbarian troops and hurt his feet. Lê Hoàn also treated other Song envoys very impolitely.24 These show that the Chinese rulers were not able to realize their diplomatic ideal from early time on. The Conflicts between Yuan Envoys and Southeast Asian Rulers The Southwest Scattered episodes illustrate local reactions to the Mongol intrusions in and around what became Yunnan. As noted in Anderson’s chapter in this volume, Khubilai Khan (1215–1294) and two leading Mongol generals had been entrusted with the mission of bringing down Yunnan’s Dali kingdom to gain access to the Song empire’s vulnerable southern frontier. In 1253, three Mongol envoys, Yulüshu, Wang Junhou, and Wang Jian, were sent to the Dali kingdom to persuade its ruler Duan Xingzhi (r. 1251–1253) to surrender -- if Duan did so, his capital would not be pillaged and its people not killed; but, if the Mongol envoys were killed, the people of Dali would be butchered. The Dali leadership did not believe this and had the three envoys executed, suspending their corpses from a tree. After taking Dali, and having been convinced before the attack 22 23 24

Sima Qian, Shiji, j. 97, Lu Jia liezhuan 37; Lê Tắc, annotated by Wu Shangqing, An Nam chí lược (Beijing: Zhonghus Shuju, 1995), 59, 78–79; The Complete Book, 1: 108. Shi ji, j. 113, Nanyue liezhuan 53; Lê Tắc, An Nam chí lược, 79. Song shi, j. 488, liezhuan 247, waiguo 4, Jiaozhi; Lê Tắc, An Nam chí lược, 286; Phan Huy Chú, Lịch triè̂u hié̂n chương loại chí (Toyo Bunko, X–2–38), “Bang giao chí,” quyển 48: [1b– 2b]. Le Hoan’s excuse is more apparent by the fact that he ever actively and nimbly speared fish in front of the Song envoys after receiving and entertaining the Song envoys. Phan Huy Chú also commented that the guest house the Former Lê built for the Song envoys was extremely shabby, because the Song was weak and hence was slighted.

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to spare most of the city’s inhabitants, the Mongols sought the heads of the envoys without success.25 Following the formal disintegration of the Song empire, the Mongols continued to face resistance in the Southwest. In 1280, Acha (or Aqi), chief of the Luoshigui kingdom (called by the Mongols Yixibuxue and referred to as Luodian kingdom in an earlier period) in modern Guizhou, submitted to the Yuan but declined the order that he visit the imperial court in person. Soon, Acha was requested repeatedly by the Yuan court to have an audience with the Yuan emperor, but he still would not go. Instead, claiming to be ill, Acha sent his nephew in his place. Having by this point taken the throne as the Yuan emperor, Khubilai Khan stated, “[The chief of] Yixibuxue does not follow (our) order and always assigns the task to his nephew. This lacks the propriety of a vassal.” Khubilai ordered Sichuan to send troops to punish Luoshigui. After the kingdom had been defeated, and Yuan troops were stationed there, Acha’s younger brother Ali (presumably as the new chief) went to the Yuan court. The Yuan troops then withdrew from Luoshigui.26 In 1303, the local chieftain Xiongcuo of Yongning (in northeastern Yunnan Branch Secretariat, located in modern western Guizhou) rebelled, and the Yuan sent troops to suppress him. When defeated, Xiongcuo sent others to surrender and to go to the Yuan court, claiming himself ill. The Grand Counselor reported to the Yuan emperor that Xiongcuo had not come in person, and another punitive expedition should be organized. Xiongcuo then agreed to come to court, arriving with 29 subordinates either in late 1303 or in 1304. He was pardoned and granted the native chieftainship. In 1321, the prefect of Langqu sub-prefecture (in northern Yunnan, near modern Yongsheng) La’e killed his elder brother Laqiu and forced the latter’s wife Shumanta to become his own wife. Officials from Langqu were sent to persuade La’e to surrender. La’e had the officials stopped at the garrison gate, shouting from a distance, “…We brothers have had a feud over mountain villages – this has nothing to do with you Mongol and Han (Fan Han) officials.27 Shumanta is my sister-in-law, I have killed my elder brothers Lading and Laqiu and taken her as my wife. [You want] me to go to the authorities, what do you want to say to me?” Despite 25

26 27

Yuan shi, benji, j. 4, Shizu 1, in Fang Guoyu, Yunnan shiliao congkan (Kunming: Yunnan Daxue Chubanshe, 2001) (henceforth as YSC), 2: 484; Yuan shi, j. 157, in YSC, 2: 590; Mu’an ji, j. 18 and Yuan wenlei, j. 64, in YSC, 2: 695–6; Yuan wenlei, j. 58, in YSC, 2: 705. Also see Anderson and Brose in this volume. Yuan shi, benji, j. 11, Shizu 8, in YSC, 2: 488–9; Zeng Lian, Yuan shu, “Acha zhuan,” in YSC, 2: 608; Mu’an ji, j. 30, in YSC, 2: 697; Jingshi dadian, “Bafan Shunyuan zhuman,” in YSC, 2: 630. “Fan Han” in Chinese means “non-Chinese/foreign” and “Han Chinese,” and here the former is rendered as “Mongol” judging by the circumstances.

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repeated appeals from the dispatched officials, La’e refused to come out. Yunnan provincial authorities then requested that the Yuan court send 1,000 soldiers to punish him. The Privy Council did not agree and ordered the Yunnan Branch Secretariat to use persuasion on the native leaders. Sources are silent on the end result. That same year, Guangu, the chief of Numoudian, raided villages on the Mangshi Route, burning forty one villages, and killing one official. Yuan envoys were sent to read an imperial edict to the chieftain, but he “neither kowtowed to receive (the edict), nor came out to surrender.” In 1322, chiefs in Dadian on the Zhenxi Route (Zhenxi was called Ganya later, modern Yingjiang in southwestern Yunnan), Awu (grandfather) and Sanzhen (grandson) were fighting to expand their territory, and a Yuan envoy was sent to persuade them to stop pillaging neighboring lands. The unnamed Yuan envoy was invited up into a stilt house on whose lower parts hung human heads (showing headhunting practices). Hearing the imperial edict (whose content is not recorded), Awu was furious, admitting but defending his and Sanzhen’s raiding and killing, saying eventually, “Now the authority has come to call on me to surrender, but I will not come out (to submit) and accept official positions. Neither will I return all the lands I have wrested; I must continue to contest them.” The account is silent on the outcome of the mediation.28 Farther into these southwestern hills, in 1298, Lesser Cheli (Xiao Cheli, in Sipsongpanna) and Chiang Mai (Baibaxifu) joined to invade adjacent territories. The Yuan court sent envoys with imperial edicts to quiet them, but they would not listen to the orders (bu tingming ). The disturbance continued for a long time. In 1309, the Yunnan Mobile Province reported that Chiang Mai, Greater Cheli (Da Cheli) and Lesser Cheli made disturbances, and a person named Gubao of the Weiyuan prefecture took and occupied Muluodian. A provincial official Suanzhierwei, escorted by 1,500 soldiers, was sent to persuade them to surrender. Gubao first bribed Suanzhierwei with gold and silver, and then attacked him. Suanzhierwei and and his escorts were defeated. The Yuan emperor said that this was a grave matter, another envoy with an edict should be sent speedily to persuade again. In 1314, Yunnan province officials sent an envoy named Fahulading, the Overseer (Daluhuachi, from Mongolian daru­ hachi meaning “seal-holding official”) of Nandian in southwestern Yunnan, to Chiang Mai. At Muken modern Keng Tung, Burma), the Chiang Mai king 28

Jingshi dadian, “Yunnan” and “Dali Jinchi,” in YSC, 2: 624–7; Fang Guoyu, Yunandai Yunnan xingsheng Daizu shiliao biannian (Kunming: Yunnan Renmin Chubanshe, 1958), 62. Fang Guoyu has stated that the people who practiced headhunting could not have been Tai, hence perhaps Tibeto-Burman Kachin or Jingpo. Another possibility is that this was a practice of the Pu, a Mon-Khmer speaking people close to the headhunting Wa.

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Hunqilan (Mangrai?)29 sent his son Nantong to meet the Yuan envoy. Fahulading stated, “Previously the (Yunnan) Branch Secretariat sent the clerk Hu (Hu Zhishi) to get you to submit, and you sent Naiai and others to surrender, hence I come with the imperial order to get you to submit.” Nantong replied, “We did not submit to you! It was just that clerk Hu said your court’s territory was broad and army numerous, so we sent some from our family to go there with clerk Hu to take a look.” Eventually, Fahulading met with King Hunqilan and read the imperial edict. The account is vague, but it does not appear that Hunqilan kowtowed upon receiving the edict. The Yuan envoy seemed powerless, as he was forced to help repel an enemy force raiding the land of Chiang Mai.30 These varied episodes scattered across the Yunnan plateau and on its fringes show us local chieftains striving to follow their normal combative pursuits despite the increasing Mongol presence. Stubbornly insisting on their rights to continue their established practices (“traditions”), these chiefs often had to be forced into accepting the new northern dictates. Moving off the (now) Yunnan plateau and down the “Great Descent,” the initial contact the Yuan had with Mian (Pagan Burma) appeared fruitful. In 1271, Yunnan sent Qitaituoyin and others to Mian to solicit its king to submit to the Yuan. The Yuan envoys did not receive an audience with the Pagan king, only meeting his ministers. This shows clearly that the Burmese king did not take the Yuan seriously, hence did not bother to meet them. Pagan did send a person named Jiabo to return with Qitaituoyin to the Yuan capital Dadu (modern Beijing). The purpose of sending Jiabo to China was to “view [Buddhist] relics of the great empire” (which was fulfilled) but the Yuan court (probably via the distortion of its interpreters) saw this as Pagan’s desire to submit. Two years later, in the second month of 1273, the Yuan dispatched an even larger mission to Pagan Burma. In addition to Qitaituoyin, now Director of the Ministry of Rites and acting as the Envoy of China (Zhongguo xinshi) for this mission, there were also Kamala Śri (Kanmalashili in Chinese), the Director of the Ministry of Works Liu Yuan, and his Vice Director Buyunshi, the latter two acting as the Deputy Envoys (Zhongguo xinfushi). The number of other people on the mission is unrecorded. Among these envoys, Kamala Śri is an interesting figure. Chen Ruxing has, convincingly, interpreted him from his name as a Buddhist monk. His serving on the mission would have been the result of the Yuan court’s notice of Pagan Burma’s 29

30

Song Shuhua, “Tang Song shiqi Daizu shishang ruogan diming renming yanjiu,” Minzu yanjiu 1 (1981) maintains that in the Tai languages “hun” means “official” and “qilan” “Chiang Rai,” thus “hun qilan” would be “the ruler of Chiang Rai.” Jingshi dadian, “Cheli” and “Babaixifu,” in YSC, 2: 628–630; Yuan shi, j. 23, benji 23, Wuzong 2; j. 132, in YSC, 2: 580.

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interest in Buddhism shown in their wish to view Buddhist relics. This Buddhist element in Yuan-Pagan diplomacy would continue. The gist of the Yuan emperor Khubilai Khan’s edict carried by this mission was that the Mian kingdom should submit by sending one of the king’s brothers, sons, or ministers to the Chinese capital. The edict specifically stated, “If it comes to war, who will be the victor?” implying that by coming to submit there would be no war.31 In the fourth month of 1273, Yunnan officials told the Yuan court that the envoys had not returned and that Mian had no heart to submit, hence an expedition must be sent. In two months, Khubilai Khan said, “No haste yet.” By the eleventh month, the message from the Yunnan-Pagan border was that the Yuan envoys had arrived in Mian and were safe.32 From then until the fourth month of 1277 when the Yuan-Pagan border conflict took place, sources on the Yuan side are silent, while those on the Burmese side fill in the record. According to Burmese and Tai/Shan sources, the Yuan envoys’ arrogance caused their deaths by order of the Burmese king Narathihapate (r. 1254–87). U Kala, the early eighteenth century Burmese historian, echoed by the nineteenth century chronicle Mhannan (The Glass Palace Chronicle of the Burmese kings), only stated that the Yuan envoys, including ten officials and 1,000 cavalry, came to Pagan in 1281 (643 in the Burmese calendar) to demand tribute and were considered arrogant in their behavior (without saying in what way) toward the Burmese king. Hence, despite one minister’s premonition that there was no tradition of emissaries being executed, all the Yuan envoys were killed.33 A third Burmese chronicle offers more specifics: the Yuan envoys came to Pagan to demand white elephants, but refused to take their shoes off.34 One Tai/Shan source, which probably derived its information from a Burmese source, maintained that the envoys from the Yuan court came to Pagan to demand elephants; upon arriving at the Pagan palace, considering themselves emissaries from a great empire, they “not only refused to kowtow [to the Burmese king],

31

Zhiyuan zheng Mian lu, in Yu Dingbang and Huang Zhongyan, comp., Zhongguo guji zhong de Miandian ziliao huibian (Beijing: Zhonghua Shju, 2002), 1: 64; Yuan shi, j. 210, “Mianguo;” Yuan shi, j. 8, Shizu benji; Chen Ruxing, “Yuan Zhiyuan monian de Zhong Mian heping tanpan,” Shiroku, 5 (1972): 6; G.E. Harvey, History of Burma, from the Earliest Times to 1824: the Beginning of the English Conquest (1st ed., 1925; reprint, London: Frank Cass & Co., 1967), 64–65. 32 Zhiyuan zheng Mian lu, 64–65; Yuan shi, j. 210, “Mianguo.” 33 Kala, Maha rajavan kri, 1: 298; Mhannan maha rajavan to kri (Yangon & Mandalay: Pitakat Cauptuikchuin, 1955–67), 1: 351–2. 34 Tvansantuikvan Mahacansu, Tvansan Mranma rajavan sac or Maha rajavan sac (Yangon: Mingala Pumnhip Tuik, 1968), 1: 154.

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but also talked on a high chair, being conceited and extremely arrogant.” Seeing this, the Pagan king was furious and ordered his guards to execute them.35 Though there is a discrepancy of several years (as the Yuan envoys should have been executed prior to 1277), this “rite controversy” at the Pagan court as recorded by the Burmese (and Tai/Shan) sources no doubt took place. This protocol conflict had been avoided for the 1271 mission as the Burmese king did not meet with the envoys from China. The 1273 mission did have an audience and their perceived haughty attitude understandably incited a strong reaction from the Burmese. The execution of the envoys did not immediately lead to war, as the Yuan court probably did not know what had happened to them. The border conflict between Yunnan and Burmese forces took place in early 1277 (at Na Chon Khyam or Nga Hsaunggyan according to the Burmese chronicles), and the Burmese suffered a devastating defeat. The Yuan forces took Jiangtou (Nam Sawng Sum in Shan, Koncan or Kaungsin in Burmese) but had to withdraw due to the hot climate. In late 1283, Yuan forces invaded Burma again and retook the city of Jiangtou, killing over 10,000 Burmese troops (the number here should have been exaggerated). The Yuan History recorded that envoys headed by Heidier and Yang Lin were sent to solicit the surrender of the Burmese kingdom, but received no reply. Though the sources are silent, one speculates that these envoys too were killed by the Burmese. The Burmese forces held their position at Tagaung (Taigong in Chinese) to resist the Yuan forces, who dispatched Buddhist monks to persuade the Burmese to submit. This time, the Yuan History clearly stated that these monks were executed, and the Yuan forces advanced to take Tagaung. As a result, in late 1285, the Pagan court sent two ministers to Tagaung, expressing to the Yuan forces that they were willing to submit and would send high-ranking officials to the Yuan court. In early 1287, Yunnan forces marched to the city of Pagan, losing 7,000 troops on the way. The kingdom of Pagan was pacified, and annual tribute promised.36 Later that year, the Yuan demanded that the Burmese king come to the Yuan court in person, but the king declined, saying that rebels were numerous, it was not a good time to go, and that he would send one of his ministers, Anandala, to bring local products to the Yuan court first. Here it is clear that even this king of defeated Burma was not willing to (and did not) go to China in person. While numerous missions headed by heirs apparent and high-ranking officials 35 36

Gong Xiaozheng, trans., Meng Guozhanbi ji Meng Mao gudai zhuwang shi (Kunming, Yunnan: Yunnan Minzu Chubanshe, 1990), 67–68. Chen Ruxing, “Yuan Zhiyuan monian (1), 12–13; “Yuan Zhiyuan monian de Zhong Mian heping tanpan (2), Shiroku 7 (1974): 23–25; Zhiyuan zheng Mian lu, 65–66; Yuan shi, j. 210, “Mianguo;” Yuan shi, j. 133, “Yehandijin;” Yuan shi, j. 13, Shizu benji.

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were sent from Burma to the Yuan capital at Dadu from 1287 to 1332, not a single Burmese king ever went.37 In 1301, the “head of Burma” (Mian guozhu) refused to submit to the Yuan, the Yunnan official Huxin sent envoys to persuade him to do so. According to the Yuan History, this head of Burma sent a delegation to the Yuan court with the retuning Yunnan envoys and his son was made the heir apparent.38 One thing would have changed; the Burmese kings after the Yuan conquest undoubtedly kowtowed to the Yuan envoys, as at least one Yuan source testified.39 As the frontier shifted south and the Pagan court came into much closer and more direct contact with the northern power, the Burmese king and his ministers had had to make a major readjustment in their manner of dealing with the Chinese. Overall, across the mountains stretching south of the Yangzi valley, chiefs and kings of the indigenous polities reacted strongly against the Mongol thrust, striving to maintain their political and cultural patterns. In the end, the Yuan brought the Yunnan plateau into China under the local leadership of officially recognized native chieftains, though the territory would remain a frontier zone for centuries. Farther south, beyond the “Great Descent” and into Tai/ Shan and Burmese realms, the Mongols chose to keep them as tributary kingdoms, in contrast to what they attempted with Đại Việt. The South The Yuan highhanded and direct policy is more clearly seen in their interaction with Đại Việt. During the period 1257–1294, for nearly four decades, as noted earlier in this volume, the Yuan court imposed harsh demands on the Vietnamese Trần court, while the latter resisted these demands in various ways. These adamant acts of resistance led to three devastating Mongol invasions. Yet Đại Việt remained steadfast and did not yield to the Yuan demands. Instead of merely having the northern power in the lowlands north and northeast of them, in Guangxi and Guangdong provinces, Đại Việt now saw it to their northwest, in the new province of Yunnan. This added another invasion route for the Chinese, down the Red River, one formerly used by Nanzhao, and caught the Vietnamese in a pincher. As the Mongol forces were pushing ever deeper and downward into the northern Southeast Asia, coming into direct contact with the Tai/Shan and Burmese polities, they moved more easily southeast down the Red River valley into Đại Việt. In 1257, the Mongols sent two envoys to call for Vietnamese sub37 38 39

Yuan shi, j. 14, Shizu benji. Yuan shi, j. 125, “Huxin;” j. 20, Chengzong benji. Yuan shi, j. 133, “Qielie.”

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mission, but the envoys failed to return. Hence, the following year the Mongols launched their first invasion, easily moving into the Vietnamese capital Thăng Long (now Hà Nội), and the Vietnamese king (Trần Thái Tông, r. 1226–77) fled to the coast. In the capital, the Mongols found their two envoys in jail, tied by bamboo strips so tightly that they pieced the flesh. No sooner were they untied than one died. In revenge, the Mongols massacred residents of Thăng Long. Due to the hot weather, which they were quite unused to, the Mongol troops stayed for only seven days before returning upriver to Yunnan. Another two Mongol envoys were sent to call Thái Tông to submit. Returning to his capital, seeing the city destroyed, Thái Tông once again had the envoys tied up but this time returned them.40 In 1258, the new Vietnamese junior ruler Trần Thánh Tông (r. 1258–90) sent envoys including his son-in-law to Wulianghetai (Uriangqadai) in Yunnan, who sent back a mission headed by Nalading. The Mongols’ envoy conveyed the following message to the Vietnamese: We sent a good-will mission, but you detained them, hence the invasion last year; seeing your ruler fleeing the capital, we sent another mission, but you tied them up; now for the third time we have sent a mission. If you are really willing to submit, your king must come to submit in person; if not, let us know clearly. The answer from the Vietnamese king was: “If my small country sincerely serves your majesty, how will your big country treat us?” The Mongol envoys traveled back and forth among Thăng Long, Yunnan, and Dadu and eventually the message from the Vietnamese court was that the king’s children or brothers would be sent to China as host­ ages.41 In 1260, as Khubilai ascended the Yuan throne, harsh demands started to flood into Đại Việt and the Yuan-Vietnamese relationship commenced its roughest era. The beginning was not so bad. That year, a Yuan mission to Đại Việt promised that the Vietnamese could still retain their old dress style, protocol, and customs; if Đại Việt sent the king’s sons or brothers, they would be well treated. The next year, the Vietnamese did send a mission consisting of high-ranking relatives and officials, requesting to pay tribute every three years. As noted in Anderson’s chapter in this volume, Khubilai seems to have been 40 41

Yuan shi, j. 209, liezhuan 96, waiyi 2, Annan. Sources for sections below, if not noted, are also from this source. Yuan shi, j. 209, liezhuan 96, waiyi 2, Annan; Yuan shi, j. 121, liezhuan 8, “Subutai.” See also The Complete Book 1: 338, 342, 345, which puts the Nalading mission in 1266. The Trần pattern of senior and junior rulers began from this time, as the father (Thái Tông) placed his son and successor (Thánh Tông) on the throne for ceremonial purposes and ruled behind the scenes, generally from the Trần clan base of Thiên Trường prefecture east of the capital. Succeeding Trần rulers followed this pattern until 1357.

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happy with this mission and granted the senior ruler Trần Thái Tông the title “King of Annan.” From 1262 on, Khubilai increased the Yuan demands on Đại Việt. In addition to the various requests for sending scholars, doctors, Yin Yang masters, craftsmen, and all types of high-value goods, Khubilai for the first time designated Nalading as the Overseer to reside in Annan, a position supposed to be above the Vietnamese king. This signaled the Yuan attempt in bringing Đại Việt under its direct control.42 In 1266, Đại Việt agreed to present tribute and accepted the Overseer position (certainly with great reluctance), but opposed sending craftsmen. The following year, Khubilai ordered Đại Việt to do six demands (liushi): The king should (1) come to have audience with the Yuan emperor in person; (2) send his sons or younger brothers as hostages; (3) present a census of the population; (4) provide military corvée; (5) pay taxes; and (6) establish the Overseer to rule Annan. Though Khubilai emphatically stated in his edict that these six demands had existed from ancient times and were not new creations (the basic elements were laid out by Chinggis Khan and Ögödei added two more requirements: the submission of census and the establishment of postal relay stations43).44 Later that year, the Yuan court required Đại Việt to send two Muslim merchants he believed to be there to China in order for them to serve on missions to the Western region45 and designated the heir apparent of the Yuan as the “Prince of Yunnan” to take charge of Dali, Shanshan (Kunming), and Jiaozhi (the old name for Annan/Đại Việt). It is obvious now that, in the Yuan perception, Đại Việt should be incorporated into the territory of Yuan China, just as Yunnan had been. This was totally unacceptable to the Vietnamese. In 1268, the Yuan court sent Hulonghaiya to Đại Việt to replace Nalading as the Overseer of Annan, with Zhang Tingzhen as his assistant, and reiterated the demand to send the Muslim merchants. The next year, Zhang replaced Hulonghaiya as Overseer, while holding the prestigious title of Grand Master for Court Precedence (chaolie daifu, rank 4b). The encounter between Zhang and the senior Vietnamese ruler Thái Tông is most instructive. Arriving in the Vietnamese capital, Zhang delivered Khubilai’s edict, but Thái Tông stood (rather 42 43 44

45

Yamamoto Tatsuro, Annan shi kenkyu (Tokyo: Yamakawa Shuppansha, 1950), 68. Allsen, “The Yüan Dynasty,” 261. Lê Tắc, An Nam chí lược, 47, 48; Yuan shi, “Annan,” “the fourth year of Zhongtong;” The Complete Book, 1: 349 and Phan Huy Chú, Lịch triều hiến chương loại chí, “Bang Giao Chí,” quyển 47, [3b–4a], also employ the term “liushi.” See also Li Tana, “A View from the Sea: Perspectives on the Northern and Central Vietnamese Coast,” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 37, 1 (2006): 90–1.

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than kowtowed) to receive it. This upset Zhang who chastised the king by accusing him of still maintaining connections with the Song dynasty in southern China and being arrogant, and threatened him with Yuan military force – a million troops were laying siege to Xiangyang, Hubei, so Yunnan troops could reach Đại Việt in less than two months. According to the Chinese account, this alarmed Thái Tông and he kowtowed to the edict. The king nonetheless had more complaints which may be seen in his dialogue with Zhang. The king (Thái Tông or Quang Bính): “The sacred Son of Heaven likes me, but [his] envoys who come [to my country] are often rude. You are only a Grand Master for Court Precedence whereas I am a king; [but you want to] be my equal. Are there any precedents?” Zhang: “Yes, there are. Though the rank of the Emperor’s men/envoys (wangren) is low, it is still higher than that of a vassal ruler (zhuhou).” Here Zhang quoted the The Spring and Autumn Annals (Chunqiu). The king: “When you pass Yizhou (old name of Yunnan), do you kowtow to the Prince of Yunnan?” Zhang, without replying directly to the king’s question: “The Prince of Yunnan is the son of the Son of Heaven. Your small barbarous country barely deserves the title of prince/king (wang), how can you compare yourself to the Prince of Yunnan? Also, the Son of Heaven appointed me Overseer of Annan, which is above you!” The king, switching the topic: “[You call your country] a big country, but why [do you] still extort our rhinoceros and elephants?” Zhang: “Presenting local products is the duty of a vassal state.” The Yuan History went on: Quang Bính (the king) could not provide an answer and felt increasingly angry. Hence he ordered guards to draw their swords and surround Zhang to threaten him. Seeing this, Zhang untied the bow and sword he carried and lay down flat on the floor in the middle of the hall, saying: “See what you can do to me?!” The king and his subordinates were impressed with Zhang’s courage. Later, when Zhang told Khubilai of his experience at the Vietnamese court, the emperor was very pleased.46 In 1269, Trần Thái Tông memorialized the Yuan court that the two Muslim merchants had died, and he would send the large elephants demanded by 46

Yuan shi, j. 167, liezhuan 54, “Zhang Tingzhen.” The Xin Yuan shi (New Yuan History), j. 172, liezhuan 69, “Zhang Tingzhen,” added the following detail: Zhang considered river water dirty and undrinkable, hence he asked for well water. The Vietnamese informed him that they had poisoned the well, so anyone who drank the water would die. Zhang replied that he himself wanted it, so if he died, the Vietnamese bore no responsibility. He eventually drank the well water, and all the Vietnamese came to admire him.

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Hulonghaiya in the proper tribute year. The next year, the Secretariat of the Yuan sent the Vietnamese king a message, quoting the words from the The Spring and Autumn Annals to chastise him for not having kowtowed to the imperial edict, for having treated the envoys of the Son of Heaven improperly, for having presented bad-tasting medicine, and for having been dishonest in the matter of the Muslim merchants. It also demanded that Đại Việt present elephants with its tribute. Apparently, this referred mainly to the episode of Zhang Tingzhen’s encounter with the Trần king, and no doubt it was Zhang who had reported this information to the Yuan court upon his return from Đại Việt. Thái Tông refuted these accusations the following year (1271) in a letter: My country has submitted to your Celestial Court and received the investiture as King, thus I myself have also become the Emperor’s man (wangren), have I not? However, the envoy from the Celestial Court reiterated that he was equal to me. [I did not obey him] because I was afraid that this would insult the Celestial Court. Also, my country has received edicts in the past to the effect that we should retain (our) old customs, hence we received these edicts at the main palace hall and then moved them to the side hall – this is our old custom. As for the edict that asked for elephants, in fear of disobeying the edict, I delayed in answering it. This was actually caused by the unwillingness of the elephant handlers to leave their homes, and thus it was difficult to send them. Regarding the edict which demanded scholars, doctors, and craftsmen, the day when my minister Lê Trọng Đà and others had an audience (with you), they were very close to your majesty, but received no edict [on this matter]. Plus (these demands) had already been waived in the fourth year of Zhongtong (1263), but now the edict mentions them again, and [I am] totally surprised! [I beg] your majesty to give further thought to this matter. Over the next two years, two new Overseers were sent to Đại Việt in turn, and the second Overseer brought a message from the Secretariat of the Yuan to the Vietnamese king, disputing two points of the above letter. Regarding Thái Tông’s refusal to kowtow to the imperial edict, the Secretariat emphasized that it had been a universal rule throughout history for all subjects to kowtow to receive edicts, and this could not be challenged. The Secretariat especially rebutted Đại Việt’s distortion of one point in the 1260 edict – Annan could retain its old customs – as an excuse for not receiving the edict with proper protocol: The previous edict meant to say that there are myriad countries in this world, and each has its own customs. It will cause inconveniences if

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sudden changes are made. Hence, [the Emperor] allowed [you] to retain your original customs. How can you mistake this no-change-to-customs for not kowtowing to imperial edicts? If you as king issue orders in your country and your subjects receive them without kowtowing, then what do you think of it? The message ended by urging the Vietnamese king to correct his mistake. As for Trần King’s sitting higher when meeting the Yuan envoys or at banquets, the Secretariat cited the The Spring and Autumn Annals to reiterate that no matter how high the position of a foreign king was, he must treat the emperor’s envoys as equals in order to show respect to the imperial order. In the first month of 1275, Thái Tông sent another memorial to the Yuan court with one goal: to abolish the Overseer position. The reasons he presented were as follows. The Overseers were greedy and so had to be fed with bribes; their subordinates, relying on the power of the Overseers, bullied and oppressed the “small country” (Đại Việt); the position of Overseer was only meant for remote barbarian places, yet Đại Việt was a country that had received investiture and still had to have an Overseer – other countries would laugh at this. The king proposed to replace the Overseer with a Commissioner of the Office of Presentations (yinjin shi) so as to remove all the above problems.47 These words fell on deaf ears, as very soon (in the second month of 1275) Khubilai’s edict arrived in Đại Việt. It reprimanded the Vietnamese king for not fulfilling any of the previous six demands, especially the fact that though Annan had submitted for fifteen years, its king had yet to come to the Yuan court in person. Hesaerhaiya was designated the new Overseer to urge the Vietnamese king to come to court. The edict also complained of the uselessness of the tributary goods presented by Đại Việt. Lastly, Khubilai urged the Vietnamese king to do a census; without it, the Yuan ruler stated, how could the amount of taxes and troops be determined? The edict ended by saying that military draftees would only serve in nearby Yunnan, not in any faraway area. The Vietnamese chronicle commented succinctly on Thái Tông’s reaction to the demands, “(Our Viet) emperor listened to none of these (Yuan demands).”48 One year later, Đại Việt sent a mission headed by Lê Khắc Phục to the Yuan to request the abolition of the six demands. In the memorial, Thái Tông stated that due to danger from Champa, Vietnamese troops could not be sent to China, and due

47 48

Yuan shi, j. 209, liezhuan 96, waiyi 2, Annan. Trần Quốc Tuấn in his proclamation also accused Yuan envoys of these crimes (The Complete Book, 1: 381). . The Complete Book, 1: 349.

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to the great distance and that danger, he himself was unable to leave his country and present himself to the Yuan emperor. In 1278, the senior ruler Thái Tông having died, the junior king Trần Thánh Tông became the senior ruler as he abdicated the throne for his heir apparent Trần Nhân Tông (r. 1278–1308). The Yuan had sent a mission led by Chai Chun, the Minister of Rites, to Đại Việt two years earlier once again urging the soonto-be new Vietnamese king to come to China in person. Before setting off to Đại Việt, many officials at the Yuan court composed poems to praise Chai Chun. As one of them hoped, “The heir apparent (junior ruler) of Annan (Nhân Tông) should not worry too much; get on your horse early to come to the imperial capital.”49 Nhân Tông did go to the guesthouse of the Chinese mission and kowtowed to Khubilai’s edict brought by Chai Chun, but did follow the old protocol of feasting the envoys in the gallery; Chai Chun refused to take part and returned to the guesthouse. Nhân Tông then sent Pham Minh Tự with a letter apologizing and agreed to hold the banquet at the Tập Hiền Hall.50 (Probably from this time on, all Chinese envoys were entertained with banquet, music, and dance at this hall, as the 1292 and 1293 missions headed by Liang Zeng and Zhang Lidao were entertained here.51) The edict again brought up the six demands and chastised the arrogance and unreasonableness of Nhân Tông’s memorial. It stated that the threat from Champa had not started recently, and hence the reason for not sending soldiers was unsound. But the edict focused mainly on the personal visit to China by the Vietnamese king. Khubilai continued to state: As for [your worries about] the distance of traveling, how could Lê Khắc Phục have reached [China]?... In the past it was understandable that your father could not travel because he was old; but now you are physically strong and it is just the right time for you to come. And your land was just adjacent to Yongzhou (modern Nanning) and Qinzhou (in coastal Guangxi). Hence, do not be afraid, just come. If you do not think about your security and stubbornly resist my order, go ahead and repair your city walls, prepare your soldiers, and wait for (my troops)! Disaster or fortune solely depends on this moment – consider it seriously!

49 50 51

Lê Tắc, An Nam chí lược, 404. Yuan shi, j. 209, liezhuan 96, waiyi 2, Annan; Trần Trọng Kim, trans. Dai Kelai, Yuenan tongshi (Beijing: Shangwu Yinshuguan, 1992), 93. Lê Tắc, An Nam chí lược, 70; Chen Fu, Chen Gangzhong shiji, in Qinding Siku quanshu, jibu 5, j. 2: 27b.

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The senior ruler Thánh Tông allegedly replied, “The six demands have been abolished kindly (by the Yuan court)” – but this was certainly not the case. He went to say that the young Song lord (Songzhu) (the final Southern Song emperor) had been well treated by the Yuan and even been given the title of Duke, without having to visit the Yuan capital. Thus the Yuan would certainly treat a small kingdom such as Đại Việt similarly. As for his personal visit, he stated, since he grew up within the royal palace, did not know how to ride a horse, and was not used to the customs and climate in China, he feared that he might die on the way to China, as might his sons, brothers, and officials. In his memorial to the Yuan court, the Vietnamese king reiterated these reasons.52 (According to the Yuan History, the Vietnamese king also tried to use bribes to smooth things out with the Yuan envoys.) But Chai Chun refuted the king’s arguments: the Song lord was not even ten years old and had grown up in a royal palace too, so how could he travel to the capital? Chai was merely to deliver the edict and not listen to irrelevant replies. The four of them had come to Đại Việt to make the king come to China, not to obtain goods.53 The Vietnamese chronicle summarized Nhân Tông’s response concisely, “(Our Viet) emperor did not listen,” while Li Qian (1232–1310), a Yuan Hanlin Academician, wrote: Though Chai Chun “explained the edict repeatedly, [the heir apparent (junior ruler) of Annan] adhered stubbornly to his wrong idea and eventually possessed no intention of coming.”54 Chai Chun’s delegation returned with a Vietnamese mission composed of Trịnh Đình Toản and Đỗ Quốc Kế, who carried a memorial from the Vietnamese king, stating, “Your vassal was born physically weak. I fear that my white bones might lie on the arduous road.” He begged Khubilai to have pity on him and not to order him to do something (travelling to China) with no benefit to China, so that he might serve Khubilai a lifetime long.55 In the third month of 1279, the mission led by Chai Chun returned to the Yuan capital. Having heard the report of the mission, the Bureau of Military Affairs became impatient and memorialized Khubilai that since Rixuan (Nhân Tông) had just sent officials instead of coming himself, argued with flowery words, and subsequently delayed his own trip, he had been playing too many tricks and would not obey the edict. The Yuan should send a punitive expedition to Đại Việt. Khubilai did not listen to this as he was still hoping to solve the matter without resorting to war. The Vietnamese mission had been stopped at Yongzhou (Nanning), but now he ordered it to come to Dadu to have an 52 53 54 55

Lê Tắc, An Nam chí lược, 133–134. Yuan shi, j. 209, liezhuan 96, waiyi 2, Annan. The Complete Book, 1: 352; Lê Tắc, An Nam chí lược, 399. The more detailed version is in Lê Tắc, An Nam chí lược, 133–134.

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audience with him. During the eleventh month, the Vietnamese envoy Trịnh Đình Toản was placed (detained) at the Huitong House, as the four Yuan envoys led by Chai Chun traveled with the other Vietnamese envoy Đỗ Quốc Kế back to Đại Việt to order the Vietnamese king to come to China in person. The “Biography of Liang Zeng” of the Yuan History recorded that Liang as the Minister of War was on this mission as well (Chai Chun as the Minister of Rites), and the year was 1280. The Yuan History said that the details of this mission were kept secret and not transmitted.56 This is very intriguing information and provides much room for one to imagine what really happened. One interpretation can be that the Vietnamese king summarily refused Yuan demands, hence the Yuan mission did not want to publicize the details. One does know that Khubilai’s edict this time showed some flexibility while giving another warning: If the Vietnamese king indeed could not present himself at the Yuan court, he could use gold to represent his body, two pearls to represent his eyes; and two able and virtuous people, two astrologers, two children, and two craftsman to represent the earth and the people; failing these, Đại Việt would have to prepare for war. The Vietnamese king did not send the above-mentioned items and people, but did send his uncle Trần Di Á i with two other Vietnamese officials, Lê Mục and Lê Tuân, to accompany the Chai Chun-Liang Zeng mission on its return to China. Khubilai then took an unprecedented step in Sino-Vietnamese diplomatic history. As he later informed the Vietnamese king, since the king could not visit China due to his illness, he was allowed to take care of himself, but, as a consequence, his uncle would be named king in his place, and Lê Mục and Lê Tuân would be named Hanlin Academician and Minister of the Department of State Affairs (shangshu) or Secretariat Director (zhongshuling) respectively. Thus a Vietnamese “government-in-exile” was established by the Yuan. In the eighth month of 1281, the Yuan went one step further to make Annan again part of China administratively, as it did Yunnan and Champa, by establishing the Annan Pacification Office (Annan xuanweisi) headed by Buyantiemuer (as canzhi zhengshi or Assistant Administrator), Chai Chun (as duyuanshuai or Commander-in-Chief ), and Hugeer.57 One is not clear, in the mind of Khubilai, how these two, the kingdom of Đại Việt and the Annan Pacification Office, were to coexist. This “government” headed by Trần Di Á i was escorted by officials of the Annan Pacification Office, plus one thousand soldiers under the command of Chai Chun, back to Đại Việt to take power. The Vietnamese scholar Lê Tắc (who 56 57

Yuan shi, j. 178, liezhuan 65, Liang Zeng. Yuan shi, j. 209, liezhuan 96, waiyi 2, Annan; Lê Tắc, An Nam chí lược, 50, 399; The Complete Book, 1: 354.

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would later go to China with the defeated Mongols) is the only source who provides detail on this. When the Yuan officials and Trần Di Á i reached the Yongping garrison on the Yuan-Đại Việt border, Buyantiemuer was not allowed in, while Di Á i fled during the night into Vietnamese territory. However, Chai Chun, perhaps with his one thousand soldiers, was escorted by the Vietnamese ministers to deliver Khubilai’s edict to the king. Hence, the Vietnamese rejected the Annan Pacification Office and the new “king,” but allowed the edict to be delivered by Chai Chun.58 The Trần court could accept the diplomatic framework of tributary relations with the Yuan, but the Vietnamese leadership refused to go the way of the fallen Dali state. The southern boundary of the Yuan empire remained firm at the Trần kingdom’s northern frontier. A letter by Chai Chun to the Vietnamese king has survived, informing him that the soldiers he had commanded were merely servants and not combat troops, hence the Vietnamese should not be alarmed. The rest of the letter concerned how the king of Annan should arrange to receive the Yuan mission and Khubilai’s edict. The content of the edict was as follows: The former Annan king (Thái Tông) had not fulfilled the six demands; after he died, his son (Thánh Tông) declared himself king without our permission; envoys were sent to make him come to court, but he gave excuses for not coming; now he has used illness as an excuse, disobeying the imperial order and only sending his uncle. Thus, his uncle has been made king of Annan in his stead; officials and the masses of Annan should continue to perform their jobs, remain calm, and not be alarmed.59 The Complete Book recorded another version of Chai Chun’s visit: Chai was arrogant and rude, riding directly through the Duong Minh Gate; as a Vietnamese guard tried to stop him, Chai hit and injured the guard on the head with his horsewhip. When Chai Chun reached the Tập Hiền Palace and saw the bed drapery set up for him, he dismounted. The Vietnamese king sent the Prime Minister Trần Quang Khải to visit him, but Chai just lay in bed and refused to come out; even after Quang Khải entered the room, Chai would still not get up. Hearing this, Trần Quốc Tuấn, the Hung Dao Prince, obtained permission to visit Chai Chun. Quốc Tuấn shaved his hair and put on plain clothes. No sooner than Quốc Tuấn entered Chai’s room than Chai rose immediately, bowed to Quốc Tuấn, and offered him a seat; the two listened to music and drank tea. People were surprised and puzzled by Chai Chun’s inconsistent reactions. The secret, the Complete Book explained, lay in the fact that a person with a shaved head and plain clothes looked like a Buddhist monk from China who was 58 59

Lê Tắc, An Nam chí lược, 67,105. Ibid., 104–105.

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respected. The Complete Book went on to say that Chai Chun’s servant stood behind Quốc Tuấn with an arrow in his hands, drilling Quốc Tuấn’s head, causing it to bleed, but the prince’s face did not change color. When Quốc Tuấn was leaving, Chai Chun went out the door and saw him off.60 This colorful anecdote by the Vietnamese chronicle must be taken with a grain of salt, as this could not have been what really happened, especially Quốc Tuấn’s mimicking a monk and his head being drilled and bleeding. However, this account is important in that the Vietnamese concocted this story to show how they were able to outwit the Chinese. Clearly this was an effort by the Vietnamese to achieve equality with the north. The effort by Khubilai to set up a new Vietnamese king and replace the current one resulting in regime change was the first (but not the last) such in SinoVietnamese history. It failed completely. The Vietnamese sources stated that Trần Di Á i was exiled or fled, while sources on the Chinese side clearly say that he was executed.61 The above-mentioned events, which highlight the arrogance and rudeness of Yuan envoys at the Vietnamese courts, and Yuan total ignorance of Vietnamese sovereignty and ambition to absorb its territory, demonstrate Yuan intensification of its pressure on Đại Việt after the demise of the Southern Song in 1279.62 Khubilai did not give up. In 1283, he sent two missions to request that Đại Việt provide support with grain for Yuan troops who were about to invade Champa and again that the Vietnamese king pay a visit to China. Nhân Tông gave excuses for not being able either to deliver the grain or to visit China. For the latter, the old reasons were repeated, sickness and the arduous road, especially that over half of Vietnamese envoys died on the way to China. (This rate of death certainly seems exaggerated, and is repeated below in 1292).63 The second Yuan-Vietnamese war soon took place in late 1284 and lasted till mid-1285, while the third in early 1287–early 1288.64 In the winter of 1284, the Vietnamese court sent two missions one after another to persuade the Yuan to discontinue their sending of troops. The first mission was detained in the Yuan capital, while the chief envoy of the second one Nguyen Van Han was sent by the Yuan general Tuohuan (Khubilai’s son) to order his master (the Vietnamese king) to submit early. The Vietnamese ruler did not listen.65 Around this time, 60 61

The Complete Book, 1: 354; Phan Huy Chú, quyển 48, [2b]. The Complete Book, 1: 354; Lê Tắc, An Nam chí lược, 50–52, 71; Xu Mingshan, Annan xingji (Shanghai: Shangwu Yinshuguan, 1927), in Tao Zongyi, Shuofu, 21a. 62 Yamamoto, Annan shi kenkyu, 96. 63 Yuan shi, j. 209, liezhuan 96, waiyi 2, Annan. 64 Trần Trọng Kim, Yuenan tongshi, 93–111. 65 Lê Tắc, An Nam chí lược, 334.

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Suodu, the Assistant Director of the Right of the Jinghu Zhancheng Mobile Province, engaging in the war with Champa that time, proposed to the Yuan court that since Jiaozhi (Annan) was close to Cambodia (Zhanla), Champa (Zhancheng), Yunnan, Siam, Burma, a mobile province should be set up there,66 demonstrating clearly that the Yuan attempted to incorporate kingdoms in mainland Southeast Asia into China as provinces. In the third month of 1285, while the Vietnamese expressed their willingness to negotiate, the Yuan side sent word to the Vietnamese king, “Since [you] want peace, why don’t you come in person?” The king did not listen.67 In his 1286 edict, Khubilai chastised the Đại Việt ruler for not presenting himself, for killing his uncle Trần Di Ai, for refusing to accept Buyantiemuer as Head of the Annan Pacification Office, and for failing to provide the grain to the Yuan troops. Consequently, the emperor established the surrendered Trần Ích Tắc (Trần Nhân Tông’s brother) as the King of Annan to replace Nhân Tông. Ích Tắc was never able set foot on the soil of Đại Việt as he (with Lê Tắc) withdrew to Hubei with the Yuan troops and died there in 1329, yet he was addressed as the King of Annan until his death.68 In 1286 and 1293, Vietnamese envoys including Nguyễn Nghĩa Toàn and Đào Tử Kì were detained in the Yuan capital or in Jiangling, Hubei simply because their king did not come to China in person.69 The Yuan troops suffered miserable defeats in Đại Việt and withdrew in the third month of 1288. To appease the Yuan and to prevent another war, Trần Thánh Tông sent a gold statue on his behalf to the Yuan capital Dadu.70 (This started the practice of Vietnamese kings sending a gold statue, which would not be abolished until the Tây Sơn took power late in the eighteenth century, 500 years later.) In the fourth month of 1288, a long memorial was drafted by Thánh Tông and brought to the Yuan court by a mission with twenty four envoys headed by Nguyễn Nghĩa Toàn; it enumerated the destructions caused by the Yuan invading troops, and begged Khubilai not to send troops again. This apparently did not satisfy Khubilai, as in the eleventh month he dispatched another delegation headed by Liu Tingzhi (Surveillance Commissioner of the 66

67 68 69 70

As early as 1282, the nominal Zhancheng (Champa) Mobile Province was already set up. A few years later, it was combined with the Jinghu (Hubei) Mobile Province and thus Jinghu Zhancheng Mobile Province. See Yuan shi, j. 210, liezhuan 97, waiyi 3, Zhancheng; idem, j. 209, liezhuan 96, waiyi 2, Annan. Combining these two, one interior (Jinghu or Hubei) while the other foreign (Champa), shows that the Yuan court’s attempt to incorporate Champa as a part of the Yuan empire. Lê Tắc, An Nam chí lược, 88. Ibid., 50–51. Lê Tắc, An Nam chí lược, 335; Yuan shi, j. 209, liezhuan 96, waiyi 2, Annan. Yuan shi, j. 209, liezhuan 96, waiyi 2, Annan; item, j. 15, benji 15, Shizu 12.

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Shanbei and Liaodong Circuit), Li Siyan (Vice Minister of Rites), and Wan Nu (Director of the Ministry of Army) to Đại Việt and arrived in the second month the next year. The edict brought by them reprimanded Thánh Tông for not coming to the Yuan court in person by making excuses despite repeated calling of Khubilai, for killing his uncle Trần Di Á i, and for resisting the Yuan troops. Khubilai demanded Thánh Tông come in person; if he did, he would be pardoned for his crimes, and would receive an investiture; otherwise he would have to repair his city walls and ready his troops for another war.71 Things related to Li Siyan on this mission are very interesting. Before Li embarked on his mission, a poem was composed by a court official for his trip, which included the sentences: The whole world was enjoying peace but only Annan dared to withstand us; one imperial edict could summon one million soldiers (to defeat them).72 Thánh Tông and his ministers kowtowed to the edict, but a dispute took place regarding the protocol between the Vietnamese king and the Yuan envoys. The latter were probably asked by the Vietnamese to kowtow to the Vietnamese king, Li Siyan claimed, “The ministers of a big country do not kowtow to the ruler of a small country (daguo zhichen bubai xiaoguo zhijun),” and this so startled the Vietnamese officials that they “turned pale.” The Vietnamese king, however, remained calm (or even laughed), saying “showing respect to their master and his envoys is also in accordance with the protocol,” and hence an equality protocol was performed between them. Based on this, Phan Huy Chú inferred that prior to that time, Chinese envoys kowtowed to the Vietnamese king. (In addition, other envoys accepted presents from the Vietnamese court but Li Siyan did not.)73 71

72 73

Xu Mingshan, Annan xingji, j.18b–20b; Lê Tắc, An Nam chí lược, 51–52, 67. This edict is included in both Xu Mingshan’s and Lê Tắc’s work, but the latter omits some words on three occasions. This should be Nguyễn Nghĩa Toàn’s second mission. Zhang Zhihan, Xiyan ji (Siku quanshu, jibu), j. 12: 5b, http://archive.org/stream/06043938. cn#page/n124/mode/2up. Xu Mingshan, Annan xingji, 20b; Phan Huy Chú, Lịch triè̂u hié̂n chương loại chí, “Bang giao chí, quyển 48: [3a]; Gu Sili, comp., Yuanshi xuan erji (reprint, Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 1987), 178; Xiang Ke and Liu Fugui, comp., Wannian xianzhi (1st ed., 1871; reprint, Taibei: Chengwen Chubanshe, 1975), j. 6: 6a-b (908–909); Xide and Shi Jingfen, comp., Raozhou fuzhi（1st ed., 1872; reprint, Taibei: Chengwen Chubanshe, 1975), j. 20: 24b–25a (2174–75). The fact that both the Vietnamese and Chinese sides record this event in almost identical terms suggests that they should have derived their information from the same source, which could have been Li Siyan’s own writing. The idea that the ministers of a big country were equal to the rulers of a small country can be traced to at least the Spring Autumn era (Zhouli zhushu, j. 21, http://www.guoxue123.com/jinbu/ssj/zl/021; Chunqiu zuozhuan zhengyi, j. 17, Xi 29, Jin 32, http://www.xiexingcun.com/shisanjing/gmydoc016.htm).

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All in all, Thánh Tông still refused to come to China. On the second day of the third month, Thánh Tông sent a Hanlam Academician to inform the Yuan envoys that, among other things, he could not be able to visit China in person due to old age and illness. In the poem exchanges, Li Siyan also urged Thánh Tông to have an audience with the Yuan emperor, but the latter replied in a poem that “many illnesses have prevented me from visiting the Emperor (zhiyuan duobing qian chaotian).” Later in his memorial to the Yuan emperor, he reiterated the hurdles that prevented him from having an audience with Khubilai: his chronic illness, distant journey, and harsh climate. He also pointed out, “Though one’s fate is predestined, the most dreadful thing to human being is death;” and that apart from not being able to visit in person due to his longing for life and fear of death, he did his best to obey the imperial orders. Thánh Tông sent large quantities of valuable presents to the Yuan court in order to appease Khubilai.74 Khubilai refused to relax his insistence on the personal visit of the Vietnamese king to his court. In 1290, the senior king Trần Thánh Tông died, and the junior king Trần Nhân Tông (still called in the Chinese texts “shizi,” heir apparent) now took full charge. It is said that Khubilai was angry over the Yuan defeat in Đại Việt and wanted to launch another invasion, but was persuaded in 1291 to send Zhang Lidao, the Minister of Rites, to induce Trần Nhân Tông to come. On this mission was also Buyantiemuer whose title was now the Minister of War.75 A detailed account of Zhang’s mission authored by Zhang himself has survived.76 Zhang set out from Dadu in the 12th month of 1291 and arrived at Khȃu ȏn (in Lạng Sơn) on the 18th of the third month of 1292. Crossing the Lȏ River, his delegation reached the ambassador’s guesthouse in Thăng Long. The Vietnamese king came to the guesthouse, paying his respects first to the edict before he and the ambassador greeted each other on an equal footing (possibly bowing to one another). The Vietnamese king asked about the emperor and the prime minister, and Zhang replied that they were both doing well. Then Nhân Tông asked about Zhang’s weariness from the travel on the road to Đại Việt. Zhang responded, “The Son of Heaven does not consider travel to the south as distant, hence we have no weariness.” After this, the two sides proceeded to argue over protocol. The Vietnamese Hanlam Academician Đinh Củng Viên and Censor-in-Chief Đỗ Quốc Kế commented, “According to the protocol of the past years, the king 74 75 76

Xu Mingshan, Annan xingji, 20b–23a; Phan Huy Chú, Lịch triè̂u hié̂n chương loại chí, quyển 48: [3b]; Lê Tắc, An Nam chí lược, 391. Lê Tắc, An Nam chí lược, 67. Included in Lê Tắc, An Nam chí lược, 69–72.

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[of Đại Việt] sits facing south, while [the ambassador] sits on the opposite side (facing north); you, guest, please take your seat.” Zhang replied, “The rank of the officials of the Great Country [China] equals that of the kings [of smaller countries], how can there be the protocol of sitting facing south [for the king]? How about sitting east to west?” Đinh Củng Viên answered him, saying, “Though the rank of a King (wangren) is low, it is higher than that of a vassal ruler (zhuhou).” In 1268, Yuan envoy Zhang Tingzhen quoted the same sentence from the The Spring and Autumn Annals to argue for his higher position vis-à-vis the Vietnamese king (see above). Here the Vietnamese Hanlam Academician tried to use it to elevate the position of the Vietnamese king, hence the term “wangren” here is Trần Nhân Tông as “king,” not as “emperor’s men/envoys.” It also shows that Vietnamese scholars were very familiar with the content of the The Spring and Autumn Annals. To which Zhang responded, “This statement cannot suit people like me better.” Đinh and Zhang had different understandings of the quotation, each using it for his own stand. Zhang won the discussion (at least according to the Chinese account), and the Vietnamese king and the Yuan ambassador sat down, facing each other east to west, instead of north to south.77 After a few words about the health of the Son of Heaven (Khubilai), the two continued their conversation. Nhân Tông (shizi) inquired: “Why did the Celestial Court not send envoys [to Đại Việt] over the past few years?” Zhang replied, “Due to the fact that [the king of your country] did not come [in person] despite repeated requests, the Son of Heaven did not dispatch envoys. Now (your) memorial has informed us that your late father (Thánh Tông) has passed away. Being magnanimous, the Son of Heaven does not extend your late king’s crime to his offspring, hence we made this trip.” Nhân Tông responded, “The Son of Heaven loves life and abhors killing, and this is our small country’s biggest fortune. Long live the Emperor!” 77

This type of seating arrangement in terms of south vs. north or east vs. west took place in Song China’s dealing with the Khitan Liao in 1027 and 1076, and with the Jürchen Jin in 1138 . See Song shi, j. 288, liezhuan 47, “Cheng Lin”; idem, j. 331, liezhuan 90, “Cheng Simeng” (who challenged the seating arrangement by the Kithan side, in which the Kithan ruler would sit facing south while Cheng facing north; the dispute lasted from early afternoon to evening; eventually a compromise (sitting east to west) was reached; Herbert Franke, “Sung Embassies: Some General Observations,” in China Among Equals, 132, 146n.104; Yang Xunji, Jin xiaoshi, http://www.4hn.org/files/article/html/0/982/97847. html). In the diplomatic history of Vietnam and China, the dispute on seating arrangement also occurred to Ming envoys to Đại Việt in 1462 (Phan Huy Chú, quyển 48:[4b]).

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To which Zhang declared, “The Sacred Son of Heaven now possesses the four seas (the world), and, being as benevolent as Yao and Shun, how could he have the heart to wage war on you?! Your late king was repeatedly called to perform the huitong ceremony (huitong zhili discussed above), but he never listened! This led to the conflict [the Yuan invasion of Đại Việt] which devastated your people and your country – this was indeed your [father’s] own fault. The emperor [waged the war] not because he was greedy for your land and wanted your annual tribute, but because [your kings] never paid a personal visit [to China].” This led Nhân Tông to recall the brutalities (burning houses and desecrating the tombs of the Trần lineage) committed by the Yuan armies during their invasions, and all his officials present wept. Zhang stated: In the past when Yexiantiemuer, the Prince of Yunnan, was waging war against Mian (Pagan Burma), the Son of Heaven warned him not to burn temples, houses, and palaces, not to destroy tombs. The Prince of Yunnan followed this order. The [Mongol] troops marched into the land [of Pagan], the King of Mian fled. The Prince of Yunnan did not practice killing [and burning], [therefore] no temples, houses, or palaces [in Pagan city] were destroyed. The King of Mian was grateful to this (no killing and burning), hence he surrendered, and sent sons to pay tributes yearly according to the designated dates. On the day when the Prince Zhennan was leaving with the troops [for war against your country], it was not that the Son of Heaven did not warn [his troops] so; if he hadn’t, how would these palaces have had remained?! At this point, Đinh Củng Viên said: “If the intention of the Son of Heaven had been so, it would have been much better if the war had never started.” Zhang became angry, exclaiming, “Who can say that it was not people like you who caused Annan disasters?! How can you know the mind of the Son of Heaven?!” and stood up in a fury. Củng Viên apologized and begged forgiveness. Later at the guesthouse, Nhân Tông explained to Zhang that he had been in mourning for his father for only two years, implying that he could not go to China because of this. Afterwards, according to Zhang’s account, Nhân Tông followed the proper protocol in receiving the edict, including kowtowing to it. At the banquet held at the Tập Hiền Hall, Nhân Tông and Zhang sat east to west, with Nhân Tông’s ministers at lower levels. Zhang and the Vietnamese king were entertained with both solemn and light music, celebrated with a grand feast, and offered the traditional Vietnamese delicacy betel. The two also exchanged poems. In one of Zhang’s poems, he highly praised the literary level of the

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Vietnamese scholars: “Though tiny in size, Annan (and its scholars) produce excellent compositions; never belittle them as frogs sitting at the bottom of a well (with a narrow view) (Annan suixiao wenzhang zai, weike qingtan jing­ diwa).”78 At the end of the banquet, Nhân Tông invited Zhang into behind a drapery in the palace, where both sat on the ground. The king provided a long explanation to the head envoy, For thirty years and three generations, Annan has been consistently loyal to the Celestial Court. Though we have been repeatedly called upon to visit in person, we cannot go due to illness. This incurred the heavenly wrath, punitive expeditions were launched, people killed, mountains dug, temples and houses burned, and countless trees cut down. My country was innocent, but suffered such catastrophe! The edicts of the Son of Heaven would each time chastise us for killing the king’s uncle (Trần Di Á i), driving out the ambassadors of the Celestial Court, and resisting the Emperor’s troops. As a matter of fact, the king’s uncle fled out of fear and we did not kill him. Indeed there was only one thing we did not do: visit (China) in person. There are no other reasons, and it is only because we fear death and love life. The Celestial Court is ten thousand li away, the road is arduous, full of mists and malaria, and the climate different. If we die on the way, how would this benefit the Superior Empire (shangguo)? As long as we pay tribute regularly and serve the emperor sincerely, how does this harm the Superior Empire? Our intention has not been heard by the Emperor, so please inform him. In this world, all the land belongs to the emperor. The people of Annan are already people of the Son of Heaven, and they do not harbor any different ideas. All the four seas are governed by the Son of Heaven. Though we do not go to visit the Celestial Court, we are within (its domain) and are vassals of the Celestial Empire. Let the Heaven and Earth know this!79 Zhang replied in a lengthy letter, enumerating Yuan military feats in conquering places such as Korea, Khitan, Tibet, Yunnan, and the Song and stressing the enormous differences in size and military strength between Yuan China and Đại Việt. For example, Zhang pointed out: There were over four hundred prefectures in Jiangnan (Yangtze delta region) but Jiangnan still could not withstand one Mongol army; but Annan was much smaller than Jiangnan, how could Annan resist Yuan invasion?! If Annan people had to engage in warfare year after year and get killed day after day, how could a small country like Annan have so many people? Hence, Zhang concluded, Annan could not count on its manpower (but Zhang Lidao should not forget that it was a small 78 79

Lê Tắc, An Nam chí lược, 393. Ibid., 71.

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kingdom like Annan which resisted successfully three Mongol invasions!). He also invoked the ancient Chinese ideal: In ancient times vassals either had audience with the Emperor at the capital, or met with (huitong) him in other places. All in all, Zhang Lidao endeavored to persuade the Vietnamese king to pay a personal visit: “The urgent matter today is to repent your errors and make a fresh start – come to the Celestial Court to apologize for your crimes…”80 Therefore, the main issue in the Yuan-Vietnamese relationship continued to be the Yuan demand for the Vietnamese king’s visit to China. Nhân Tông sent a mission with a memorial to return with Zhang Lidao to China. In the memorial, Nhân Tông continued to explain his inability to visit China. In addition to the climate, he also provided one more detail and one new reason. The detail was that, among the envoys from Đại Việt (a “xiaoguo” or small country) to China, six or seven out of ten died on the way. The new reason: “In addition, [our] small country is just a barbarous one, its customs are evil. If [the king] leaves [the country] for one day, [his] brothers will not tolerate (i.e., will kill) each other.” This was not untrue, but still more of an excuse. The Vietnamese mission informed the Yuan court that Nhân Tông was willing to visit China, but some Yuan officials insisted that he visit first, only then could he be pardoned. For this reason, according to Chinese accounts, Rijun (Nhân Tông) feared for his life, and hence would not come to China.81 In the ninth month of 1292, Khubilai tried again by sending a mission headed by the Minister of Personnel Liang Zeng and the Director of the Ministry of Rites Chen Fu to Đại Việt to convince Nhân Tông to come. They arrived in Thăng Long in the first month of 1293 and stayed at the guesthouse over sixty li away from the palace. 82Another dispute regarding the protocol of receiving the edict soon took place. According to the Chinese sources, despite the Yuan mission’s reprimand, Nhân Tông would not come out of the palace to greet the edict, sending his ministers out to do so. The Yuan envoys (actually Chen Fu) wrote a letter to Nhân Tông on New Year’s day of 1293, stating: When the words (edict) of the Emperor arrive, the king must come out to greet them (junyan zhi ze chen chubai)…[When the edict] reaches the suburbs, [the king] must greet it; [when the edict] reaches the gate [of the palace], [the king] must kowtow [to it]; [when the edict] reaches the terrace [of the palace], [the king] must again kowtow [to it]. 80 81 82

Lê Tắc, An Nam chí lược, 106–107. Also see Yuan shi, j. 167, liezhuan 54, “Zhang Lidao.” Lê Tắc, An Nam chí lược, 69–72, 106–107, 135–137; Yuan shi, j. 167, liezhuan 54, “Zhang Lidao;” The Complete Book, 1: 368. Chen Fu, Chen Gangzhong shiji, j. 2: 30a, 40b.

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On the thirteenth day that month, Nhân Tông (referring to himself as “guzi” meaning “orphan” in the text) replied in writing, “…There has been a protocol of receiving the Emperor’s edict from ancient times. Ever since my grandfather (Thái Tông) submitted [to the Yuan], [the protocol] has been set. How can I not do my best?!” He sent the official Lê Khắc Phục to greet the edict. In his letter, Nhân Tông especially pointed out, “There is much mountain mist and malaria here (in Annan). This is not a place where you can stay long,” implying that the Yuan envoys should return as soon as possible to China.83 This was the first round of the dispute. Not only this. The second round concerned which gate the envoys should pass through. As mentioned already, to get to the Trần palace one needed to go through one of the three gates, the middle Duong Minh Gate, on the left the Nhật Tân Gate, on the right the Vân Hội Gate. The Vietnamese ministers arranged for the Yuan mission to carry the edict through the Nhật Tân Gate. This angered Liang Zeng, who stated, “Carrying the edict not through the middle gate is to disparage the emperor’s order.” So he returned to the guesthouse, and was then told to go through the Vân Hội Gate and he declined again. Finally Liang was able to carry the edict through the middle gate the Duong Minh Gate.84 The key point of the edict was, “You say you are in mourning, fear death on the way, and are unable to come – are there any living things that live forever? Are there any places in the world where people never die?”85 The third round of dispute began on the twentieth day of the second month with a lengthy letter from the Yuan ambassadors detailing how the mighty Song dynasty had been defeated by the Yuan, whereas the land, people, fortifications, and weapons of Đại Việt did not even amount to one or two of ten thousand of that of the Song. In past wars, the emperor’s troops had at times suffered slight losses against the Vietnamese. On the way from China to Đại Việt, the Yuan envoys learned that the Vietnamese people were arrogant on this matter. And this, Liang Zeng and Chen Fu pointed out in their letter, was exactly cause of the downfall of the Song – Annan should not repeat this mistake. Then the Yuan envoys began to brag about Yuan military strategy:

83 84

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Ibid., fulu, 4b–6a. Yuan shi, j. 178, liezhuan 65, Liang Zeng; idem, j. 190, liezhuan 77, Ruxue 2, Chen Fu. In 1281 and 1291, Chai Chun and Zhang Lidao had been able to enter through the Duong Minh Gate without dispute. See The Complete Book, 1: 354 and Lê Tắc, An Nam chí lược, 70. Chen Fu, Chen Gangzhong shiji, fulu, 4b; Lê Tắc, An Nam chí lược, 53; Yuan shi, j. 209, liezhuan 96, waiyi 2, Annan.

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The Celestial Court wage wars not to seek immediate results and is not bothered by tiny losses. If an attack today is not successful, then tomorrow; if an offensive this year is not successful, then the next year. The attack can come as many as four, five, six, or even seven times; if not victorious, it will not stop; if (Annan is) not taken, it will not rest. Thus year after year great feats will be achieved. The letter continued with famous legendary and historical examples of military campaigns such as those fought by Shun, Gaozong of the Yin (Shang), Han Gaozu, and Han Wudi, and concluded by stating that, while victory or defeat was normal in war, it was the proper order between the emperor and his vassal kings that formed the universal principle and really mattered. If Annan did not serve the emperor with sincerity, but acted with insincerity, small amounts of tribute, delays, and flowery words, and especially if the king did not visit in person, it would be difficult to keep one’s country safe. “Favor cannot be frequently obtained, envoys cannot come [to your country] often, so security or disaster hangs on this moment.” In one word, the purpose of the long letter was to raise the specter of the Mongol military might to scare the king of Đại Việt into visiting Yuan China. The next day Nhân Tông gave his reply: “My only crime is being unable to visit in person… [This is because like other people] I love life and fear death. Birds fly high and fish swim deep only because they both want to live, let alone human beings! As for the point that ‘in the world there are no places where people do not die and there are no people who do not die,’ only the Buddha can understand this! How can mortals understand it!” Then Nhân Tông (himself soon to become a Buddhist monk) repeated what he had said many times: he would certainly die if he traveled the long way to the Celestial Court as he was physically weak. Then the fourth round. The same day, the Yuan envoys drafted another letter for Nhân Tông, containing two main points. First, “It is the duty of a vassal to present himself to the imperial court (shenqin ruchao chenzi zhi zhifen ye).” Here the Yuan envoys refuted Nhân Tông’s birds and fish metaphor by saying that the latter were not human beings. Regarding Nhân Tông’s fear of death on the way to China, they pointed out that death and life were predestined: if somebody were supposed to die, he could die inside his own house without travelling as well as on a long-distance trip. They warned Nhân Tông: If you care about your people, then do not merely fear the risk involving your own travel to China; it merely took a year to finish the trip, but you would possess your country forever; this was indeed the best policy for serving your country. The second point was that, even though Nhân Tông could not go to visit, his

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son should go on his behalf. As the Yuan envoys stated, “A son is the duplicate of his father,” citing the example of Zhao Tuo of Nanyue who sent his son Yingqi to the Han court to witness the greatness of the Flowery Kingdom (Zhonghua). Since the oldest son of Nhân Tông had grown into an adult, it would be better to let him ride the ten thousand li on his horse to witness the grandeur of the Superior Empire rather than keep him in the palace, surrounded by women. If a country could not be without its king, then it did not matter if the king’s sons were absent; if a king could not go due to grave matters in his country, only his sons could go on his behalf. How could petty officials from Annan reciprocate the intentions of the Son of Heaven?! It is obvious that the Yuan envoys were encouraging Nhân Tông to send his son to visit the Yuan if he himself could not go, and that dispatching only officials was no good! At the end of their letter, the Yuan envoys also brought up the matters of former Yuan soldiers who still remained in Đại Việt and of Đại Việt’s incursions into the Yuan frontier. Four days later, Nhân Tông responded to the three matters discussed in this letter. He stated that, since his son was still young and his bones not strong enough, he could neither ride a horse nor stand the wind and frost on the way. Even he himself as a grownup worried about death on the way, let alone such a small child! Instead he would send senior officials to the Yuan, rather than brothers or relatives as the latter were ignorant and incapable. Here it is clear that Nhân Tông refused to send any family members on the China mission. Then he denied that there were any Yuan soldiers remaining on Vietnamese soil and that any Vietnamese incursions of the Yuan frontier had occurred.86 The fact that Liang Zeng and Chen Fu’s delegation stayed in Đại Việt for fifty two days demonstrates the time-consuming disputes between the two sides. The total time they traveled from Dadu to the Vietnamese capital was a bit over four month (from the first day of the ninth month of 1292 to the twenty fourth day of the first month of 1293), and returned to Dadu in the ninth month of 1293.87 In the end, Nhân Tông did not go to China, but sent a mission led by the Vietnamese envoy Đào Tử Kì to pay tribute. Some ministers in the Yuan court maintained that since the Vietnamese king still would not come, another expedition should be sent. It seems that Khubilai initially accepted this. As a result, Đào Tử Kì was detained at Jiangling, over 50,000 Yuan troops were mobilized, supplies were prepared, and the “King of Annan in exile” Trần Ích Tắc at Ezhou of Hubei was being consulted. Ích Tắc then accompanied the 86 87

Chen Fu, Chen Gangzhong shiji, fulu, 6a–11a; Lê Tắc, An Nam chí lược, 140–141. Chen Fu, Chen Gangzhong shiji, j. 2: 40b.

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Yuan troops to Changsha. At that moment, Khubilai died, and the new emperor Chengzong ascended the throne in 1294. He changed his father’s aggressive policy and allowed Đào Tử Kì to return to Annan. Another invasion had been averted. 88 Conclusion The Mongol Yuan, especially during the reign of Khubilai, adopted a direct and tough policy toward its neighboring countries along the newly forged southern frontier, and as a result its envoys were perceived to act arrogantly to the rulers at these foreign courts. The envoys were sent to the various countries and places across what I call “Mainland Southeast Asia,” including Yunnan, Guizhou, and modern mainland Southeast Asia, especially Burma and Vietnam. Their task was to call on the rulers or chiefs of these polities to submit and kowtow to the imperial edict, but especially to send their rulers or princes to come to the Yuan court in person. Visiting China by a foreign ruler in person was demanded before and after the Yuan, but never so insistently, untiringly, even so stubbornly as required particularly by Khubilai of Annan (Đại Việt) under the Trần. The Mongols apparently studied the history of China’s relations with its neighbors, hence they learned (certainly from the Chinese who served them) that Annan/Jiaozhi had had a unique relationship with China in the past. Consequently, the Yuan demands (as epitomized by the six matters first brought to the Vietnamese court in 1267) on Annan were more harsh and stubborn than on most other countries.89 The Yuan tried different ways to change the status quo of Annan’s independent status and insisted on personal visits to China by the Vietnamese kings or their sons, even at the cost of waging war. These Mongol invasions devastated Đại Việt severely, but the Vietnamese did not succumb to Yuan demands. Eventually not a single Trần king or prince visited China. Yuan demands were also challenged by the other countries or polities, in Yunnan, Guizhou, and Pagan Burma. The Mongol military might eventually topple some of them, but not everywhere. To different degrees, the Yuan demands were countered, argued against, and even totally rejected. The Yuan ideals, mostly derived from age-old Chinese dynastic practices, were compro88 89

Lê Tắc, An Nam chí lược, 73; Yuan shi, j. 209, liezhuan 96, waiyi 2, Annan; The Complete Book, 1: 370. Miao Dong, Yuandai shichen yanjiu, 204, which points out that among all the sections on foreign countries in the Yuan shi, only the one on Annan contains the six demands.

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mised. To resist the imperial demands of China, many techniques were adopted, or to paraphrase James Scott’s words,90 different types of “weapons” were employed by the weak countries or polities, including “talking back,” providing a great variety of excuses, purposefully distorting the original imperial order, executing or detaining envoys, and so on. Therefore, to come back to my main argument, the entire picture of the “Chinese world order” was not just of foreign embassies filing into the Chinese capitals and behaving according to Chinese standards. Here we see, in receiving and treating embassies from China, rulers of polities in Mainland Southeast Asia (big and small) were defiant, disobedient, and at times violent (such as the execution of Yuan envoys by the Burmese king). These local rulers south of the new frontier reacted strongly against the unaccustomed direct and close proximity of the Mongols, working to maintain agency and autonomy across the frontier region. If one says that China controlled its relationship with other countries by stipulating the frequency and size of embassies, the duration of their stay in Chinese capital, and especially the protocol they should perform,91 then outside China and its loyal vassal states (Korea and Ryukyu) the Chinese control over the protocols used by foreign rulers to treat their own embassies was much reduced, and many times we even can say that the situation was totally out of control. China’s diplomatic ideals, rules, and norms were frequently contested, as a result, compromised. Early Ming scholar Song Lian (1310–81) commented critically on Yuan foreign policy: The Yuan dynasty did not treat Annan properly by seeking its previous commodities, chiding its king to come to the court in person, requiring it to present life-sized gold statues with night-luminescent pearls as eyes. In addition, most envoys sent by the Yuan to Annan were greedy for its gold and other valuable things. All these had caused Annan to behave rudely and compose impolite letters.92 Song Lian’s view should have represented that of the Ming court as well, showing that the Ming court knew well the high-handed foreign policy of the Yuan court and the Ming would not follow suit, but make fundamental adjustments.93 Indeed, throughout the Ming and even the Qing dynasties (1368–1911), no foreign kings and princes were insistently demanded to visit China in person. 90 91 92 93

James C. Scott, Weapons of the Weak: Everyday Forms of Peasant Resistance (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1987). Rossabi, “Introduction” to Rossabi, ed., China among Equals, 3. Lin Bi, Lin Dengzhou ji (Shanghai: Shanghai Guji Chubanshe, 1991), fulu: 7 (1227–203). See Wang Gungwu, “Early Ming Relations with Southeast Asia: Background Essay,” in Fairbank, Chinese World Order, 34–62.

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Select Bibliography Allsen, Thomas T. “The Yüan Dynasty and the Uighurs of Turfan in the Thirteenth Century.” In Rossabi, China among Equals, 248–261. Chen Fu 陳孚. Chen Gangzhong shiji 陳剛中詩集, in Qinding Siku quanshu 欽定四庫 全書, jibu 5. Taibei: Taiwan Shangwu Yinshuguan, 1983. Chen Jinsheng 陳金生. Teshu shizhe de teshu shiming – zhizi zai gudai minzu guanxi zhong de zuoyong yanjiu 特殊使者的特殊使命 – 質子在古代民族關系中的作 用研究. Lanzhou: Lanzhou Dazue Chubanshe, 2008. Chen Ruxing 陳孺性. “Yuan Zhiyuan monian de Zhong Mian heping tanpan 元至元 末年的中緬和平談判(1–2).” Shiroku 史錄, 5 (1972): 1–16; 6 (1974): 23–31. Ch’en, Ta-tuan. “Investiture of Liu-ch’iu Kings in the Chi’ing Period.” In Fairbank, The Chinese World Order, 135–164. Chen Zhigang 陳志剛. “Guanyu fenggong tixi yanjiu de jige lilun wenti 關於封貢體 系研究的幾個理論問題.” Qinghua Daxue xuebao 清華大學學報 6 (2010): 59–69. Đại Việt sử ký toàn thư 大越史記全書 (The Complete Book of the Historical Record of Đại Việt ). Vol. 1. Tokyo: Tokyo Daigaku Toyo Bunka Kenkyujo, 1984. Fairbank, John King, ed. The Chinese World Order: Traditional China’s Foreign Relations. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1968. Fang Guoyu 方國瑜. Yunandai Yunnan xingsheng Daizu shiliao biannian 元代雲南行 省傣族史料編年 (Kunming: Yunnan Renmin Chubanshe, 1958. ––––––, comp. Yunnan shiliao congkan 雲南史料叢刊. Vol. 2. Kunming: Yunnan Daxue Chubanshe, 2001. Franke, Herbert. “Sung Embassies: Some General Observations.” In Rossabi, China Among Equals, 116–148. Ge Zhaoguang 葛兆光, ed. Cong zhoubian kan Zhongguo 從周邊看中國. Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 2009. Gu Sili 顧嗣立. Comp. Yuanshi xuan chuji 元詩選初集. Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 1987. Harvey, G. E. History of Burma, from the Earliest Times to 1824: the Beginning of the English Conquest. 1st ed., 1925; reprint, London: Frank Cass & Co., 1967. Huang Zhilian 黃枝連. Tianchao lizhi tixi yanjiu 天朝禮治體系研究, vol. 1, Yazhou de Huaxia zhixu: Zhongguo yu Yazhou guojia guanxi xingtailun 亞洲的華夏秩序中國 與亞洲國家關系形態論. Beijing: Zhongguo Renmin Daxue Chubanshe, 1992. Kala, U. Maha rajavan kri. Vol. 1. Yangon: Hanthawaddy Ponnhipdaik, 1960–61. Lê Tắc 黎崱. Annotated by Wu Shangqing 武尚清. An Nam chí lược 安南誌略. Beijing: Zhonghus Shuju, 1995. Li Tana. “A View from the Sea: Perspectives on the Northern and Central Vietnamese Coast.” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 37, 1 (2006): 83–102.

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Li Yunquan 李雲泉. Chaogong zhidu shilun – Zhongguo gudai duiwai guanxi tizhi yanjiu 朝貢制度試論 – 中國古代對外關系體制研究. Beijing: Xinhua Chubanshe, 2004. Lin Bi 林弼. Lin Dengzhou ji 林登州集. Shanghai: Shanghai Guji Chubanshe, 1991. Mhannan maha rajavan to kri. Vol. 1. Yangon & Mandalay: Pitakat Cauptuikchuin, 1955. Miao Dong 苗冬. Yuandai shichen yanjiu 元代使臣研究. Ph. D. dissertation, Nankai Daxue, 2010. Niu Junkai 牛軍凱. “Sangui jiukou yu wubai sankou: Qingchao yu Annan de liyi zhizheng 三跪九叩與五拜三叩: 清朝與安南的禮儀之爭.” Nanyang wenti yanjiu 南洋問題研究 1 (2005): 46–52. Parker, E. H. “Burma’s ‘Supposed’ Tribute to China.” The Imperial and Asiatic Quarterly Review and Oriental and Colonial Record 6, 11 & 12 (1898): 152–173. Phan Huy Chú 潘輝註. Lịch triè̂u hié̂n chương loại chí 歷代憲章類誌誌. Toyo Bunko, X–2–38. Reid, Anthony and Zheng Yangwen, eds. Negotiating Asymmetry: China’s Place in Asia. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2009. Rossabi, Morris. China among Equals: The Middle Kingdom and Its Neighbors, 10th–14th Centuries. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1983. Scott, James C. Weapons of the Weak: Everyday Forms of Peasant Resistance (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1987). Song Shuahua 宋蜀華. “Tang Song shiqi Daizu shishang ruogan diming renming yanjiu 唐宋時期傣族史上若幹地名人名研究.” Minzu yanjiu 民族研究 1 (1981): 15–23. Sun Laichen. “Suzerain and Vassal, or Elder and Younger Brothers: The Nature of the Burmo-Chinese Historical Relationship.” Paper presented at the 49th Meeting of the Association for Asian Studies, Chicago, March 13–16, 1997. ––––––. “Lun Mian Zhong (Wai Zhong) guanxishi yanjiu (1) – yi Zhongguo dui zaoqi Miandian de yingxiang wei zhongxin 論緬中（外中）關係史的研究（一）---以 中國對早期緬甸的影響為中心.” Yatai yanjiu luncong 亞太研究論叢 3 (2006): 210–233. Tvansantuikvan Mahacansu. Tvansan Mranma rajavan sac (Maha rajavan sac). Vol. 1. Yangon: Mingala Pumnhip Tuik, 1968. Trần Trọng Kim 陳重金. Translated by Dai Kelai 戴可來 from the Việt Nam Sử Lược. Yuenan tongshi 越南通史. Beijing: Shangwu Yinshuguan, 1992. Xide 錫德 and Shi Jingfen 石景芬, comp. Raozhou fuzhi 饒州府誌. 1st ed., 1872; reprint, Taibei: Chengwen Chubanshe, 1975. Xiang Ke 項珂 and Liu Fugui 劉馥桂, comp. Wannian xianzhi 萬年縣誌 . 1st ed., 1871; reprint, Taibei: Chengwen Chubanshe, 1975. Xu Mingshan 徐明善. Annan xingji 安南行記. In Tao Zongyi 陶宗儀, Shuofu 說郛. Shanghai: Shangwu Yinshuguan, 1927. Xu Yunqiao 許雲樵. “Zhengzhao rugong Qingting kao 鄭昭入貢清廷考.” Nanyang xuebao 南洋學報 7, 1 (1951): 1–17.

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Wang Gungwu. “Early Ming Relations with Southeast Asia: Background Essay.” In Fairbank, Chinese World Order, 34–62. Wang Jing 王靜. Zhongguo gudai zhongyang keguan zhidu yanjiu 中國古代中央客館 制度研究. Harbin: Heilongjiang Jiaoyu Chubanshe, 2002. Wills, John E., Jr. Embassies and Illusions: Dutch and Portuguese Envoys to K’ang-hsi, 1666–1687. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1984. Woodside, Alexander Barton. Vietnam and Chinese Model: A Comparative Study of Vietnamese and Chinese Government in the First Half of the Nineteenth Century. Cambridge: The Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University, 1988. Yamamoto Tatsuro 山本達郎. Annan shi kenkyu 安南史研究. Tokyo: Yamakawa Shuppansha, 1950. Yan Congjian 嚴從簡. Shuyu zouzilu 殊域周咨錄. Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 2000. Yang, Lien-sheng. “Historical Notes on the Chinese World Order.” In Fairbank, The Chinese World Order, 20–33. Yang Xunji 楊循吉. Jin xiaoshi 金小史 (http://www.4hn.org/files/article/html/0 /982/97847.html). Yang Zhigang 楊志剛. Zhongguo liyi zhidu yanjiu 中國禮儀制度研究. Shanghai: Huadong Shifan Daxue Chubanshe, 2001. Yu Dingbang 余定邦 and Huang Zhongyan 黃重言, comp. Zhongguo guji zhong de Miandian ziliao huibian 中國古籍中有關緬甸資料匯編. Vol. 1. Beijing: Zhonghua Shju, 2002. Zhang Erguo 張二國. “Xian Qin shiqi de huimeng wenti 先秦時期的會盟問題.” Shixue jikan 史學集刊 1 (1995): 11–18; Zhang Feng. “Rethinking the ‘Tribute System:’ Broadening the Conceptual Horizon of Historical East Asian Politics.” Chinese Journal of International Politics 2 (2009): 597–626; Zhaopayatanmatie Kazhangxia 召帕雅坦玛铁・卡章戛. Trans. Gong Suzheng 龚肃 政. Meng Guozhanbi ji Meng Mao gudai zhuwang shi 勐果占壁及勐卯古代諸王 史. Kunming, Yunnan: Yunnan Minzu Chubanshe, 1990. Zhongguo Shehui Kexueyuan Lishi Yanjiusuo 中國社會科學院歷史研究所, comp. Gudai Zhong Yue guanxi shi ziliao xuanbian 古代中越關系史資料選編. Beijing: Zhongguo Shehui Kexue Chubanshe, 1982.

Chapter 8

Northern Relations for Đại Việt: China Policy in the Age of Lê Thánh Tông (r. 1460–1497)1 John K. Whitmore

Introduction By the middle of the fifteenth century, the frontier between the northern regime of the Ming and the realms lying in the southern half of the dong world had re-formed. Stretching across this world from the newly re-independent Đại Việt through Tai realms all the way to Myanmar, this frontier became a territory in which both northern and southern courts sought to deal with each other. Reaching across this frontier, as well as striving to affect events within it, these courts interacted culturally as well as politically in order to shape it. By now, the fear inflicted, first by the Mongols, then by the Ming, had dissipated after their defeats. With the political situation stabilized, how did the confident southern courts, beyond the frontier from the northern court, react to Ming cultural expectations? To what extent did these regimes reject or accept Ming cultural assumptions? In Đại Việt, at a time of great internal change, the Vietnamese were led by their scholars to join the Sinic “domain of manifest civility”2 and to merge with the Ming cultural approach. They thus acknowledged its rightness, all the while resolutely insisting on their autonomy and the newly re-established position of the border to their north. Where other courts farther west (as in Ava) bristled at having to play the game of foreign relations, quite new to them, the Vietnamese were both old hands at Chinese diplomatic procedure and now, at least in part of the Thăng Long court, coming to believe firmly in the values underlying it. Feeling confident and secure with their firearms and their northern border, the Vietnamese proceeded to act as they saw fit within their increasingly prosperous and strong realm as well as along this frontier to the west.

1 This paper was originally presented at the Association of Asian Studies Annual Meeting, Chicago, 2005. 2 L. Kelley, Beyond the Bronze Pillars (Honolulu, HI: University of Hawaii Press, 2005), 30–1.

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How had the people of Đại Việt conceived of themselves vis-à-vis the varied regimes of the Central Kingdom (Zhongguo) lying immediately adjacent to them? Their South (Nam) had been dealing with the distant Sinic North (Bắc) since the forces of Qin Shihuangdi (r. 221–210 BCE) had united the Chinese states and moved southeast into the coastal maritime regimes, those of the Yue peoples. The far reach of these territories, known to the Chinese as the Southern Yue (C. Nan Yue; V. Nam Việt), had come to exist as the southern frontier of the Northern sphere from the late third century BCE into the tenth century CE.3 At some times the far southern fringe of great empires (Han [206 BCE– 220 CE], Tang [618–907]), at others one regional territory competing with other such fragments of the Northern empire, this distant edge of the Sinic realm (at first Jiaozhi; later Annan) had teetered on existence within or without that realm and its culture.4 This existential question, in or out, had numerous facets to it: political, diplomatic, cultural, economic, etc. The indigenous decision would set the location of the Sinic southern frontier at its eastern end. This had occurred in the tenth century as the realm of Đại Việt grew and developed through the mideleventh. It and the Song regime (960–1279) to the north had carved out political structures on top of the existing local socio-economic systems and in the process formed this segment of the frontier.5 These local patterns had carried forth both their own indigenous cultural elements and those they gained from the imperial system and Sinic civilization. As the Lý of Đại Việt (1009–1225) established their dynastic monarchy in the Vietnamese capital of Thăng Long (now Hà Nội) during the eleventh century, its rulers constructed a royal tradition that secured the realm’s place in both time and space, apart from, yet sharing in, the northern realm. Carrying on the regional culture that combined the local and the Sinic imperial presence, the constructed tradition of the Lý developed a spiritual 3 G.E. Dutton, J.S. Werner, & J.K. Whitmore, eds., Sources of Vietnamese Tradition (New York: Columbia University Press, 2012), 9–27. 4 Li Tana, “Jiaozhi (Giao Chi) in the Han Period Tongking Gulf,” in N. Cooke, T. Li, & J.A. Anderson, eds., The Tongking Gulf Through History (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011), 39–52; M. Churchman, “’The People in Between:’ The Li and Lao from the Han to the Sui,” Ibid., 67–83; and Churchman in this volume. 5 K.W. Taylor, “The Rise of Đại Việt and the Establishment of Thăng Long,” in Explorations in Early Southeast Asian History, ed. K.R. Hall & J.K. Whitmore (Ann Arbor, MI: Center for South and Southeast Asian Studies, University of Michigan, 1976), 149–91; J.A. Anderson, “’Slipping Through Holes:’ The Late Tenth- and Early Eleventh-Century Sino-Vietnamese Coastal Frontier as a Subaltern Network,“ in Cooke, Li, & Anderson, The Tongking Gulf Through History, 87–100.

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genealogy linking the late Han dynasty local power holder Shi Xie (137–226 CE; V. King Sĩ) and the ninth century Annan Governor-General Gao Pian (d. 887; V. King Cao) of the Tang dynasty with his geomantic powers to the first three Lý rulers. Based in the former Tang provincial capital of Đại La, now become Thăng Long, this imagined line of local rulers gained support from the spirit powers of the land. In this way, the new regime of Đại Việt did not split completely from the Central Kingdom; rather the Lý continued the local Sinic/indigenous power mix that had developed over the prior millennium, all while they gained and protected their autonomy and their new northern border.6 This stance changed with the new coastal Trần (C. Chen) dynasty (1225– 1400). While continuing the Lý spiritual genealogy, the new royal clan, descended from Fujian emigrants, turned the Việt conception of Northern relations around. The new historical writings of the thirteenth century, in the eleventh century Chinese chronicle form of Sima Guang (1019–86), went back to Nan Yue of the second century BCE in the form of Nam Việt and its leader Zhao Tuo (207–137 BCE) (V. Triệu Đà). Like this warlord from the North, the Trần saw themselves turning about and protecting the South from the threatening North, especially the Mongols. Instead of being a segment of the Sinic world, the new regime stood against that world and set itself in a stance parallel to the Northern court, having defeated the geomantic schemes of the imperial North in the form of Gao Pian. Confronted not only by the Yuan aggressive diplomatic and military approaches, the Trần for the first time had to deal with pressures all along their northern and northwestern frontier, as Yunnan became part of the Northern empire. The Thăng Long kings used all their wiles, as well as their military forces, to hold off and restrain the direct Yuan intrusions.7 This stance remained after the two decade Ming occupation (1407–27) 6 J.K. Whitmore, “Why Did Lê Văn Thịnh Revolt? Buddhism and Political Integration in Twelfth Century Đại Việt,” in The Growth of Non-Western Cities, Primary and Secondary Urban Networking, ed. K.R. Hall (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2011), 111; Sources of Vietnamese Tradition, 33–35, 47–48, 61–63. Also see Kelley in this volume. 7 J.K. Whitmore, “The Rise of the Coast: Trade, State, and Culture in Early Đại Việt,” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies (̣ JSEAS), 37, 1 (2006): 103–22; idem., “Keeping the Emperor Out: Ming Taizu and Triệu Đà in the Vietnamese Annals,” in Long Live the Emperor!, edited by S. Schneewind (Minneapolis, MN: Ming Studies, 2008), 345–53; idem., “Kingship, Time, and Space: Historiography in Southeast Asia,” in The Oxford History of Historical Writing, v. 2, ed. S. Foot & C.F. Robinson (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012), 110–14; Momoki Shiro, “Nation and Geo-Body in Early Modern Vietnam: A Preliminary Study through Sources of Geomancy,” in Southeast Asia in the Fifteenth Century: The Ming Factor, ed. G. Wade & L. Sun (Singapore: National University of Singapore Press, 2010), 131–34, 139 ; see also Anderson and Sun in this volume.

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as the minister Nguyễn Trãi (1380–1442) wrote in the Declaration of Victory Over the Ngô (C. Wu=Ming) (Bình Ngô Đại Cáo) for his lord Lê Lợi (1385–1433). Therein Trãi juxtaposed the Southern dynasties (beginning with the Triệu) against those of the North, with the Vietnamese restoring their northern border. As the Lê forces emerged from their Dong world in the mountains southwest of the Red River plain, they changed what had been a provincial boundary within the Ming realm back into its southern border. Thus did the new Lê dynasty (1428–1527; 1592–1788) initially maintain the Trần stance of separation between South and North.8 This stance would change again later in the fifteenth century as the young, unexpected ruler Lê Thánh Tông (1442–97; r.1460–97) and his literati officials moved toward the system of the dominant power of East Asia, Ming China. In so doing, the Vietnamese acted to transform their earlier polity into a stronger administrative form, and the modern Ming model was there for them to adapt to their own land. The Vietnamese contact with this model had been both direct, during the twenty-year Ming occupation, and indirect, through their scholars’ perusal of Northern texts and visits to Beijing. The resulting change made Đại Việt a very different entity from its southern and western Southeast Asian neighbors, even from those immediately on the other side of the Sinic border, and its foreign policy towards the former changed dramatically in the process. No longer did the Vietnamese follow a policy of cultural relativism, one in which the others’ cultural systems were of no particular interest and all that mattered was the power balance among them. Now the new system demanded that the Vietnamese, similar to the Ming, concern themselves with the propriety or impropriety of their neighboring peoples’ styles of life. What sort of change, then, occurred in Đại Việt’s relations with its Northern neighbors, the Ming?

Transforming Đại Việt

While the changes themselves took place in the 1460s, they were the culmination of over a century of constant activity as Đại Việt (like other Southeast Asian polities) underwent a major crisis and rebuilt itself.9 In moving across 8 S. O’Harrow, “Nguyễn Trãi’s Bình Ngô Đại Cáo of 1428,” JSEAS, 10, 1 (1979): 159–74; Sources of Vietnamese Tradition, 93. 9 V.B. Lieberman, Strange Parallels, vol. 1 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 23–27; idem., “Charter State Collapse in Southeast Asia, ca. 1250–1400, as a Problem in Regional and World History,” American Historical Review, 116, 4 (2011): 917–63.

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this ‘watershed,’ in O.W. Wolters’ term,10 the Vietnamese responded to increasing social and cultural problems and sought to develop their polity in a way that could cope with those problems. An attempt to integrate the land in the early fourteenth century via Thiền (C. Chan) Buddhism gave way to a search for a Chinese Antiquity as the answer.11 Following the disaster of the Champa wars (1370–1390), Hồ Quý Ly (1336–1407) adopted this Sinic ideology of Antiquity for his new regime (1400–1407), only to be crushed by the Ming who despised his non-Neo-Confucian thought. During the resulting two-decade Northern occupation, just as in the Yuan and Ming effort in Yunnan, schools, their libraries, and the literati way of life permeated the landscape to a greater degree than before.12 The new regime, established by the mountain valley (động) chief Lê Lợi, solidly placed Đại Việt outside the Northern empire and on the far edge of its frontier. The Lê maintained their tributary status with the Ming court, now at Beijing, as well as the earlier aristocratic form of the Vietnamese polity, while retaining certain aspects of the Ming provincial system, particularly the schools. With the re-establishment of Đại Việt’s royal system based again in Thăng Long, there was the need to emphasize the separation of South and North. This was especially necessary given the two-decade provincial experience and its integration of Vietnamese territory supported by the Ngô (Chinese) community there.13 We can see this separation in Vietnamese geomantic writings of the time, substantiating the new reality and rejection of the Ming hold. Not only were Gao Pian’s efforts at geomantic control blocked once more, but so were those of the Ming provincial official Huang Fu (1363–1440). This preserved the geomantic integrity of Đại Việt, linked to, but separate from, that of the North.14 These new men from the highlands of Thanh Hóa province, southwest of the capital, brought in a localized, parochial style of thought. The earlier royal 10 11 12

13 14

O.W. Wolters, History, Culture, and Region in Southeast Asian Perspectives, rev. ed. (Ithaca NY: Southeast Asia Program, Cornell University, 1999), 146. J.K. Whitmore, “Chu Văn An and the Rise of ‘Antiquity’ in 14th Century Đại Việt,” Vietnam Review, 1 (1996): 50–61. J.K. Whitmore, Vietnam, Hồ Quý Ly, and the Ming, 1371–1421 (New Haven, CT: Southeast Asian Studies, Yale University, 1985); Alexander Ong Eng Ann, “Contextualising the BookBurning Episode During the Ming Invasion and Occupation of Vietnam,” in Wade & Sun, Southeast Asia in the Fifteenth Century: 154–65; Swope in this volume. On schools, see Brose, Baldanza, and Dennis in this volume. J.K. Whitmore, “Ngô (Chinese) Communities and the Montane-Littoral Conflict in 15th– 16th Century Đại Việt,” Asia Major, 27, 2 (2014) (forthcoming). Momoki, “Geo-Body,” 138–41.

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Buddhist beliefs of the preceding Lý and Trần dynasties faded away. An ideological vacuum came to exist at the center into which local literati acted to bring their own brand of Confucian correlative cosmology. Such thought tied the behavior of the ruler to the cosmos and to the impact on humankind of natural events. Through the 1430s and 1440s, this ideology gradually found a place in the court of Đại Việt and its throne. At the same time, the former generals from the hills resisted the literati efforts and contained them.15 Finally, in the 1460s, a young ruler in his twenties, known to posterity as Lê Thánh Tông, came to the throne in Thăng Long and was able to change the state. The fourth son of the second Lê ruler and educated by the literati, he ascended the throne in an accidental manner, thought by the surviving old highland generals to be compliant and amenable to their aristocratic way of rule. Yet, with his literati-officials, the young ruler manipulated the court system to blend both lowland literati and highland nobles in the service of the new state. His achievement brought a peace, prosperity, and power to his realm that would last forty years, into the sixteenth century. It marked the true beginning of early modern Vietnam and of the permeation of the new court ideology, Confucianism, out into Vietnamese society. Thánh Tông began with the Chinese concept of Restoration (V. Trung Hưng; C. Zhongxing), bringing back an allegedly earlier form (in reality the Ming model). This opened the way for the young king and his literati mentors to begin the transformation. Working on the principle of correlative cosmology, the state needed to change to be in harmony with Heaven (V. Thiên; C. Tian) and thereby to spare the realm the potential traumas that would otherwise occur. The first step was to recruit the best literati for the government. Thánh Tông set up the first standardized and regular Confucian examinations, to be held every three years beginning in the normal Ming examination year of 1463. Several thousand scholars turned out, the products no doubt of the village schools (and perhaps even of the Ming schools decades earlier). Every three years, then, a new supply of officials appeared, to be chosen to serve the growing government.16

15

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J.K. Whitmore, “The Development of Lê Government in Fifteenth Century Vietnam.” Ph.D. Dissertation (Cornell University, 1968), chs. 1–3; E.S. Ungar, “Vietnamese Leadership and Order: Đại Việt Under the Lê Dynasty (1428–59),” Ph.D. Dissertation (Cornell University, 1983). Whitmore, “Development,” ch. 4; N. Cooke, “Nineteenth-Century Vietnamese Confucianism in Historical Perspective: Evidence from the Palace Examinations (1463–1883),” JSEAS, 25, 2 (1994): 277–81.

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The next step was to construct a new administrative form, into which to place these new (as well as the older) scholars. The model at hand was, of course, that of the Ming. The Vietnamese brought it in and adapted it to their own situation.17 The Ming founder Taizu (r. 1368–98) in the previous century had banned the post of prime minister, and so Thánh Tông did away with it as well, displacing the intervening highland aristocracy and putting the ruler in direct contact with the administrative offices of the government, that is, with the literati themselves. The latter staffed the six Ministries, and for the first time provincial, prefectural, and district officials reached directly from the capital out into the countryside. The Communications Office (V. Thông Chính Sứ; C. Tong Zheng Si) channeled the resulting paperwork into the government, and the Censorate provided an out-of-channel communications route. Through the mid-1460s, the literati took their places within this new structure, and constant shifts and re-shifts occurred among them as Thánh Tông sought to find the right men for the right jobs.18 Behind the selection of the literati and permeating the new administrative structure was the new state ideology. The Neo-Confucian orthodoxy set up first by the Southern Song philosopher Zhu Xi (1130–1200) some three centuries earlier and refined by the Ming government fifty years before (at the time the Vietnamese had been part of the Ming empire) formed the basis for the thought of Thánh Tông’s government. He pushed its precepts, morality, and ritual out of the capital into the countryside and acted to bring this official brand of thought directly into the villages. For the first time, the ruler of Đại Việt sought to tell his people directly how they should behave – what form their lives should take. Intertwined with this was the cosmic dimension underscored by Neo-Confucian purists that, if the ruler were unable to achieve this

17

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J.K. Whitmore, “Vietnamese Adaptations of Chinese Government Structure in the Fifteenth Century,” in E. Wickberg, comp., Historical Interaction of China and Vietnam, Institutional and Cultural Themes (Lawrence, KS : Center for East Asian Studies, University of Kansas, 1969), 1–10; idem., “Paperwork: The Rise of the New Literati and Ministerial Power and the Effort at Legibility in Đại Việt,“ in Wade & Sun, Southeast Asia in the Fifteenth Century, 104–25. Whitmore, “Development,” ch. 5; idem., “The Thirteenth Province: Internal Administration and External Expansion in Fifteenth Century Đại Việt,” in Asian Expansions, ed. G,.Wade (London: Routledge, forthcoming); B.S. Bartlett, Monarchs and Ministers, The Grand Council in Mid-Ch’ing China, 1723–1820 (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1991), 45; Lê Kim Ngân, Tổ-Chức Chính-Quyển Trung-Ương Dưới Triều Lê Thánh-tông (1460–97) (The Centralized Administration of Lê Thánh-tông) (Saigon: Bộ Quốc-gia Giáođục, 1962), 45–79.

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throughout his land, catastrophes would occur. For their own protection, then, Thánh Tông acted on his people. The new government reached out to benefit the people, materially as well as spiritually. It charged its local officials, first, to examine and report on the situations of their jurisdictions and, second, to work actively and positively to improve the wellbeing of their people. Bringing the new ideology to these people was only one aspect of the chores of these officials. They were also to act as what we might call ‘extension agents,’ to bring the best ways of economic development along the roads, through the market places, and out into the peasants’ fields. Proper food and clothing were as important as proper thought and ritual. Governmental involvement in the economy was a positive force. Encouraging such activity both helped the population and strengthened the fiscal basis of the state. Even as the government penetrated directly into the villages and drew taxes and manpower out of them, the growing population and prosperity kept the countryside peaceful. There are no indications from the late fifteenth century of any local revolts against this intrusion of the central government. Indeed, the local surveys may have provided a stronger framework for the geomantic thought that tied the villages into the royal system and defined the latter vis-à-vis the Ming domain.19 Internally peaceful, prosperous, and powerful, the government of Đại Việt forged a new foreign policy that turned this newly developed strength on its southern and western neighbors. Just as Thánh Tông brought his newly developed cosmic ideology into the villages of Đại Việt, he sought to apply these precepts to Vietnamese relations with these neighbors and to provide cosmic order beyond his borders. First, in 1470–1471, he challenged and destroyed Đại Việt’s longtime southern rival Champa (now central Vietnam), dismantling its power and reducing it to a strictly local entity. Next, in 1479, Đại Việt’s armies moved west along the southern edge of the Ming frontier against the dynamic Tai forces of the middle Mekong.20 Thus, the Vietnamese state acted to form a new pattern of regional relations (that is, its own tributary system) and to in19

20

J.K. Whitmore, “Literati Culture and Integration in Đại Việt, c.1430-c.1840,” in Beyond Binary Histories, Re-Imagining Eurasia to c.1830, ed. V.B. Lieberman (Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 1999), 222–226, 230–233.; Momoki, “Geomancy,” 135–6, 140. J.K. Whitmore, “The Two Great Campaigns of the Hồng-Đức Era (1470–1497) in Đại Việt,” South East Asia Research, 12,1 (2004), 119–136; Đại Việt Sử Ký Toàn Thư (TT) (Hà Nội: NXB Khoa Học Xã Hội, 1998), 12, 55b–59a; 13, 17b–22a; V. Grabowsky, “The Northern Tai Polity of Lan Na (Ba-bai Da-dien) in the 14th and 15th Centuries: the Ming Factor,” in Wade & Sun, Southeast Asia in the Fifteenth Century, 215–18; Li Tana, “The Ming Factor and the Emergence of the Việt in the 15th Century,” in Ibid., 84–92; Sources of Vietnamese Tradition, 139–42.

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terfere in the operations of its Southeast Asian neighbors so as to create its own concept of harmony, both regional and cosmic.

Thiên Nam

As Lê Thánh Tông reconstructed the polity of Đại Việt through the 1460s, he consciously acted to bring his land into the broad Sinic pattern of civilization, the “domain of manifest civility.” By the middle of 1467, he felt comfortable enough with the way his reforms were going to propose to his officials that this step be taken. Specifically, he asked them to consider, for the first time, an imperial seal inscribed with the phrase Thiên Nam Hoàng Đế Chi Bảo, “Seal of the Emperor of the Celestial South.”21 While Thánh Tông was becoming the first true emperor hoàng-đế (C. huangdi) in Đại Việt (as opposed to vua, king), the title itself had been employed as far back as the mid-eleventh century, so it was not this element that gave pause to the officials of the court in Thăng Long. The element that did so was Thiên Nam, never before used by and applied to Đại Việt. Nguyễn Cư Đạo (ts. 144222), a scholar from the older generation, was close to the young ruler and a major influence on him. On Cư Đạo’s death the following year, Thánh Tông would declare how the old scholar had befriended him when the future (but unexpected) emperor had merely been a young student over the prior two decades. The two of them were, he stated, “like fish and water, wind and clouds.” “Of the two of us, it was you who chose what has been followed.” At this point, Cư Đạo questioned the phrase: Hoàng-đế was certainly a term of value, but Thiên Nam was a strange new choice. It had great meaning, Cư Đạo acknowledged, but the emperor’s grandfather, the great founder Lê Lợi, chose a very different style/hiệu, Lam Sơn Động Chủ (Mountain Valley Chief of Mt. Lam), one quite local and not nearly so grand.23 Thánh Tông was crossing a line and moving Đại Việt from the Trần position of separation from the Sinic world to one of explicit participation in it. Nguyễn Cư Đạo was a member of the first generation of Vietnamese scholars to contest for, and ultimately with the young emperor to gain, power in the state. As O.W. Wolters showed for the historian Ngô Sĩ Liên (ts. 1442), this generation did not feel fully confident of its established position there, or of the place of its thought in the realm. Sĩ Liên, in studying the Trần system of the

21 22 23

TT, 12, 38a-b; Whitmore, “Development,” 201–202. In a person’s dates, ts. represents ‘tiến sỉ’̣ (C. jinshi) or the year he achieved his ‘doctorate.’ TT, 10, 58b; 12, 38a, 48b–49a; Whitmore, “Development,” 99–100, 201.

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previous century, would warn of the fragility of the new construct.24 At this point in time, nothing was secure, and it entailed a certain wariness and caution in their approach to the state and society of Đại Việt. The feeling seems to have been that Thiên Nam with its implications of integration into the broader Sinic world was too great a step to take at that time. The emperor called on another of his senior scholars, Lương Như Hộc (ts. 1442), to go into the latest of the major Chinese encyclopedia, Ma Duanlin’s (1254–1323) Wen Xian Tong Kao of the previous century, to check out the problem. As a result, Thiên Nam was dropped and another inscription, Hoàng Đế Thụ Mệnh Chi Bảo “Seal of the Received Mandate of the Emperor,” was suggested, discussed, accepted, and reported to the Thái-miếu, the royal ancestral temple (by the Thanh Hóa general Đinh Liệt [?–1471], not by a scholar). This inscription continued the idea of correlative cosmology from the 1430s–1440s. “Emperor” was fine, but not yet Thiên Nam. The Vietnamese literati of this older generation were not prepared to cross that line. A few months later, Thánh Tông took the style/hiệu Hiếu Tôn Quốc Hoàng, demonstrating his commitment as Emperor (Quốc Hoàng) to Filiality (Hiếu) and Reverence (Tôn), again the first time a Vietnamese ruler had taken such a Confucian-style title.25 Thánh Tông specifically wished to be seen as both imperial and Confucian. In the decade or so after this episode, the elder historian Ngô Sĩ Liên put his ruler’s wishes into a broad philosophical context. Sĩ Liên linked the specific local powers with the Confucian cosmic belief system and saw the roots of his ruler’s turn to enter the “domain of manifest civility” going back to Shi Xie of the late Han dynasty. Indeed, the historian’s Chronicle Completing the Historical Records of Đại Việt of 1479 described the process whereby Đại Việt came to form part of this “domain.” Creatively placing the region of Đại Việt firmly within (and as a fully recognized part of) the classical Chinese tradition, Sĩ Liên began with the Yellow Emperor and proceeded through the Chinese sage ruler Shennong to the eighteen Vietnamese Hùng kings establishing the proper borders, Triệu Đà’s moral behavior, and Shi Xie’s rites and music. This process, by implication, came to completion through Sĩ Liên’s own ruler, effectively justifying Thánh Tông’s adoption of Thiên Nam as the proper designation for his realm. Sĩ Liên thereby constructed a narrative that linked

24 25

O.W. Wolters, “What Else May Ngô Sĩ Liên Mean?,” in Sojourners and Settlers, ed. A. Reid (Sydney : Allen & Unwin, 1996), 94–114. TT, 12, 46b; Whitmore, “Development,” 202; E. Wilkinson, Chinese History, A Manual ̣(Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Institute, 1998), 524–25.

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Vietnamese civilization with the classic antiquity of the North and drew the independent Đại Việt into this Sinic “domain.”26 While Thiên Nam had been put aside in the late 1460s by the older generation of scholars, it did not disappear. The next generation of literati, the young scholars who passed Thánh Tông’s newly established examinations, had a fresh outlook and a stronger sense of confidence in their new system. They were part and parcel of this modern system and felt a strong identification with the broader Sinic world, as we shall see traveling to visit and partake of it. By 1475, in his introduction to a collection of his officials’ verse for a Chinese envoy, Thánh Tông was using the style/hiệu Thiên Nam Dộng Chủ (Mountain Valley Chief of the Celestial South), a mixture of his clan’s highland origins and his own Sinic orientation.27 In the early 1480s, these scholars were compiling and composing the major documents of Thánh Tông’s reign, the inscriptions on the stone stelae for the examinations and the Thiên Nam Dư Hạ Tập (The Celestial South’s [Records Made] at Leisure), the central collection of documents for the reign.28 From this time, Thiên Nam would be a designation for Lê Đại Việt and would signal the literati’s explicit feeling that their land participated in the broader Sinic civilized world.

Literati Envoys to the Ming

As Đại Việt became a more sinified state during the 1460s, the significance of the literati rose as well. This may be seen especially in the composition of the embassies sent by the court in Thăng Long to the Ming court in Beijing. While Vietnamese scholars of Chinese texts had long been responsible for handling the proper documents of the embassies sent north, they had usually not served

26

27

28

L.C. Kelley, ‘Celestial Scripting and Terrestrial Veins: The Logic of Geographical Knowledge in Late Imperial Vietnam,’ presented at the Association of Asian Studies Annual Meeting, Chicago, 2005; idem., “The Biography of the Hồng Bằng Clan as a Medieval Vietnamese Invented Tradition,” Journal of Vietnamese Studies, 7, 2 (2012), 97–98. Here I am suggesting a different translation of the title of the TT from elsewhere in this volume, one in line with this particular interpretation of Ngô Sĩ Liên’s work. TT, 13, 6a; É pigraphie en Chinoise du Việt Nam, Vol. 1 (Paris: EFEO; Hà Nội: Viện Nghiên Cứu Hán Nôm, 1998), 142, 147 (n.126); Phan Huy Chú, Lịch Triều Hiến Chương Loại Chí (Institutes of the Successive Courts) trans. (Hà Nội : NXB Khoa Học Xã Hội, 1992), I, 200–03. Lê rulers would continue to use the style (hiệu) Động Chủ (Mountain Valley Chief) into the sixteenth century. TT, 13, 36a-b, 41a-b.

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as major envoys themselves. We may see the transition in the type of envoys sent to Beijing from Thăng Long through the fifteenth century.29 When Đại Việt re-emerged from Ming colonial rule in 1428 under the leadership of Lê Lợi, a heavy traffic of embassies moved across the frontier between the two capitals for over thirty years. The Vietnamese both played their tributary role and kept a close eye on the Ming court to observe what it was up to. For the first twenty years, to the late 1440s, very few scholars played major roles on the embassies. Only 14% of the envoys had passed any sort of examination and only seven scholars went north, two of them more than once. The modern Ming-style examinations were first held only in 1442 and 1448, and consequently for the next twenty years the first generation of scholars who believed in adopting the modern administrative and ritual model of the Ming30 began to appear on the embassies. These were the literati who first educated, then advised and supported, the surprising young ruler before and after he took the throne. In these two decades, from the late 1440s to the late 1460s, 40% of the envoys were scholars, most of them from the two examinations of the 1440s. In the 1460s, Thánh Tông established his own regular examination system, and from these triennial examinations came most of the envoys during the rest of his reign (63%). Through Thánh Tông’s reign, the court of Thăng Long settled into a standard and stable pattern of contact with the Ming court, tribute embassies once every three years. While he raised the number of scholars used on these embassies, the Vietnamese ruler made sure to keep a certain balance among the envoys. Just as in his court, he preferred, as he termed it, “a well-mixed porridge” of the different factions, so too did he employ both scholars and nobles, lowlanders and members of his highland families from Thanh Hóa province. Yet, for special embassies, especially that of 1488 on the succession of the new Hongzhi emperor (r. 1488–1505), the Vietnamese ruler tended to send more scholars. Increasingly, then, scholars became of greater importance on the diplomatic front with the Ming court as the fifteenth century progressed, going from 14% to 40% to 63%. But how many of the Vietnamese examination graduates were actually able to go north on these embassies? In the first decade of the Lê, with mixed examinations and only a few graduates, 39% of the latter were able to visit Beijing. In the next two decades, the number of graduates rose, while the percentage of those able to go on the embassies fell to 22%. Finally, in the 29 30

The following is summarized from J.K. Whitmore, ‘Vietnamese Embassies and Literati Contacts,’ presented at the Association of Asian Studies Annual Meeting, Chicago, 2001. See, for example, Sources of Vietnamese Tradition, 106–08.

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four decades of rule by Thánh Tông and his son Hiến Tông (1461–1504; r. 1498– 1504), the total number of graduates rose dramatically, but the percentage of these graduates who went on the embassies fell to 15%. Thus, while the envoys became increasingly chosen from among the scholars, the overall number of graduates greatly outpaced the slots available on the embassies. In addition, the number of embassies declined and became steady, rather than as circumstances demanded, while nobles continued to be used as well. Scholars who went north on the embassies crossed the frontier and returned to play significant roles in the government of Đại Việt. A number of the first generation of modernist scholars from the 1440s, like Nguyễn Cư Đạo, provided firm support for the transformation of Đại Việt in the 1460s. Giving their advice and support, they encouraged Thánh Tông toward his goals. The next generation, those from Thánh Tông’s own reign, came back from Beijing to serve in the new bureaucracy and in agencies directly attached to the throne, like the Hàn Lâm (C. Hanlin) Academy. These new scholars became partners with their ruler in running the new state and additionally shared with him a strong interest in writing Chinese style poetry. In particular, these literati envoys would have brought back with them from China a strong sense of how the Ming court and government of their times operated. Those of the first generation who supported Thánh Tông in his initial efforts encountered a major crisis in China, open conflict in the Ming court, and a coup there. They became involved in similar events on their return to Thăng Long. The scholars from the 1460s and 1470s, on the other hand, met with stability both in Beijing and at home. Specifically, they saw how important the relationship of the throne and the officials was. Only with harmony between the two could they themselves achieve the ideal situation in their own court. Thus, for the first time, Vietnamese scholars consistently played significant roles in the embassies sent by Thăng Long to Beijing. As Liam Kelley has noted for the late Lê of the eighteenth century, these scholars felt that they were partaking of the Sinic “domain of manifest civility” and eagerly sought to measure up to its standards.31 In 1479, Ngô Sĩ Liên, the aged member of the first generation of scholars, as he completed the Chronicle of Đại Việt noted the gradual progress of this realm towards that domain, while almost twenty years later a member of the newer generation of scholars, Hoàng Đức Lương (ts. 1478), lamented that the process was taking so long.32 These Vietnamese scholars fully believed in this domain and strongly desired to be a part of it. Their embassies 31 Kelley, Beyond the Bronze Pillars, 28–31. 32 Ibid., 32–34; Sources of Vietnamese Tradition, 94–95, 238–39.

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to the Ming court allowed a number of them to observe and participate directly in it.

Court Discussions

Despite the rise of the new generation of scholars in the land and government of Đại Việt, those who firmly believed in the shared Northern tradition, the government of Đại Việt purposefully retained a mixture of the scholarly and the aristocratic. This government had only just emerged from one in which, though the literati had played an increasing, yet restrained role, generals from the highlands of Thanh Hóa province to the south and their descendants, male and female, had controlled the royal court. Thánh Tông, after all, was both one of these descendants and an educated scholar himself (as his style/hiệu indicated). Transforming this government, he worked for balance between the two groups, “the well-mixed porridge” in his own phrase.33 Thus, certainly in the first decades of his nearly forty year reign, this ruler worked hard to keep the channels of information open to the different groups around him. Praising some, chiding others, he insisted on an open court in which all, scholar and noble alike, could have their say, if done properly. We can see this in court discussions concerning Chinese matters, especially dealing with the northern border of Đại Việt and the frontier joining them and the Ming. Though the court in Thăng Long now included scholars learned in the Classics and Histories of China who had begun the long push to bring Vietnamese society into a Confucian mode, it did not automatically frame court discussion in terms of the common Sinic domain of manifest civility. During the late 1460s, the different elements of the court of Đại Việt addressed themselves to the problems at hand, including matters concerning the Ming. In particular, there were Đinh Liệt, one of the officers from the war against the Ming four decades earlier with ties to the Queen Mother, and the aforementioned Nguyễn Cư Đạo, the distinguished member of the first generation of modernist literati. On one occasion when a Ming supply ship ran aground on the northeast coast of Đại Việt, Thánh Tông told his court, including Liệt and Cư Đạo, that he strongly suspected it to be a Chinese ploy. This was especially the case given the king’s sensitivity toward the existing Ngô 33

TT, 12, 17a; Whitmore, “Development,” 143; idem, “Gender, State, and History: the Literati Voice in Early Modern Vietnam,” in Other Pasts: Women, Gender, and History in Early Modern Southeast Asia, ed. B.W. Andaya (Honolulu, HI: University of Hawai’i Press, 2000), 219–20.

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(Chinese) community along the coast. Cư Đạo recommended clemency and releasing the sailors. After discussion, the emperor was not sure, and Cư Đạo bluntly implied – You are the ruler; you must make the decision. It would appear that the king retained the occupants of the ship in an agricultural colony.34 Such discussions were purely pragmatic with no reference to the shared domain of civility. The question was: How should the Vietnamese deal with the Chinese on their doorstep? This was particularly the case given the constant problems the Ming state was having on its own side of the border.35 This we see in 1467 when an officer in mountainous Lạng Sơn province reported hearing of an alleged 130,000 local militia being raised to pursue “Man bandits” over in Guangxi. They were said to be repairing bridges and roads along the coast and over the streams and moving towards Nam Giao (South Jiao[zhi]) Pass. A local Guangdong official “lied” about this provocative activity as being merely to shore up defenses there. Such a large mobilization on their border four decades after the Ming occupation drew the sharp attention of the Vietnamese court in Thăng Long. Thánh Tông asked his ministers to discuss the situation, and a Thanh Hóa lord, Nguyễn Lỗi, joined by the full court, declared, “Defend the passes resolutely – letting them do this, what interference it is!”36 Backed by their Ming-style military technology and organization, scholars and generals alike concerned themselves almost entirely with the specific reality confronting them and not with the philosophical aspects of their joint civilization. On an incident of Chinese intrusion on the northern border a bit earlier in the year, Đinh Liệt had stated that maintaining the border was a priority – no such hostilities were acceptable there. All in the court had agreed.37 Over a decade later, in 1480, a different situation had come to exist in the court at Thăng Long. The old Thanh Hóa mountain generals were gone, leaving their descendants, and the new generation of literati was well established there. By this time, the transformed state and military of Đại Việt had crushed Champa to the south in 1471, permanently removing it as a threat to Thăng 34

35

36 37

TT, 12, 28b–29a, 33a; Whitmore, “The Ngô (Chinese) Communities and the Montane-Littoral Conflict in 15th–16th Century Đại Việt.” This was perhaps the episode described by L.K. Shin, “Ming China and Its Border with Annam,” in The Chinese State at the Borders, ed. D. Lary (Vancouver: University of British Columbia, 2007), 91–92, of a Chinese ship allegedly gone astray on the Vietnamese coast. See also Baldanza in this volume. For Ming efforts to control dong societies in Guangxi at this time, see L.K. Shin, The Making of the Chinese State, Ethnicity and Expansion on the Ming Borderlands (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), passim, and J.G. Barlow, “The Zhuang Minority in the Ming Era,” Ming Studies, 28 (1989), 27–29. TT, 12, 45a-b. TT, 12, 34b. For the Chinese view, see Baldanza in this volume.

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Long, and the year before, in 1479, the Vietnamese had moved west against active Tai muang along the Ming frontier and over the middle Mekong.38 This worried the Ming court greatly as Đại Việt’s well-armed push across the southern dong world came uncomfortably close to the Tai muang of Sipsongpanna and other frontier territories considered by the Ming within their Tusi domain.39 Reacting to a Chinese border raid, Lê Niệm (?–1485), son of a Thanh Hóa general, stated that building a rampart along the border would be useless. Instead, he declared, first draw a map and try to deal with local Guangxi officials on the other side of the border. Only if this did not work, should the rampart be tried. Thánh Tông agreed.40 In the meantime, an edict from the Ming throne arrived, charging Đại Việt with transgressions during the western Tai campaign along China’s southern frontier. When Thánh Tông presented the edict to his court for deliberation, another son of a Thanh Hóa general, Lê Thọ Vực (nd.), said they should state that they were merely pursuing fugitives in that direction and had seized some merchants – there was nothing more to the Ming charges than that. This Thánh Tông did. When the Ming in turn spoke of procedures for the Vietnamese embassies going to and from Beijing across the frontier through Guangxi and then local Vietnamese officials complained of Chinese incursions, Lê Thọ Vực spoke up again. They are up to their old tricks, he said, raiding us. Draw up papers for their local officials complaining of this and tell them to stop.41 These court discussions in Thăng Long, both in the later 1460s and the early 1480s, included not only the rising literati but also the military and aristocratic group that had put the Lê on the throne of Đại Việt. Their confidant stance regarding the frontier, whether scholarly or aristocratic, focused on immediate detail, backed by force, and made no mention of any shared cultural domain. Might this be the result of the particular text, the updated Chronicle of Đại Việt? This portion of the text would, I believe, have been compiled by the next dynasty, the Mạc (1528–92), probably in the 1540s.42 Those who brought this text together would have been scholars writing a history of their own kind and 38 39

40 41 42

Whitmore, “Two Great Campaigns.” Sun Laichen, “Ming-Southeast Asian Overland Interactions, 1368–1644,” Ph.D. Dissertation (University of Michigan, 2000), 263–264; TT, 13, 27a-b; Grabowsky, “Northern Tai Polity,” 217–18. TT, 13, 26a-b. TT, 13, 27b–28b. J.K. Whitmore, “Chung-Hsing and Cheng-T’ung in Đại Việt: Historiography of and on the Sixteenth Century,” in K.W. Taylor & J.K. Whitmore, eds., Essays Into Vietnamese Pasts (Ithaca, NY :Southeast Asia Program, Cornell University, 1995), 124–130.

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would have had no reason to omit mentions of the shared feelings. Thus, I believe the mentions of the discussions in the Chronicle reflect their nature, pragmatic and political, not philosophical.

Approaching Beijing

At the end of 1480, not long after the previous discussions, Thánh Tông called for discussion of a report on the three regular tributary documents to the Ming court presented by the Hàn Lâm Academy scholar Lương Thế Vinh (ts. 1463). The noble Lê Thọ Vực once again spoke up and stated, “The three texts should be even and in accord with (the proper style), as (the scholar) Thân Nhân Trung (ts. 1469) has presented it to the throne.” The process for such diplomatic documents was explicit: first, the ruler ordered the Hàn Lâm Academy to prepare them, then to pass them along to the Đông Các (Eastern Pavilion, a second imperial agency) for examination, and finally sent back to the court to be checked once more. Differing opinions were accepted and changes made. “Thus,” in Thọ Vực’s words, “each Ming man will find them excellent and say, ‘(That) country does indeed have (good) men!’”43 The three essays noted above could well have referred to the standard set of tributary documents sent north through the fifteenth century, the first addressed the Ming emperor himself, the second his empress, and the third the heir apparent.44 Over three hundred years later, the scholar Phan Huy Chú (1782–1840) compiled a major topical history of the literati and their efforts to transform the state and society of Đại Việt Lịch Triều Hiến Chương Loại Chí (‘Institutes of the Successive Dynasties’). In his section on Foreign Relations (Bang Giao), Chú included the texts of the tributary documents sent to the Ming by the Lê from the beginning of the dynasty. In them, we may gauge the extent of change between those sent in the four decades prior to Thánh Tông’s major transformation of Đại Việt and those sent by Thánh Tông himself in the following four decades.45 Certain major tropes permeate both sets of documents and generally conform to the longtime Ming view of the world. There was a consistent pairing of North (Bắc, the Central Kingdom) and South (Nam, Đại Việt) and an emphasis 43

TT, 13, 29a; J.K. Whitmore, “The Tao Đàn Group: Poetry, Cosmology, and the State in the Hồng-̣Đức Period (1470–1497),” Crossroads, 7, 2 (1992), 58. 44 This tripartite presentation to the Ming throne had existed since the beginning of the Lê dynasty. For 1433, see TT, 10, 74a. 45 Chú, III, 222–240.

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on the great distance of the former from the latter. Liam Kelley has pointed out the North/South trope for the Vietnamese literati of later centuries and the general geographical and cultural distance from the “Central Efflorescence” they felt.46 This was a major theme of the tributary documents sent to Beijing by the court in Thăng Long during the fifteenth century. Because of this strongly felt “distance,” the Vietnamese literati consistently expressed their need to recall and be grateful for being able to share in the greater philosophical world offered by China. They strongly felt the favor (ơn) they received, and this feeling permeated the tributary documents from the court in Thăng Long. Involved here, among the literati, was a fervent sense of the oneness, the unity of their shared domain. As these documents expressed it across the decades of the fifteenth century, initially with great deference “from the wilds of the southern frontier” which the Vietnamese declared they could protect: “The children of the myriad peoples, the families of the Four Seas all are of one heart/mind.” (1433); “The Four Seas form a single family.” “The hearts/minds of men are like one.” (1438);47 “Like the common civilization, there is total unity inside and out.” (1441); “Setting the example in all directions.” (1442); “The humane heart/mind is all over, unifying the Four Seas as one family.” (1444); “Inside and out, all are united.” (1453); “United is the world.” (1464); “Among the myriad states, not one is separate.” (1474); “Everywhere, far and near, revere the closeness of one heart.” (1477); “The Four Seas follow it (and) the regions join in (working) towards a single end.” “Under Heaven (all) as one.” (1488).48 This pattern followed that of the Ming approach to foreign relations from the beginning of the century. When the Yongle emperor (r. 1403–24) took the throne at that time and sent out emissaries to all the surrounding countries, he had declared, “Now that the Four Seas are one family, it is time to show no outerseparation.”49 Thus, the Vietnamese literati from the beginning of the Lê dynasty strongly followed this sense of a moral unity in which they did not stand apart. 46 Kelley, Bronze Pillars, 25. 47 The Ming Shilu (as translated by Geoff Wade) includes records of Vietnamese tribute documents 1427–1439 that reiterate these themes; G. Wade, ‘The Ming Shi-lu (Veritable Records of the Ming Dynasty) as a Source for Southeast Asian History – 14th to 17th Centuries,” Ph.D. Dissertation (University of Hong Kong, 1994), 964–67, 990–93, 1036–37, 1061–64, 1084–88, 1217–19. (The quotation on “the wilds” is from p. 993.) 48 Chú, III, 222, 224, 226, 227, 230, 231, 232, 235, 237, 238. 49 Whitmore, Ho Quy Ly, 78; Wang Gungwu, “China and Southeast Asia, 1402–1424,” in his Community and Nation, Essays on Southeast Asia and the Chinese (Singapore: Heineman, 1981 [originally, 1970]), 61; B. Womack, China Among Inequals, Asymmetric Relationships in Asia (Hackensack, NJ: World Scientific, 2010), 163–64.

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Of what, then, did this unity consist? It was the spread of Văn (C. Wen), of ”civility” in Liam Kelley’s term, throughout the world.50 In 1442 and 1488, the tributary documents spoke of “unity in the righteous thought of the (Chinese Classic) The Spring and Autumn Annals (Chunqiu).” In 1452 and 1476, the Three Constants (father/son, ruler/subject, senior/junior) were lauded. In 1492, the document stated, “The Way concentrates the virtue of Heaven. The Way of Principle (V. lý/C. li) is a complete and total system that provides a mirror for all countries in written characters showing the path and uniting all places.” And, in 1493, “Receiving the Will of Heaven is a mirror for all countries, already showing the (classic) Zhou (dynasty) as the end.”51 In such a way was the world permeated by the transforming and beneficial influence of Sinic civilization and virtue and thus by the Will of Heaven – this was the Vietnamese literati view as they expressed it in these tributary documents. Interestingly, while the themes continuously flow through the documents, the literati statements are not formulaic, each one being quite distinct within the general pattern. There are numerous references to major figures of the Chinese Classics, the Zhou emperors Wen and Wu and the ancient rulers Yao and Shun as well as to their wives and mothers (especially for the Ming empress). Yet these references come and go throughout the documents, at times used, at times not. How then did Thánh Tông’s documents differ from the earlier Lê ones? Did the great changes in the government of Đại Việt during the 1460s bring a reorientation of the official Vietnamese approach to the Ming court, one of less deference and more assertiveness?52 Did the fact that the confident Vietnamese royal court in Thăng Long now officially and explicitly for the first time saw itself within the same philosophical/religious cosmos as Beijing mean a change in the expression of the Vietnamese tributary documents? As it turns out, the major difference was less between the documents of Thánh Tông and those earlier Lê ones than it was between the Lê documents and the documents of earlier centuries. Phan Huy Chú’s section on Foreign Relations gives no indication of any such tributary documents before the fifteenth century. The Vietnamese scholars who produced them from the beginning of the Lê dynasty had been strongly exposed to Ming influence both during the occupation and in the local schools thereafter. Utilized initially by the highland generals of Thanh Hóa, these scholars put their beliefs into these tributary texts and diplomatic efforts until finally, under Thánh Tông, they 50 Kelley, Bronze Pillars, 30–31. 51 Chú, III, 226, 228, 234, 237, 238, 240. 52 As the Ming Shilu appears to show; Wade, “Ming Shi-Lu,” 1645–47, 1648, 1673–74, 1691–92.

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were able to make these beliefs the dominant ones at the royal court itself in Thăng Long. Nevertheless, there does appear to have been some difference between Thánh Tông’s expression and that of the earlier Lê scholars. While retaining the latter’s broad and general statements of Ming-style civility, Thánh Tông’s missives had a certain philosophical depth the earlier ones lacked, it seems to me. As his style/hiệu (after the Thiên Nam episode) indicated, filiality (hiếu) was most important to the emperor’s thought. In 1471, his document to the Ming emperor began by stating, “The sage ruler follows Heaven in ruling the people.” Then, in the text to the Ming empress dowager, he stated, “All recall (and are most grateful for) the Way of Filiality (by which one) rules the people.”53 1471 was also the year that the Vietnamese ruler proclaimed his edict (Hoàng Triều Quan Chế) officially detailing the new bureaucratic state in Đại Việt. Ruling the people was foremost on Thánh Tông’s mind, and the Confucian principle of filial behavior was key to it.54 Using the other significant element of that style/hiệu, ‘to revere’ (tôn), one of the 1474 documents declared, “All must revere (and) do the model (you present to us).” And the following year, it was “Humaneness (nhân) and filiality (hiếu) come from Heaven, (and) (from) virtue come the Three Constants.” “Yao and Shun remained still (and) continuously there is gratitude for them. Yin (Shang) and Zhou received the mandate, (and) the honor due them is long lasting.” Twice, in 1475 and 1477, the scholars emphasized the eldest son in documents to the Ming heir apparent at a time when Thánh-tong was beginning to push primogeniture among the Vietnamese people. 55 In 1480, addressing the Ming ruler, the document twice made mention of Shang Di (V. Thượng Đế), the Ruler of Heaven, as the source of the mandate for which gratitude was due. And, in 1488, “Above, the ruler pacifies the hearts/minds (of men) (and) through filiality (hiếu) nourishes (them). Below, the people place virtue, humaneness, and compassion first.” In 1492, it was, “Virtue totally (indicates) that from filiality comes wisdom,” and the following year, “Filiality and compassion spread far and near.”56 In these ways, Lê Thánh Tông and his scholars expressed their solidarity with the “domain of manifest civility” and indicated its great significance for the rule of Đại Việt. By so doing, they both continued the broad pattern in the 53 Chú, III, 231–232. 54 Whitmore, “Development,” ch. 6. 55 J.K. Whitmore, ’Property and State in Fifteenth Century Đại Việt,’ presented at the conference, ‘State, Society, and the Market in Vietnam,’ Cambridge, MA, May 2009. 56 Chú, III, 233, 234, 235, 237, 239.

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tributary documents to the Ming drawn from their predecessors since the beginning of the dynasty and emphasized elements quite important to the new state structure they had brought to Đại Việt.

Political and Cultural Demarcations

As we consider the ”contingent nature of political and cultural demarcations” involving the lands we now call Vietnam and China, we need to acknowledge the asymmetric nature of their relationship and how the Vietnamese in particular dealt with their giant and powerful neighbor.57 Brantly Womack has pointed out that this relationship was much more central to the Southern country than to the Northern one. Over five hundred years, to the middle of the fifteenth century, Đại Việt had had to come to terms with four different Chinese regimes (Song, Southern Song, Yuan, and Ming) and the transitions between them. Of these four dynasties, the Ming had the greatest impact, both with its two-decade occupation and with its Ming model. Where the Lý had integrated local Sinic and indigenous elements into their new tradition and the Trần had set itself in opposition to the North, the Đại Việt court of the Lê in Thăng Long initially had to determine how close to or separate from the Ming it would be. Lê Thánh Tông and his scholar supporters chose to do both, to maintain the dividing line of their boundary with China and simultaneously to transcend that boundary. For the first time, Đại Việt defined itself as being officially part of the “domain of manifest civility,” as Liam Kelley has demonstrated for later centuries. Now the literati element of Đại Việt, led by their scholarly emperor, worked to participate in the civility that the Northern realm had to offer the world. These scholars had already begun to express this in the tributary documents sent to Beijing from the beginning of the Lê dynasty ca. 1430. These messages continued during and after the transformation of Đại Việt into the Ming model through the 1460s. What changed was the place of these scholars within the government, the form of that government, and the Confucian philosophy that dominated it. Declaring itself to be Thiên Nam, the Celestial South, taking its place within the sinic philosophical domain, and using literati increasingly, though not exclusively, on its embassies to the north, a confidant Đại Việt did change its pattern of relations with Beijing. Reaching across the border, Lê Thánh Tông continued the early Lê no-separation pattern 57

I draw this concept from Brantly Womack, China and Vietnam: The Politics of Asymmetry (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006).

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of the tributary communications and emphasized hiếu (filiality) in what he shared with that domain. The scholars on the embassies then returned to Thăng Long, took their places within their government, and reinforced the border-transcending nature of their world, setting a pattern that would continue through the following centuries. Yet the hard reality of Sino-Vietnamese relations was always there – the border, the peoples who lived across that border, and consequent problems that have never gone away. The varied elements in the court of Thăng Long, scholarly and aristocratic, backed by their strong military, came down hard on maintaining order with their common frontier. Here we hear nothing of shared civilization, only of how to confront the problems that existed on the new border to the north and northwest with the provinces of Guangxi and Yunnan, their native peoples, and their administrations. Once again the Red River delta was a prosperous and civilized center of population separated from the Central Kingdom by the dong societies in the mountainous regions (see Churchman in this volume). Only now Đại Việt was fully independent. The realms across the southern portion of the Dong world and beyond it had come face-to-face first with the Mongols, then with the Ming, before pushing back strongly against the thrust from the north through the fifteenth century. Đại Việt, with its strong military and firepower, took advantage of the situation to move west along the frontier to shake up those Tai realms, the Pacification Commissions (Xuanweisi) of the Ming. This activity made the Ming court quite nervous, though the Chinese could do little about it. The Vietnamese, strong and confident, had become a Ming-style state on the southern edge of their joint frontier, at the same time that on the northern side, in Guangxi and Yunnan, the dong societies of very different cultures with their Tusi were constantly causing problems for the Ming state.58 In these years, the major Ming scholar Qiu Jun (1421–95), originally from nearby Hai­ nan, was calling for separation, boundaries, and defensive constructions between the Han and these frontier societies. Other officials would continue this call through the following century.59 In the process, the Ming refused to recognize Vietnamese participation in the domain of manifest civility. Now Beijing ceased to see ‘Annan’ as a “former province,” which needed to be brought back into the Central Kingdom, and came to perceive Vietnamese society as a “barbarian culture” beyond the pale and undeserving of such favor. 60 58 Barlow, “The Zhuang Minority in the Ming Era,” 26–29. 59 Shin, Making of the Chinese State, 94, 115, 161–67. 60 K. Baldanza, ”De-Civilizing Ming China’s Southern Border: Vietnam as Lost Province or Barbarian Culture,” in Y. Du & J. Kyong-McClain, eds., Chinese History in Geographic Perspective (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2013), 55–69.

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Despite the Ming turning their backs on the Vietnamese, the new bureaucratic, Confucian age in Đại Việt initiated a strong feeling of shared values in the court of Thăng Long with the philosophical domain centered in China at the same time as it resolutely sought to maintain its political border. As its military strength and power grew and expanded, against Champa to the south and the Tai muang to the west, Đại Việt did not feel constrained by the Ming and operated according to its own needs and interests.61 Taking part in the shared ideals of the ”domain of manifest civility” in no way kept the Vietnamese from pursuing their own regional aims. The literati who held these views would remain the servants of the powerful aristocracy in Thăng Long and in fact shared many of the latter’s indigenous beliefs as well. And, finally, there is the emphatic message of asymmetry by the older scholar Ngô Sĩ Liên in his Chronicle of 1479, as he commented on sixth century events, South and North, when strong or weak, each has its time. When the North is weak, then we are strong, and when the North is strong, then we become weak; that is how things are. This being so, those who lead the country must train soldiers, repair transport, be prepared for surprise attacks, set up obstacles to defend the border, use the ideas of a large country with the warriors of a small country. Days of leisure should be used to teach filiality (hiếu), respect for elders, loyalty, trust, so that the people will clearly know their duty towards superiors and be willing to die for their leaders. If an invasion is imminent, take words and negotiate, or offer gems and silk as tribute; if this does not succeed, then, though the danger flood from every side, man the walls and fight the battles, vowing to resist until death and to die with the fatherland; in that case one need be ashamed of nothing.62

61 62

Sun, “Overland Interactions,” 259–260, 263–264. TT, NK, 4, 22a-b; as translated by K.W. Taylor, The Birth of Vietnam (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1983), 301 (with a slight modification); Sources of Vietnamese Tradition,

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––––––. “Jiaozhi (Giao Chi) in the Han Period Tongking Gulf.” In The Tongking Gulf Through History, edited by N. Cooke, T. Li, & J.A. Anderson, 39–52. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011. Lieberman, V.B. Strange Parallels. vol. 1. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003. ––––––. “Charter State Collapse in Southeast Asia, ca. 1250–1400, as a Problem in Regional and World History.” American Historical Review, 116, 4 (2011), 917–63. Momoki Shiro. “Nation and Geo-Body in Early Modern Vietnam: A Preliminary Study through Sources of Geomancy.” In Southeast Asia in the Fifteenth Century: The Ming Factor, edited by G. Wade & L. Sun, 126–53. Singapore: National University of Singapore Press, 2010. O’Harrow, S. “Nguyễn Trãi’s Bình Ngô Đại Cáo of 1428.” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies, 10, 1 (1979): 159–74. Ong Eng Ann, Alexander. “Contextualising the Book-Burning Episode During the Ming Invasion and Occupation of Vietnam.” In Southeast Asia in the Fifteenth Century: The Ming Factor, edited by G. Wade & L. Sun, 154–65. Singapore: National University of Singapore Press, 2010. Phan Huy Chú. Lịch Triều Hiến Chương Loại Chí (Institutes of the Successive Courts). Hà Nội: NXB Khoa Học Xã Hội, 1992. Shin, L.K. The Making of the Chinese State: Ethnicity and Expansion on the Ming Borderlands. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. ––––––. “Ming China and Its Border with Annam,” in D. Lary, ed., The Chinese State at the Borders (Vancouver: University of British Columbia, 2007), 91–104. Sun Laichen. “Ming-Southeast Asian Overland Interactions, 1368–1644,” Ph.D. Dissertation, University of Michigan, 2000. Taylor, K.W. “The Rise of Đại Việt and the Establishment of Thăng Long.” In Explorations in Early Southeast Asian History, edited by K.R. Hall & J.K. Whitmore, 149–91. (Ann Arbor, MI: Center for South and Southeast Asian Studies, University of Michigan, 1976). ––––––. The Birth of Vietnam, Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1983. Ungar, E.S. “Vietnamese Leadership and Order: Đại Việt Under the Lê Dynasty (̣ 1428– 59),” Ph.D. Dissertation, Cornell University, 1983. Wade, G. “The Ming Shi-lu (Veritable Records of the Ming Dynasty) as a Source for Southeast Asian History – 14th to 17th Centuries,” Ph.D. Dissertation, University of Hong Kong, 1994. Wang Gungwu. “China and Southeast Asia, 1402–1424.” In Wang, Gungwu. Community and Nation: Essays on Southeast Asia and the Chinese, 58–80. Singapore: Heineman, 1981 [originally, 1970]. Whitmore, J.K. “The Development of Lê Government in Fifteenth Century Vietnam.” Ph.D. Dissertation, Cornell University, 1968.

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––––––. “Vietnamese Adaptations of Chinese Government Structure in the Fifteenth Century.” In Historical Interaction of China and Vietnam: Institutional and Cultural Themes, compiled by E. Wickberg, 1–10. Lawrence, KS : Center for East Asian Studies, University of Kansas, 1969. ––––––. Vietnam, Hồ Quý Ly, and the Ming, 1371–1421, New Haven, CT : Southeast Asian Studies, Yale University, 1985. ––––––. “The Tao Đàn Group: Poetry, Cosmology, and the State in the Hồng-Đức Period (1470–1497),” Crossroads, 7, 2 (1992): 55–70. ––––––. “Chung-Hsing and Cheng-T’ung in Đại Việt: Historiography of and on the Sixteenth Century.” In Essays Into Vietnamese Pasts, edited by K.W. Taylor & J.K. Whitmore, 116–36. Ithaca, NY: Southeast Asia Program, Cornell University, 1995. ––––––. “Chu Văn An and the Rise of ‘Antiquity’ in 14th Century Đại Việt,” Vietnam Review, 1 (1996): 50–61. ––––––. “Literati Culture and Integration in Đại Việt, c.1430-c.1840.” In Beyond Binary Histories: Re-Imagining Eurasia to c.1830, edited by V.B. Lieberman, 221–43. Ann Arbor, MI : University of Michigan Press, 1999. ––––––. “Gender, State, and History: the Literati Voice in Early Modern Vietnam.” In Other Pasts: Women, Gender, and History in Early Modern Southeast Asia, edited by B.W. Andaya, 115–30. Honolulu, HI: University of Hawai’i Press, 2000. ––––––. ‘Vietnamese Embassies and Literati Contacts,’ presented at the Association of Asian Studies Annual Meeting, Chicago, 2001 ––––––. “The Two Great Campaigns of the Hồng-Đức Era (1470–1497) in Đại Việt,” South East Asia Research, 12, 1 (2004): 119–136. ––––––. “The Rise of the Coast: Trade, State, and Culture in Early Đại Việt,” Journal of Southeast Asian Studies, 37, 1 (2006): 103–22. ––––––. “Keeping the Emperor Out: Ming Taizu and Triệu Đà in the Vietnamese Annals.” In Long Live the Emperor!, edited by S. Schneewind, 345–53. Minneapolis, MN: Ming Studies, 2008. ––––––. ‘Property and State in Fifteenth Century Đại Việt,’ presented at the conference, ‘State, Society, and the Market in Vietnam,’ Cambridge, MA, May 2009. ––––––. “Paperwork: The Rise of the New Literati and Ministerial Power and the Effort at Legibility in Đại Việt.” In Southeast Asia in the Fifteenth Century: The Ming Factor, edited by G. Wade & L. Sun, 104–25. Singapore: National University of Singapore Press, 2010. ––––––. “Why Did Lê Văn Thịnh Revolt? Buddhism and Political Integration in Twelfth Century Đại Việt.” In The Growth of Non-Western Cities: Primary and Secondary Urban Networking, edited by K.R. Hall, 107–26. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2011. ––––––. “Kingship, Time, and Space: Historiography in Southeast Asia.” In The Oxford History of Historical Writing, v. 2, 400–1400, edited by S. Foot & C.F. Robinson, 102–18. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012.

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Chapter 9

Projecting Legitimacy in Ming Native Domains Joseph Dennis Introduction As the realms south of the frontier adjusted to its new location after the Ming founding, to the north, on the Chinese side, there was the need to consolidate the Sinic political and cultural presence. Along the southwestern edge of the Ming imperial state, Chinese cultural forms, such as literature, architecture, schools, and ritual practices, became vehicles in the struggle for control between native local rulers (Tusi) and central government officials. In largely independent native domains, some of their rulers embraced Chinese forms to enhance their legitimacy in the eyes of central government officials, while central officials promoted Chinese culture when attempting to assert greater control of domains that were only loosely incorporated into the Ming polity. Local gazetteers were an important genre of late-imperial Chinese writing. For a borderland region, compilation of the local gazetteer both signified its incorporation into the Ming state and acted as an agent of cultural transformation in areas populated by non-Chinese peoples. Gazetteers were important vehicles for state attempts to transform oral cultures into written cultures in southwest China, but native officials also could use these same gazetteers to assert their right to rule and to bolster their position as essential intermediaries between Chinese and native populations. As C. Patterson Giersch noted in his study of Qing Yunnan, in such “middle grounds,” cultural practices were in flux.1 Here we first examine ways in which sixteenth-century compilers of local gazetteers in southwestern borderlands explained their motivations for their projects. We then examine in detail one case, that of Mahu in Sichuan province, to illustrate how gazetteers were implicated in struggles between native rulers and central government officials for control of areas with large non-Chinese populations. The 1555 edition of the Mahu gazetteer was compiled by non-native, non-local Chinese officials after the central government stripped the hereditary native prefects (tu zhi fu) of their right to rule, but it contains 1 C. Patterson Giersch. Asian Borderlands (Cambridge: Harvard University Asia Center, 2006), 7.

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many materials from an earlier edition compiled under the auspices of the local hereditary native prefect.2 At the Ming founding, the title “native prefect” was granted to non-Chinese local leaders who agreed to submit to Ming rule while still retaining substantial autonomy. Disentangling and comparing the two editions, which span the transition from patrimonial rule to regular territorial administration (Gaitu Guiliu), sheds light on underlying agendas for compiling gazetteers in the borderlands. They also reveal how native officials used other Chinese cultural forms to bolster their standing with the Ming state.

Distinguishing Chinese from Barbarian

Local gazetteers were critical texts in Chinese discourse about civilized versus uncivilized peoples. An important goal of Chinese government in the late imperial period was “transformation through teaching” (jiaohua), which meant acceptance and practice of the dominant literati Confucian values, rituals, and customs. In the Ming borderlands, a gazetteer served both to mark a locale’s membership in the Chinese civilized world and to promote that civilization in the frontier regions. These signifying and civilizing aspects of local gazetteers were explained by Magistrate Ren Guan in a postface he wrote for the 1546 gazetteer of Hezhou, located in what is now the Linxia Muslim autonomous district in Gansu Province lying to the northwest.3 He stated, In my view, that which distinguishes China (Zhongguo) from the outer barbarians (wai yi) is that we have literature. Gazetteers are a prominent and important form of literature. To be within China yet be without a gazetteer is to be unlettered. If (a locale) is unlettered, how is it valuing its place in China?! For this reason, from the imperial capital on down to each province, each prefecture, and each county, none lack a gazetteer. These serve to nurture culture and learning and distinguish Chinese (“central” zhong) from barbarian (“outer” wai).4 2 Mahu fu zhi (Mahu Prefecture Gazetteer). 1555. Reprinted in Tianyige cang Ming dai fangzhi xuankan (Selected Reprints of Ming Dynasty Gazetteers Held in the Tianyige) (Shanghai: Shanghai Guji Shudian, 1982). 3 The administrative region is known in Chinese as Linxia Huizu Zizhi Qu 臨夏回族自治區. 4 Hezhou zhi (Hezhou Gazetteer), postface, rep. 250. 1546. Wu Zhen, Liu Chengxue, Zhu Lian, compilers. Reprinted in Zhongguo xizang ji gan qing chuan dian zang qu fang zhi huibian (Collected Reprints of China’s Tibet, Gansu, Qinghai, Sichuan, and Yunnan, Tibetan Region Gazetteers), 30: 143–251. Zhang Yuxin, ed. (Beijing: Xueyuan Chubanshe, 2003).

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Ren Guan’s comment suggests that he was thinking of local gazetteers as products of pre-existing local Chinese literary scenes, however limited they might be. But local gazetteers in the southwestern borderlands not only reflected existing Chinese literary scenes; they could also be used in transforming nonChinese oral and marginally literate cultures into Chinese written, fully-literary cultures. A local gazetteer was often the first substantial piece of literature produced in a particular borderland locale. To compile a gazetteer, Chinese officials collected miscellaneous writings left by earlier officials, searched geographies and histories that covered larger geographic units, and added whatever they could gather locally from oral interviews and privately held documents. Such first-time gazetteers brought the formerly unlettered or marginally-lettered locale into the literary Chinese empire, into the stream of its history, and into its imagined geography, making it legible to the empire at large. An example of this is the 1550 gazetteer of Xundian, today a Hui Muslim and Upland Yi Autonomous County in northeast Yunnan.5 Xundian was an isolated region that had long been governed by hereditary native prefects (tu zhifu). But after a violent succession dispute in the twelfth year of the Chenghua era (1476), the Ming central government established a prefecture and sent nonnative, circulating officials to begin asserting central authority there. At first, as the local gazetteer explained, “Although Xundian was called a prefecture, in fact it was just an empty name placed above the departments and counties. Furthermore, it was in the midst of Wuding, Dongchuan, Zhanyi, and other prefectures and departments that only knew barbarian customs and did not know Chinese ways.”6 The new officials were unable to control the area, and in the sixth year of the Jiajing era (1527) the chieftain An Quan rebelled and sacked the prefectural town.7 After the rebellion was suppressed, the central government stepped up efforts at direct control and assimilation of the native people. Part of making Xundian Chinese was making it literate and literary. In 1542 the prefect bought sets of canonical books for the prefectural school, a total of twenty-one different titles, and endowed the school with educational trust lands (just as had occurred elsewhere in Yunnan and in Jiaozhi [Đại Việt] over 5 Xundian fu zhi (Xundian Prefecture Gazetteer). 1550. Wang Shangyong. Reprinted in Tianyige cang Ming dai fang zhi xuan kan (Shanghai: Shanghai guji shudian, 1963). Xundian is now an “autonomous Hui (Chinese Muslim) Minority and Yi Minority district;” (Xundian Hui zu Yi zu zizhiqu 尋甸回族彝族自治區). 6 Xundian fu zhi, j. xia, 48a. 7 Ibid., j. shang, 1b; j. xia, 10b.

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a century earlier).8 Six years later a new prefect, Wang Shangyong, arrived, and when he learned that Xundian had no local gazetteer, he asked his subordinates whether they could tolerate what he considered to be a “gap in essential documentation.” This idea that a civilized locale must be documented is expressed with Confucius’ statement that he was unable to comment on the states of Qi and Song, because they were “insufficiently documented” (bu zu zheng and wen xian bu zu).9 Authors of local gazetteers routinely argued that these gazetteers were analogous to the state histories of the Warring States Period (474–221 BCE), and thus a missing or inadequate local gazetteer was a “gap in essential documentation” (que dian). In response to Prefect Wang’s question, his subordinates said, “Xundian has no old books, no virtuous elders, no documents, no famous officials or great ministers; how can we compile a local gazetteer?” Prefect Wang, exasperated by their response, replied sarcastically, “If that’s the way it is, then would it not be better for us just to relax here among the barbarians because the day when we shall be able to compile a gazetteer will never come?”10 Chastened by this, the subordinates and a visiting student from Kunming, the provincial capital, compiled a local gazetteer by drawing on the Yunnan Province Gazetteer (Yunnan tong zhi) and by interviewing local elders. In the prefect’s view, even in a place where Chinese cultural resources were almost non-existent, someone had to take the first step and produce a book that could serve as the foundation for future local scholars. The preface to the “collected writings” section of the resulting gazetteer explicitly connected the written language embodied in the local gazetteer to what he called the “civilizing” of Xundian. Wang wrote, “In the past, Xundian was a native territory and had no written culture. But after the circulating office was established, human written culture gradually took hold in this place. To gather these (newly produced) writings and publish them (here) is not without significance.”11 For the prefect, that significance was to nudge Xundian into the civilized, literature-producing world, the Chinese world that was distinct from that of people he considered “barbarians.” 8 Ibid., j. shang, 49–50. For Yunnan, see Brose in this volume; for Jiaozhi [Đại Việt], see J.K. Whitmore, Vietnam, Ho Quy Ly, and the Ming, 1371–1421 (New Haven, CT: Southeast Asian Studies, Yale University, 1985), 121–126. 9 Analects, Book 3, Chapter 9. 10 Xundian fu zhi, preface, 1b–2a. 11 Ibid., j. xia, 9b–10a (yiwen 藝文): “Xun xi wei tubu wu wen ye. Hou gai wei liu she ren wen jian zhao zi cai er ke zhi zhe fei wu wei ye. 尋昔為土部無文也.後改為流設人文漸着兹 采而刻之者非無謂也.”

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The power of local gazetteers to get written, Chinese literary culture started locally is often noted in borderland gazetteers. The 1565 gazetteer of Pu’an, Guizhou, stated: In the past Pu’an was barbarian territory, and previous generations were undocumented (wu wenxian). When the local gazetteer was first compiled in the Yongle era (1402–1424), it was still crude, but with the passing of generations and a succession of sagely emperors, culture transformed this distant land and talents and literature gradually flourished.12 Substantial reliance on oral sources was not uncommon in early southwestern borderland gazetteers. For example, the 1575 gazetteer of Taiping, in eastern Guangxi, said that, although the prefecture was created from barbarian lands in 1368, there had been no office to document the past and the gazetteer compilers had had to rely solely on privately held documents and the “facts as told by local elders” (xianglao zhi koushi).13 Borderland gazetteers promoted literary culture not only by turning local oral history into written history, but also by giving students at local schools the chance to work on a literary project. In areas with limited Chinese literary talent, cross-jurisdictional cooperation in compiling gazetteers sometimes occurred. For example, vice prefects of two neighboring prefectures helped collate the 1568 gazetteer of Chuxiong, in north central Yunnan, a highland area populated today by Yi and Zhuang people.14 Of course, as gazetteers helped create local literature, they did not necessarily record the histories of the native peoples or even seek to describe them. Magistrate Chen Guangqian, compiler of the 1573 gazetteer of Cili, Huguang (roughly modern-day Hubei and Hunan) explained that the compilers of two earlier county gazetteers wrote that they did not record the “barbarians” (Man Yi) because “They are not the concern of county gazetteers” (jiu zhi bu xiu Man Yi, wei qi wu guan yu xian zhi ye).15 Yet Magistrate Chen did include a chapter on “local barbarians” (tu yi), which described their rebellion and submission to “act as a warning.” Although most Ming southwestern borderland gazetteers 12 13 14 15

Pu’an zhou zhi (Pu’an Department Gazetteer), 13a-b. 1549. Shen Xu. Reprinted in Tianyige cang Ming dai fang zhi xuan kan (Shanghai: Shanghai guji shudian, 1963). Taiping fu zhi (Taiping Prefecture Gazetteer), preface, 5a; reprint 161. Reprinted in Riben cang Zhongguo han jian di fang zhi cong kan (Beijing: Shumu wenxian Chubanshe, 1990). Chuxiong fu zhi (Chuxiong Prefecture Gazetteer). 1568. Xu Shi. Reprinted in Riben cang Zhongguo han jian di fang zhi cong kan (Beijing: Shumu wenxian Chubanshe, 1992). Cili xian zhi (Cili County Gazetteer), j. 17, 7a. Reprinted in Tianyige cang Ming dai fang zhi xuan (Shanghai: Shanghai guji shu dian, 1982).

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focused on the ways in which locales were Chinese, as Leo Shin points out for Guangxi some gazetteers, especially ones from later in the Ming, revealed a keen interest in describing and demarcating native populations. According to Shin, this interest in demarcation reflects an evolution from an assimilationist policy to one of alliance as the Ming progressed. The changing content of the Cili gazetteers may reflect this evolution in policy. As John Herman’s work on Guizhou shows, in the sixteenth century non-native Ming officials textually incorporated sub-prefectural native domains into prefectural gazetteers, even when in fact such areas were controlled by indigenous rulers.16 Emma Teng argues that in the Qing, such “entering the map” (ru bantu) denoted incorporation into the empire.17 Laura Hostetler shows that from the early to middle Qing, Guizhou gazetteers included increasingly detailed ethnographic descriptions of native peoples and documented more locales than did works compiled in the late Ming. This, she argues, reflects Qing officials’ greater access as their colonization of Guizhou advanced.18 Because a gazetteer signified a place’s membership in the Chinese world order (in Liam Kelley’s translation, ‘domain of manifest civility’), the lack thereof was an embarrassment to borderland residents who aspired to full participation in mainstream literati culture.19 As Liu Duan’s preface to the 1513 gazetteer of Kuizhou, in eastern Sichuan, explained, “Kuizhou should be famous, but in the past when people passed through and asked me whether there was a gazetteer and I responded, ‘no,’ they looked down on Kuizhou as a backward place.”20 The expectation that Chinese jurisdictions should have a gazetteer can be traced back to Song times, when the gazetteer genre first flourished. In a preface to the 1199 Chengdu, Sichuan, gazetteer, the author noted that after the prefect had been serving for one year a guest asked him, “Now, every territory in the realm has a gazetteer; why does Sichuan’s capital not have one?”21 The compiler of the 1552 gazetteer of Lüeyang, in southwestern Shaanxi, took the expectation of a gazetteer even further, saying, “A gazetteer is to a 16

17 18 19 20 21

John E. Herman, “The Cant of Conquest: Tusi Offices and China’s Political Incorporation of the Southwest Frontier,” in Empire at the Margins: Culture, Ethnicity, and Frontier in Early Modern China (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006), 148–149. Emma Jinhua Teng, Taiwan’s Imagined Geography: Chinese Colonial Travel Writing and Pictures, 1683–1895 (Cambridge: Harvard University Asia Center, 2004), 3–46. Laura Hostetler, Qing Colonial Enterprise: Ethnography and Cartography in Early Modern China (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001), 127–157. See Kelley in this volume. Kuizhou fu zhi (Kuizhou Prefecture Gazetteer), 1513. Reprinted in Tianyige cang Ming dai fang zhi xuan kan (Shanghai: Shanghai gu ji shu dian, 1982). Yuan Shuoyou, Dongtang ji, j.18, p. 16a. Reprinted in Siku quan shu.

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locale what a history is to a state, a genealogy for a family. Without a history, how is there a state? Without a genealogy, how is there a family? Without a gazetteer, how is there a locale?”22 Or as another compiler explained, “The gazetteer documents the prefecture and ties it to the state and realm.”23 From these cases we can see gazetteers as vehicles to promote Chinese culture in zones of contact between Chinese and non-Chinese peoples, zones in which Chinese expected to govern.

Mahu, Sichuan Case Study

The previous examples concerned gazetteers initiated by non-local Chinese officials. But gazetteers were also compiled in native domains under the direction of native officials. This section examines the 1555 Mahu fu zhi (Mahu Prefecture Gazetteer) and its previous edition, which was produced by Mahu’s hereditary native rulers, the An 安 family. Mahu’s prefectural town, now called Pingshan, is located on the border between Sichuan and Yunnan. The current Chinese government classifies many local people as being members of the Yi minority (Yi zu), and Gong Yin, a scholar of the Tusi system, categorizes the An family as Yi.24 At the end of the Yuan dynasty (1368), Mahu was a route command governed by An Ji. The Ans had controlled the Mahu area for a long time, although sources do not agree on how long. According to the Ming Veritable Records, the Ans had ruled Mahu since the Tang (618–907), while a fifteenth-century stele stated that the Ans had ruled Mahu since Han times (206 BCE–220 CE).25 In 1371, An Ji submitted to Ming rule and a native office (Tusi) was established. In return for formal submission, the Ans were granted hereditary rule as native prefects (tuguan zhifu).26 The Veritable Records documented the Ans repeated presentation of horses and local products to the Ming court and their receipt of silks and money in return throughout the fifteenth century.27 In 1495, however, the Ming central government rescinded the An’s grant of hereditary rule. That year, after two decades of violence, the sixth An native 22 23 24 25 26 27

Lüeyang xian zhi (Lüeyang County Gazetteer). 1582. Li Yuchun, preface. Reprinted in Tianyige cang Ming dai fang zhi xuan kan (Shanghai: Shanghai gu ji shu dian, 1982). Guangping fu zhi (Guangping Prefecture Gazetteer)(1550), prefaces, 4. Gong Yin. Zhongguo tusi zhidu (Kunming: Yunnan minzu chubanshe, 1992). Ming shilu, Xiaozong shilu, j. 103; Mahu fu zhi, j. 3, 2b–3b. Mahu fu zhi, j. 7, 16. Li Guoxiang et al., eds. Ming shilu lei zuan: Sichuan shi liao (Wuhan: Wuhan chubanshe, 1993), 758, 760, 765, 773, 788, 793.

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prefect, An Ao, was convicted of eight crimes punishable by death by slicing, twelve by decapitation, and three by strangulation. His crimes included dismembering his father-in-law as well as another person to assist a sorcerer monk in calling forth a “nightmare demon” to kill his father-in-law’s brother, raping women, digging up political opponents’ family graves, and burning down their houses. Following An Ao’s execution, the central government used his violence as justification to convert the largely independent native prefecture into a regular unit of the Ming administrative structure headed by nonnative, Chinese officials.28 During the An family’s reign, the prefecture produced at least one local gazetteer. Although no original edition from the An family reign period is extant, the first new local gazetteer after the change in governance, the 1555 Mahu fu zhi, commented on an old An family edition and included records from it. This makes it possible to examine how the local gazetteer changed as the mode of government changed. The preface to the 1555 gazetteer began, “Mahu’s old gazetteer records the An family’s affairs in detail and with exaggeration; it is almost a genealogy. Thus, it is not worth reading.”29 Assuming this characterization to be accurate, it raises the question, why would the An family compile the prefectural gazetteer as if it were a genealogy? To answer this question, we should first look to Ming law governing succession in native domains. Ming law required hereditary native officials to submit genealogical information to the central government to establish successors. After the Ming founding, succession for all native officials was handled by the Bureau of Honors (Yan feng si) in the Ministry of Personnel.30 Late in the Hongwu period (1368–1398), however, jurisdiction was split based on rank. Higher positions were placed under the Ministry of War, while lesser positions, such as the native prefects of Mahu, remained under the Bureau of Honors. In 1393, the court decreed that prior to succession of native officials in Huguang, Sichuan, Yunnan, and Guangxi, the Bureau of Honors had to verify that there was no competing successor and ordered native officials to submit “genealogical charts and texts” (zongzhi tuben) with their reports to the Ministry of Personnel. Over time, more detail was required. A 1436 edict required native officials to report the names of sons and nephews who could succeed them. A 1441 edict 28 29 30

Ming shilu, Xiaozong shilu, j. 103. Mahu jiu zhi zai An shi shi xiang er chi dai jia sheng ye, gu bu zu guan 馬湖舊志載安氏事 詳而侈殆家乘也, 故不足觀. Shen Shixin. Ming Huidian (Wanli edition), j. 6, tu guan cheng xi, reprint 31 (Beijing: Zhonghua shu ju, 1989).

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called on native officials to prepare four copies of the report listing their successors. The copies went to the three provincial offices (administration, surveillance, and regional military commissions) and to the Ministry of Personnel for inspection. Thereafter, the reports had to be revised every three years. Beginning in 1530, the reports also had to list all sons, grandsons, and successors’ ages, as well as their birth mothers’ names. Sonless native officials could wait until a son was born to submit a report or could list information on their younger brothers, nephews, and daughters.31 As Leo Shin has pointed out, “One impact such rules and regulations had on native chieftains was the increased importance of genealogies.”32 He further notes that the above rules were not consistently enforced because “many chieftain families were too splintered to agree on a single genealogical chart.” As a result, after a death, contenders scrambled to present their own versions of the family tree.33 Succession disputes could lead to war, as happened with the SheAn Rebellion (1621–1629) in Guizhou studied by John Herman. Herman notes that some Ming officials viewed native succession disputes as opportunities for the central state to bring native domains into the Ming prefecture system.34 The fact that genealogies established the right to rule in native domains provided a powerful incentive for native officials to disseminate their family histories, and gazetteers were an excellent place to do so. Gazetteers were public texts that became part of the stream of imperial history. Once compiled, they existed outside the family and took on an air of authority. A gazetteer could not only list the family lines but also enhance descendants’ legitimacy by describing ancestors’ virtues. I have previously argued that some gazetteers from the Chinese core can be read as public genealogies of the local elite.35 What is different in the Mahu case is that legal requirements regarding succession of native officials created an even stronger incentive to write the gazetteer as genealogy. The An family’s documentation of their family history can be seen in records included in the new gazetteer. These records not only narrate the An lineage, but also reveal how the Ans sought to shape the textual record to reflect their adherence to Chinese norms of good government. One such text is a 31

32 33 34 35

Ibid., 31–33. For a discussion of native official succession, see Leo Shin, The Making of the Chinese State: Ethnicity and Expansion on the Ming Borderlands (Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 69. Ibid., 70. Ibid., citing Shen Defu Wanli yehuo bian, bu yi, 4.934. Herman, “The Cant of Conquest,” 152. Joseph Dennis, “Between Lineage and State: Extended Family and Gazetteer Compilation in Xinchang County,” Ming Studies, 45–6 (2002), 69–113.

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1474 record of the Eternal Life Abby (Wanshou Guan). The document recorded An Ao’s installation of a statue of the Jade Emperor, the supreme ruler of Heaven in Chinese popular religion. The record began by stating that Mahu had been governed by fifty-eight generations of the An family, beginning during the reign of Han Wudi (r. 141–87 BCE).36 Regarding the installation it commented, Valuing this matter is valuing the god. Valuing the god is valuing the commoners (min). How could there be anything that unsettles them? This is why the prefect’s descendants shall forever enjoy the fruits of this fief and not be despised or discarded. By using the term min, which contrasts registered taxpayers with unregistered indigenes (Man) and migrants who did not pay taxes, the author emphasized that An Ao was furthering the goals of the state. The record also described An Ao as using Chinese forms to civilize barbarians and establish good governance (yong xia bian yi xiu zheng li shi). The gazetteer school records from the An family reign portrayed the Ans as civilized literati. The Pavilion for Imperially-Issued Books (Yu shu lou) was built by the Ans to hold the canonical books distributed by the court. An undated registrar’s record of its construction began by stating, “Books are the vessel holding the Way” (shu zhe zai dao zhi qi ye), and concluded by saying that the Ans only valued these imperially-issued books; they did not value precious metals or jade, and their respect for books was demonstrated by their construction of the pavilion.37 The desire of indigenous officials to demonstrate good government in Chinese terms, as well as to document their genealogies can be understood in light of the changing political organization in the southwestern borderlands over the course of the Ming. Leo Shin argues that, as the Ming progressed, native chieftains participated more directly in central government institutions and activities and that this “reflects an evolution of the organization of the borderlands peoples, from one based primarily on kinship ties to one based increasingly on political and military power.”38 While documenting kinship was clearly an important aspect of the An gazetteer, the Ans also used the gazetteer as a vehicle to reach out to the Chinese elites and show that they themselves were competent rulers of both indigenes and Han migrants. By playing to Chi36 Mahu fu zhi, j. 3, 2b–3a. 37 Ibid., j. 3, part 2, 10b–11a. 38 Shin, Making of the Chinese State, 74.

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nese norms, the Ans sought to enhance their reputation with the Chinese officials who would have read the gazetteer, especially those in the provincial and central governments. The 1555 Mahu fu zhi reflects the next phase of political organization: formal incorporation into the Ming state as a regular territorial unit. After An Ao’s execution in 1495, there was a long transition to Chinese rule. Although the native prefecture was eliminated and Chinese officials came to Mahu, An Ao’s son, An Yu, sought to recover family power. According to the Ming Veritable Records, by law, An Yu should have been exiled to Guangxi, but was not. In 1521, he supported the Ming by leading 500 native troops to suppress forty rebel villages in nearby Junlian.39 As a result, he was awarded the title “Mahu Native Military Inspector” (Mahu tu xun jian), and in 1523 An Yu used his military merit to argue for restoring native rule. The emperor, however, on the advice of the Ministry of War, rejected his request.40 Clearly, the An family was still powerful, yet it was not powerful enough to regain formal recognition, and over the next decades their power faded. But the full arrival of Chinese style government occurred only in the 1550s with prefect Li Xingjian’s construction of a yamen (government office) and compilation of the “proper” gazetteer to replace the An edition.41 Prefect Li spent the early years of his tenure constructing the prefectural town and making it Chinese and used the later years to document his success. This gazetteer recounts the various ways in which he cleansed Mahu of the “An clan’s vulgar practices” (xi An shi zhi lou xi).42 For example, the An family lacked an appropriate yamen and conducted business at the native prefect’s private residence. Chinese Prefect Li constructed a fortified, one-hundred-forty-span government complex to proclaim the physical arrival of proper Chinese government. Prefect Li’s gazetteer served to proclaim the arrival of Mahu as a Chinese place in the imaginations of the literati.43 The preface tells us that the native An regime lacked a city wall, but under the new Chinese regime there was a wall with a moat and locked gates to protect the people from the indigenous forces in times of crisis. The author concluded by saying the “gazetteer is like a gate tower on the wall; it is used to proclaim good governance.”44 39 Ming Wuzong shilu, j. 197, reprint, 3677. 40 Ming Shizong shilu, j. 26, reprint, 735; Guangxu Xuzhou fu zhi, j. 30, 5b. 41 Mahu fu zhi, j. xia, 4a.. 42 Ibid., j. 4, 3b. Compare Li Xingjian with Lin Xiyuan in Qinzhou, Guangxi (Baldanza in this volume). 43 Ibid., j. xia, 2b–3b. 44 Mahu fu zhi, Yu Chengxun, preface, 5a.

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Figure 9.1 Map of Mahu Prefectural town and its environs. (Source: Mahu fu zhi 馬湖府志 (Mahu Prefecture Gazetteer), 1555. Reprinted in Tianyige cang Ming dai fangzhi xuankan 天一閣藏明代方志選刊 (Selected Reprints of Ming Dynasty Gazetteers Held in the Tianyige) Shanghai: Shanghai Guji Shudian, 1982).

In so doing, the new gazetteer minimized the An family’s significance and denied the historicity of their ancient rule. For example, the new gazetteer’s table of administrators omitted everyone surnamed An prior to the Yuan Dynasty and instead listed the various Grand Protectors (taishou) of the Zangke Commandery, even though Zangke was well to the southeast of Mahu. The maps in the gazetteer’s front matter documented the completion of Chinese institutions and architectural forms that indicated Mahu’s incorporation into the Ming state. In addition to the prefectural yamen, there was a city god temple (chenghuang miao), a Confucian school (ru xue), a charity pharmacy (hui min yao ju), and numerous other structures and institutions that were widespread in the Ming heartland. Conclusion Gazetteers were important vehicles for spreading literati culture to peripheral regions, both Chinese and non-Chinese. They served to bring lands at the margins of the Chinese cultural world into the imagined geography of the empire

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and for the region examined in this volume to define the frontier that lay between them and the barbarian Man farther south. A gazetteer was often the first substantial piece of Chinese literature produced in a formerly native domain, and its compilation could spur the local growth of Chinese literary culture. The case of Mahu shows that hereditary native leaders (Tusi) compiled gazetteers for their own purposes. Through these texts, local chieftains could document their lineages, provide evidence of good government, and demonstrate their legitimacy to the Ming central government, thereby laying a foundation for their continued rule. Like the Vietnamese of Đại Việt south across the frontier, these chieftains attempted to use Sinic forms to enhance their positions and autonomy. Yet, unlike the Vietnamese, as outgrowths of the local literary establishment, the schools, the gazetteers made the locality “legible” for the capital in Beijing as well as for their posterity, Han and Yi, and paved the way for the eventual administrative absorption of the territory into the Chinese state. Bibliography Cili xian zhi 慈利縣志 (Cili County Gazetteer). Reprinted in Tianyige cang Ming dai fang zhi xuan. Shanghai: Shanghai guji shu dian, 1982. Dennis, Joseph. “Between Lineage and State: Extended Family and Gazetteer Compilation in Xinchang County,” Ming Studies, Vol. 45–6: 69–113 (2002). Giersch, C. Patterson, Asian Borderlands. Cambridge: Harvard University Asia Center, 2006. Gong Yin 龔蔭. Zhongguo tusi zhidu 中國土司制度. Kunming: Yunnan minzu chubanshe, 1992. Guangping fu zhi 廣平府志 (Guangping Prefecture Gazetteer), 1550. Reprinted in Tianyige cang Ming dai fang zhi xuan kan. Shanghai: Shanghai gu ji shu dian, 1981. Herman, John E., “The Cant of Conquest: Tusi Offices and China’s Political Incorporation of the Southwest Frontier,” in Empire at the Margins: Culture, Ethnicity, and Frontier in Early Modern China. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006. Hostetler, Laura, Qing Colonial Enterprise: Ethnography and Cartography in Early Modern China. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001. Kuizhou fu zhi 夔州府志 (Kuizhou Prefecture Gazetteer), 1513. Reprinted in Tianyige cang Ming dai fang zhi xuan kan. Shanghai: Shanghai gu ji shu dian, 1982. Li Guoxiang 李國祥 et al. (eds). Ming shilu lei zuan: Sichuan shi liao 明實錄類纂:四 川史料. Wuhan: Wuhan chubanshe, 1993.

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Li Yuchun 李遇春. Lüeyang xian zhi 略陽縣志 (Lüeyang County Gazetteer) (1582). Reprinted in Tianyige cang Ming dai fang zhi xuan kan. Shanghai: Shanghai gu ji shu dian, 1982. Ming shilu 明實錄. Nangang, Taiwan: Zhongyang yanjiuyuan lishi yuyan yanjiusuo, 1961–1966. Shen Shixin. Ming Huidian 明會典 (Wanli edition). Beijing: Zhonghua shu ju, 1989. Shen Xu 沈勖. Pu’an zhou zhi 普安州志 (Pu’an Department Gazetteer) (1549). Reprinted in Tianyige cang Ming dai fang zhi xuan kan, Shanghai: Shanghai guji shudian, 1963. Shin, Leo, The Making of the Chinese State: Ethnicity and Expansion on the Ming Borderlands. Cambridge; New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006. Taiping fu zhi 太平府誌 (Taiping Prefecture Gazetteer). Reprinted in Riben cang Zhongguo han jian di fang zhi cong kan. Beijing: Shumu wenxian Chubanshe, 1990. Teng, Emma Jinhua, Taiwan’s Imagined Geography: Chinese Colonial Travel Writing and Pictures, 1683–1895. Cambridge: Harvard University Asia Center, 2004. Wang Shangyong 王尚用. Xundian fu zhi 尋甸府志 (Xundian Prefecture Gazetteer) (1550). Reprinted in Tianyige cang Ming dai fangzhi xuankan 天一閣藏明代方志 選刊 (Selected Reprints of Ming Dynasty Gazetteers Held in the Tianyige). Shanghai: Shanghai guji shudian, 1963. Whitmore, J.K., Vietnam, Ho Quy Ly, and the Ming, 1371–1421. New Haven, CT: Southeast Asian Studies, Yale University, 1985. Wu Zhen 吳禎, Liu Chengxue 劉承學, Zhu Lian 朱璉 (compilers). Hezhou zhi 河州志 (Hezhou Gazetteer) (1546). Reprinted in Zhang Yuxin 張羽新 (ed). Zhongguo xizang ji gan qing chuan dian zang qu fang zhi huibian (Collected Reprints of China’s Tibet, Gansu, Qinghai, Sichuan, and Yunnan, Tibetan Region Gazetteers), Vol 30: 143–251. Beijing: Xueyuan Chubanshe, 2003. Xu Shi 徐栻. Chuxiong fu zhi 楚雄府志 (Chuxiong Prefecture Gazetteer) (1568). Reprinted in Riben cang Zhongguo han jian di fang zhi cong kan. Beijing: Shumu wenxian Chubanshe, 1992. Yu Chengxun 余承勳. Mahu fu zhi 馬湖府志 (Mahu Prefecture Gazetteer). 1555. Reprinted in Tianyige cang Ming dai fangzhi xuankan 天一閣藏明代方志選刊 (Selected Reprints of Ming Dynasty Gazetteers Held in the Tianyige). Shanghai: Shanghai Guji Shudian, 1982. Yuan Shuoyou 袁說友, Dongtang ji 東塘集. Reprinted in Yinyin Wenyuange sikuquanshu 影印文淵閣四庫全書 (Photo reprints of the Complete Books of the Four Treasuries). Taiwan Shangwu Yinshuguan, 1983–86.

Chapter 10

Royal Refuge and Heterodoxy: The Vietnamese Mạc Clan in Great Qing’s Southern Frontier, 1677–1730 Alexander Ong

Introduction “On August 28, 1730 in Sicheng, southwest Guangxi, a man stood trial.” His name was Mạc Kính Thự, and he had been arrested by Qing soldiers on charges of collaborating with a wanted man named Li Buweng, also known as Li Jin­ xing (‘Golden Star[=Venus]’ Li) and Li Panwang (‘King Pan’ Li). Li Buweng was apparently the leader of a covert syndicate that had disseminated documents of seditious intent throughout the Guangxi-Yunnan border region. In addition, Li had apparently also developed close ties with two Qing frontier officials, Cen Yinghan of a longtime local Tusi (native chieftain) family and the magistrate Shen Zhaoqian. Both men were subsequently removed from office. Mr. Li remained at large. Mạc Kính Thự would spend the remaining part of his life as a political refugee in Sicheng, likely under the intense scrutiny of Qing local authorities. Who was Mạc Kính Thự? What was the precise nature of his relationship to the other characters in the narrative painted hitherto? Here we are using information drawn mainly from published Qing archival sources to examine that relationship within the context of the Qing southern frontier between 1677 and 1730. In exploring the dynamic networks forged among different groups within the Chinese Deep South, I argue that, following their abandonment of Cao Bằng in the northwest mountains of Đại Việt in 1677, remnants of the formerly royal Mạc (1528–92) power established a new political base in the GuangxiYunnan borderlands, where they had been resettled. From there they could travel with ease to and from Đại Việt in their bid to restore their fallen dynasty. This essay is divided into three parts. I first trace the history of the royal Mạc clan up to 1677, when it was permanently expelled from its last Vietnamese stronghold of Cao Bằng and eventually resettled in Guangxi. I then examine the clan’s development in relation to the Qing conquest of China during the mid-seventeenth century. The third and final section looks at the early eighteenth century, during which Mạc associations with popular religious sectarianism caught the attention of newly active Qing officials serving in south and

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southwest China. Such cross-border politics and heterodoxies represent the kinds of dilemmas these officials faced in the frontier region at the precise time of increasing state action there and which they hoped to rein in through their culturally transforming acts.

The Mạc and Đại Việt up to 1677

Mạc Kính Thự was a descendant of the Mạc royal clan of Đại Việt (1528–92) who had controlled much of the Red River delta from their power center Thăng Long (modern-day Hà Nội) after its founder Mạc Đăng Dung (r. 1528–40) deposed the twenty-year-old Lê monarch Cung Hoàng (r. 1522–27).1 The Lê (1428– 1527, 1592–1788), however, continued to hold out against the Mạc in the mountains of Thanh Hoá, southwest of the capital, for over six decades, supported by the Trịnh and Nguyễn warlord families. In 1592, the Lê army led by General Trịnh Tùng launched an assault on Thăng Long. The Mạc ruler Mậu Hợp (r. 1562–92) reportedly fled the capital in trepidation, but was eventually captured and killed by his pursuing adversaries.2 Thereafter, members of the Mạc royal clan continued to resist the restored Lê monarchy from different parts of northern Đại Việt, including territories within what are today the provinces of coastal Hải Dương and highland Lạng Sơn, Thái Nguyên, and Cao Bằng. By 1598, however, Mạc power had become largely concentrated in the hands of one warlord, Mạc Kính Cung (?–1625), whose forces were mainly stationed in Thái Nguyên and Cao Bằng. The role of Cao Bằng as the last bastion 1 Scholarly works on the Mạc Dynasty include the following: Zheng Yongchang, Zheng zhan yu qi shou: Mingdai Zhong Yue guanxi yanjiu [Conquest and abandonment: A study of SinoVietnamese relations during the Ming period] (Taipei: Guoli Chenggong Daxue chuban zu, 1998), 149–180; Ōsawa Kazuo, “Reichō chūki no Min-Shin to no kankei (1527–1682)” [Relations with the Ming and the Qing in the middle period of the Lê dynasty (1527–1782)], in BetonamuChūgoku kankei shi [History of relations between Vietnam and China], ed. Yamamoto Tatsurō (Tokyo: Yamakawa Shuppansha, 1975), 333–404; Đinh Khắc Thuân, “Contribution à l’histoire de la dynastie des Mạc (1527–1592) du Việt Nam” (Ph.D. diss., École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales, 2000); and Mạc Đăng Dung và vương trìêu Mạc [Mạc Đăng Dung and the Mạc dynasty] (Hải Phòng: Hội sử học Hải Phòng, 2000); and Yuenan tongshi [A general history of Vietnam], eds. Guo Zhenduo & Zhang Xiaomei (Beijing: Zhongguo renmin daxue chubanshe, 2001), 466–470, 493–495. See also John K. Whitmore, “Chung-hsing and Cheng-t’ung in Texts of and on Sixteenth-Century Việt Nam,” in Essays into Vietnamese Pasts, eds. Keith W. Taylor & John K. Whitmore (Ithaca, NY: Southeast Asia Program, Cornell University, 1995), 116–136, and Baldanza in this volume. 2 See Ch’en Ching-ho’s annotated version of the Đại Việt sử ký toàn thư (Tokyo:Tokyo DaigakuToyo Bunka Kenkyujo Fuzoku, 1984-86), vol. 3, 889–895 for events from the Lê retaking of Thăng Long to the capture and execution of Mạc Mậu Hợp.

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of Mạc political power in Đại Việt was confirmed when its chief city, also named Cao Bằng, was declared the new capital in 1601 and construction of a citadel commenced there.3 The Mạc would hold out with Beijing’s protection against their political adversaries in Đại Việt to the end of the Ming dynasty in 1644 and for another three decades under the Qing. In 1667, following the Ming defeat, Lê-Trịnh forces launched a major offensive on Cao Bằng and managed to defeat the Mạc lord Nguyên Thanh, who subsequently fled northwest into Yunnan. Two years later, the Kangxi emperor of the Qing dynasty (r. 1662–1722) dispatched two envoys, Li Xiangen and Yang Zhaojie, to Thăng Long demanding that the Lê government return Cao Bằng to the Mạc. After at least four rounds of discussions, the Lê finally acquiesced to Beijing’s wishes. For almost another decade, Mạc Nguyên Thanh was able to retain control over the mountainous sanctuary with firm backing from the Qing government. However, in 1677, the Lê launched another invasion of Cao Bằng. Nguyên Thanh was again defeated and fled once more across the border, this time north into Guangxi. In the same year, the Lê court, in its congratulatory note to the Kangxi emperor for the Qing “great victory” (dajie) in the War of the Three Feudatories (1673–1681), the Qing suppression of the three semi-autonomous dominions in southwestern China given by the Manchus to former Ming military defectors, alleged that Mạc Nguyên Thanh had secretly supplied rations to one of the main anti-Qing leaders, Wu Sangui, during the rebellion.4 This allegation subsequently gave rise to Beijing’s decision (in 1682) to revoke Nguyên Thanh’s status as “Annan Commander-in-chief (Annan dutong shi),” the title that Ming and early Qing emperors had conferred upon the Mạc rulers since 1541.5 By this time, Mạc Nguyên Thanh had passed away and his son Kính Quang had assumed the mantle of leadership. The Kangxi emperor then ordered Kính Quang and his kinsmen to be extradited to Đại Việt and settled, though he also warned the Lê against killing them. In 1692–93, Gover3 For more details on the various concentrations of Mạc power between 1592 and 1598, see Niu Kaijun, “A Preliminary Discussion of the Mạc clan’s Power Base in Annam’s Cao Bằng Region (Annan Mo shi Gaoping zhengquan chutan),” Dong-nan-ya, 3–4 (2000): 45–47. 4 Interestingly, Mạc Nguyên Thanh had served as a guide for the Qing expeditionary force in the suppression campaign; Kong Yuxun’s memorial dated (YZ = Yongzheng) YZ6/2/6 (March 16, 1728) in vol. 11 of Yongzheng chao Hanwen zhupi zouzhe huibian [Collection of Chineselanguage imperially rescripted palace memorials of the Yongzheng period] (hereafter abbreviated as YZCHW), compiled by Yishiguan (First Historical Archives of China) (Jiangsu guji chubanshe, 1986), 596–597. 5 On the Ming-Mạc negotiations of 1541, See Kathlene Baldanza, “The Ambiguous Border: Early Modern Sino-Viet Relations,” Ph.D. dissertation (University of Pennsylvania, 2010) and in this volume.

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nor of Guangxi Hao Yu instructed his men to escort the Mạc clansmen back to Thăng Long. Mạc Kính Quang thereupon hanged himself, while one of his brothers Kính Trình was able to escape. The remaining party, totaling about three hundred in total, was sent back to the Vietnamese capital, where all were reportedly executed. Kính Trình and his family eventually settled in a village at Sicheng under the auspices of its native chieftain (Tusi) Cen Jilu whose family had ruled in Guangxi for many centuries and had had connections with the Mạc for almost two hundred years. In 1728, nearly four decades later, it was discovered that the offspring of Kính Trình were still living there.6

The Mạc and Great Qing’s “March toward the Tropics”

The final collapse of Mạc power in Đại Việt coincided with the disintegration of the Ming dynasty as well as with the Manchu expansion across the former Ming territories including south China. The Qing imperium’s “march toward the tropics” brought them into direct contact with the remnants of Ming resistance (the Southern Ming regimes, 1644–1662), with semi-autonomous warlords (the Revolt of the Three Feudatories, 1673–1681), and with an independent kingdom on the island of Taiwan (the Zheng family, surrendered to the Qing in 1683).7 Qing armies penetrated the southern provinces as early as the mid1640s, but their hold on the territory was at best weak and uncertain.8 In addi6

7

8

Da Qing lichao shilu (Kangxi chao) [Veritable records of the Qing (Kangxi reign)] (electronic version accessible via Scripta Sinica), 21/4/10 (May 16, 1682); Kong Yuxun’s memorial dated YZ6/2/6 (March 16, 1728) in YZCHW, vol. 11, pp. 596–597. Leo Shin provides episodes illustrating the relationship between the Mạc and the Cen native chieftains in Ming China’s deep south. See his “Ming China and Its Border with Annam,” in The Chinese State at the Borders, ed. Diana Lary (Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 2006), 100–101, and his The Making of the Chinese State, Ethnicity and Expansion on the Ming Borderlands (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 74–75, 82–89, 100–01, 103. Insightful references for each of the events mentioned are as follows: for the southern Ming, Lynn Struve, The Southern Ming, 1644–1662 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1984); for the Revolt of the Three Feudatories, the “Introduction” to Nicola Di Cosmo’s translation (with notes) of a diary belonging to Manchu soldier Dzengšeo, who was involved in the suppression campaign, entitled The Diary of a Manchu Solider: “My Service in the Army” by Dzengšeo (New York: Routledge, 2006); for Zheng Chenggong and his family, Ralph C. Croizier, Koxinga and Chinese Nationalism: History, Myth, and the Hero (Cambridge, MA: East Asia Research Center, Harvard University, 1977). The Qing first penetrated eastern Zhejiang and Fujian in 1646 (Struve, Southern Ming, 95–124). Their assault on Guangdong began in mid-January 1647 (ibid., 101).

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tion, they were in hot pursuit of the fugitive Ming Yongli emperor Zhu Youlang (r. 1646–62) and his supporters, who remained active in Guangdong and Guangxi. Yongli had made Zhaoqing city, located at the center of modern-day Guangdong province, his seat of government when he was first pronounced emperor. However, as the Qing continued their aggressive push southwards, he and his mini-imperial court were forced to retreat westwards to Guangxi and ultimately to cross the frontier and seek political asylum in Toungoo Myanmar in 1659; he would eventually be captured and executed by the Qing in 1662.9 The Qing forward thrust into south China initially did not bring with it rigorous attempts to transform the region’s extant administrative landscape, which comprised a multitude of native chieftains (tusi) functioning as “local emperors” in their respective domains.10 While the Qing imperium’s plans to integrate these domains as part of the burgeoning empire date back as early as 1659, the process would only take on an unprecedented momentum during the Yongzheng reign (1723–1735).11 The Yongzheng emperor’s feats at abolishing a significant number of the native chieftaincies in the south and southwest with the help of officials (“new men”) such as E’ertai (1680–1745) and Gao Qizhuo (1676–1738) marked a distinct period that witnessed the destruction of indigenous control over some regions through the use of military power (gaitu guiliu).12 For example, Sicheng, where the surviving Mạc clan members had been living since the closing decades of the seventeenth century, was converted into an area of direct control in 1727, its indigenous leader Cen Yingchen stripped of his position and forcibly relocated to Zhejiang in 1729.13 Other members of the Cen family were, however, pardoned. One of them, Cen Yinghan, Cen Yingchen’s brother, even became a military attendee (wuju) of the Qing. In fact, it would be Cen Yinghan’s clandestine cross-border activities that

9 10

11

12

13

Ibid., 171. Jennifer Took uses the term “local emperor” in Chapter Five of her book, A Native Chieftaincy in Southwest China: Franchising a Tai Chieftaincy under the Tusi System of Late Imperial China (Leiden: Brill, 2006). On the pre-Yongzheng reforms, consult John Herman, “Empire in the Southwest: Early Qing Reforms to the Native Chieftain System,” Journal of Asian Studies, 56, 1 (1997): 47– 74. See Chapter Two, entitled “New Frontier Militarism” of C. Patterson Giersch’s Asian Borderlands: The Transformation of Qing China’s Yunnan Frontier (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2006), 45. Huang Jiaxin, Zhuangzu diqu tusi zhidu yu gaitu guiliu yanjiu [The native chieftaincies in the Zhuang regions and gaitu guiliu] (Hefei shi: Hefei gongye daxue chubanshe, 2007), 232.

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caught the attention of these activist Qing officials during the first half of the eighteenth century, as discussed in the next section.

The Mạc and Popular Religious Sectarianism: The Li Jinxing Case, 1730

On February 9, 1730, this member of the now dispossessed Tusi family Cen Yinghan arrived at Sicheng town in northwest Guangxi and requested an audience with its magistrate Zu Liangfan. During the meeting, Cen revealed to Zu that a man named Luo An had recently hand-delivered a note to him at his residence. The note was sealed in an envelope that not only contained Luo’s name, but also those of three other people. Removing the note and browsing through its contents, Cen soon discovered that it was no ordinary letter; the entire message, he alleged, was cloaked in “unorthodox language” (bu duan zhi yu). Luo apparently also revealed the identity of his leader during the encounter, a man to whom he would only refer as Wei (his family name). A native of Tianzhou, Mr. Wei had also taken on a pseudonym: Li Tianbao (‘Heavenly Guardian’ Li). Luo An, apparently instructed by Mr. Wei/Li Tianbao, had also asked Cen to contribute twenty taels of silver in exchange for a certificate (zha fu) that would allow him to become an official. Asking Luo to wait in his home, Cen told Zu that he then secretly assembled some trusted aides in the expectation of rounding up the perpetrators in a surprise operation.14 But Cen’s home had another visitor later that night. A stranger named Meng Jian brought along a letter, presumably after having received instructions from Li Tianbao to “summon” (zhao) Ban Liang, a member of Cen’s household. Ban lost no time in relaying the encounter to his master, who immediately dispatched his troops to arrest Meng. When interrogated by Cen, Meng gave the following testimony (not unlike earlier tales in Annan/Đại Việt), Li Tianbao said the Jade Emperor (and) two fairy goddesses had transformed (dianhua) him. (They) had bestowed upon him a jade charm (yu fu), allowing him (to practice) the magical arts (fashu). (He) would be reborn with new bones (tuo tai huan gu) (and) desires to be an emperor. Following him, (one) could become an official. Because of this, your humble one followed him. To this day (Li) has summoned fifty to sixty people (who) live scattered in different places. (I) cannot remember their 14

Jin Hong’s memorial of unknown date, Shiliao xunkan [Historical documents published every ten days] (hereafter abbreviated as SLXK) (Taibei, Taiwan: Guofeng), no. 1, 14.

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names. It is because your humble one owes Ban Liang eight silver coins (and) has not returned (them) that (your humble one), on his behalf, delivered the letter here. In addition, Cen also related that upon searching Meng, he found an incantation (fuzhou) and five scraps of torn paper, all scribbled with “absurd speech” (bu jing zhi tan). The incantation contained the words Kaiping yuan nian, literally meaning “first year of Kaiping (the Opening of [Great] Peace)”.15 The discovery of these characters on the charms and certificates possessed by Meng led the local authorities to suspect that this episode was linked to a concurrent case taking place in neighboring Guangdong province. During 1729 and 1730, an individual who went by the pseudonym Li Mei (‘Flowering Apricot’ Li) was reported in official correspondences to be active in Enping, Guangdong. Suzuki Chūsei, Barend ter Haar, and Robert Antony have each provided a detailed description of the Li Mei incident, and I shall not duplicate their efforts here, but will instead highlight key developments from extant archival sources that are pertinent to this study.16 Li Mei, according to the testimony of one apprehended suspect who worked for him, had spoken of three key messianic saviors, namely ‘Third Prince’ Zhu (Zhu San Taizi ), Li Jiukui (‘Nine Sunflower’ Li) and Luo Ping (‘Peace’ Luo). The latter two divine beings reportedly resided in ‘Little Western Heaven’ (Xiao Xi Tian) located in Jiaozhi (Annan/Đại Việt). ‘Third Prince’ Zhu reportedly lived on Wizard Mountain (Wu Shan) and was said to be a son of Zhu Yigui, who had led a failed pro-Ming rebellion in southern Taiwan a decade earlier (in 1721). In addition, Li Mei claimed to be one of the ‘five great marshals’ (Wu da yuan shuai) and divulged that someone in Guangxi had mentioned traveling to Jiaozhi (Đại Việt) to escort a mysterious man named Li Jiukui back to China. As for the name Luo Ping, it appeared on command flags (ling qi).17

15 16

17

Jin Hong’s memorial dated YZ8/2/4 ( March 22, 1730), in SLXK, no. 1, 14. For the Annan/Đại Việt visions, see Kelley in this volume. Suzuki Chūsei, ed. Sennen okoku-teki minshu undo no kenkyu [Studies on millenarian movements] (Tokyo: Tokyo Daigaku Shuppankai, 1982), 239–240; Barend J. ter Haar, Ritual and Mythology of the Chinese Triads: Creating an Identity (Leiden: Brill, 1998), 229; and Robert J. Antony, “Demons, Gangsters, and Secret Societies in Early Modern China,” East Asian History, 27 (2004), 81,83, 84–85, 91. He Yulin’s memorial dated YZ7/12/20 (February 7, 1730) in SLXK, no. 1, 13. On the Zhu Yigui rebellion, see Chapter 6 of David Ownby, Brotherhoods and Secret Societies in Early and Mid-Qing China: The Formation of a Tradition (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1996), in which he compares it to the Lin Shuangwen uprising of 1786–1788 in Taiwan.

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Furthermore, the reign title adopted by the rebels was reportedly Kai Ping, which was the reign title of Li Jiukui. According to the testimony of another suspect, Liang Zibin, during the tenth lunar month of the seventh year of Yongzheng (that is, between November 21 and December 19, 1729), there was indeed a Li Mei from Dong’an county who said in the eighth month he had traveled to a place known as Da Lun xu to meet a Mr. Wen. The latter claimed he had an elder brother who was “planning a big event” (tu da shi) in Shaanxi, as well as another brother named Chu Zhen’gong. In addition, Mr. Wen had apparently recruited numerous soldiers who had begun making their way from Guangxi to Guangdong, and there was a monk named Zhi Kai who had knowledge of the magical arts (fashu) and could cause opponents in battle to slip into a state of unconsciousness. The certificates also contained figures of the Eight Trigrams with the characters Luo Ping written on them, which were additionally used on the flags. These flags came in three colors: red, white, and blue. Qing officials recommended that a secret investigation be conducted in Da Lun to check if there were any “malicious bandits” hiding there.18 Desperately trying to connect all these dots, five questions puzzled the Qing authorities initially. First, were the Li Mei and Li Tianbao incidents two separate cases or one? The second question, related to the first, was whether the rebels in Guangxi and Guangdong belonged to a single syndicate. Third, was Da Lun xu located in Beiliu county? Could it be situated in Sicheng or Tianzhou prefectures? Fourth, what was the exact name of Mr. Wen? Where was he? Fifth, who exactly were Chu Zhenggong and the monk Zhikai? Did they know each other? The authorities soon arrested Li Tianbao and five other suspects. Upon interrogation, Li Tianbao revealed another name: King Pan (Pan Wang), whom he described as a “deity” (shen) like the bodhisattva Avalokite­ svara (Guanyin). Jin Hong, the governor of Guangxi, described Li Tianbao as “apparently insane”.19 The name Da Lun xu and its presumed location in Beiliu county warrants further discussion. The term xu refers to a “marketplace”, though it can also bear a supernatural and mythological connotation. Robert Antony, in his analysis of the relationship between Chinese secret societies and popular religion, has discussed the so-called Taiping xu or ‘Great Peace Market’ within the context of triad lore; it was a mythological destination to which new members would be ushered during their initiation ceremony by traversing a river on a

18 19

He Yulin’s memorial dated YZ7/12/20 (February 7, 1730) in SLXK, no. 1, 13. Jin Hong’s memorial dated YZ8/2/4 (March 22, 1730), in SLXK, no. 1, 14.

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boat.20 This mythological undertone meaning of marketplaces well resonates with a term still highly familiar to many living in south China – gui shi or ‘specter markets’. Lü Bianting, in his work on the cultural history of science in imperial China, notes that during the Tang Dynasty, ‘grass markets’ (cao shi) had proliferated in villages within the Lingnan region, the area ‘South of the Passes,’ meaning Guangdong, Guangxi, and northern Vietnam. This development defied government prohibitions of unofficial market gatherings in areas outside prefecture and county towns (fei zhou xian zhi suo). Among them were the gui shi or ‘specter markets.’ Zheng Xiong from the Five Dynasties period provided a brief description of these types of markets, “Along the coast there are specter markets, congregating in the middle of the night and dispersing when the rooster crows. People acquire mostly strange objects there.” Northern Chinese generally found these night bazaars, which were makeshift rather than permanent fixed structures, an unusual sight and thus could have associated such a tradition with barbarity, things that could only be found in areas lying beyond the pale of imperial China.21 The regions where the aforementioned markets were located were also often perceived as passageways between the mortal and spectral realms, and the frontier was open to a great variety of spiritual beliefs. It may be reasonably argued that the association of Da Lun xu with Beiliu county by certain Qing officials could be explained by their knowledge of Guangxi’s geography, likely having consulted texts dating back centuries. In fact, the frontier province had even been associated with specters. J.J.M. de Groot has translated a quote from the “Old Tang History” (Jiu Tang shu), as follows,

20 21

Robert J. Antony, “Demons, Gangsters, and Secret Societies in Early Modern China,” 71–98; ter Haar, Ritual and Mythology in Chinese Triads, 126–127. Lü Bianting, Zhongguo nanbu gudai kexue wenhua shi [A cultural history of science in China], vol. 2, Zhujiang liuyu bufen [Pearl River delta region] (Beijing: Fangzhi chubanshe, 2004), 218–219. Translation of the quote from Zheng Xiong’s work is my own. For a detailed discussion of ‘grass markets’ as well as officially sanctioned ones, consult Denis Twitchett, “The T’ang Market System,” Asia Major, 11, 12 (1966): 202–248. J.J.M. de Groot also includes this description in his monumental work, The Religious System of China: Its Ancient Forms, Evolution, History and Present Aspect, Manners, Customs and Social Institutions Connected Therewith, vol. 5, book 2: On the Soul and Ancestral Worship (Part II: Demonology & Part III: Sorcery) (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1907), 804, but he attributes it to a work entitled Bi shu man chao [Desultory writings during a summer retreat], which he believes was written during the Ming Wanli period (1573–1620) by a man named Tan Xiu. For a more detailed discussion of the relationship between borderlands/peripheral areas and specters, see Antony, “Demons, Gangsters, and Secret Societies,” 77–78.

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Thirty miles in a southerly direction from the district city of Poh-liu [Beiliu] (in the south-eastern part of Kwangsi [Guangxi]) two rocks stand opposite one another at a distance of thirty paces. The people call them the spectre-gate pass. The way of the general Ma Yuen [Yuan] of the Han dynasty, the Queller of the Waves, on his expedition against the Man of Lin-yih [Linyi/Champa], lay through it; he erected there a stone tablet (commemorative of this event), of which the (pedestal in the shape of a) stone tortoise still exists. In times gone by, travelers to Kiao-chi (CochinChina [Jiaozhi/Đại Việt]) all used to pass through this gate. Southward from it malaria is so prevalent that those who depart hence seldom return alive. It is a common saying that nine men out of ten never return through its specter-gate pass. De Groot also notes that the character for ‘specter’ (gui) bears an almost similar sound to that used for the Cassia tree (gui), which in turn is the traditional single name referent for Guangxi province (it remains so today).22 Undoubtedly with such supernatural connections in mind, more arrests followed soon after the apprehension of Li Tianbao, including three men associated with him. Authorities also found a ‘sorcery book’ (xie shu), which contained the characters Kai Ping (as we have seen above, presumably referring to the reign title of the elusive Li Jiukui), Luo Ping, and Guihua, chanting spells for curing diseases and warding off demons, and a map of buried treasure. Incidentally, Li Mei was reported to possess certificates stamped with the reign year of Guihua, which has the implied meaning of a radical transformation of existing society. The text contained names of celestial soldiers and generals 22

Translation of the passage on Beiliu is de Groot’s, found in pages 804–805 of his Religious System of China, vol. V, book II. Within these pages, he also cites a passage from the Yu di ji sheng [Comprehensive description of the empire] by Wang Xiangzhi from the Southern Song period (1126–1279), which mentions an initial error made in naming this ancient stone gateway; it was called the Specter-Gate Pass. According to Wang, this mistake was rectified in 1368, when the Ming founder Zhu Yuanzhang renamed it “Cassia Tree Pass.” This auspicious name was in turn replaced by an even grander “Pass of the Gate of Heaven” during the Xuande reign after the Ming withdrew from Vietnam. Beiliu as a region offering a portal between the mortal and spectral world is also discussed in An­tony, “Demons, Gangsters, and Secret Societies,” p. 78, and see Edward H. Schafer, The Vermilion Bird: T’ang Images of the South (Berkeley & Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1967), 31. On Gui (“Cassia Tree”) as the short one-character name for Guangxi, see Ralph Litzinger, Other Chinas: The Yao and the Politics of Belonging (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2000), 286, note 27 to Chapter Two. On ‘Ghost Gate Pass’, also see Liam Kelley, Beyond the Bronze Pillars (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2005), 98–101.

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(tianbing; tianjiang) and drew the attention of Yongzheng’s man, the powerful E’ertai.23 The term Gui here signifies the turning back of people who have strayed from the proper Way and chosen instead to live lives that are either oblivious to or in defiance of the True Ruler.24 In religious Daoism, the idea of the True Ruler is generally presented within a messianic context.25 In the Li Mei case, Li Jiukui was envisioned by fellow members of the clandestine syndicate as the savior who would return to liberate the people.26 During his interrogation, Li Tianbao regarded the ‘sorcery book’ as a rare text and added that Pan Wang (‘King Pan’) – the man named Li Buweng who also called himself Li Jinxing (‘Venus’ Li) – was the ‘Old Ancestor’ (lao zu). Li Tianbao also disclosed that Li Jinxing had over the years been traveling around villages and hamlets in the Sicheng and Tianzhou regions of Guangxi. Li Jinxing was rumored to be the ninth son of the King of Annan (Đại Việt).27 As E’ertai directly notified his lord, the Yongzheng emperor, the authorities eventually discovered that back in 1720, Li Jinxing had corresponded with Shen Zhaoqian, the magistrate of Fuzhou 富州, located at the edge of southeast Yunnan near the Sino-Vietnamese border in close proximity to Sicheng. The authorities also found that Shen’s sister was married to Mạc Kính Thự, leader of the Mạc clan, who was then making preparations for a military offensive against the Lê/Trịnh regime in Đại Việt to restore the Mạc dynasty, using Fuzhou as his base.28 An extensive search of Mạc Kính Thự’s home revealed a 23

24

25

26 27

28

Kang Yong Qian shiqi chengxiang renmin fankang douzheng ziliao [Materials on popular resistance movements in urban and rural areas during the Kangxi, Yongzheng and Qianlong periods] (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1979), vol. 2, 615. Two specific names were disclosed in the memorial, Qiao Chen and Qian Ren. See E’ertai’s memorial dated YZ8/4/20 (June 5, 1730) in vol. 18 of YZCHW, 514. Peter Perdue, China Marches West: The Qing Conquest of Central Eurasia (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2005), 467. The character, Perdue notes on the same page of his book, appears in the names of specific borderland locations, such as Guihua City, altered by the Qing from its original Mongolian name Köke Khota (Blue City). For example, a 1969/1970 article by Anna Seidel is devoted to the discussion of two such messianic figures, namely Laozi and Li Hong. See her “The Image of the Perfect Ruler in Early Taoist Messianism: Lao-tzu and Li Hung,” History of Religions, 9, 2/3 (1969–70): 216– 247. See Table 2, “Messianic Saviors,” in ter Haar, Ritual and Mythology of the Chinese Triads, 227. E’ertai’s memorial dated YZ8/4/20 (June 5, 1730) in vol. 18 of YZCHW, 514–517. J.L. Weinstein, Empire and Identity in Guizhou: Local Resistance to Qing Expansion (Seattle, WA: University of Washington Press, 2014), chs. 4–5, demonstrates the types of religious activities that concerned Qing officials. E’ertai’s memorial dated YZ8/4/20 (June 5, 1730) in vol. 18 of YZCHW, 514.

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written contract between himself and Xu Yuanyu, an official from the native chieftaincy (tusi) of Xialei in southwest Guangxi that was contiguous with the Vietnamese province of Cao Bằng. The document, which bore both their seals, reportedly spoke of a plot to invade Đại Việt.29 Consequently, as we have seen, magistrate Shen Zhaoqian and his nephew of the former Tusi clan Cen Yinghan were arrested for their involvement in the affair.30 The Qing authorities initially planned to move the Mạc clan out of the frontier of Guangxi and resettle them in Jiangning (modern-day Nanjing). However, Mạc Kính Thự who had masterminded the plot to invade Đại Việt subsequently passed away, and the Yongzheng court decided to let the Mạc remain in Sicheng.31

Concluding Remarks

Here we have demonstrated how the Mạc as political refugees continued their resistance in the Sino-Vietnamese frontier against the Lê/Trịnh of Đại Việt following their exodus from Cao Bằng during the last quarter of the seventeenth century. Using a section of the Guangxi-Yunnan borderlands in close proximity to the Qing-Đại Việt political border, the Mạc not only fostered their ties with local native chieftains (Tusi) in the numerous dong of Guangxi province, but also reportedly collaborated with a popular religious sectarian syndicate operating in this far southern Chinese frontier. Yet, gradually, the Qing “march toward the tropics,” which coincided with the Mạc flight into south China, and the officials like E’ertai sent out by the court in Beijing worked to transform the political landscape over time and to narrow the possibilities for such refuge and heterodoxy. Questions remain: Why did Cen Yinghan make the report in the first place? It only got him into trouble. How interrelated were all these different elements under investigation? How far were these Qing authorities, from E’ertai on down, able to sort it all out? We do not know. The entire episode came at the moment of the Yongzheng push for greater administrative control, as carried out in the southern frontier by E’ertai. Cen presumably wished to go where the power lay, not fully realizing how changed the situation had become. Perhaps 29 30 31

E’ertai’s memorial dated YZ8/9/4 (October 15, 1730) in vol. 18 of YZCHW, 99–102. Zhang Yaozu’s memorial dated YZ8/7/20 (September 2, 1730) in vol. 18 of YZCHW, 1046– 1047; E’ertai’s memorial dated YZ8/9/4 (October 15, 1730) in volume 19 of YZCHW, 99–102. Yang Xifu, Si zhi tang wenji (Jiaqing 11 or 1806/7 edition) (Si ku wei shou shu ji kan series, vol. 9, no. 24) (Beijing: Beijing chubanshe, 2000), 6:9a. Also see Kim in this volume on the tight surveillance accorded the Mạc.

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he saw it as an opportunity to gain favor from the new Qing administration on an insignificant local matter, which then blew up in his face. For the former Tusi network, such local goings-on had drawn little official attention – dealings with the Mạc had been occurring for over two centuries, social and cultural interrelations with local Han officials had been standard, and there were probably always some cross-border skullduggery and religious activities taking place. Only now, what had been normal became abnormal as the Qing court was stepping directly in, and Cen Yinghan apparently had not quite appreciated the full extent of the ongoing change. This episode reflects the open nature of the southern frontier and how varied local elements, Han and non-Han alike, could act on their own interests across this frontier. Its openness allowed the remnants of the deposed Mạc dynasty of Đại Việt to take refuge and survive to dream of return. They were able to find the open and unregulated space they needed in the Sino-Vietnamese frontier both for refuge and for connections with indigenous chiefs (Tusi) as well as with non-state, heterodox groups. At this point, such religious organizations seem to have been trying to exploit the feelings of displaced and disaffected Tusi clans to their own advantage. The refuge the Mạc needed to survive; the connections they desired for their dream of regaining the throne of Đại Việt. Yet, in the end, they were caught as the growing Qing state blocked and contained their efforts. The new Qing state and its local officials with their aim of replacing the chiefs (Gaitu Guiliu) had to be active indeed to maintain political order and to implement the cultural transformation of the local society and its heterodoxies. Bibliography Antony, Robert J. “Demons, Gangsters, and Secret Societies in Early Modern China,” East Asian History, 27 (2004): 71–98. Baldanza, Kathlene. “The Ambiguous Border: Early Modern Sino-Viet Relations.” Ph.D. dissertation, University of Pennsylvania, 2010. Cosmo, Nicola Di, trans. The Diary of a Manchu Soldier: “My Service in the Army” by Dzengšeo. New York: Routledge, 2006. Croizier, Ralph C. Koxinga and Chinese Nationalism: History, Myth, and the Hero. Cambridge, MA: East Asian Research Center, Harvard University, 1977. Da Qing lichao shilu (Kangxi chao) [Veritable records of the Qing (Kangxi reign)]. Electronic version accessible via Scripta Sinica. Đại Việt sử k. toàn thư, ed., Ch’en Ching-ho (Tokyo:Tokyo DaigakuToyo Bunka Kenkyujo Fuzoku, 1984-86).

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Đinh Khắc Thuân. “Contribution à l’histoire de la dynastie des Mạc (1527–1592) du Việt Nam.” Ph.D. dissertation, École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales, 2000. Giersch, C. Patterson. Asian Borderlands: The Transformation of Qing China’s Yunnan Frontier. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2006. de Groot, J.J.M. The Religious System of China: Its Ancient Forms, Evolution, History and Present Aspect, Manners, Customs and Social Institutions Connected Therewith, volume 5, book 2: On the Soul and Ancestral Worship (Part II: Demonology & Part III: Sorcery). Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1907. ter Haar, Barend J. Ritual and Mythology of the Chinese Triads: Creating an Identity. Leiden: Brill, 1998. Herman, John. “Empire in the Southwest: Early Qing Reforms to the Native Chieftain System.” Journal of Asian Studies, 56, 1 (1997): 47–74. Huang Jiaxin. Zhuangzu diqu tusi zhidu yu gaitu guiliu yanjiu [The native chieftaincies in the Zhuang regions and gaitu guiliu]. Hefei shi: Hefei gongye daxue chubanshe, 2007. Kang Yong Qian shiqi chengxiang renmin fankang douzheng ziliao [Materials on popular resistance movements in urban and rural areas during the Kangxi, Yongzheng and Qianlong periods], volume 2. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1979. Kelley, Liam. Beyond the Bronze Pillars: Envoy Poetry and the Sino-Vietnamese Relationship. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2005. Litzinger, Ralph. Other Chinas: The Yao and the Politics of Belonging. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2000. Lü Bianting, Zhongguo nanbu gudai kexue wenhua shi [A cultural history of science in China], volume 2, Zhujiang liuyu bufen [Pearl River delta region]. Beijing: Fangzhi chubanshe, 2004. Mạc Đăng Dung và vương trìêu Mạc [Mạc Đăng Dung and the Mạc dynasty]. Hải Phòng: Hội sử học Hải Phòng, 2000. Niu Kaijun. “A Preliminary Discussion of the Mạc clan’s Power Base in Annam’s Cao Bằng Region (Annan Mo shi Gaoping zhengquan chutan),” Dong-nan-ya, 3–4 (2000). Ōsawa Kazuo. “Reichō chūki no Min-Shin to no kankei (1527–1682)” [Relations with the Ming and the Qing in the middle period of the Lê dynasty (1527–1782)], in BetonamuChūgoku kankei shi [History of relations between Vietnam and China], edited by Yamamoto Tatsurō, 333–404. Tokyo: Yamakawa Shuppansha, 1975. Ownby, David. Brotherhoods and Secret Societies in Early and Mid-Qing China: The Formation of a Tradition. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1996. Perdue, Peter. China Marches West: The Qing Conquest of Central Eurasia. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2005. Schafer, Edward H. The Vermilion Bird: T’ang Images of the South. Berkeley & Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1967.

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Sennen okoku-teki minshu undo no kenkyu [Studies on millenarian movements], edited by Suzuki Chūsei. Tokyo: Tokyo Daigaku Shuppankai, 1982. Shiliao xunkan [Historical documents published every ten days]. Taibei shi: Guofeng. Shin, Leo. “Ming China and Its Border with Annam.” In The Chinese State at the Borders, edited by Diana Lary, 91–104. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 2006. Struve, Lynn. The Southern Ming, 1644–1662. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1984. Took, Jennifer. A Native Chieftaincy in Southwest China: Franchising a Tai Chieftaincy under the Tusi System of Late Imperial China. Leiden: Brill, 2006. Twitchett, Denis. “The T’ang Market System.” Asia Major, 11, 12 (1966): 202–248. Weinstein, Jodi L. Empire and Identity in Guizhou: Local Resistance to Qing Expansion. Seattle, WA: University of Washington Press, 2014. Whitmore, John K. “Chung-hsing and Cheng-t’ung in Texts of and on Sixteenth-Century Việt Nam.” In Essays into Vietnamese Pasts, edited by Keith W. Taylor & John K. Whitmore, 116–136. Ithaca, NY: Southeast Asia Program, Cornell University, 1995. Yang Xifu. Si zhi tang wenji (Jiaqing 11 or 1806/7 edition) (Si ku wei shou shu ji kan series, vol. 9, no. 24). Beijing: Beijing chubanshe, 2000. Yongzheng chao Hanwen zhupi zouzhe huibian [Collection of Chinese-language imperially rescripted palace memorials of the Yongzheng period]. Compiled by Yishiguan (First Historical Archives of China). Jiangsu guji chubanshe, 1986. Yuenan tongshi [A general history of Vietnam], edited by Guo Zhenduo & Zhang Xiaomei. Beijing: Zhongguo renmin daxue chubanshe, 2001. Zheng Yongchang. Zheng zhan yu qi shou: Mingdai Zhong Yue guanxi yanjiu [Conquest and abandonment: A study of Sino-Vietnamese relations during the Ming period]. Taipei: Guoli Chenggong Daxue chuban zu, 1998.

Chapter 11

The Rule of Ritual: Crimes and Justice in QingVietnamese Relations During the Qianlong Period (1736–1796)1 Jaymin Kim The many activities of all sorts taking place within the southern frontier meant that the imperial and royal courts outside this frontier strived to reach into its open space and gain a degree of control. The space allowed refuge, heterodoxies, and indigenous culture, not to mention what the courts deemed criminality, to exist and at times to thrive. Here, I examine Qing-Vietnamese legal interactions across this frontier during the Qianlong period (1736–1796).2 These legal interactions were quite common, and I have found forty three such legal cases from printed and archival sources of Qing China. We may categorize them into two major types. First, thirty in my sample show subjects of one 1 For transliteration of Chinese terms, I have followed the pinyin system, for Korean, the McCune-Reischauer Romanization, and for Vietnamese the Romanized Quốc-ngữ. Abbreviations used in the footnotes are as follows: QSL (Qing shilu), GZD (Gongzhong dang), JJCD (Junjichu dang), MQSL (Ming Qing shiliao), SLXK (Shiliao xunkan), SZTWJ (Sizhitang wenji), TMHG (Tongmun hwigo). 2 I am building on previous studies that have dealt with the topic of interstate legal cases during the Qing period. R. Randle Edwards first noted the need for Qing legal historians to learn more about the extent to which subjects of Qing’s neighboring states were subject to the Qing Code for criminal acts committed on Qing soil in his 1980 article. Edwards himself came back to that topic in 1987 by looking at some border cases between Qing China and its neighboring states such as Korea and Vietnam. Even though this topic is still relatively overlooked, two studies that came out in the past ten years are notable. Sun Hongnian devoted a couple of chapters to Qing-Vietnamese border disputes and incidents in his recent book on QingVietnamese relations. Pär Cassel focused on the issue of Japanese consular jurisdiction in Qing China and Chinese consular jurisdiction in Meiji Japan between 1873 and 1894. See R. Randle Edwards, “Ch’ing Legal Jurisdiction over Foreigners”, in Essays on China’s Legal Tradition, edited by Jerome Alan Cohen, R. Randle Edwards, and Fu-mei Chang Chen (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1980), 222–269; R. Randle Edwards, “Imperial China’s Border Control,” Journal of Chinese Law Vol. 1 (1987), 33–62; Sun Hongnian, Qingdai Zhong Yue zongfan guanxi yanjiu (Ha’erbin: Heilongjiang jiaoyu chubanshe, 2006); and Pär Cassel, Grounds of Judgment: Extraterritoriality and Imperial Power in Nineteenth-Century China and Japan. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012).

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state being tried for committing crimes against subjects of the other state or in the domain of the other state. Here, both the criminal act and the judicial process had interstate implications, and this type is designated as cases of interstate crime. The second type of case, thirteen in my sample, involved fugitives of one state trying to find refuge in the other state. In these cases, only the judicial process had interstate implications, and they are referred to as cases of interstate justice. Among the cases of interstate crime, Qing subjects initiated crimes in twenty one cases and Vietnamese subjects in nine. Among the cases of interstate justice, ten involved Vietnamese fugitives while only three involved Qing fugitives. These legal cases, because of their interstate characteristics, bring attention to the meaning of jurisdiction, boundary, and subjecthood within and across this frontier. In analyzing them, my first goal is to understand how these legal concepts were interpreted and materialized in asymmetric legal processes involving a hegemonic empire and its neighboring tributary state. Edwards, in his study on Qing China’s control over borders with its Asian neighbors (Korea, Vietnam, Siam, and Burma), listed impartiality, reciprocity, and equality in Qing foreign relations as the three core principles of Qing border control law. He portrayed the Vietnamese and the Qing judiciaries as equals that tacitly acknowledged the personal jurisdiction of one state over its own subjects by extraditing fugitives back to their own countries. He also maintained that the Qing had a strong sense of territoriality and territorial sovereignty, imagining there to have been a clear geographical and legal boundary between the two states.3 I argue throughout this paper that legal relations between them were much more complicated than what Edwards would have us believe. The Vietnamese judiciary, at least when it came into contact with the Qing judiciary, did not always enjoy equal standing. Also, the geographical and legal boundary between the two states was not as clear-cut as Edwards imagined. There existed many different conceptualizations of the Qing-Vietnamese boundary that constantly fluctuated, and the Qing state often forced its own interpretation on the Vietnamese state. Lastly, while it was generally recognized that subjects of each state belonged to their own ruler, some Vietnamese subjects could be “naturalized,” that is, accepted by the Qing state as its own subjects. In contrast, no Qing subject could ever be “naturalized” as a Vietnamese subject in the eyes of the Qing state. In the following sections, each of these claims on jurisdiction, boundary, and subjecthood will be elaborated with a careful analysis of relevant cases as they existed within the Qing tributary system and its rule of ritual. 3 Edwards, “Imperial China’s Border Control,” 37–40.

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My second goal in analyzing these cases is to put them in context by briefly comparing them to Qing-Chosŏn legal cases during the same period. Even though Chosŏn Korea and Annan/Đại Việt were two of the most important tributaries of Qing China, there are very few comparative studies on these two East Asian states.4 More to the purpose of this study, the Chosŏn state maintained a frequent and consistent legal relationship with the Qing state, making it a good fit for comparison with the Vietnamese situation. This comparison focuses on commonalities and disparities between the two sets of interstate legal interactions and tries to explain them.

Judiciaries and Jurisdictions

The Qing and the Vietnamese judiciaries were not exactly on equal footing in these cases. The Vietnamese judiciary claimed no jurisdiction over cases where Qing subjects committed crimes on Vietnamese soil, whether against other Qing subjects or Vietnamese subjects. If arrested in Đại Việt, Qing criminals were first interrogated by local Vietnamese officials and then repatriated to their native places (yuanji) even when found guilty. By repatriating these criminals, the Vietnamese judiciary effectively gave up their jurisdiction over them, as it had no way to participate in their trial once the criminals were turned over to the Qing judiciary. The Qing state usually did notify the Vietnamese state of how the trials were concluded, but even that could not be taken for granted. We might even venture to say that Qing subjects enjoyed an extraterritorial status in Đại Việt during the Qianlong period. Let us now look at some of these cases in detail. Most of these Qing criminals were engaged in banditry or rebellion in Đại Việt. In 1753, Yang Xingxiu was repatriated to Guangdong for his role in a rebellion against the Vietnamese state.5 In 1758, Zhang Funeng, Wang Budu, and thirty some subordinates were arrested and interrogated for their acts of banditry in northern Đại Việt. Deemed guilty by the Vietnamese officials, Zhang and Wang were extradited to Guangdong, but their subordinates were freed with only a light warning since they were believed to have been forced by Zhang and Wang.6 In 1764, a group of bandits led by Yang Yadao was appre-

4 5 6

An important exception is Alexander Woodside, Lost Modernities: China, Vietnam, Korea, and the Hazards of World History (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2006). QSL, Gaozong, 445: 793a. QSL, Gaozong, 567: 195a-b.

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hended by Vietnamese authorities and repatriated to Guangdong.7 1775 saw a case notable for the number of people involved. That year, Đại Việt suppressed a widespread conflict between Chinese and Vietnamese miners at a mine in northern Đại Việt. The Vietnamese authorities apprehended Zhang Deyu, Li Qiaoguang, and other Chinese miners as the main instigators and expelled all Chinese workers from the said mine. According to palace memorials by provincial officials of Guangdong and Guangxi, about two thousand miners in all returned from northern Đại Việt. The Vietnamese king, in his communication with the Chinese provincial officials, did not hesitate to label the main instigators as bandits.8 All in all, it seems remarkable that Đại Việt would willingly give up their hold on those criminals considering the serious nature of the accusations against them. Đại Việt detected other types of crime committed by Qing subjects as well. 1762, for example, saw Li Guang and Li Shijue arrested in northern Đại Việt after going on rounds of extortion on the pretense that they were on official Qing business. They were repatriated to Guangxi.9 In 1767, a Hakka named Zhang Renfu and six others were arrested in Đại Việt and repatriated for their role in armed skirmishes among Chinese miners that left nine people dead.10 In 1773, Huang Longyun, Liu Mingdeng, and Wang Yiguan entered northern Đại Việt pretending to be yamen (government office) runners from the Yunnan judicial commissioner’s office on a mission to arrest two Qing fugitives. After several rounds of extortion, they were arrested, interrogated, and repatriated to Guangxi. He Wanzhu and Cai Xinrui, who were implicated in a separate extortion case, were repatriated with them as well.11 Later that same year, Yao Guoqin and nine others were arrested and repatriated after rescuing Qing criminals in Vietnamese custody by force in a flagrant disrespect of the Vietnamese judiciary.12 In 1774, Li Qizhen, a long-time sojourner in Lang Son, was arrested after murdering fellow sojourner Xie Ganru. After interrogating him, the Vietnamese officials promptly repatriated him to Guangdong. Lin Yamei, Li’s wife, and Ma Ya’er, who housed Li and Lin, were also arrested after evading Vietnamese authorities for a year and repatriated in 1775.13 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

GZD, 403017243 (QL29.6.13). QSL, Gaozong, 985:149a–150b. GZD, 403018940 (QL27.閏5.22). GZD, 403023764 (QL32.12.22). QSL, Gaozong, 937:609b–610a and 940:702b–704a; GZD, 403026950 (QL38.11.初1). QSL, Gaozong, 948:844b–845a; GZD, 403026961 (QL38.11.2). Xie had accused Li of kidnapping Lin Yamei, Li’s new wife, and threatened to turn her in to the Vietnamese authorities. In fact, Lin had fled her abusive husband in Guangxi and married Li while staying at another settler Ma Ya’er’s house. Li, enraged and terrified by

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As Edwards pointed out in his study on Qing border control, the Qing state was very proactive about such control both in theory and in practice. So some criminals who eluded the Vietnamese judiciary were arrested by Qing border officials on their way back to China. Here again, the Vietnamese judiciary had no jurisdiction over the Qing criminals. In 1738, some Hakkas living in Qiongzhou prefecture (in Guangdong) were arrested by Qing local officials for kidnapping and selling Vietnamese people. Even though they had committed crimes against Vietnamese subjects on Vietnamese soil, the king of Đại Việt was not notified until after their trial.14 In 1742, Ye Zhen, a former shengyuan (licentiate), and Zhou Laoliu were arrested while trying to enter Guangxi from Đại Việt. Tan Xingyi, general-in-chief of Guangxi, accused them of training Vietnamese rebels led by Vi Phúc Quản in Lạng Sơn and recommended that they be either executed on the border or repatriated to Đại Việt to be tried there.15 Tan’s recommendation, which raised the possibility of the Vietnamese judiciary exerting jurisdiction over Qing subjects, was consequently ignored by the Qianlong emperor. The governor-general of Liangguang (Guangdong and Guangxi) and the governor of Guangxi were instead appointed for the trial of Ye and Zhou. After interrogation, they determined that the two had not played significant roles in the rebellion and apparently released them.16 In 1743, Zhou Daonan, Huang Han, and Ya Xiang were arrested in Guangxi for helping Mạc Khang Võ’s rebellion in Bảo Lạc (in Tuyên Quang). After the initial interrogation by Yang Xifu, the governor of Guangxi, they were kept in prison so that they might be tried when more arrests were made.17 Later that same year, Lu Ying and Lin Pengming were arrested in Guangxi after having served as officials for the Vietnamese rebel Hy Dương. They were imprisoned until their confederates were arrested so that all might be tried together.18 In 1776, seventy two natives of Chaozhou prefecture (Guangdong) led by Li Aji were arrested in Guangdong after serving Nguyễn Nhạc, the eldest Tây Sơn brother in the great Vietnamese rebellion and engaging in piracy against royal Vietnamese Lê/Trịnh troops.19

14 15 16 17 18 19

Xie’s threat, ambushed Xie with a few friends and shot him to death on the road. See QSL, Gaozong, 993 264b–265a; SLXK, volume 25: QL40.閏10.16; SLXK, volume 40: QL40.10.初10 and QL40.11.21. QSL, Gaozong, 70: 121a-b. QSL, Gaozong, 168: 136a-b; SZTWJ, j. 5: 14–6. QSL, Gaozong, 173: 219b; SZTWJ, j. 5: 14–6. QSL, Gaozong, 193:482a; SZTWJ, juan5: 26–7. On the Mạc, see Baldanza and Ong in this volume. QSL, Gaozong, 199: 562b–563a. QSL, Gaozong, 996: 314a-b. It must be noted that the Qianlong emperor and his officials actually believed Nguyễn Nhạc to be a member of the princely Nguyễn family of Đàng

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The Qing state did make sure that its subjects committing crimes in Đại Việt would meet swift justice in a manner that could serve as a warning to future criminals and reassure the Vietnamese. Sometimes, these criminals went through the regular judicial process. They were often tried according to the Qing Code and sometimes even given appellate review after being tried at the provincial level. At the least, they were tried in a judicial manner where the degrees of their crime matched the degrees of their punishment. In the Yang Yadao case (1764), the Qianlong emperor insisted on punishing them according to Qing law after a regular trial (mingzhengdianxing) rather than executing them immediately on the Qing-Vietnamese border. He reasoned that doing so would reinforce Qing law (guofa de shen) and acquaint foreigners with imperial justice for future cases like this. Yang Yadao and his subordinates were tried and beheaded, with their heads displayed on the border to warn people in the frontier.20 In the Zhang Renfu case (1767), the culprits were tried first by the Shaozhou prefect, then by the judicial commissioner of Guangdong, and finally by Li Shiyao and Zhongyin, the Liangguang governor-general and the Guangdong governor, respectively.21 Culprits in the Huang Longyun and He Wanzhu cases (1773) were brought together to the provincial capital of Yunnan for a trial by Zhangbao, the Yun-Gui (Yunnan and Guizhou) governor-general, and his subordinates. Their investigation revealed the existence of more accomplices who had fled back to China, and the trial continued after the accomplices were produced at the provincial court. Zhangbao and Li Hu, the governor of Yunnan, submitted their adjudication via a palace memorial, and the Qianlong emperor subsequently commanded the Three Judiciary, the judicial body that was responsible for the final appellate review, to review the adjudication.22 In the Yao Guoqin case (1773), the culprits were tried by the judicial and financial commissioners of Guangdong first and then by Li Shiyao, the Liang-

20 21

22

Trong (Cochinchina), as they were not yet aware of the new developments regarding the Tây Sơns. QSL, Gaozong, 715:973b; GZD, 403021266 (QL30.8.24). Zhang Renfu was sentenced to immediate death by beheading. Zhang Shimao and five others were sentenced to enslavement in Central Asia (Urumqi). Wang Zuozhu and sixteen others were sentenced to penal servitude. Zhong Nanhua and elven others were sentenced to 100 strokes of heavy bamboo and three years of banishment. See GZD, 403023764 (QL32.12.22). The terms of their adjudication were as follows: Huang Longyun was sentenced to immediate death by beheading, as were Liu Mingdeng, Wang Yiguan, and He Wanzhu. Tang Qingbai, He’s relative, met the same fate. Cai Xinrui was sentenced to death by beheading after the Autumn Assizes. See QSL, Gaozong, 937:609b–610a and 940:702b–704a; GZD, 403026950 (QL38.11.初1).

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guang governor-general. Li’s adjudication was then reviewed by the Board of Punishment under imperial command.23 In the Li Qizhen case (1774), Li seems to have been executed first after going through a regular judicial process upon his repatriation. Li’s sentence had already been meted out when Lin and Ma were repatriated to Guangxi in 1775. After interrogating them, Li Shiyao sentenced Lin to death by strangulation after the Autumn Assizes and Ma to 100 strokes of heavy bamboo and enslavement to Heilongjiang, far to the northeast.24 In the case involving about two thousand miners (1775), the Qianlong emperor had a fairly consistent policy on how to deal with these people: determine different degrees of guilt after a thorough investigation and separate out the problem elements from the frontier provinces of Yunnan, Guizhou, Guangdong, and Guangxi. In the end, Li Shiyao, the Liangguang governor-general, categorized the refugees into four groups and accorded them punishments commensurate with their crimes.25 The Chaozhou pirates (1776) were also punished according to their different degrees of guilt: those who had a hand in robbing and killing were to be executed immediately, the rest to be sent to Xinjiang, to Yili as slaves for the Oirats and to Ürümqi as slaves for the soldiers there or relocated to other provinces according to the seriousness of their crimes.26 Other times, the criminals were summarily executed without a proper trial, either because the Qing state had security concerns or because it wished to make a political statement. In the Zhou Daonan case (1743), Zhou and his accomplices were beaten to death in Sicheng and Zhen’an prefectures without a proper trial as a warning to Qing subjects living near the Qing-Vietnamese

23

24 25

26

Yao Guoqin was sentenced to immediate death by strangulation. Huang Wenxiang and seven others were sentenced to penal servitude. The sources do not tell us how the Board reviewed Li’s adjudication. See QSL, Gaozong, 948:844b–845a; GZD, 403026961 (QL38. 11.2). QSL, Gaozong, 993: 264b–265a; SLXK, volume 25: QL40.閏10.16; SLXK, volume 40: QL40.10. 初10, QL40.11.21. Known troublemakers at the mine were to be sent to Yili (in Xinjiang) as slaves to soldiers stationed there. Suspected agitators were to be settled as farmers in other areas of Xinjiang as farmers. Those who were only engaged in trade in the frontier and without a permanent residence were to be relocated to Jiangsu, Anhui, Zhejiang, and Henan, provinces away from the frontier, under the supervision of local officials. Lastly, those who had a permanent residence and means of livelihood were to be returned to their native places (yuanji). See QSL, Gaozong, 985:149a–150b, 988 187a–189b, 989:210a-b, 992:248a-b, 994: 281a-b. QSL, Gaozong, 996: 314a-b and 998: 353b–354a.

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borderlands.27 In the Yang Xingxiu case (1753), the Qianlong emperor commanded Bandi, the acting governor-general of Liangguang, to execute the criminal on the Qing-Vietnamese border without going through the regular judiciary process. He reasoned that this summary execution would serve two purposes: first, placating Đại Việt, which might not be familiar with Qing judicial process; second, serving as a sign of warning for Qing subjects.28 In the Zhang Funeng case (1758), the emperor commanded Li Shiyao to execute Zhang and Wang Budu on the Qing-Vietnamese border in the presence of the Vietnamese official who had escorted them back.29 In the Li Guang case, the Guangxi governor’s adjudication of Li Guang and Li Shijue reached Beijing only after the criminals had been executed outside Shuikou Pass, one of the Qing border passes guarding the Guangxi-Vietnamese border.30 At this point, it is worth noting that the Qing and Vietnamese judiciaries had major disagreements on their legal interpretations of movements of people across the state boundary. As Edwards pointed out in his study on Qing border control, Qing law considered all intentional crossing of boundaries not endorsed by the state illegal.31 Thus, the Qing judiciary saw all movements of Qing subjects toward Đại Việt without prior authorization illegal. Đại Việt, on the other hand, does not seem to have viewed the migration of Qing subjects into Dai Viet as an illegal act in itself. Because of this legal discrepancy, the Qing judiciary sometimes got its hands on “innocent” travelers who had committed no criminal acts in Đại Việt. For example, in the case of Ye Zhen and Zhou Laoliu (1742), they were initially suspected of being deputies of a Vietnamese rebel. Further interrogation revealed them to be mere sojourners in northern Đại Việt, but their act of sojourning itself still made them criminals under Qing law, and they were treated accordingly.32 Also, in the Zhang Funeng case (1758), even though the subordinates of Zhang and Wang Budu were released by the king of Đại Việt, the Qianlong emperor still considered them bandits. Thus, Li Shiyao was ordered to instruct the Vietnamese king to arrest and repatriate them to Guangdong. There, they would be tried and sent to Bali27

28 29 30 31 32

In fact, their immediate execution was the mistake of Yang Xifu, the Guangxi governor. When the Qianlong emperor instructed Yang, via vermillion rescript, to punish them severely without dragging the case on, Yang mistakenly took it as an order for immediate execution. Qianlong later called it a “grave error” on Yang’s Part. See QSL, Gaozong, 193:482a and 199:560b–562a. QSL, Gaozong, 445: 793a. QSL, Gaozong, 567: 195a-b. GZD, 403018940 (QL27.閏5.22). Edwards, “Imperial China’s Border Control”, 46–57. SZTWJ, j. 5, 14–6.

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kun (in Xinjiang). While we do not know whether this ever happened, these conflicting legal views across the frontier highlight the interaction between two different legal interpretations.33 The Qing prohibition against illegal travel applied to foreigners as well, so all Vietnamese subjects entering the Qing domain without prior authorization from the Qing state were also considered criminals in the eyes of the Qing judiciary. When the initial arrest was made in China, the Qing judiciary claimed jurisdiction over more serious cases and expelled those who had no criminal intent. In 1754, Hoàng A Xã and six other Vietnamese were arrested begging in Lingyun county (in Guangxi). Apparently they had been wandering about and begging in the Qing borderlands for nine years. Since they were deemed to have no criminal intent, they were all repatriated to Cao Bằng via Shuikou Pass.34 In 1778, Trần Đình Huyên and Nguyễn Văn Phúc, wearing the queue and donning Chinese-style attire, were arrested in Xunhua county (in Guangxi). Upon arrest, they claimed to be servants following a Vietnamese tribute mission who had merely gotten separated from their mission. Further interrogation, however, revealed that these two had sneaked into the Qing domain in pursuit of profit. It was also revealed that the two had been guided by Zhou Gui and Zou Wenzhong, descendants of Qing subjects who had migrated to Đại Việt generations before. The Qing judiciary considered it an important case and tried Huyên and Phúc, sentencing both to immediate death by strangulation. Later, their sentence was commuted to death by strangulation after the Autumn Assizes, and the Qianlong emperor eventually ruled that the Vietnamese criminals should be sent back to Đại Việt. This was meant to be an act of imperial grace for the traditionally respectful and submissive Vietnamese king, Qianlong reasoned. Such a faithful tributary king apparently deserved to punish his subjects on his own.35 It is tempting to see the trial itself as a mere front when we consider the fact that the criminals were repatriated as soon as Zhou Gui was arrested and repatriated to the Qing. But it still remains true that the Qing judiciary was fully capable of asserting jurisdiction in this case. When Vietnamese treated as criminals in China went hiding in Đại Việt, the Qing judiciary still tried to exert jurisdiction over them by asking the Vietnamese judiciary to extradite them. Even though the Qing judiciary had to rely on the cooperation of its Vietnamese counterpart, the combination of forceful and conciliatory gestures almost always resulted in the extradition of the 33 34 35

QSL, Gaozong, 567: 195a-b. GZD, 403007190 (QL19.7.8). QSL, Gaozong, 1056:109b–110b, 1061 179a–180b, 1065 243b–244b, 1074:428b; SLXK, volume 18, QL43.6.15, QL43.7.初7, QL43.7.11, QL43.7.11, QL43.7.26, QL43.11.初10.

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Vietnamese criminals back to China. In 1753, for example, the Qing court detected a group of Yao bandits in Kaihua prefecture (in Yunnan) who had in their possession weapons and documents containing rebellious phrases. Further investigation revealed some of the Yao to be of Vietnamese origin, including one of the ringleaders named Bàn Đạo Kiềm who had already fled back to Đại Việt. The Qianlong emperor commanded the Yun-Gui governor-general Shuose to refrain from sending Qing forces into the Vietnamese domain and instead to let the king of Đại Việt find the Vietnamese elements in hiding and return them to China. The king followed the instruction, arresting and sending Kiềm and Đặng Thạnh Vương to Yunnan.36 In 1760, a group of Vietnamese Sha bandits (sha fei) led by Quận Tầm attacked the Yunnan border towns of Manzhuo and Malu and returned to Đại Việt when Qing soldiers finally came to the rescue. Aibida, the governor-general of Yun-Gui, demanded that the king of Đại Việt produce the suspects. A year and half later, Tầm was captured alive by Vietnamese soldiers led by the Hưng Hóa governor Đinh Văn Thản, and the king had him escorted to Yunnan.37 In 1763, some Qing subjects fishing near but beyond the Guangdong-Vietnamese border were robbed by long-haired foreigners (i.e. Vietnamese). Suchang, the Liangguang governor-general, demanded that the king arrest and extradite the Vietnamese pirates. Đỗ Kiên Nhất and twenty six subordinates were captured in Đại Việt as the pirates responsible for the incident and extradited to Guangxi via Shuikou Pass according to the Phạm Thuần Hậu precedent of 1748.38 In one case I will refer as the Hoàng Phúc Vệ case after the name of the main culprit, the Vietnamese judiciary almost refused to hand over the suspects. One night in 1747, some Vietnamese soldiers approached a border patrol station in Guishun department (in Guangxi) in pursuit of bandits. A few Qing soldiers at the station heard the commotion outside, and a confusing skirmish ensued in the dark, which left two Qing soldiers dead. News of this incident soon reached the Liangguang governor-general Celeng, and he requested that the king of Đại Việt produce those responsible for the killing. Four months passed without any sign of extradition. The Qianlong emperor, exasperated, commented that Celeng should have kept a few Vietnamese subjects who had 36 37 38

QSL, Gaozong, 437: 702b–703a, 441: 742a, 443: 771a. For a similar case two decades earlier, see Ong in this volume. QSL, Gaozong, 609: 845a-b, 631: 44b, 645: 223b. I have been unable to find trial records on the Phạm Thuần Hậu case itself, so the details are murky. Apparently, the Vietnamese criminals led by Hậu injured Qing soldiers and robbed Hakkas. The king of Đại Việt eventually arrested and repatriated them to the Qing, and they were summarily executed on the border. See QSL, Gaozong, 700:832b; QGZ, volume 19, 518- (QL28.11.7), QGZ volume 20, 731- (QL29.3.4).

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come to a Guangxi border post to lodge a complaint on a totally unrelated issue as hostages until the killers were produced. When three more months passed, Celeng recommended in a palace memorial making a show of force, but his suggestion was met with the emperor’s disapproval.39 Soon after, a communication from the king of Đại Việt arrived. Citing the investigation by his officials, the king emphasized the accidental nature of the killing. Appealing to the concept of “treating all peoples equally” (yishitongren) and asking for mercy, the king sent 100 taels of silver as compensation instead of extraditing the culprits. The governor of Guangdong who was filling in for Celeng at the moment, called the king’s conduct improper in his reply, and only then did the king give up the three culprits and one official in charge of them.40 Perhaps taking this case as a lesson, the Vietnamese judiciary acted much more quickly in a later case of similar nature. In 1750, a Vietnamese soldier named Nguyễn Thế Khôi mistook a Qing soldier who had crossed the border to collect firewood as a bandit and killed him. The Vietnamese border official promptly sent the suspect to Yunnan.41 What happened to these extradited Vietnamese criminals? Some were immediately executed due to security concerns. In the Đỗ Kiên Nhất case (1763– 4), Suchang recommended executing the Vietnamese pirates immediately after the initial trial (i.e. without appellate review) because of the security threat they posed, citing the Phạm Thuần Hậu precedent. Qianlong approved Suchang’s request, reasoning that “foreign bandits cannot be handled in the same way” (waiyi feifan anjian banli yuan yu neidi butong).42 Others were punished after a proper trial. Bàn Đạo Kiềm and Đặng Thạnh Vương went through the regular judicial process. Governor-general Shuose’s adjudication for their execution was reviewed and then affirmed by both the Board of Punishment and the Qianlong emperor.43 Some criminals were even allowed to go back to Đại Việt to be tried by the Vietnamese judiciary. In the Hoàng Phúc Vệ case, when the three culprits arrived to Guangxi, the Guangxi governor Shulu at first sentenced all of them to death according to Qing law. Vệ and Lý Phúc Trị, the two soldiers behind the killing, were sentenced to immediate death by beheading. Nông Công Phái, who had cut off the head of a dead Qing soldier, was sentenced to beating and banishment. Even though the Board of Punishment confirmed the original 39 40 41 42 43

QSL, Gaozong, 301: 941b, 945a-b, 309: 50b–51a, 315: 184b–185a. JJCD, 003315 (undated), 003852 (undated). QSL, Gaozong, 387: 85b–86a. QSL, Gaozong, 700: 832b; QGZ volume 20, 731- (QL29.3.4) QSL, Gaozong, 459: 962b.

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adjudication, the emperor subsequently pardoned the soldiers from death and allowed the king of Đại Việt to punish them on his own, citing the accidental nature of the crime and the proper conduct of the king as grounds for leniency.44 Nguyễn Thế Khôi, after his extradition to Yunnan, was sentenced to death by strangulation after the Autumn Assizes. The Board of Punishment confirmed the adjudication, but the emperor pardoned the criminal of the death sentence and allowed the king of Đại Việt to punish him on his own following a logic similar to that in the Hoàng Phúc Vệ case. The soldier was punished with forty strokes of copper club and cashiered according to Vietnamese law.45 As in the Trần Đình Huyên case (1778), however, it is important not to look at these cases as evidence of Vietnamese judicial independence. The repatriation of these Vietnamese criminals was always portrayed as an act of mercy based on the merits of Đại Việt as a tributary state. It was not something that the Vietnamese judiciary could take for granted, as is evident from the above cases where the Qing judiciary did choose to punish Vietnamese subjects itself. The empirical evidence we have from these cases points to the asymmetric status of the two jurisdictions when they interacted with each other. Đại Việt was voluntarily giving up its territorial jurisdiction when it repatriated all Qing criminals committing crimes on its soil. Repatriation of the Qing criminals also meant that the Qing state could maintain personal jurisdiction over its own subjects beyond its borders. It is true that the Qing state does not seem to have taken repatriation of Qing criminals for granted, as is hinted at by Qianlong’s praise of the Vietnamese king for repatriating Zhang Funeng and Wang Budu, “The king did not immediately punish them and repatriated them to await imperial justice. He should be commended for being so respectful and submissive.”46 Yet at the same time the Qing state understood its personal jurisdiction over its subjects as something that was inviolable in theory and thus the repatriation procedure to be the norm. The Qianlong emperor’s statement in the Yang Yadao case (1764) is instructive, “Qing subjects committing robbery in foreign domains cannot escape their crime. But [they should] only be 44

45 46

QSL, Gaozong, 329: 458a-b, 333: 579a-b, 341: 715b–716a. This case offers a very interesting counterpart to the well-known Lady Hughes dispute in that, though the nature of incident was similar, the result could not have been more different. For a detailed analysis of the Lady Hughes dispute, see Li Chen, “Law, Empire, and Historiography of Modern SinoWestern Relations: A Case Study of the Lady Hughes Controversy in 1784,” Law & History Review Vol. 27, no. 1 (2009): 1–53. QSL, Gaozong, 387: 85b–86a; SLXK, volume 40, QL18.5.29 QSL, Gaozong, 567: 195a-b.

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punished in China according to Chinese law and cannot be executed on the spot of the crime.”47 The personal jurisdiction of Đại Việt, on the other hand, was perceived as something that could be taken or given by the Qing state. When the Qing state tried Vietnamese subjects accused of committing crimes against Qing subjects or on Qing soil, it was essentially taking from the Vietnamese state its personal jurisdiction over its own subjects. In a sense, then, the Qing state was only giving back what it had taken when it repatriated the Vietnamese criminals to be tried and punished in Đại Việt. What we have are two judiciaries normally independent of each other. When these two judiciaries intersected via cases of interstate crime, there emerged this asymmetric relationship. It is significant that the Vietnamese act of conceding jurisdiction was considered “proper” and “respectful” by the Qing state. Even though we see no treaty or written agreement between the two states on matters of interstate jurisdiction, the Qing and Vietnamese states seem to have shared at least one set of ideas and practices that were decidedly Qing-centric and mutually binding, that is, the tributary system and its rule of ritual.

No Boundary or Multiple Boundaries?

Edwards maintained in his 1987 study that the Qing had a strong sense of territoriality and territorial sovereignty. Recent studies, however, have complicated the notions of territoriality and national borders, showing how historical processes shaped frontiers and introducing fresh theoretical perspectives. Peter Sahlins, for example, has looked at “the complex interplay of two notions of boundary – zonal and linear- and two ideas of sovereignty – jurisdictional and territorial” – in the state- and nation-building of France and Spain at their Pyrenean frontier between 1659 and 1868.48 Thongchai Winichakul has shown how the “nonbounded” Siamese domain, where sovereignty and border were not coterminous, was transformed into a modern nation with territorial sovereignty through modern geography and mapping.49 The interstate frontier between the Qing and Đại Việt during the eighteenth century was as complicated as the examples shown above. When we do not take a clear border between 47 48 49

QSL, Gaozong, 715: 973b. Peter Sahlins, Boundaries: The Making of France and Spain in the Pyrenees (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1989). Thongchai Winichakul, Siam Mapped: A History of the Geo-Body of a Nation (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1994).

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these two entities as a given quantity, we see that the two states and their subjects conceptualized the Qing-Vietnamese boundary in different ways. At times, these views conflicted. On the one hand, the Qing state did recognize that there existed a boundary between its domain and that of Đại Việt. Without that recognition, the Qing judiciary would not have had any grounds for considering unauthorized travel across the Qing-Vietnamese boundary as illegal. We have already seen how seriously the Qing state took border security and punished Qing and some Vietnamese offenders. There are indeed many instances in the sources where this notion of a boundary is reiterated. In cases involving illegal crossing of the boundary, the crossing was characterized either as a person from “outside” (wai) entering “inside” (nei) or as a person from “inside” going “outside.” For example, Ye Zhen and Zhou Laoliu were people of the interior (neidi minren – i.e. Qing subjects) who had gone to a foreign country without authorization (si chu waiyi).50 On the other hand, Trần Đình Huyên and Nguyễn Văn Phúc were “Annan foreigners” (Annan yiren) who had illegally crossed the border passes (si yue aikou) into China.51 That recognition probably explains why the Qing state respected Vietnamese “territoriality” for the most part. On several occasions, the Qianlong emperor decided against sending troops into Đại Việt out of consideration for what he recognized as a small country (xiao guo) that had been respectful and submissive (su cheng gongshun). When the emperor rejected Celeng’s suggestion of sending a punitive force out into Đại Việt in the Hoàng Phúc Vệ case, he reasoned, “How could the Celestial Court, as a big state, create difficulties for a small state in desolate frontiers?”52 In 1753, the Qianlong emperor justified his decision against sending soldiers to capture Bàn Đạo Kiềm in similar language, “[We] are afraid that Annan will be restless if China sends out soldiers for [his] arrest.”53 Đại Việt, after all, was an important tributary state that had been respectful in its conduct towards the Qing state. Its territoriality was to be respected on most occasions. Two interrelated cases of border encroachment in 1751 perhaps provide the best examples of how the Qing state recognized this interstate boundary and respected Vietnamese “territoriality.” These cases grabbed the attention of Guangxi provincial officials when they heard reports of some unruly Vietnamese burning down bamboo fences planted in the native departments (tuzhou) 50 51 52 53

QSL, Gaozong, 168: 136a-b. QSL, Gaozong, 1061: 179a. QSL, Gaozong, 315: 184b–185a. QSL, Gaozong, 441: 742a

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of Pingxiang and Siling. As these bamboo fences were originally planted to delineate the boundary between Guangxi and Đại Việt, this was considered a serious affront to Qing border security. Further investigation by the Zuojiang censor, however, exposed Qing subjects to be at fault. Apparently, local leaders (tusi) of these two departments had planted the bamboo fences across the boundary in order to occupy tracts of land belonging to their Vietnamese neighbors. Those Vietnamese implicated were only trying to protect their property when they burned the bamboo fences down. A trial personally attended by the top echelon of Guangxi province ensued. Two people in Pingxiang – Li Zikun and Zhang Shangzhong – and two in Siling – Luo Fuli and Huang Qingmao – were found guilty of illegally occupying foreign land and fabricating reports to local authorities. Li and Zhang were banished to a place far from Guangxi, Luo sentenced to penal servitude in Chengdu, and Huang to forty strokes of heavy bamboo and a penal servitude of three years at the distance of 1,000 li. The Vietnamese lands illegally occupied were returned to their owners, the plan to use bamboo fences for border delineation stopped, and many local officials punished for their negligence.54 These cases show us two things. First, the Qing state made a conscious effort to delineate a visible boundary between the two states by building bamboo fences in the GuangxiVietnamese frontier. Second, the Qing state clearly recognized Đại Việt’s territoriality when it punished its own subjects for encroaching on Vietnamese soil. But the Vietnamese-Qing boundary was not inviolable from the Qing perspective. Security considerations or imperial propriety overrode respect for Vietnamese territoriality on several occasions, and the Qing state did not hesitate to enter Đại Việt at those times. The clearest example, even though it falls outside the purview of this legal study, comes from the well-known Qing intervention of 1788 against the Tây Sơn rebels. As Trương Bưu Lâm pointed out, the Qing justified its decision to send troops to Đại Việt by portraying the restoration of Lê Duy Kỳ to the Vietnamese throne as a tribute obligation. I agree with Lâm’s observation and quote him at length, “In short, the principle of ‘Heaven has divided up territories but not peoples’ … gave China a highly flexible tool with which to conduct her external relations. She could recognize independent rulers because territories could be independent, but she could also intervene whenever and wherever she judged it necessary because the Chinese

54

SLXK, volume 10, QL16.7.24, QL16.7.26; SLXK, volume 13, QL16.12.19; GZD, 403000392 (QL16.8.21), 403000461(QL16.9.初1), 403000628 (QL16.9.21), 403000659 (QL16.9.27), 403002138 (QL16.11.11).

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emperor was responsible for all the peoples under Heaven and because their rulers were viewed as his appointed representatives.”55 Lâm’s observation is supported by other cases from my sample. In 1750, a local native official (cha’mu) named Li Shichang led an authorized mission from Yunnan to apprehend Qing fugitives hiding in Đại Việt. The official and his underlings were successful in their mission, capturing six fugitives led by Yi Changliao, but faced difficulties when they tried to enter Guangxi from Đại Việt. Reviewing the case afterwards, both the Guangxi governor and Qianlong commented that these men were on a legitimate mission and should not have been stopped at the border. The local Guangxi officials were punished for their negligence. This case shows that both the Yunnan local official who authorized the mission and the top echelon of the Qing state saw nothing wrong with this encroachment on Vietnamese territoriality. Furthermore, there is no indication in the sources that Đại Việt was even consulted about this cross-border mission.56 In the Quận Tầm case (1760), the Qianlong emperor rebuked Aibida for his decision not to send his soldiers beyond the border to chase the bandits. Apparently Aibida had feared that doing so would alarm the Vietnamese. This is what Qianlong had to say, “Those entering (i.e. Vietnamese bandits) dared to encroach on the imperial boundary, and yet those chasing (them) (i.e. Qing soldiers) would not dare cross the foreign boundary?” Hot pursuit was allowed, since the matter at hand was defense of the imperial system (tizhi). Otherwise this could give foreigners a chance to spy on the local situation and slight the Central Court (waiyi yinshi de kui xushi qingshi Zhongchao).57 The imperial system was clearly more important than Qing respect toward Vietnamese “territoriality” in this case. Also worth noting from Qianlong’s comment is his recognition of two separate boundaries. Accustomed to modern borders as we are, we often tend to think of one border dividing two states. In Qianlong’s mind, however, the Qing-Vietnamese boundary had at least two sides: one for entering China and one for entering Đại Việt. Qing “territoriality”, like that of Đại Việt, was to be respected as well, not only because there existed a boundary between the two states but also for other reasons. Frontier security was clearly connected to imperial decorum (titong) in Qing eyes. It was for this reason that the Qianlong emperor explicitly commanded his provincial officials not to let a single foreigner inside 55

56 57

Trương Bưu Lâm, “Intervention Versus Tribute in Sino-Vietnamese Relations, 1788–1790,” in The Chinese World Order: Traditional China’s Foreign Relations, edited by John K. Fairbank (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1968), 179. QSL, Gaozong, 363: 1002a–1003a QSL, Gaozong, 609: 845a-b.

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China whenever there were disturbances on the frontier. The clearest connection between Qing “territoriality” and imperial decorum is perhaps seen in Celeng’s memorial of 1747 regarding the Hoàng Phúc Vệ case, “[This case] indeed concerns Annanese [soldiers] pursuing bandits and being unable to differentiate between [Chinese soldiers and the bandits] in the darkness and unintentionally killing [a Chinese soldier]. But as it is a matter of frontier security and thus a matter of imperial decorum, regarding this case as an accident might slacken our defense against foreigners.”58 There is a subtle distinction here in how the Qing state viewed the territorialities of the Qing and Vietnamese states. The Qing state respected but could violate Vietnamese “territoriality” at times, while it expected Đại Việt to respect Qing “territoriality” at all times. Thus, we can argue that there existed two boundaries between the two states: the inflexible, inviolable boundary into China and the more flexible boundary out to Đại Việt. This asymmetric hierarchy of boundaries was related to the Sinocentric concept of All Under Heaven (tianxia), a concept that has been somewhat ignored by the recent New Qing History scholars. These scholars have been remarkably successful in showing the imperial nature of Qing China by looking at its multifaceted rulership, universal claims, and multiethnic/ multicultural constituencies. For example, the books by Evelyn Rawski on Qing imperial institutions and by Pamela Crossley on Qing imperial ideology nicely complement each other in presenting a holistic view of the Qing empire from the center: multifaceted Qing rulership drawing upon its Inner Asian heritage and appealing to different constituencies of the empire.59 James Millward’s book on Qing empire building in Xinjiang (Central Asia) also focused on the Inner Asian orientation, while Peter Perdue expanded this Inner Asian orientation by focusing on the competition among the Qing, Russian, and Zunghar empires over Xinjiang.60 There have also been case studies on other frontiers of the Qing empire such as southwest China and Taiwan.61 Despite all these achievements, I see a particular gap in this scholarship. Historians of the 58 See QSL, Gaozong, 301: 945a-b 59 Pamela Crossley, A Translucent Mirror: History and Identity in Qing Imperial Ideology (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999). Evelyn Rawski, The Last Emperors: A Social History of Qing Imperial Institutions (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998). 60 James Millward, Beyond the Pass: Economy, Ethnicity, and Empire in Qing Central Asia, 1759–1864 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1998). Peter Perdue, China Marches West: The Qing Conquest of Central Eurasia (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2005). 61 Laura Hostetler, Qing Colonial Enterprise: Ethnography and Cartography in Early Modern China (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001). Emma Teng, Taiwan’s Imagined Geography: Chinese Colonial Travel Writings and Pictures, 1683–1895 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2004).

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Qing empire, even though they stress that the Qing and China should not be equated, unconsciously have set the spatial and conceptual limits of the Qing empire at the national borders recognized by the Peoples Republic of China and the Republic of China. Thus, even though they see the Qing empire as an imperial state, they have only focused on Qing imperial projects inside today’s “Chinese” borders and have largely ignored Qing imperial projects outside those borders. Yet, as an imperial power, the Qing had clear agendas dealing with the now independent nation-states of Outer Mongolia, Korea, and Vietnam as well, and these agendas could be as imperial as Qing’s more inward projects. It is time we begin to explore this hinterland within the field of Qing imperialism and study the role of the tianxia worldview in a more holistic perspective. This case study on Qing-Vietnamese legal interactions, in that sense, is only a point of departure. There are many other boundaries that these cases show us. One notable boundary among them is “cultural,” for lack of a better conceptual term. As we have seen in the cases above, the Qing-Vietnamese border was more porous than the authorities of either state would have liked. Behind the authorities’ fear of geographical boundaries being crossed was their fear of cultural boundaries being crossed and muddled, turning against the imperial interests.62 The Qing authorities saw their worst fear materialized in the Tang A’ai case of 1784. Tang was a Qing subject who had moved to southwestern Vietnam in 1773. There he married a Vietnamese woman and raised a family. After the Tây Sơn takeover, he began to dress in Vietnamese attire and received a title from the Tây Sơn regime to work as a local official. During the Tây Sơn civil war in 1783, Tang encountered twenty four Chinese sailors who had been arrested by local Vietnamese officials. Tang, wishing to make a fortune by selling the cargo on their ship, conspired with three of the sailors. He helped the sailors escape, take the ship, and head with him to Macao to sell off the goods. They met their demise when they were back in Chenghai county (in Guangdong) in early 1784, as Chen Xielao, owner of the ship and the cargo, proceeded to bring the case to the Chenghai magistrate. This incident astonished the Qing court and led Qianlong to comment, “It is impossible to seal off Han traitors going beyond the border completely. But Tang A’ai, as a Qing subject, has dared to receive a false foreign title, get married and birth a daughter, and engage in plundering this ship… The circumstances are indeed hateful.”63 62

63

C. Patterson Giersch, “‘A Motley Throng:’ Social Change on Southwest China’s Early Modern Frontier, 1700–1880”, Journal of Asian Studies, 60.1 (2001): 67–94, highlights Qing officials’ fear of Han migrants turning on the imperial state and thus committing cultural and political treason. QSL, Gaozong, 1200: 44a-b; MQSL, jia volume 1, QL49.閏3.15

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Tang, in short, was the epitome of a Han traitor (Hanjian), in both political and cultural terms. He reminded the Qing authorities of the dangers that crossing a geographic boundary might engender. Tang and the sailors were tried and punished according to their degrees of guilt.64 In most cases, one has to be a subject before becoming a traitor.65 Clearly, the Qing judiciary saw Tang as a Qing subject who had betrayed his political loyalty and cultural roots. But did Tang, who had a family in Vietnam, cut off his queue, and worked as a local official in Đại Việt, really consider himself a Qing subject? Or did Zhou Gui, who had lived in Đại Việt all his life, really consider himself a Qing subject? It is true that both Tang and Zhou came to be identified as Qing subjects who had turned on the imperial state and died as traitors. But the Qing-Vietnamese frontier, like many other frontiers, was full of people constantly on the move, and it is questionable whether they saw themselves in a binary world neatly divided between the Qing and Đại Việt. Their personal histories point to the very complicated nature of “cultural” boundaries and the repertoire of options such areas provided for one’s self-identity. Before we move on to our next topic, subjecthood, it is important to keep in mind that subjecthood was only one of many ways one could identify oneself and that subjecthood as a status was neither fixed nor straightforward. Forgetting to do so would give subjecthood a very state-centered and juridical status, an undue importance that might not reflect the lived experiences of people inhabiting the Qing-Vietnamese frontier.66

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The adjudication by Guangdong provincial officials was as follows: Tang A’ai was sentenced to immediate death by beheading and exposure of his head. Chen Along, Chen Aqian, and Chen Adian, three sailors who were complicit in the plundering of the cargo, were sentenced to death by strangulation after the Autumn Assizes. Ten others who participated in dividing up the booty were sentenced to penal servitude. The case was then reviewed by the Board of Punishment and Three Judiciaries, who recommended the original adjudication be followed. The Qianlong emperor made a small adjustment in his own review by sentencing the three Chens to immediate death by strangulation. See QSL, Gaozong, 1202: 85b–86a, 1205: 128a-b; MQSL jia volume 1, QL49.閏3.15, QL49.閏3.20. Lauren Benton, A Search for Sovereignty: Law and Geography in European Empires, 1400– 1900 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 64–66. Giersch points to cultural complexity and ambiguity as the norm in the Qing’s Yunnan frontier. See especially C. Patterson Giersch, Asian Borderlands: The Transformation of Qing China’s Yunnan Frontier (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2006), ch. 7.

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Between Local and Universal Subjecthood

Here, I focus on cases of interstate justice where fugitives of one state escaped to the other in hopes of finding refuge. It was one thing for the Qing judiciary to punish Vietnamese criminals, because these criminals were still considered foreign subjects and punished as such. So their subjecthood remained intact. On the other hand, when Vietnamese refugees were accepted by the Qing, these subjects of Đại Việt were essentially naturalized as Qing subjects. Their subjecthood was transferred from the Vietnamese state to the Qing state, resulting in a net loss for Đại Việt. The basic code of conduct between the two states regarding fugitives was mutual repatriation. The Qing state emphasized the respectful conduct of the Vietnamese king as a tributary ruler and the separateness of the two realms when repatriating Vietnamese fugitives. In 1773, Bác Tam, who had been involved with Nguyễn Ngọc Huân’s rebellion against Đại Việt, was captured by Qing soldiers after he entered Yunnan province from northern Đại Việt along with his family members. The Yun-Gui governor-general Zhangbao recommended the repatriation of these fugitives because of their criminality. The Qianlong emperor approved this recommendation, so Tam and his family members were repatriated to Đại Việt. They were first sent to Guangxi, with the king of Đại Việt notified in advance so that his officials could receive them on the Guangxi-Vietnamese border.67 In 1779, officials in Yunnan arrested eighteen bandits who had fled to Qing territory after being routed by Vietnamese forces in northern Đại Việt. There were few Vietnamese subjects among the ranks, and they were repatriated to Đại Việt according to precedent (zhaoli fahuan). The wording of this event indicates that the repatriation of Vietnamese fugitives was a practice that had long been established by the middle of the eighteenth century.68 In the same year, Đinh An and eleven others were arrested in Guangxi and sent back to Đại Việt when investigation by provincial officials revealed them to be refugees fleeing political infighting in Bảo Lạc. Considered to be harmless refugees, these people were well taken care by the Qing on their way back to Bảo Lạc.69 That year, the king of Đại Việt requested any remnants of Hoàng Văn Đồng’s rebellion to be repatriated in case they fled into the Qing borderlands or surrendered at Qing border posts, citing the repatriation of members of the Mạc royal family (1689), of Nguyễn Ngọc Hán et al. (1751), and of Bác Tam 67 68 69

QSL, Gaozong, 929: 496a QSL, Gaozong, 1086: 549a–550a; JJCD, 023905 (QL44.5.21), 024217 (QL44.6.29). QSL, Gaozong, 1089: 631b–632a; JJCD, 025387 (QL44.10.20).

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et al. (1773) as precedents. Fukang’an, the Yun-Gui governor-general, complied and repatriated eighteen fugitives, including Đồng’s children and deputies, the following year.70 Some of these fugitives, such as Bác Tam, were fleeing the Vietnamese judiciary. Others, like Đinh An, were merely escaping intolerable circumstances. Either way, they were all returned to Đại Việt, and their subjecthood remained intact. On three other occasions, Qing fugitives on the run from the Qing judiciary were repatriated. Li Shichang’s official mission into Đại Việt to capture runaway criminals led by Yi Changliao has been discussed. In 1753, three Qing bandits from Dongguan (in Guangdong) were arrested by the Vietnamese official Phan Hoành Diệu and repatriated to the Qing. Diệu seems to have done so on his own initiative, and he was rewarded handsomely by the Qing for his service.71 In 1791, a group of pirates from Yazhou prefecture (in Guangdong) fled to southern Vietnam (Cochinchina) after escaping from the Qing navy. Fukang’an, the governor-general of Liangguang, requested Nguyễn Huệ, the Tây Sơn ruler, to capture them if possible or drive them back toward the Qing seas. Huệ, recently recognized by the Qing court as the king of Annan, perhaps wanted to impress the Qianlong emperor and so put his trusted general Ngô Văn Sở to the task. Soon, a Vietnamese official named Lê Văn Nhận succeeded in killing twenty pirates and capturing two more. The two pirates were repatriated to Guangxi and promptly executed there. Nguyễn Huệ, Diệu, and Nhận were all rewarded by the Qianlong emperor for their service to the Qing state.72 In all three cases, Qing fugitives were repatriated or forced back to China, one way or the other. The Qing state, however, could and did take Vietnamese refugees in, employing a “universal humanitarian” rhetoric captured in a statement that provincial officials of Yunnan made in 1739, “The Celestial Court’s benevolence extends everywhere” (Tianchao gu wubu bian zhi ren).73 In 1769, for example, Hoàng Công Toản, with over four hundred followers, arrived in Yunnan after having been driven out of Luang Prabang (Laos) by Lê troops and asked for asylum. The initial Qing reaction was ambivalent. In his first edict on the matter, the Qianlong emperor reflected that on principle these people should not be allowed refuge, since they were subjects of a respectful and submissive (gongshun) tribute state. At the same time, he reasoned, sending these people back would be against the imperial principle of “treating all peoples equally” 70 71 72 73

JJCD, 024355 (QL44.6.24), 027633 (QL45.6.24) QSL, Gaozong, 431: 637a, 435: 684a. QSL, Gaozong, 1370: 380b–381a, 1372: 419b–420a, 1381: 531a-b. QSL, Gaozong, 97: 471b–472a.

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(yishitongren). Qianlong decided to accept them on a temporary basis until the king of Đại Việt could be asked about the matter. But soon the emperor was persuaded by the Grand Councilor Fuheng’s argument: If the king were asked about the matter, he might label them rebels and request their repatriation, in which case the Qing would be caught in the dilemma of deciding between rejecting a tributary king’s request and sending these people to certain death. In the end it was decided that the principle of imperial benevolence without boundary should be a sufficient answer for any possible inquiry or protest from Đại Việt. Toản and his followers were accepted as refugees and settled in Yunnan. From this point on, these Vietnamese subjects were essentially “naturalized” in the modern sense. The Qing state repeatedly refused Vietnamese demands to return these “rebels” to Đại Việt and instead sent them to Ürümqi in Central Asia to be settled there, affirming on at least one occasion that these people were no different from Qing subjects and as such out of the Vietnamese king’s reach.74 In 1790, after the Qing military intervention against the Tây Sơn rebels had failed, Lê loyalists sought refuge in China in a similar manner. Lê Duy Kỳ, last ruler of his dynasty, and his close followers were incorporated into Han Bordered Yellow Banners in Beijing, with the king and his most important ministers serving as hereditary banner officials. Other refugees were settled in several different provinces, such as Zhejiang and Sichuan, far away from the Qing-Vietnamese frontier. They were enlisted in the provincial Green Standards and granted tracts of government land to make a living. In addition, all Lê loyalists, whether in Beijing or the provinces, were ordered to wear the queue and Qing attire after their “naturalization.” An important issue at hand was convincing Nguyễn Huệ, the new ruler of Đại Việt, that the Lê royalists had no intention of returning to Đại Việt to cause trouble for his new and still unstable government.75 Lê Duy Phổ, a member of the royal family, also found refuge with the Qing in 1794 after appearing at the Guangxi-Vietnamese border wearing a queue and Qing dress. Once his identity was verified by Qing officials, he was reunited with his family in Beijing.76 On two other occasions, the Qing state took the initiative in accepting Vietnamese fugitives as Qing subjects. In 1739, provincial officials of Yunnan made 74

75 76

QSL, Gaozong, 834: 130b–131a, 836: 158a-b, 870: 669b–670a, 878: 762b–763a, 764b–765a, 880: 793a, 882: 814a-b, 884: 846a-b, 888: 891b–892b, 893: 996a-b, 904: 84a-b; JJCD, 013171 (QL35.12.6), 013403 (QL36.1.27). QSL, Gaozong, 1342:1201a-b, 1346: 9a-b, 1348:36a-b, 44a-b, 1355:149b, 1361:247b–248a, 254b–255a. QSL, Gaozong, 1445: 283b–284a, 1455:393a-b, 1463:552a-b.

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an offer of partial amnesty77 to a mixed group of Vietnamese and Chinese rebels in Đại Việt led by Hẻ Trưởng. The rebels accepted the offer and surrendered as criminals of the Qing state. The Qianlong emperor was very dissatisfied that the provincial officials had made this offer of amnesty in the first place but affirmed that an offer already made had to be respected. Interrogation of thirty seven rebels placed them in three different categories: eleven main culprits who had actively participated in the rebellion, twenty one confederates coerced into joining the rebellion, and five who had never agreed to surrender to the Qing state in the first place. The main culprits, who came from either Đại Việt or Guangnan prefecture in Yunnan, were all sentenced to forty days in the cangue, forty blows of heavy bamboo, and life under surveillance by local officials in Guangdong and Sichuan.78 Among the twenty one accomplices, Qing subjects were sent back to their native places in Guangnan and those from Đại Việt relocated to various places in Yunnan. The five Vietnamese subjects who refused to surrender were all repatriated to Đại Việt to be handled by their king accordingly.79 This episode is interesting in at least two ways. First, it is striking that the Yunnan provincial officials even thought about granting amnesty to foreign rebels based in a foreign domain. They justified their action by citing the need to protect the Qing borderlands, and here we see yet another instance where security overruled respect for Vietnamese territoriality. Second, the Vietnamese subjects who surrendered, because of the offer of partial amnesty, became “naturalized” as subjects of the Qing state and punished as such, while those who did not surrender remained Vietnamese subjects and were repatriated. In another case in 1777, Yang Jingsu, the Liangguang governor-general, reported on the plight of Vietnamese wives who still remained in prison after the pirates led by Li Aji had been punished. Yang pitied these women and suggested “naturalizing” them by marrying them off to local garrison soldiers. Qianlong gave his approval.80 What happened to fugitives thus “naturalized?” For the most part, they were treated as Qing subjects and essentially members of the Qing state. Thus, when a local Vietnamese official requested an investigation of the Mạc clan living in 77 78

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They were only promised that their lives would be spared upon surrender, not total exoneration. They were first sentenced to hundred blows of heavy bamboo and three years of penal servitude by Qingfu following the statute on rebellion, but their sentences were commuted by the Board of Punishment in consideration of their “foreignness.” QSL, Gaozong 93: 443b, 97: 471b–472b, 103: 550b–551a, 118: 729a–730a, 128: 873a, 147: 113a; MQSL, jia volume 1, QL6.5.初7 QGZ volume 38, 811- (QL42.6.1)

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Sicheng prefecture (in Guangxi) in 1751, both the provincial officials and the emperor were of the opinion that the request should be flatly refused. These people had lived in Qing territory for a long time and were thus subjects of the Celestial Court (Tianchao chizi).81 Hoàng Công Toản and his group of refugees continued to live in Urumqi, and the sources verify their existence there in 1777 and 1804.82 At the same time, their status as Qing subjects was not immutable. When the Qing court recognized Nguyễn Huệ as the king of Annan and the political turmoil in Đại Việt was dying out, some of the refugees of the Lê court voiced their desire to return to their homeland. The Qianlong emperor thought their request reasonable given the change of the situation and ordered provincial officials to make a list of those who wished to return home and to facilitate their repatriation via Guangxi. Qianlong’s message to Nguyễn Huệ made it clear that these people would be considered fully Vietnamese from then on. Huệ, as their king, was to treat these people with kindness as long as they did not cause further trouble. If they did, the king did not need to worry about the fact that they had once lived in China. He was authorized to deal with them accordingly, and there was no need to report on his handling.83 It clearly showed the transfer of subjecthood that was happening with the repatriation. What do these cases tell us about subjecthood? First, we see just how far the Qing state could encroach upon the sovereignty of Đại Việt by accepting enemies of Thăng Long’s as refugees and eventually as its own subjects. Hẻ Trưởng, for example, had called himself a king and was leading an open rebellion against the Lê/Trịnh court. Even though there were Qing subjects among the ranks of the rebels, the rebellion took place solely within the Vietnamese domain. And yet the Yunnan governor Qingfu made an offer of amnesty to the rebels simply because he wished to secure the Qing frontier. The king of Đại Việt was never consulted about this matter and only notified of the fait accompli. Likewise, Hoàng Công Toản and his followers were granted asylum in Qing territory and eventually became naturalized, even though they were rebels from Thăng Long’s point of view. Đại Việt was never consulted about this process and was again only notified of the fait accompli. Repeated requests from the Lê court for the repatriation of these rebels were only met with scoffing and rebuke from the provincial officials and the Qing emperor. The Vietnamese king’s demand itself was considered improper, and the language used in his communications even more so. In the end, the Qing state did not even bother 81 82 83

QSL, Gaozong, 402: 284a-b; SLXK volume 14, QL16.12.17. On the Mac, see Baldanza and Ong in this volume. QSL, Gaozong 1046: 1011a, Jiaqing, 133: 804a-b. QSL, Gaozong, 1363: 289a–290a, 1364: 298b, 304a-b, 308a-b.

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to respond to the king’s communications due to his “persistence in error.” In these two cases, Đại Việt was essentially deprived of the chance to punish its own rebellious subjects, which was also a loss of personal and territorial sovereignty. Second, they show that the Qing state looked at a Vietnamese subject as a subject both of the Vietnamese king and of the tianxia. When the Qing state repatriated Vietnamese fugitives, it was highlighting Vietnamese subjects as the rightful subjects of their king. Yet when the Qing state accepted Vietnamese fugitives as Qing subjects, it was treating them as subjects of the world who were worthy of imperial benevolence, since “all peoples should be treated equally” (yishitongren). Here the Qing imperial worldview of tianxia might be recalled. This multifaceted imperial space of subjecthood was not the Qing imperial monopoly either. It was open to exploitation by Vietnamese subjects who wished to find a niche in this imperial space for their own benefit. We have already seen how refugees of the Lê court ceased to be Vietnamese subjects and were instead given new lives as Qing subjects when they wished to be. We have also seen how some of those refugees decided that it was in their best interest to cease being Qing subjects and appealed to be turned back into Vietnamese subjects, a wish that was granted by the emperor.

Annan and Chosŏn Compared

So how do we put the cases we have looked at in context? Đại Việt, along with Chosŏn and Ryukyu/Liuqiu, has long been identified as model tributary states. This club of “model tributaries” was first noted by John K. Fairbank and Ssu-yu Teng, whose emphasis on Sinocentrism in the tribute system led them to believe that only in the Sinic Zone (Korea, Vietnam, Liuqiu) were theory and practice of the tribute system coterminous. Even James Hevia, a fierce critique of Fairbank’s model of tribute system, left this idea unchallenged in his important book on the Macartney Mission, choosing to devote mere two pages to these “model tributaries.”84 But in fact we know little about how these model tribute relationships and the rule of ritual worked in reality, because the Qing relationship with these states has largely been ignored in the works on Qing foreign relations and Qing imperialism. I have already commented on the nation-state myopia of Qing imperial historians. Scholars of Qing foreign rela84

John K. Fairbank and Ssu-yu Teng, “On the Ch’ing Tributary System,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies, 6.2 (1941), 135–246; James Hevia, Cherishing Men from Afar: Qing Guest Ritual and the Macartney Embassy of 1793 (Durham: Duke University Press, 1995), 50–1.

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tions have exhibited a perpetual fascination with Qing-Western relations that eventually lead to the questions of “China’s introduction to the modern world” or of “missed chances.”85 The examination of Qing relations with its Asian neighbors has tended to be in the form of case studies, which, while of great value for their empirical findings, could benefit from attention to comparisons.86 In this section, I briefly compare the Qing-Vietnamese cases analyzed above with Qing-Chosŏn legal cases during the same period.87 As Chosŏn and Annan were the two tributary states that had the most frequent and consistent interactions with the Qing, I believe that this comparison can highlight some general characteristics of the Qing tributary legal order as well as local peculiarities of the Qing-Vietnamese legal cases. The main similarity between the two groups of legal cases is in the remarkable reach of the Qing judiciary over subjects of neighboring states who committed crimes against the Qing state, that is, on Qing soil or against Qing subjects. We have already seen how the Qing judiciary could assert jurisdiction over Vietnamese subjects committing crimes against the Qing state. In the Chosŏn cases, we see three main ways that the Qing judiciary forced certain judicial procedures upon Chosŏn criminals and the Chosŏn judiciary. First, in seven cases, the Qing state let the Chosŏn judiciary try these criminals on its own. The initial Korean adjudication, however, was subject to review by the Qing judiciary, and only after the Qing judiciary confirmed the adjudication

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For notable works, see John K Fairbank, Trade and Diplomacy on the China Coast: The Opening of the Treaty Ports, 1842–1845 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1953); Hevia, Cherishing Men from Afar; and John E. Wills, Embassies and Illusions: Dutch and Portuguese Envoys to K’ang-hsi, 1666–1687 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1984). Even though Hevia explicitly criticizes this approach from a postcolonial angle, I would argue that he reproduces the colonial framework by giving undue emphasis on British perceptions of the Qing. There are too many case studies to be listed here, so I mention just a few notable works that have influenced my research: John K. Fairbank, The Chinese World Order; Liam Kelley, Beyond the Bronze Pillars: Envoy Poetry and the Sino-Vietnamese Relationship (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2005); Li Huazi, Cho-Ch’ŏng kukkyŏng munje yŏn’gu (P’aju, Chimmundang, 2008); Sun, Qing dai Zhong Yue zong fan guan xi yan jiu; Yu Insun, Pet’ŭnamgwa kŭ iut Chungguk (Seoul: Changbi, 2012). Jaymin Kim, “Reach of the Qing Jurisdiction: Chosŏn Subjects Who Became Criminals of the Qing State, 1640s–1850s” (ms.). I focus on how some subjects of Chosŏn committing crimes in the Qing domain were transformed into criminals of the Qing state via many judicial procedures that were forced upon these criminals and the Chosŏn judiciary. Among the fifty nine cases I looked at, eleven date from the Qianlong period.

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could the criminals be punished.88 Second, in three cases of utmost seriousness involving the homicide of Qing subjects by Chosŏn subjects, the Qing state arranged for a joint trial (huishen) in the Qing border city of Fenghuang with three Qing special commissioners and one from Chosŏn. After the trials, the criminals were then sent back to Chosŏn to await review by the Qing judiciary before being punished by the Chosŏn judiciary.89 Finally, in one highly unusual case for which there was no precedent, the Chosŏn criminals were tried on Qing soil entirely by the Qing judiciary. Only after the initial adjudication was reviewed and confirmed were the criminals sent back to Chosŏn, where they were punished according to the Qing adjudication.90 In all eleven cases, we can see the Qing judiciary exercising varying degrees of control over the Chosŏn judiciary’s trying and punishing its own subjects. The Chosŏn judiciary was thus subordinated to the Qing judiciary for the duration of these trials with the result that the king of Chosŏn was deprived of his sovereign right to have the final say over the trial and punishment of his own subjects. Despite this overarching similarity between the Vietnamese and the Korean judicial situations of Qing control, we see two important differences. First, each set of interstate legal cases had its own unique judicial procedures. The practice of joint trial, for example, was well-established between Qing and Chosŏn but nonexistent between Qing and Đại Việt. My research reveals that this procedure in Fenghuang went back to 1711. Moreover, between 1648 and 1691, there were at least ten joint trial cases in Seoul.91 In fact, as Edwards and Cassel have shown, joint trial was a fairly well-established juridical tool that the Qing state used when dealing with cases involving Bannermen or Europeans in Macau.92 So the lack of this procedure in Qing-Đại Việt legal cases seems significant. The practice of the Autumn Assizes, a unique feature of the Qing judiciary that gave some condemned criminals a last chance to avoid death, was another 88

Kim Si-chong case (1739–1743; TMHG j. 55: 7–18, 19–23, 36–9, 41–2, 44–5), Sŏn Myŏng case (1740–1742; TMHG j. 55: 23–30, 34–9), Sŏ-nun-tal-i-mo case (1741–1742; TMHG j. 55: 30–9), Yi Un-kil case (1747–1753; TMHG j. 56: 1–12), Han Sang-lin case (1756–1757; TMHG j. 56: 44–46; j. 57: 1–7), Kim Sun-jŏng case (1761–1778; TMHG j. 58: 1–23; j. 59: 10–13), and Pak Hu-ch’an case (1762–1778; TMHG j. 58: 23–47; j. 59: 1–13), 89 Kim In-sul case (1750–1751; TMHG j.56: 12–42), Cho Ja-yŏng case (1756–1759; TMHG j. 57: 1–38), and Kim Pong-su case (1764–1777; TMHG j. 59: 13–44). 90 Ch’oe Su-man case (1747–1748; TMHG j. 64: 28–35). 91 Kim, “Reach of the Qing Jurisdiction: Chosŏn Subjects Who Became Criminals of the Qing State, 1640s–1850s,” 10–13, 16–22. 92 Cassel, Grounds of Judgment, 15–38; Edwards, “Ch’ing Legal Jurisdiction over Foreigners,” 226–232

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procedure that existed in Qing-Chosŏn cases but not in Qing-Đại Việt ones.93 This practice, initially foreign to the Chosŏn judiciary, was first adopted during the Kim Si-chong case (1739–1743) when the Qing Three High Courts, Board of Personnel, and Board of War decided in their appellate review to change the sentencing of four principal Korean criminals from death by decapitation to death by strangulation after the Autumn Assizes. When the Qing Board of Rites memorialized on how the concept did not exist in Chosŏn, the Qianlong emperor gave detailed instruction on what to do and further decreed that all future cases involving sentences of death after the Autumn Assizes on Chosŏn criminals were to follow this case as precedent, as many did through the rest of the eighteenth century.94 In turn, there were procedures that existed in QingĐại Việt cases but not in Qing-Chosŏn ones. The most notable was the “naturalization” of Vietnamese political refugees. We have seen how refugees led by Hoàng Công Toản and those of the Lê court were accepted, on separate occasions, into the Qing domain and eventually fully naturalized. This “naturalization” process cannot be found in Qing-Chosŏn cases, even though we do know about Chosŏn prisoners of war from the early 17th century Manchu invasions of Korea who ended up becoming Qing subjects. Second, the reach of the Qing judiciary over subjects of Chosŏn and Đại Việt was different in degree. In general, the Qing judicial hold over Chosŏn subjects materialized on a more frequent and sustained basis. I have found fifty nine cases where Chosŏn subjects committed crimes against the Qing state between the 1640s and the 1850s, one legal case every three or four years on the average. This consistency, I believe, played a large role in the routinization of judicial procedures in Qing-Chosŏn cases, so that the idea of using a previous case as precedent became well-established. This use of precedent was not a totally one-way process either. The Chosŏn state could and often did draw upon the body of past cases in a way that suited its interests. This consistency also brought the Qing and Chosŏn judiciaries closer to each other. During the Qianlong reign, the Board of Rites would recommend pardoning the Korean king based on his prompt actions and his ritual propriety in everyday conduct toward the Qing state. Even though the Qianlong 93

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Sentencing of capital punishment during the Qing was categorized into two groups: immediate death or death after the Assizes. Every autumn, the emperor would decide in a ritualistic fashion whether criminals convicted with death after the Assizes would be executed, be spared for one more year, or pardoned of the death sentence. See Derk Bodde and Clarence Morris, Law in Imperial China: Exemplified by 190 Ch’ing Dynasty Cases (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1967), 134–143. TMHG j. 55: 7–18, 19–23, 36–9, 41–2, 44–5.

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emperor would then approve such recommendations, the implication was that the Qing judiciary had the authority to punish the Chosŏn king as it saw fit. In addition, the Qing Board of Rites would discuss administrative sanctions and sometimes actual punishment for Chosŏn officials. The Korean ministers were not as fortunate as their king during the Qianlong period and often felt the brunt of the Qing judicial hold over their bodies. The Board of Rites in such cases served to bring the Chosŏn judiciary more firmly within the Qing system. Indeed, if even the very top echelon of the Chosŏn judiciary could be punished by the Qing judiciary, who in the realm of Chosŏn could avoid being subject to Qing jurisdiction? The reach of the Qing judiciary over Vietnamese subjects, on the other hand, was manifested in a more singular and dramatic fashion. The use of precedents was less common here. As noted above, there seem to have been precedents and established routines for the repatriation of fugitives and the extradition of criminals. Other than these, there is rarely any explicit mention of precedent in the discussion of legal procedures or punishments for criminals. Overall, the Qing judicial hold over Vietnamese subjects seems to have been unpredictable. The Hẻ Trưởng case, for example, shows one instance where the Qing judiciary accepted the surrender of Vietnamese rebels active on Vietnamese soil and actually punished their leaders. For the Hoàng Phúc Vệ, Nguyễn Thế Khôi, and Trần Đình Huyên cases, all the trials took place on Qing soil, with no official Vietnamese participation, even though the suspects were eventually returned to Đại Việt to be tried and punished by the Vietnamese king on his own. We even see Vietnamese criminals being sent to the Qing for trial and punishment in the Bàn Đạo Kiềm and Quận Tầm cases. In fact, the Qing state – especially provincial officials in Guangxi and Yunnan – seems to have preferred the more direct means of exerting pressure in its relations with Đại Việt. We have already noted how Celeng wanted to make a show of force during the Hoàng Phúc Vệ case, even though the Qianlong emperor rejected the suggestion. We have also seen how Sun Shiyi’s proposal for direct intervention on behalf of the Lê court resulted in the Qing expedition against the rebellious Tây Sơn forces in the 1780s. What accounts for these differences? We should look for the answer in a concatenation of interrelated factors. How each of the two states came to be a tributary state of Qing probably played a role. Chosŏn was forced to become the Qing’s first tributary state after its humiliating defeat by Hong Taiji’s Bannermen forces in 1637. The unequal terms of their relationship were spelled out in the peace treaty between the two states, and Chosŏn was forced to support the Qing in its quest to defeat the Ming and conquer China Proper. Đại Việt, on the other hand, voluntarily became Qing’s tributary state in 1666,

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when the Qing conquest of China Proper was beginning to be consolidated.95 Physical distance undoubtedly played a role as well. The distance between Thăng Long (Hà Nội) and Beijing was much farther and required a much more arduous journey than that between Seoul and Beijing. Moreover, Chosŏn bordered a region that was home to the Manchus, and that fact probably made the Qing state more sensitive to the security concerns of the Qing-Chosŏn borderlands, whereas the southern frontier lay far away, was less threatening, and of much less strategic concern at this time. Lastly, communication frequency almost certainly played a part. Generally, Đại Việt would send one regular tributary mission every three years, whereas Chosŏn sent three to four regular tributary missions every year, not to mention many more irregular tributary missions to both Shenyang and Beijing.96 When combined with the physical distance of Thăng Long from Beijing, we can see why a constant flow of communication between Thăng Long and Beijing would have been more difficult than that between the latter and Seoul. Conclusion The legal status of Qing tributary states has been an oft-asked question since the late nineteenth century, when the Qing faced other imperial powers (such as France, Japan, and Russia) trying to pursue their colonial agendas regarding the Qing’s tributary states. For example, William W. Rockhill, an American diplomat and Sinologist, started his 1889 article on Korea’s relations with China with such a question: “Were they [Western nations] … to consider it [Korea] as an integral part of the Chinese empire, or should they treat it as a sovereign state enjoying absolute international rights?”97 In the rest of the article, Rockhill proceeded to argue that Korea was indeed a sovereign state. He started his inquiry, like his contemporaries, on the premise that the two possibilities were incompatible, influenced as he was by the modern concept of sovereignty based on international public law. In the Qing worldview, based on the multiplicity and elasticity of the Qing imperium, a tributary state like Korea or Vietnam did not have a fixed status as either “an integral part of the Chinese empire” or “a sovereign state enjoying absolute international rights.” Many Qing scholars have pointed out that the 95 Sun, Qing dai Zhong Yue zong fan guan xi yan jiu, 8–10, and see Ong in this volume 96 Fairbank and Teng, “On the Ch’ing Tributary System,” 174–177, 193–199. 97 William W. Rockhill, “Korea in Its Relations with China,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 13 (1889): 1.

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Manchu rulership of the Qing empire was multifaceted and pluralistic. The Qing emperor was a khan to his Mongol subjects, a living incarnation of Manjusri to his Tibetan subjects, a master to his Manchu subjects, and a Confucian sage-king to his Han subjects.98 In his relations with Đại Việt and Chosŏn as well, the Qing emperor had multiple personalities – he could portray himself as the father both of his Qing subjects and of all the peoples Under Heaven. We have seen how the Qing state and the Qianlong emperor could choose either to accept or to refuse Vietnamese political refugees, using either one of these two representations. When it came to the Qianlong emperor’s relationship with contiguous tributary kings, he could be either simply the ruler of a neighboring state on the other side of the frontier or the supreme ruler to whom the tributary kings had to answer and whose power penetrated and crossed the frontier. The king of Chosŏn Korea, not unlike Manchu princes, Mongolian nobles (jasak), or Xinjiang Muslim rulers (beg), had a minister-ruler relationship with the Qing emperor. Thus, the king could be styled either “vassal” (waifan) or “outer minister” (waichen), and it was in recognition of this ambiguous relationship that Qianlong and his Board of Rites could impose administrative sanctions on the king of Korea and punish Korean and Vietnamese officials. But Rockhill’s question, I believe, is still a meaningful one. I do not think that we should put aside the question of tributary sovereignty and its rule of ritual by merely noting that the elasticity of the Qing imperum does not allow an answer rooted in such a strict dualism. Lauren Benton, for one, has shown that there is much to gain from looking at the continuities of imperial legal regimes and imperial sovereignty across time and space, out into the frontiers and on into the future.99 So how should we understand tributary sovereignty, particularly as it concerned the frontier? From the cases we have analyzed, it is obvious that this concept was often compromised by Qianlong’s view of Qing imperial sovereignty. But tributary sovereignty was not organized hypocrisy, a concept that Stephen Krasner uses to explain the numerous violations of Westphalian sovereignty and, to a lesser degree, international legal sovereignty over the past four centuries or so.100 The main difference here is that the Qing state under Qianlong, rather than expounding principles they also violated, was capable of generating principles that fit its needs in most cases. And we need to remind 98 Crossley, A Translucent Mirror. 99 Lauren Benton, Law and Colonial Cultures: Legal Regimes in World History, 1400–1900 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2002) and idem., A Search for Sovereignty. 100 Stephen Krasner, Sovereignty: Organized Hypocrisy (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1999).

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ourselves that the interstate legal interactions considered here constituted but one of many interstate interactions the Qing had with its tributary states. More often than not, the Qing emperor left his tributary rulers alone, and tributary rulers usually enjoyed a degree of autonomy that has prompted later observers to comment that tributary states were indeed fully sovereign states. Tributary sovereignty, in short, encompassed fluctuating degrees of sovereignty ranging from full to partial. The Qing imperial sovereignty might stop at the southern frontier, leaving Đại Việt (and other Southeast Asian tributary realms) with autonomy and sovereignty, if the matter were of little concern to Qianlong and Beijing. If, however, it were perceived as a matter of major principle or strategic concern by the Chinese throne, Qianlong felt free to reach or even to cross the southern frontier to deal with local activities and to solve the problem. The Qing imperial state, which had hegemony over interpreting the principles behind imperial and tributary sovereignty, was replaced in the twentieth century by the nation-state of China. The rule of ritual that characterized the Qing tributary order has been replaced with the rule of international law. Yet vestiges of the Qing imperium still remain in today’s world, and that is precisely why it is important to understand the dynamic of asymmetric tributary sovereignty in the Qing imperial past. Bibliography Primary Sources Gongzhong dang. National Palace Museum Library, Taipei. Junjichu dang. National Palace Museum Library, Taipei. Ming Qing shiliao. Jia bian. Beijing: Beijing tushuguan chubanshe, reprint, 2008. Qing shilu. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, reprint, 1986. Shiliao xunkan. Vol. 1–40. Beijing: Shangwu yinshuguan, 1930–1931. Yang Xifu. Sizhitang wenji. Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, reprint, 2009. Tongmun hwigo. Seoul: Kuksa p’yŏnch’an wiwŏnhoe, 1978. Secondary Sources Benton, Lauren. Law and Colonial Cultures, Legal Regimes in World History, 1400–1900. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2002. ––––––. A Search for Sovereignty, Law and Geography in European Empires, 1400–1900. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2010. Bodde, Derk and Clarence Morris. Law in Imperial China, Exemplified by 190 Ch’ing Dynasty Cases. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1967.

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Cassel, Pär. Grounds of Judgment, Extraterritoriality and Imperial Power in NineteenthCentury China and Japan. New York: Oxford University Press, 2012. Crossley, Pamela. A Translucent Mirror, History and Identity in Qing Imperial Ideology. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999. Edwards, R. Randle. “Ch’ing Legal Jurisdiction over Foreigners.” In Essays on China’s Legal Tradition, edited by Jerome Alan Cohen, R. Randle Edwards, and Fu-mei Chang Chen, 222–269. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1980. ––––––. “Imperial China’s Border Control.” Journal of Chinese Law 1 (1987): 33–62. Fairbank, John K. Trade and Diplomacy on the China Coast, The Opening of the Treaty Ports, 1842–1845. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1953. Fairbank, John K. and Ssu-yu Teng. “On the Ch’ing Tributary System.” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies, 6.2 (1941): 135–246. Giersch, C. Patterson. Asian Borderlands, The Transformation of Qing China’s Yunnan Frontier. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2006. ––––––. “‘A Motley Throng:’ Social Change on Southwest China’s Early Modern Frontier, 1700–1880.” Journal of Asian Studies, 60.1 (2001): 67–94 Hevia, James. Cherishing Men from Afar, Qing Guest Ritual and the Macartney Embassy of 1793. Durham: Duke University Press, 1995. Hostetler, Laura. Qing Colonial Enterprise, Ethnography and Cartography in Early Modern China. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001. Kelley, Liam. Beyond the Bronze Pillars, Envoy Poetry and the Sino-Vietnamese Relationship. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2005. Krasner, Stephen. Sovereignty, Organized Hypocrisy. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1999. Li Chen, “Law, Empire, and Historiography of Modern Sino-Western Relations: A Case Study of the Lady Hughes Controversy in 1784,” Law & History Review 27. 1 (2009): 1–53. Li Huazi. Cho-Ch’ŏng kukkyŏng munje yŏn’gu. P’aju, Chimmundang, 2008. Millward, James. Beyond the Pass, Economy, Ethnicity, and Empire in Qing Central Asia, 1759–1864. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1998. Perdue, Peter. China Marches West, The Qing Conquest of Central Eurasia. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2005. Rawski, Evelyn. The Last Emperors, A Social History of Qing Imperial Institutions. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998. Rockhill, William W. “Korea in Its Relations with China,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 13 (1889): 1–33. Sahlins, Peter. Boundaries, The Making of France and Spain in the Pyrenees. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1989. Sun Hongnian, Qing dai Zhong Yue zong fan guan xi yan jiu. Ha’erbin: Heilongjiang jiaoyu chubanshe, 2006.

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Teng, Emma. Taiwan’s Imagined Geography, Chinese Colonial Travel Writings and Pictures, 1683–1895. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center, 2004. Thongchai Winichakul, Siam Mapped, A History of the Geo-Body of a Nation. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1994. Trương Bưu Lâm, “Intervention Versus Tribute in Sino-Vietnamese Relations, 1788–1790.” In The Chinese World Order, Traditional China’s Foreign Relations, edited by John K. Fairbank, 165–179. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1968. Wills, John E. Embassies and Illusions, Dutch and Portuguese Envoys to K’ang-hsi, 1666– 1687. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1984. Woodside, Alexander. Lost Modernities, China, Vietnam, Korea, and the Hazards of World History. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2006. Yu Insun. Pet’ŭnamgwa kŭ iut Chungguk. Seoul: Changbi, 2012.

Chapter 12

Volatile Allies: Two Cases of Powerbrokers in the Nineteenth-Century Vietnamese-Chinese Borderlands Bradley C. Davis Introduction But we should beware of making the picture too simple. A many-sided and complex affair, brigandage, while serving the interests of certain nobles, might be directed against others ...1 As Brantly Womack remarks, the Qing Empire and its officials were chiefly concerned with the management of “an administrative frontier” in the southern borderlands.2 Maintaining order in the borderlands, the spaces that separated and connected Qing and Nguyễn territory, meant the incorporation of local powerbrokers, influential figures from outside the class of conventional administrators, into formal state authority. This practice formed a vital part of the Vietnamese imperial project in the 1850s as well, despite the aspirations of officials seeking a rationalized administration throughout both the borderlands with China and the entire country. While the stylistic language of the tribute system might have described the overt parochialism of the Qing Empire vis-à-vis neighboring countries, the practical realities of borderlands administration, the context for the administrative frontier, demanded a set of arrangements, policy decisions, and official allies that defied the simplistic notion of tribute. Here we consider two cases that offer an avenue to a more complex and nuanced understanding of the relationship between China and Vietnam during the nineteenth century. In each case, a powerbroker, an individual allied with state authority but maintaining an independent, perhaps hostile agenda, challenged the terms of state projects concerning the relationship between China 1 Fernand Braudel, The Mediterranean World in the Age of Philip II (New York: Harper Colophon, 1973), II, 750. 2 Brantly Womack, “Asymmetry and China’s Tributary System,” The Chinese Journal of International Relations, 5 (2012): 37–54.

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and Vietnam. In the first instance, a Tai leader exploited official anxieties over sovereignty in an attempt to conceal his own activities, earning him a punishment only reluctantly ordered by Vietnamese officials. In the second, a soumissionaire or surrendered rebel in the employ of the Tonkin Protectorate of the French used the China-Tonkin telegraph networks to transmit seditious missives, earning a reprimand that, in its mildness, testified to his power within the structure of French colonial rule. Both these cases show the importance of powerful, unconventional local individuals to the ostensible routinization of state power in China and Vietnam in these borderland areas.

Hoàng Kim Cúc and the Usefulness of Official Anxiety, 1851

Beyond China’s southern borderlands, the Nguyễn rulers of Đại Nam had to balance influential local powerbrokers with an imperial project that emphasized strong, routinized administration throughout the country. The institution of the province in the Vietnam-China borderlands, although intended as the transformation of imperial power at the local level, did not alter the role of these powerbrokers in the Vietnamese state. Similar to reforms in the Qing Empire during the eighteenth century,3 the attempted removal of non-Vietnamese powerbrokers and the institution of direct provincial administration did not eliminate the role of such powerbrokers in the borderlands. In the case of one Tai leader, it afforded an opportunity to forward his own personal interests by taking advantage of imperial anxieties. In nineteenth century Vietnam (Đại Nam), an effort to strengthen state rule began with a series of imperial edicts by the Minh Mạng emperor (r. 1820– 1840), which provided the impetus and outline for administrative reform. These attempts to forge a more routinized administration had an enduring influence on Vietnamese officials throughout the country, chiefly because the reforms promised to resolve a rather problematic issue: the reliance of the state on local powerbrokers whose interests did not necessarily conform to the wishes of those in positions of formal authority. The most important element of the Minh Mạng Project (roughly 1820–1837) was the creation of the province (tỉnh). Provinces, the Court believed, would provide for the “quick deployment of virtuous government in response to

3 For a recent study of the “Gaitu Guiliu” campaign as well as a convincing re-interpretation, see C. Patterson Giersch, Asian Borderlands, The Transformation of Qing China’s Yunnan Frontier (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2006).

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disasters.”4 Prior to the 1820s, the Huế court relied on a system of military commanderies (trấn phủ) to govern Đại Nam. While effective for establishing control over the country in the wake of the Tây Sơn Rebellion of the late eighteenth century, this system also supported potential rivals to imperial power. To routinize imperial authority, the Minh Mạng emperor ordered the development of a new administrative arrangement featuring provinces rather than the larger, unwieldy military commandaries.5 Despite the aims of the Minh Mạng Project, the Vietnamese state’s control of its far north depended on a mixture of bureaucracy and borderlands powerbrokers. The vision of imperial provincial reform encountered the reality of influential individuals and communities, producing a negotiated system that Emmanuel Poisson has described as “hybrid rule.”6 While some Vietnamese officials did produce detailed ethnographic accounts of uplands communities,7 local power structures held sway in these mountainous areas, despite administrative ambitions from the lowlands. Prior to the Minh Mạng Project, many Tai leaders in Vietnamese provinces bordering southern China, such as Hưng Hóa, Tuyên Quang, Cao Bằng, and Quảng Yên, had received official recognition from Huế as Thổ Ty (C. Tusi), a term that indicated limited autonomy within an administratively opaque area.8 Typically held by non-Kinh (non-Việt) individuals, these appointments represented both official sponsorship and the limitations of state power; the reach of Vietnamese authority theoretically extended into the uplands, although imperial sponsorship often became an element in struggles among competing local powerbrokers. 4 5

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Minh Mệnh Chính Yếu [明命政要]. v. 1, 1b. One of the officials credited with this remark was Nguyễn Hữu Thân, Secretary of the Ministry of Personnel. Alexander Woodside, Vietnam and the Chinese Model: A Comparative Study of Vietnamese and Chinese Government in the First Half of the Nineteenth Century (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1988), 141–143. Emmanuel Poisson, Mandarins et Subalternes at Nord du Vietnam, Une Bureaucratie à l’épreuve (1820–1918 (Paris: Maisonneuve & Larose, 2004).. See also, idem., “Unhealthy air of the mountains: Kinh and ethnic minority rule on the Sino-Vietnamese frontier from the fifteenth to the twentieth century.” in Martin Gainsborough, ed, On the Borders of State Power: Frontiers in the Greater Mekong Sub-Region (London: Routledge, 2009), 12–24. Bradley C. Davis, “A Vietnamese Ethnographer in Black Tai Territory: Phạm Thận Duật and the Limits of Empire,” presented at the Association for Asian Studies Annual Conference 2012, Toronto. On the Thố Ty/Tusi in Vietnam, see Poisson, Mandarins et Subalternes at Nord du Vietnam, 56.

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One such powerbroker was Hoàng Kim Cúc. In the 1850s, he held an official position that exemplified the “hybrid rule” of post Minh Mạng Nguyễn Đại Nam. As a Thổ Mục (C. Tumu or “local chieftain”), Cúc held an administrative identity that connected him to the Nguyễn state’s effort to control the northern borderlands. Following the provincial reforms, appointments such as his appeared only in this region.9 As much as these positions reflected the failures of the Minh Mạng Project, they also represented the state’s claim to power in the borderlands. For Nguyễn Đại Nam, the area bordering southern China was an administrative frontier, a setting for both the aspirations and the frustration of state power. Within this administrative frontier, Tai powerbrokers such as Hoàng Kim Cúc used this sort of official position as a means to pursue their own ambitions. Hoàng Kim Cúc’s position tied him to the district of Vĩnh Tuy, which, since the establishment of the provincial system, was under the authority of the province of Tuyên Quang. In the differential language of Nguyễn Đại Nam, Cúc and the majority of Vĩnh Tuy’s residents were Thổ (natives), one term that marked populations of wet rice growing Tai speakers. A smaller proportion of residents were Nùng, Tai-speakers whose history connected them to Nong Zhigao, an eleventh century Tai rebel who held a base in what is now northern Vietnam.10 In the uplands of Vĩnh Tuy, at elevations above the Tai communities, lived populations that the Nguyễn state indexed as Man (Mán ). These non-Tai groups practiced a combination of shifting cultivation and, in some areas, sedentary wet-rice agriculture. Vĩnh Tuy also had a modestly sized population of Qing subjects (Thanh Nhân), most of whom worked in the district’s silver and copper mines.11 In this diversely populated borderlands, a series of events unfolded in 1851 that threatened to undo the tenuous alliance between the Vietnamese state and the Tai powerbroker Hoàng Kim Cúc. In January, Nguyễn Đức Hoan, the governor of Tuyên Quang, informed the Ministry of Rites in Huế that he had received alarming reports from the southern Qing district of Kaihua in Yunnan, which shared a border with Vĩnh Tuy. Apparently, Hoàng Kim Cúc, the Thổ Mục and trusted ally of the Vietnamese state, had been secretly selling gunpowder and munitions to various bandit groups across the China-Vietnam 9

10 11

Đỗ Văn Ninh (ed), Từ Điển Chức Quan Việt Nam (Hanoi: NXB Thanh Niên, 2002), 686, entry 1395; Poisson, “Unhealthy air of the mountains: Kinh and ethnic minority rule in the SinoVietnamese frontier from the fifteenth to the twentieth century,” 12–24. On Nong Zhigao, see James Anderson, The Rebel Den of Nùng Trí Cao: Loyalty and Identity Along the Sino-Vietnamese Frontier (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2007). ĐKĐDC, p. 889 (14a–14b).

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borderlands.12 This Tai powerbroker, a vital component of the province’s authority, thus presented a grave danger to the Tuyên Quang administration. Furthermore, Hoàng Kim Cúc’s activities also threatened the relationship between the Nguyễn and the Qing. According to Governor Hoan, armed bands roving the mountains and valleys close to Qing territory endangered both countries. At the time of the allegations against Cúc, Hoan noted that Qing military patrols had come under attack.13 From Huế, the Ministry of Rites, which handled official relations between Nguyễn Đại Nam and the Qing Empire, issued an edict commanding Nguyễn Đức Hoan to verify the rumors about Hoàng Kim Cúc. The Ministry gave the Governor a six-month period to complete the investigation.14 Nervous about potential unrest in the northern borderlands, the Ministry of Rites ordered the provincial governor to probe the allegedly troublesome behavior of the Tai powerbroker. Two weeks after the beginning of the investigation, the provincial administration received even more alarming news from Vĩnh Tuy. According to a report sent to the province from the district, Hoàng Kim Cúc, as the investigation into his activities proceeded, had alleged an act of Chinese aggression against Vietnamese territory. The Tai powerbroker notified the district civil administrator (trị huyện) that a crowd of people had gathered on the banks of the Chảy River, the river that provided a natural boundary between Qing and Nguyễn territories in Tuyên Quang. The crowd then planted a placard in the earth, upon which was written “天朝” Celestial Court (Tian Chao), a term that marked the land around the sign as Qing territory.15 However, the district official could not confirm Cúc’s claims and speculated in his report to the provincial governor that the Tai leader had fabricated this case of Chinese aggression as a screen to conceal his own criminal activities and as a distraction to the ongoing investigation. Agreeing with this assessment, Governor Hoan sent a memorial to the Ministry of Rites in which he accused the Tai powerbroker of concocting the damaging allegations against the Qing, setting up a potentially harmful international incident. In response, the Ministry of Rites approved punishment for Hoàng Kim Cúc: eighty lashes with a bamboo cane.16 12

13 14 15 16

CBTN, 177:33. Tuyên Quang tỉnh thần Nguyễn Đức Hoan to Ministry of Rites, 10/12/TĐ4. Witness the Qinalong emperor’s reactions on such border issues in the prior century; see Kim in this volume. CBTN, 177:33. Tuyên Quang tỉnh thần Nguyễn Đức Hoan to Ministry of Rites, 10/12/TĐ4. CBTN, 177:33. Bộ Lễ to Nguyễn Đức Hoan, rescript dated 11/12/TĐ4. CBTN, 205:33. Nguyễn Đức Hoan to Bộ Lễ, 27/12/TĐ4. The Commune in question was Bình Di (C. Ping Yi), which can be interpreted to mean “Pacified Savages.” CBTN, 205:33. Nguyễn Đức Hoan to Bộ Lễ, 27/12/TĐ4.

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In the wake of these charges against him and the announcement of his impending punishment, Hoàng Kim Cúc presented evidence in his defense. In a subsequent report sent to the province from the district, he claimed that he had not seen the planting of the boundary marker firsthand, but that his brother, Hoàng Kim Nguyên, had relayed an account of this event to him. Upon further investigation, however, the district authorities determined that this brother did not exist.17 No allies, fictional or otherwise, came to Cúc’s defense. He received his punishment, yet still retained his position as Thổ Mục under the vigilant eyes of the provincial authorities. Although investigated and punished, Hoàng Kim Cúc remained an indispensible ally of the Vietnamese state in these borderlands. As was the case with the native prefect on the Chinese side, Huang Bing, whose Huang/Hoàng clan had performed strategic intelligence-gathering and local defense services in the Lạng Sơn border region for both the Trần and Southern Song courts in the thirteenth century, these local officials were historically effective in roles that later imperial projects could not reproduce.18 Over two decades after the provincial reform, after the beginning of the Minh Mạng Project and the imposition of the routinizing administrative framework for state power throughout Vietnamese territory, strong powerbrokers outside the Vietnamese bureaucracy continued to dominate the Vietnam-China borderlands. Yet, although the provincial system did not replace local powerbrokers such as Hoàng Kim Cúc, it did provide a more responsive structure for following the Vietnamese state’s volatile borderlands allies. Particularly for the administrative frontier of the China-Vietnam borderlands, where the goals of the Minh Mạng Project crashed against the realities of the Tai leaders, keeping track of powerbrokers meant keeping peace with the Qing. Provincial governors, as in the case of Nguyễn Đức Hoan and his investigation of Hoàng Kim Cúc, played an important role as monitors of reports from the districts, such as Vĩnh Tuy, and enforced the centralizing interests of the Court in Huế in the far-flung regions of Đại Nam. The particular relevance of governors for the borderlands, and for relations with the Qing, lay in their dual role as, on the one hand, representatives and defenders of state authority and, at the same time, protectors of the formal relationship between Nguyễn Đại Nam and the Qing. From the perspective of the powerbrokers themselves, as the case of Hoàng Kim Cúc illustrates, state sponsorship afforded certain advantages. In response to an investigation into his potentially seditious activities, Cúc produced the threat of Chinese territorial aggression. His eventual light punishment for 17 18

CBTN, 205:33. Bộ Lễ to Nguyễn Đức Hoan, 28/12/TĐ4. See Anderson in this volume.

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selling weapons to bandit groups and fabricating the false report demonstrated the value of this volatile ally. Although Cúc received lashes for his offenses, he still kept his position in Vĩnh Tuy. The provincial system thus functioned as a framework for internal surveillance over the borderlands, the administrative frontier wherein the province itself failed to supplant the personal and local authority of the Tai powerbrokers.

Liang Sanqi and Telegraphing Rebellion from French Tonkin, 1890s–1907

For the Nguyễn, the Thổ Mục, as powerbrokers in the borderlands, were an element of “hybrid rule” during the mid-nineteenth century. During the French colonial period, the Tonkin Protectorate administration pursued a similar policy. Such local powerbrokers who accepted the authority of the French Protectorate received official status as soumissionaires. Like imperial allies in the 1850s, late nineteenth century soumissionaires bore the scrutiny of local Vietnamese administrators and often inspired the suspicion of the French central authorities. Concerning the official relationship between the Qing and the French colonial authority in northern Vietnam, the behavior of one soumissionaire particularly troubled members of the Protectorate administration and gravely endangered the domestic situation in the southern territory of the late Qing. That soumissionaire was the Chinese bandit leader Liang Sanqi (1850– 1924), whose use of the telegraph network threatened the relationship between French Tonkin and the Qing Empire in the early twentieth century. In the late nineteenth century, the telegraph itself arrived as a potential instrument of state control over the borderlands. In 1885, a telegraph relay station in Qinzhou, Guangxi, first connected southern China with Tonkin.19 Unambiguously appreciated as a technological development with positive consequences for governance, the telegraph captured the imagination of Qing officials. Three years after the telegraphic link between China and Vietnam, the Qing minister Li Hongzhang commented, “We can link up with the French telegraph station just outside Zhennan Gate (on the Sino-Vietnamese border), then to Tonkin and even on to Saigon, where we will be connected via British telegraph networks to Burma and other colonies.”20 China, through the 19 20

Pang Zuiqun, Qinzhou Shi Zhi (The History of Qinzhou City) (Nanning: Guangxi Renmin Chubanshe, 1994), 19. YNPA, 106.3.1504. Li Hongzhang to Zongli Yamen (copied to Yunnan provincial government), 1 December 1888. pp1B–5A. In text: 北圻/Bắc Kỳ (=Tonkin).

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hanging lines built in cooperation with France, could thus communicate with the world, projecting its influence and presence on a scale befitting its hopeful status as a major power. For Li, the connection of the telegraph networks also represented an opportunity for China to reassert its place in the region following its defeat in the Sino-French War. As an official with an established concern for economic and military modernization, Li had negotiated the settlement of the war with France partly for geopolitical reasons. He did not believe that Vietnam, shared history notwithstanding, contained any strategic value for China.21 A marriage of the two networks meant, from Li’s perspective, the entry of the Qing Empire into the new regional order. The construction of this telegraph system required the work of engineers whose safety had to be guaranteed. Just as with the Boundary Commission, the official effort by Chinese and French agents to demarcate the initial mutual territorial limits of the Qing Empire and Tonkin (1886–1888), the two governments collaborated to provide security.22 In Tonkin, stations in Móng Cái, Đông Đang, and the former Chinese rebel Black Flag base of Bảo Thắng handled Chinese telegraphic traffic to all points within Indo-China and beyond.23 From the northeast corner of Tonkin extending westward lines in Móng Cái connected to a Chinese station in Dongxing, Đông Đăng with Zhennan Gate, and Lào Cai with the Mengzi/Manhao line in Yunnan province.24 Despite efforts to provide security, the construction of this communications network exacted human costs. Perhaps the best-known was the case of Ernest Millot, a former member of the French expatriate community in Shanghai. An associate of the French gun merchant Jean Dupuis, Ernest Millot had left northern Vietnam after Dupuis’ arrest by the Nguyễn authorities for salt 21

Lloyd Eastman, Throne and Mandarins: China’s Search for a Policy During the Sino-French Controversy, 1880–1885 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1967), 14–15. 22 For more on the Boundary Commission, see Paul Neis, The Sino-Vietnamese Border Demarcation, 1885–1887. (Translation by Walter E J. Tips) (Bangkok: White Lotus Press, 1998); Bradley C. Davis, “Black Flag Rumors and the Black River Basin: Powerbrokers and the State in the Tonkin-China Borderlands,” Journal of Vietnamese Studies, 6, 2 (2011), 16–41. Bourcier Saint Chaffray and Zhou Derun, respectively, represented French and Qing interests within the Boundary Commission, which conducted its work in often hostile circumstances. see Bradley C. Davis, “States of Banditry: The Nguyễn Government, Bandit Rule, and the Culture of Power in the Post-Taiping China-Vietnam Borderlands,” Ph.D. Dissertation (University of Washington. 2008), 289 passim. 23 YNPA, 106.3.1504. Communication sent by French official identified as “法國李使” (Pháp Quốc Lý Sứ) to Zongli Yamen, 15 July 1889. 24 Ibid.

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smuggling in 1873, an event that precipitated the ill-fated coup by Francis Garnier. 25 He returned in 1889 and, after briefly running a business that imported cyclopousses (“cyclos” ‘xịch lô’) from Japan, Millot gained a contract with the Compagnie des Postes et Telegraphes in 1891.26 He hoped to conduct a geographic investigation of the Black River area in the Northwest while supervising installation of relay stations and telegraph lines. However, in May, Millot died of fever on the way to the military zone of Sơn La. The Tonkin authorities informed Millot’s family within a week, appropriately via telegram.27 Similar to the administrative arrangements that brought Hoàng Kim Cúc into the Vietnamese state decades earlier, the telegraph network provided new pathways for borderlands powerbrokers, even for those seemingly embedded in the Protectorate project as soumissionaires. In the case of Liang Sanqi, access to this technology of colonial rule provided a means to extend a rebellious agenda at odds with both China and French Tonkin. In the late 1860s, as a Chinese member of Pan Lunsi’s Yellow Flags, a bandit army that emerged from the ashes of a failed rebellion in Guangxi, Liang had occupied areas of Thái Nguyên province in northern Vietnam. Together with his family and a collection of followers, he had settled in the town of Chu Market (Chợ Chu), near the Thái Nguyên and Tuyên Quang provincial border.28 Over the next two decades, Liang survived raids by rival groups as well as French counterinsurgency campaigns while entrenched in Chu Market, which he ruled as an autonomous area during the Sino-French War (1883–1885). His power remained unchallenged until March 1890, when he formally requested to surrender to the French military.29 Like other powerbrokers in the borderlands, including the 25 Arsène Thévenot, Ernest Millot: Négociant, Explorateur, et Conférencier (1836–1891) (Arcissur-Aube: Léon Frémont, 1892), 24–28. This audience was arranged by Nguyễn Hữu Độ. 26 Ibid., 28; France Duclos, «Ernest Millot,» in Philippe Franchini and Jérôme Ghesquière (ed.), Des Photographes en Indochine: Tonkin, Annam, Cochinchine, Cambodge, et Laos au XIXe Siècle (Paris: Marval and Réunion des Musées Nationaux, 2001), 230. 27 Ibid. 28 Ban Chấp Hành Huyện Uỷ Định Hóa, Lịch Sử Đảng Bộ Huyện Định Hóa (1930–2000) (History of the District of Định Hóa), (Định Hóa: Huyện Uỷ Dịnh Hóa Xuất Bản, 2000), 18–19; Pierre Brocheux and Daniel Hémery, Indochine: la colonization ambigue, 1858–1954 (Paris: Éditions la decouverte, 1995), 63. 29 Afred Échinard, Histoire politique et militaire de la province de Thai-Nguyen (Hanoi: Imprimerie Trung Bac Tan Van, 1934), 66–67; CAOM, RST56189. “Soumission de Lương Tâm Ky [Liang Sanqi]/convention de soumission originaire 1890–1893.” According to Afred Échinard, the wounding of a French officer by Liang’s followers prompted Liang formally to offer surrender in 1890. His surrender came after four years of unsuccessful French efforts to defeat Liang militarily.

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Tai rebel and suspected smuggler of human beings Ngụy Danh Cao, Liang opted to join the Protectorate.30 The decision to accept Liang’s surrender caused strong debate within Vietnam. Through reports to the Protectorate and the French military, Vietnamese civil officials alleged that Liang’s personal army routinely conducted raids in upland areas and demanded protection fees from merchants.31 The concerns of the Vietnamese bureaucracy and the Huế Court, which ruled in a limited manner under the authority of the French Protectorate of Tonkin, influenced the official response to Liang Sanqi’s offer to surrender. When a special commission convened during that summer to consider his offer, the Huế Court representative, Trần Lưu Huệ, demanded that Liang Sanqi be integrated into the Vietnamese bureaucracy as an Assistant Military Commander (Phó Lãnh Binh).32 Such a measure would have enabled the Nguyễn bureaucracy to stand between this local chief and the French, policing Liang’s actions and reporting any transgressions by the soumissionaire to the Protectorate. But some strongly opposed any role at all for Liang Sanqi. Stern opposition to Liang’s employment came from Commandant Boylié, a veteran of the SinoFrench War and the French military liaison to the special commission. Boylié stated his trenchant mistrust of Liang and suggested that should this troublemaker receive the sanction of the Protectorate, the French military must then swiftly encircle Chu Market with soldiers standing ready to eliminate this soumissionaire should he (as expected) violate his agreement. Despite these reservations, the commission issued official conditions of surrender for Liang Sanqi on August 15, 1890. Recorded in both French and SinoVietnamese characters (“Classical Chinese”), these conditions of surrender illustrated the pervasive inequality that separated the two parallel administrations, French and Vietnamese. Over the objections of Trần Lưu Huệ, Liang received a title that did not formally integrate him into the Nguyễn bureaucracy. He officially surrendered under the title “Qing Militia Sub-Commander” (Thanh Đoàn Phó Lãnh), a reference to his formal status as a Qing subject living in French Tonkin with no indication of his subjection to the Vietnamese civil bureaucracy. More obviously, the French conditions of surrender referred to Liang as “Chinois,” a term that connected Liang with a racialized category. The 30 31 32

Davis, “Black Flag Rumors and the Black River Basin: Powerbrokers and the State in the Tonkin-China Borderlands.” CAOM, RST56189. “Soumission de Luong Tam Ky/convention de soumission originaire 1890–1893,” 3. CAOM, RST56189. “Soumission de Luong Tam Ky/convention de soumission originaire 1890–1893, « ibid.; RST56199, 3–4.

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original document signed by Liang Sanqi, written in the common Sino-Vietnamese administrative idiom of Classical Chinese, referred to the soumissionaire as “Thanh Nhân” (Qing person) or “Thanh Khách” (Qing guest), terms that not only specified Liang’s identity as a Qing subject, but also related to Vietnamese statutes governing foreign persons, thus placing Liang outside Vietnamese society. The French translation of the surrender agreement effectively swept away the nominal role afforded to the Vietnamese bureaucracy, casting aside its terminology of subjecthood in the process. In exchange for this official recognition, tax exemption for villages under his direct control, and a salary for his personal army, the special commission demanded the following from Liang Sanqi: – Help secure and pacify northern Thái Nguyên. – Protect local villages from raids by bandit gangs. – Stop the transportation of women and children in areas under his control. – Prevent the passage of weapons bound for insurgent groups. – Keep in regular and frequent contact with the French Résidence in Thái Nguyên.33 Although the French Tonkin authorities hoped to use local powerbrokers such as Liang to secure the Protectorate’s control of the northern borderlands, Liang’s own agenda consistently interfered with the establishment of routine state authority in Thái Nguyên. He maintained an active, albeit furtive, interest in furthering his own power at the expense of the Protectorate. Liang’s abiding self-interest can best be found in two instances: his apparent support for the kidnapping and smuggling of human beings and his attempt to foment rebellion against the Qing Empire via the telegraph, the very technology lauded by Li Hongzhang as central to China’s regional renewal. Soon after his surrender, allegations that Liang’s army had participated in the kidnapping and sale of human beings appeared in the correspondence of the Thái Nguyên Résident, the French Protectorate official closest to Liang’s stronghold in Chu Market. In February, bandits raided a village near Chu Market, stealing three buffalo and abducting two young women. According to an investigation led by the Résident, the women claimed that Liang Sanqi’s army

33

CAOM, RST56189. “Soumission de Luong Tam Ky/convention de soumission originaire 1890–1893,” 53–56.

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had cooperated with the bandits.34 In the wake of these events, the French Vice-Résident of Tuyên Quang, which bordered Thái Nguyên, warned that surrendered bandits hired by the state, such as Liang, would erode the Protectorate’s legitimacy. Their continuation of criminal activities would bring about a systemic weakness of the rule of law. French rule, he claimed, would suffer the same ailments as that of the Nguyễn prior to the Protectorate.35 Although these cautionary comparisons failed to persuade the Protectorate leadership that Liang Sanqi posed any sort of uncontrollable threat, the evidence continued to mount. French officials around the mountainous region of Tam Đảo, north of Hà Nội, accused Liang of running secret opium farms and selling his product throughout the surrounding valleys, outside the control of the Protectorate’s opium monopoly.36 Throughout the 1890s, in the vicinity of Chu Market, merchants and even tax clerks reported that armed groups of bandits on occasion would rob them of their goods and currency.37 French authorities pledged that they would warn Liang about his apparent support for these activities but emphasized that the usefulness of this soumissionaire outweighed the potential risks for the Protectorate.38 Sixteen years later, in 1907, an event happened that both substantiated the anxieties of the Thái Nguyên government and demonstrated the durability of Liang’s own personal power. Liang Sanqi attempted to incite a rebellion against the Qing Empire in southern China through the telegraph network. That August, a French civil servant named Émile Courandy received several strange telegrams at his post in Thái Nguyên. They were encrypted, but undecipherable with the standard encryption key.39 The mysterious telegrams sparked an investigation that led the Protectorate authorities to a small house in Hà Nội occupied by a Chinese tailor named “A Pik.” After some forceful persuasion,

34 35 36 37 38 39

CAOM, RST56221. “Actes de brigandage (11 Mars 1896).” Résident Thai Nguyen (Destenay) to Sec General. TTLT, RST76346. “Organisation des colonnes de police dans des provinces de Tonkin (1891).” Vice-Résident of Tuyen Quang to RST, affaires indigenes no. 3167, 1 Avril 1891, 143b. CAOM, RST56199. “Rapport de Orny, Résident de France à Thai Nguyen sur Luong Tam Ky, 1891.” Orny to RST, 3 Mars 1891, 1–4. CAOM, RST56220. “Attaques des villages (1896).” Tri Châu Bạch Thống to Monsieur le Commandant de Cercle de Chợ Mới, 8 Dec 1895; ibid., 13 Dec 1895. CAOM, RST56220. “Attaques des villages (1896).” Gallieni to Tri Châu Bạch Thống, 20 Dec 1895. TTLT, RST13853. “Arrestation des Chinois à Bac Giang 1904/1907.” Télégramme officiel Rés Thai Nguyen à RST no88, 8 Auôt 1907.

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A Pik divulged that he had in his possession a key for decrypting the messages.40 Their contents brought new charges of subversion against Liang. The telegrams contained a statement addressed to the people of Tonkin and southern China that, according to Liang’s intentions, provided a manifesto for revolt against the Qing Empire. “Europeans,” Liang’s first transmission began, “are causing great misery for everyone.” He assured the people of Tonkin that forces dedicated to the overthrow of the Qing, which had allowed Europeans to carve out concessions in southern China, had gathered in northern Vietnam to await an opportunity to bring the venal dynasty to its knees. But the people of Tonkin, Liang promised, need not fear this uprising. They would be able to “continue living their lives and practicing their trades.” No one would need to fear abduction or conscription by these waiting rebels, who would collect their forces under the threat, enforced by Liang, of “immediate decapitation” should any harm come to the people of Tonkin.41 As with previous allegations against him, the discovery of Liang’s plot to overthrow the Qing Empire did not result in the revocation of his soumissionaire status. The investigation into the seditious telegrams collapsed under the weight of Liang’s alliance with the Protectorate authorities. Moreover, after the events of 1907, Liang offered a new demonstration of his worth when he provided the Protectorate and the French military with information about the whereabouts of Hoàng Hoa Thám, a former soumissionaire linked to the growing Vietnamese anti-colonial movement. Although rather opaque, Liang’s involvement with the death of Hoàng Hoa Thám, also known by his nom de guerre “Đề Thám,” showed Liang’s worth to the Tonkin authorities, allaying suspicions about his seditious activities. The lack of specific evidence in this matter has inspired a range of interpretations from historians and early twentieth century journalists, considering Liang anywhere from a murderous conspirator to merely a convenient scapegoat.42 40

TTLT, RST13853. “Arrestation des Chinois à Bac Giang 1904/1907.” Résident de Thai Nguyen à RST, 21 Auôt 1907. 41 Ibid. 42 On Liang’s general helpfulness before the death of Đề Thám, see E. Maliverney (ed.), L’Homme du Jour: Le De Tham (Hanoi: Imprimerie de l’Avenir du Tonkin, 1909), 159–160. On his probable role in Đề Thám’s murder, historians offer a range of interpretations. Both Đinh Xuân Lâm (Hoàng Hoa Thám và Phong Trào Nông Dân Yên-Thế, Hà Nội: Nhà Xuất Bản Văn Hóa, 1958) and Nguyễn Văn Kiệm (Phong Trào Nông Dân Yên Thế Chống Thực Dân Pháp Xâm Lược, 1884–1913, Hà Nội: Nhà Xuất Bản Đại Học Quốc Gia, 2001) claim that Liang ordered his followers to kill Đề Thám. Văn-Quang, on the other hand, believed that Liang’s involvement was only speculation. (Hoàng-Hoa-Thám, Bài Học Xương Máu của 25 Năm Đấu-Tranh, Saigon: Nhà Xuất-Bản Sống-Mới, 1957, 14). Paul Chack (Hoang-Tham: Pirate.

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Regardless of his alleged services to the Protectorate, the French and Vietnamese provincial authorities in Thái Nguyên prepared to take action in the event of Liang’s death. When, after 33 years, he died on November 7, 1924, the French military and Thái Nguyên administration seized Liang’s personal property and scattered his followers by ordering them to take up posts far from his former base area in Chu Market.43 As the Protectorate lost an unpredictable, perhaps dangerous ally, Liang Sanqi’s power died with him, his network diffused into various corners of French Tonkin. Conclusion In both these examples, borderlands powerbrokers, Tai and Chinese, accepted state recognition without submitting to state discipline. For the Vietnamese Empire in the 1850s, control over land and populations involved a reversal of the reforms introduced during the Minh Mạng reign two decades earlier. In French Tonkin, a policy designed to guarantee the pacification of hostile bandits resulted in the employment of a former bandit leader who turned the state’s communications infrastructure to his own rebellious advantage. Whether in 1850s Tuyên Quang or late nineteenth century Thái Nguyên, decisions formulated to secure formally established authority via local leadership became elements in the agendas of the very powerbrokers employed by the state. While these two examples from either side of the French colonial temporal divide invite interesting comparisons of statecraft, discourses of power, and local/regional political economy during two different periods, they are perhaps more interesting for the consistencies they evince about the local powerbrokers. In both cases, a government invested in the establishment and discipline of state power in the borderlands relied on individuals who viewed state sanction as a valuable opportunity to advance alternative agendas. For the Tai chieftain Hoàng Kim Cúc, Nguyễn recognition provided him with the means to acquire weapons and followers, but ultimately also with a degree of visibility that rendered his plans improbable. For the Chinese bandit leader Liang Sanqi, French sponsorship meant integration into a vast new communications network, through which he attempted to transmit rebellion from his base at Chu Market into southern China.

Paris: Les éditions de France, 1933) published an interview with Liang by “Bosc,” (ibid., 252–256) that offered no clarification. 43 Échinard, Histoire politique et militaire de la province de Thai-Nguyen, 241.

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While neither powerbroker ultimately succeeded, each had become indispensable to his state. As much as formal authority relied on the routinization of power and, in the case of the Tonkin Protectorate, innovations in communication technology to ensure discipline within its ranks, so too did the supposedly rationalized bureaucratic states of Nguyễn Đại Nam and French Tonkin depend on the charismatic local cooperation of the borderlands powerbrokers of varied backgrounds. As in centuries past, such powerful figures acted to employ the combination of their local situations and the opportunities offered them by the state structure to negotiate advantageous positions for themselves and, in the case of Liang, make plans for large-scale revolt. Here state documents illumined both their efforts and their failures, as well as their ultimately vital role in political projects in the borderlands. Bibliography and Archival Materials Anderson, James The Rebel Den of Nùng Trí Cao: Loyalty and Identity Along the SinoVietnamese Frontier. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2007. Braudel, Fernand. The Mediterranean World in the Age of Philip II. New York: Harper Colophon, 1973. Brocheux, Pierre and Daniel Hémery. Indochine: la colonization ambigue, 1858–1954. Paris: Éditions la decouverte, 1995. Chack, Paul. Hoang-Tham: Pirate. Paris: Les éditions de France, 1933. Davis, Bradley C. “A Vietnamese Ethnographer in Black Tai Territory: Phạm Thận Duật and the Limits of Empire,” paper presented at the Association for Asian Studies Annual Conference 2012, Toronto. ––––––. “Black Flag Rumors and the Black River Basin: Powerbrokers and the State in the Tonkin-China Borderlands,” Journal of Vietnamese Studies, 6, 2 (2011): 16–41. ––––––. “States of Banditry: The Nguyễn Government, Bandit Rule, and the Culture of Power in the post-Taiping China-Vietnam Borderlands,” Ph.D. Dissertation. University of Washington, 2008. Định Hóa District Publications Committee, Lịch Sử Đảng Bộ Huyện Định Hóa (1930–2000) [Party History of Định Hoá District] Định Hóa: Huyện Uỷ Dịnh Hóa Xuất Bản, 2000. Đinh Xuân Lâm, Hoàng Hoa Thám và Phong Trào Nông Dân Yên-Thế [Hoàng Hoa Thám and the Yên Thế Peasant Movement]. Hanoi: Nhà Xuất Bản Văn Hóa, 1958. Đỗ Văn Ninh (ed), Từ Điển Chức Quan Việt Nam [A Dictionary of Official Positions in Vietnam]. Hanoi: NXB Thanh Niên, 2002. Duclos, France. «Ernest Millot,» in Philippe Franchini and Jérôme Ghesquière (ed.), Des Photographes en Indochine: Tonkin, Annam, Cochinchine, Cambodge, et Laos au XIXe Siècle. Paris: Marval and Réunion des Musées Nationaux, 2001.

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Eastman, Lloyd. Throne and Mandarins: China’s Search for a Policy During the SinoFrench Controversy, 1880–1885. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1967. Échinard, Afred. Histoire politique et militaire de la province de Thai-Nguyen. Hanoi: Imprimerie Trung Bac Tan Van, 1934. Giersch, C. Patterson. Asian Borderlands: The Transformation of Qing China’s Yunnan Frontier. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2006. Hoàng Du Đông and Quốc Sử Quán Triều Nguyễn, ed, Minh Mệnh Chính Yếu [Major Administrative Decisions of the Minh Mang Reign (1820–1841)] Volume V. Saigon: Uỷ Ban Dịch Thuật, Phụ Quốc Vụ Khánh Chục Trách Văn Hoá, 1974. Maliverney, E. (ed.). L’Homme du Jour: Le De Tham. Hanoi: Imprimerie de l’Avenir du Tonkin, 1909. Neis, Paul. The Sino-Vietnamese Border Demarcation, 1885–1887. Translated by Walter E.J. Tips. Bangkok: White Lotus Press, 1998. Ngô Đức Thọ, Nguyễn Văn Nguyên, Philippe Papin, ed, Đồng Khánh Địa Dư Chí [The Descriptive Geography of the Đồng Khánh Emperor]. Hanoi: Nhà Xuất Bản Thế Giới, 2003. Nguyễn Văn Kiệm, Phong Trào Nông Dân Yên Thế Chống Thực Dân Pháp Xâm Lược, 1884–1913 [The Yên Thế Peasant Movement Against the Agressions of French Colonialism]. Hanoi: Nhà Xuất Bản Đại Học Quốc Gia, 2001. Pang Zuiqun. Qinzhoushi Zhi [The History of Qinzhou City]. Nanning: Guangxi Renmin Chubanshe, 1994. Poisson, Emmanuel. Mandarins et Subalternes at Nord du Vietnam: Une Bureaucratie à l’épreuve (1820–1918. Paris: Maisonneuve & Larose, 2004. ––––––. “Unhealthy air of the mountains: Kinh and ethnic minority rule on the SinoVietnamese frontier from the fifteenth to the twentieth century.” In On the Borders of State Power: Frontiers in the Greater Mekong Sub-Region, edited by Martin Gainsborough,12–24. London: Routledge, 2009. Thévenot, Arsène. Ernest Millot: Négociant, Explorateur, et Conférencier (1836–1891). Arcis-sur-Aube: Léon Frémont, 1892. Văn-Quang. Hoàng-Hoa-Thám, Bài Học Xương Máu của 25 Năm Đấu-Tranh [Hoàng Hoa Thám, A Bloody Lesson from 25 Years of Struggle]. Saigon: Nhà Xuất-Bản Sống-Mới, 1957. Womack, Brantly. “Asymmetry and China’s Tributary System,” The Chinese Journal of International Relations, 5 (2012): 37–54. Woodside, Alexander. Vietnam and the Chinese Model: A Comparative Study of Vietnamese and Chinese Government in the First Half of the Nineteenth Century. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1988.

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Archival Collections Centre des Archives d’Outre Mer, Aix-en-Provence, France. [CAOM]. Résidence Superieur du Tonkin [RST] Trung Tâm Lưu Trữ I [First National Archives], Hanoi, Vietnam. [TTLT]. Résidence Superieur du Tonkin [RST] ––––––. Châu Bản Triều Nguyễn [CBTN] (Administrative Records of the Nguyễn Court) Yunnan Sheng Dang’An [Yunnan Provincial Archives], Kunming, PRC. [YNPA]

Chapter 13

Depicting Life in the Twentieth-Century SinoTibetan Borderlands: Local Histories and Modernities in the Career and Photography of Zhuang Xueben (1909–1984) Amy Holmes-Tagchungdarpa

Introduction The Sino-Tibetan frontier remains one of the most contested borderland spaces in modern Chinese history, as well as one of the most culturally diverse and politically complex. It falls within the broader rubric of James Scott’s Zomia due to its altitude and elements of its cultural make-up, including large numbers of nomadic pastoralist populations. However, the complexity of the borderland space between the Eastern Tibetan region of Kham1 (Tib. Khams) and the historical provinces of Sichuan and Yunnan differs from many of the characteristics that Scott argues unites Zomia. Most significantly, this area is home to a diverse and rich range of historical traditions, many of which are written. This contradicts Scott’s assertion that Zomia societies are against or even postliteracy.2 Yet written historiographies are not the only histories available for the study of this borderland region: from the nineteenth century onwards, visual history in the form of photographs also exist for a deeper investigation into local conditions on the ground. These forms of history that are tied to literacy and technology are not inherently associated with a monolithic state, as Scott would argue they are;3 instead, their presence allows for local histories to emerge which reveal the “discursive process” of frontier creation4 and how

1 For accessibility, I have transliterated Tibetan into a phonetic rendering followed by Wylie. 2 James C. Scott, The Art of Not Being Governed: An Anarchist History of Upland Southeast Asia. (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009), 221–222. 3 Scott, The Art of Not Being Governed, 229. 4 Lawrence Epstein, “Introduction,” in Khams pa Histories, Visions of People, Place and Authority (Proceedings of the 9th Seminar of the International Association for Tibetan Studies), edited by Lawrence Epstein (Leiden: Brill, 2002), 2

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these sources, written and visual, continue to be adapted, just as Scott argues that oral texts are, to “the needs of the present context.”5 This chapter delves into the local history of borderland Kham in the Republican period (1912–1949). The time period to be examined has been chosen for two specific reasons. Firstly, the Republican era is a crucial time, as it vividly represents how successive Chinese powers attempted to respond to the ageold challenge of dealing with the borderlands during rapid and volatile change. A myriad of new sources related to Nationalist attempts to handle China’s frontiers have recently become available in official archives.6 However, rather than deal with the events of the Republican period from a purely state-based perspective, this essay engages with an alternate set of sources for understanding frontier history on the ground. These sources relate to the second reason why the Republican period provides us a unique time to study borderland history. New technologies that appeared during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries in different parts of China led to entirely new options for recording history. At this point, the historical narrative of the borderlands was further complicated, and centralized state claims and polemics violently disrupted, by the entrance of photographic technology. The significance of this new technology goes beyond what it can tell us about the mobilization of new forms of information and communication in fields such as publishing and consumerism.7 It allows for new forms of subjectivity in narrative, and the circulation of new ideas related to beliefs in the unique ability of photography to capture “truth” through pictures, even if this “truth” was in reality as much staged and framed by the photographer due to “tactic imperatives of taste and conscience” as in traditional art.8 Like other forms of narrative available to historians, photography is also loaded with power, with the photographer wielding the technology to frame and capture the image, as the representative of modernity and often in early days, colonial authority.9 In the case of China, even after indigenous photographers appeared, they were linked to other institutions of power, as they were based in the cities. Even when they ventured out of the cities, they were often doing so as representatives of one of China’s successive state pow5 Scott, The Art of Not Being Governed, 233. 6 Hsiao-ting Lin, Modern China’s Ethnic Frontiers: A Journey to the West (Oxford: Routledge, 2011), xiii-xiv. 7 These benefits are outlined in Christian Henriot and Wen-hsin Yeh’s introduction to their volume History in Images: Pictures and Public Space in Modern China (Berkeley: Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, 2012), 1–5. 8 Susan Sontag, On Photography (New York: Picador, 2001 [1973]), 6. 9 Rosalind Morris, “Introduction” in Photographies East (Durham: Duke University Press, 2009), 1–28, addresses some of these issues.

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ers, and in doing so, they became the latest representatives of state information gathering on areas of difference – here, rural areas, dominated by peasants or ethnic minorities – for the purposes of consolidating state power. In the early twentieth century, information-gathering exercises were given the veneer of scientific exploration, as traditional forms of ethnography and travelogues10 became linked with nation-building discourse during the Republican period. This was in response to foreign imperialist attempts to categorize China through study. These movements led to the training of Chinese nationals in Western sciences, but also the appearance of concerns about how to counteract cartographic, ethnographic, archeological and historical projects that were interpreted as imperialist overtures by Chinese intellectuals.11 However, despite the fact that these Chinese-led expeditions were often sponsored by different parts of the Republican state or its affiliates, the individuals who carried them out were complex figures with multiple motivations. This paper focuses on the photography of the twentieth-century Han Chinese photographer, explorer, and writer Zhuang Xueben (1909–1984) in order to understand more about individual perspectives of frontier history that may alternately contrast or coalesce with state policy.12 Zhuang’s enormous photographic corpus gathered during almost five decades spent on the western frontier of China, many of those years based among Tibetan peoples, has seen him hailed recently as a major figure in the formation of Chinese ethnographic and humanistic photography.13 His photographs depict a number of different ethnic groups in posed as well as spontaneous settings, as well as more generally the material situation of the borderlands from the 1930s through the 1960s, and again in the late 1970s. However, he was for many years a forgotten figure, as10

11

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13

These forms of traditional knowledge have been discussed in a number of works, including Lisa Hostetler’s Qing Colonial Enterprise: Ethnography and Cartography in Early Modern China (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005). Scientific and exploratory projects undertaken by both Western and Chinese amateur and professional scholars in China’s western borderlands have most recently been discussed in Stevan Harrell, Charles F. McKhann and Margaret Byrne Swain, ed., Explorers and Scientists in China’s Borderlands, 1880–1950 (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2011). Mo Yajun has recently also used Zhuang Xueben’s photography of Xikang to gain an individual perspective on Republican politics on China’s frontier. Mo Yajun, “The New Frontier: Zhuang Xueben and Xikang Province,” in Chinese History in Geographical Perspective (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2012), 122. See for example, Zhuang Xueben, et al. (eds.), Chen feng de li shi shun jian: She ying da shi Zhuang Xueben 20 shi ji 30 nian dai de xi bu ren wen tan fang 1934–1939 (Dust of the historical moment – the Photographer Zhuang Xueben’s 1930s Cultural Travel in the West 1934– 1939). (Chengdu: Sichuan Minzu Chubanshe, 2005).

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sociated with a moment of nation building in the Republican period that fell out of favor during the Mao years. Though he was politically rehabilitated following the Cultural Revolution before his death in 1984, Zhuang’s photographs have only re-emerged in the past decade or so as a rich resource for the study of Chinese photographic history, nation building projects, and the borderlands. How to understand his work in context remains a more complex issue. Mo Yajun has recently argued that Zhuang’s work was part of broader trends at the time that objectified minorities and thereby created a racial hierarchy among members of the nation, with Han at the top.14 However, she also acknowledges that his own opinions and perspectives in his writings were complex and at times contradictory, expressing sympathy with his minority subjects while still regarding them as backward.15 Contemporary curator Zhu Qi has argued in contrast that Zhuang’s work was unique at the time, and uniquely modern in that Zhuang strove to gain a “spiritual sympathy with local people” thereby “symbolically saving the nation” through acknowledging shared human experience. His evidence for this argument is in discussing the nobility of the portraits,16 though this point is problematic as it follows with the stereotype of portraying minorities as “noble savages.” Though there are multiple different ways we can understand Zhuang’s photographs, one certainty is that he had a special interest and fascination with the Tibetan people. His initial adventure into the western borderlands was propelled by a fascination with Tibet, and he tried during his lifetime a number of times to visit, though he never ultimately made the trip. The assertion that Zhuang never traveled to Tibet is based on currently available published materials. His photographs remain as important resources for understanding the Sino-Tibetan borderlands during his lifetime, and provide counterpoints to other popular Western photographers and explorers such as Joseph Rock (1884–1962) who were engaged in similar projects of travel, classification, and study with photography as an important element. In this paper, I examine Zhuang’s representation of eastern Tibetan peoples in order to engage with the local in his photography and to outline how his pictures provided bridges between the local histories of Tibetan communities that he presented in his photographs and the broader nation-state of China. Rather than see these bridges simply as unidirectional and as examples of the 14 15 16

Mo Yajun, “Itineraries for a Republic: Tourism and Travel Culture in Modern China, 1866– 1954.” Ph.D. Dissertation (University of California Santa Cruz, 2011), 167. Ibid., 171–172. Zhu Qi, “Zhuang Xueben: Ethnography, Western China, 1934–1939,” in Photography from China Fotofest 2008 Catalog (Houston: Fotofest, 2008), translated by Fiona He, 42–43.

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fascination with the savage “Other” in Republican China,17 I argue that at their core, these photographic representations are not convincing as propaganda devices due to the agency that they attribute to their subjects. While the extent to which these complicated depictions were intentionally created by Zhuang is not possible to know, readings of Zhuang’s photographs alongside mainstream published and local histories reveal the Sino-Tibetan borderlands to have been considerably more complex, and Republican- era policy less successful, than might otherwise be acknowledged. Despite some of the overtly colonial, and at times racist and overly simplistic discussions of local people found in Zhuang’s writings, his photographs are more ambivalent in their representations of Tibetan culture. Rather than showing backwardness, the photographs depict complex and sophisticated political structures in the borderlands in the form of local chieftains (Tusi) and political representatives, and indigenous institutions such as monasteries and encampments. In contrast to depictions of these areas as isolated and backward, the photographs often include obvious signifiers of modernity, including technology such as gramophones and clothing like suits and top hats. And contrary to arguments that the Tibetan inhabitants of the frontier were barbarians, Zhuang’s photographs show a variety of different people from all sections of society in dignified portraits in which the subject faces the camera head on – making these photographs quite distinctive in contrast to images of frightened and reluctant subjects found elsewhere in the world in early ethnographic photography. Yet Zhuang’s photographs are not without their problems of representation. Early photographs are often obviously posed, and the Morton anthropological technique of photography is often obviously applied. The motive behind the photographs is also important to remember, given that Zhuang was patronized by local warlords and the Republican government, and later the government of the People’s Republic of China. My point here however is that these photographs are more complex than they appear. They provide a unique historical source that situates the Tibetan borderlands within broader currents of modernity outside the Chinese metropolis and in broader twentieth-century global history. At the same time, they allow the viewer fascinating insights into local histories, which provide counterpoints as well as emphasis in turn to written traditions. The photographs allow the bodies of their subjects to act as signifiers of the experience of change during a tumultuous time in Chinese and Tibetan history, while also highlighting some of the reasons

17

This trend is discussed in William Schaefer, “Shanghai Savage,” in positions: east asia cultures critique, 11, 1 (2003): 91–133.

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why broader attempts to discipline the border were and have remained unsuccessful for successive manifestations of the Chinese state. This chapter begins with an overview of the history of the Kham borderlands and the life and times of Zhuang Xueben in order to provide broader context. It then discusses Republican western frontier policy through reference to Guangxi and Xikang, before placing Zhuang’s photographic work in conversation with this official state history. Ultimately, the paper demonstrates how Zhuang’s photography can be used to reveal local history that alternately compliments and complicates other sources as well as the possibilities open to the viewer for gaining an individual, visual history of the Sino-Tibetan borderlands.

Zhuang Xueben: Explorer, Propagandist, or Artist?

The work of Zhuang Xueben provides us with an individual’s experience of the changes in the borderlands. He remains a fascinating individual from this period of time whose work was important due to its abundance and diversity as well as to the fluctuating political allegiances of its creator, with Zhuang moving from being an independent explorer who was somewhat critical of government policies through to a state-sponsored photographer and explorer in the Republican and early Communist periods. How did he end up in the western borderlands initially? Zhuang Xueben was born in Pudong, Shanghai in 1909 to peasant parents. It appeared for a time that Zhuang would follow the fate of his parents as a peasant, when due to lack of funds, he had to drop out of middle school after two years. However, rather than returning to the village, he sought out work in local offices of companies in Shanghai. Caught up in the spirit of the times and having read accounts of other explorers for enjoyment in his free time, Zhuang joined the National Trekking Society (Qingnian zucheng de quanguo buxing tuan) in 1930, a group of youth dedicated to the exploration of China by foot as a symbolic representation of reclaiming the boundaries of the nation state. He traveled from Shanghai to Beijing with the group, only to find it taken over by Japan, so then he headed back to Nanjing to work. In 1935, a truly unique adventure appeared for Zhuang. Following the death of the Thirteenth Dalai Lama Thupten Gyatso (Thub bstan rgya mtsho, 1875– 1933), the Nationalist government planned a visit to Tibet that would be the most significant Chinese state visit in over a decade. While the visit was nominally to pay their condolences for the Dalai Lama’s death, the Nationalists were actually hoping to make overtures to the Tibetan state to reestablish their power in the plateau. The Dalai Lama had famously claimed Tibet’s independence

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in 1912, and the Chinese government had been caught up in domestic issues. While the Republic had continued to claim Tibet as part of China and the Tibetan people as one of the ‘Five Races,’ in actuality their claims were rhetorical with little force behind them.18 The 1935 mission was intended to change this. Zhuang heard about the mission and was determined to join it as an explorer dedicated to the unity of the nation. He quit his job, gathered his savings, and hurried to Chengdu, hoping that he might be able to join the Nationalist representatives. As was usual for the time, his hopes for inclusion was unfeasible – he was young and without any government experience or contact. He was not selected. Rather than return to the east coast, however, Zhuang elected to embark on his own mission, dedicated to recording “scientifically” the cultures of the borderlands. The method he would use for this research was photography. During his time in Shanghai after middle school, he had become interested in the photographic medium and taught himself how to take pictures through practicing on local scenes in Shanghai. There are no leftover writings from Zhuang about why he felt this was the ideal medium for his exploration and research in this initial period, but using his savings and sheer determination he set out on a journey between March and December 1934 into the borderland areas of Si­ chuan and Qinghai, with no political sponsorship and using local guides to show him the way.19 The result of this journey was several hundred pictures of local minority groups, landscapes, and traveling scenes that capture a fascinating portrait of contemporary life at the time. After the conclusion of Zhuang’s initial journey into Golok (Tib. Mgo log, Ch. Guoluo) and other eastern Tibetan areas, there was a strong response to his work. It was picked up by major publishing houses in Beijing and Shanghai, and in 1937 his travelogue was published by the esteemed publishing house Liangyou Publishing Company (Liangyou tushu yinshua gongsi) in Shanghai.20 There were also a number of major exhibitions of his work in Chengdu, Chong­ 18

19

20

Hsiao-ting Lin’s Tibet and Nationalist China’s Frontier: Intrigues and Ethnopolitics, 1928–49 (Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 2006) and Gray Tuttle’s Tibetan Buddhists in the Making of Modern China (New York: Columbia University Press, 2005) both discuss these policies. The information in this biography has been assembled from the introductory section of Zhuang Xueben, Zhuang Xueben Quan Ji (The Complete Works of Zhuang Xueben), edited by Li Mei, Wang Huangsheng and Zhuang Wenjun (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 2009), the third chapter of Mo Yajun’s “Itineraries for a Republic,” and Zhu Qi’s article, “Zhuang Xueben: Ethnography, Western China, 1934–1939.” Zhuang Xueben, Qiang rong kaocha ji (Investigative Report on Qiangrong) (Shanghai: Liangyou tushu yingshua gongsi, 1937).

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qing, and Ya’an. These exhibitions were attended by many of the political and cultural elite, including Cai Yuanpei and Ding Wenjiang.21 This attention led to a radical change of fortune for Zhuang, who went from being an independent photographer to suddenly becoming a government-recognized and patronized intellectual of the borderlands. A sign of this change was an invitation for Zhuang to accompany the Nationalist delegation to return the Ninth Panchen Lama to Tibet in 1935. He was to photograph proceedings and, also on behalf of Academica Sinica, to produce anthropological records of minority groups in the area using the ‘Morton style’ of taking portraits of the front, side and back of subjects.22 Unfortunately, another twist of fate prevented Zhuang from once again visiting Tibet proper – the Panchen Lama died in Xikang in 1937. Zhuang decided to remain in Xikang to continue his research and avoid the Japanese occupation in the east, in hopes that another opportunity might arise for him to visit Tibet. Zhuang remained there for three years, traveling throughout different minority areas and assembling over one thousand portraits. This ease of travel and access to resources was made possible by another political connection. The local warlord in Xikang, Liu Wenhui, decided to support his work as it could be used for propaganda to demonstrate the diversity of Xikang, as well as aspects of its development, which would hopefully attract investors and settlers. Between November 1937 and 1945, Zhuang’s travels encompassed much of the Kham area of Xikang, including the roads north of Kangding, and locales around Shiqu (Tib. Ser shul) and Ganzi (Tib. Dkar mdzes), as well as territory that fell within Amdo (A mdo), the northeastern Tibetan cultural area, such as the Ngawa (Tib. Nga ba, Ch. Aba) area. He also traveled to Liangshan Prefecture, where he met members of the Yi ethnicity, before visiting the Muli (Tib. Smi li) and Lugu Lake area. His photographs of the region provide a fascinating repository of local histories, as they included images of all sectors of society, from local elites through to nomads, and local cultural institutions, including monasteries and villages. Despite the opportunities that his connections afforded him in Xikang, it appears that the dream of visiting “Inner” Tibet remained for Zhuang, and in 1942 he attempted a new path to the inner Tibetan plateau. He joined the section of the Kham Tibet Trading Company (Kangcang maoyi gongsi) based in India between 1942 and 1945, with the hope that in the course of his travels for business he might be able to attain appropriate documentation for entering Tibet. Unfortunately, this time it was the British government in India that 21 22

Zhu Qi, “Zhuang Xueben: Ethnography, Western China, 1934–1939,” 36. Ibid., 41.

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prevented him from getting the appropriate visa, and once again his dream of visiting Tibet was not fulfilled. However, during the close to four year period he spent in India, Zhuang took thousands of photographs of the cultures and locations he encountered there. Sadly, few of these remain today, aside from a book he published at the time.23 Following the war, Zhuang returned to Shanghai, where he continued to work for the trading company while publishing his work in major periodicals of his day and participating in symposiums dedicated to the study of China’s ethnic minorities. Change was imminent, however, and in 1949 the People’s Republic of China was established. In the 1950s and early 1960s, Zhuang’s talents and extensive experience working in border areas were utilized by the state. He was included in a number of major expeditions to study different minority areas, including Liu Geping’s trip to the Southwest during 1950 and 1951, which included travels through Xikang, Yunnan, and Guizhou, as well as to Inner Mongolia in 1954 and back to Sichuan again in 1958.24 There is little information to indicate Zhuang’s own perceptions of these changing times and his new patrons, though he did continue to publish monographs and articles throughout the period. The broader political atmosphere of the mid-1960s did eventually catch up with Zhuang. In 1965, due to “historical problems” (lishi wenti), Zhuang was removed from public office and returned to Shanghai. For the next ten years, he did not travel, take any photographs, or publish any work. Presumably these “historical problems” stemmed from his involvement with the Nationalists and with Liu Wenhui in Xikang, but Zhuang was keen to separate himself from them and wrote annually to Zhou Enlai, requesting that he be allowed to resume his work. In a copy of one of these appeals that remains from 1972, Zhuang makes the case for his political rehabilitation, arguing that he was from a peasant (nongmin) background and had taken photographs to increase public understanding of the borderlands, not for political reasons.25 In 1975, Zhuang was finally rehabilitated and once again became known as an authority on ethnic minorities, though by this point he was not able to travel as he had earlier and his new publications merely consisted of retrospectives of his work. He passed away in Shanghai in 1984, at the age of seventy-five.

23 Zhuang, Zhuang Xueben Quan Ji, 670. The Quan Ji has included some of the images of Zhuang’s Indian sojourn that do remain, 670–675. 24 Ibid., 762–763. 25 Ibid., 729–731. The entire document has been reproduced on pp. 723–731.

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Situating Kham: Mainstream Narratives of the Sino-Tibetan Western Frontier

At the far western edge of the Dong world, the geographical extremities of the eastern Tibetan province of Kham, with its vast valleys and high passes, contributed to its historically autonomous situation. Until the 1950s it had never been fully conquered or controlled by any surrounding states in China or Tibet. However, Kham was a very desirable asset, as its geography formed a “natural screen” between the Chinese empire and central Tibet.26 Whoever controlled Kham controlled important trade routes from India to China, including the tea route, and also secured their borders from the power on the other side. It had also remained mysterious to outsiders long before Zhuang Xueben arrived with a camera. Yet despite the desirability of controlling Kham, few leaders had ever succeeded in uniting it and few had ever entered its territory. The Lhasa government had attempted to extend influence over Kham from the seventeenth century, but never succeeded in any consistent manner, aside from converting many important monasteries to the Gélukpa (Tib. Dge lugs pa) tradition. The desirability of the area meant that border skirmishes between Chinese government troops in Sichuan and Yunnan provinces with the central Tibetans were frequent within Kham. One such skirmish led to many of the areas of Kham to the east of the Salween river being taken under the governance of Sichuan province in 1725, in the third year of the reign of the Qing dynasty’s Yongzheng Emperor.27 Following the Mongolian takeover of Lhasa in 1717, ambans (angbang), official representatives of the Qing dynasty, were put in place and were also given jurisdiction over eastern parts of Tibet that remained even after Mongolian withdrawal from Lhasa. However, the actual application of Central Tibetan as well as Chinese power in Kham was often difficult to exercise in concrete terms, and, while some areas of Kham were expected to pay taxes and tribute to their nominal rulers, in other respects many areas of Kham remained autonomous. 26

27

For a more detailed perspective on the geographic features of Kham and its polities, see Yudru Tsomo, ‘Local Aspirations and National Constraints, A Case Study of Nyarong Gonpo Namgyel and His Rise to Power in Kham (1836–1865),’ Ph.D. Dissertation (Harvard University, 2006), 31. Yudru, “Local Aspirations and National Constraints,” 34, looks at these events in more detail, as does Gu Zucheng, et al., Qing shilu zangzu shiliao (Sources of Tibetan History from the Veritable Record of the Qing), vol. 1 (Lhasa: Tibet People’s Publishing House, 1982), 311–2.

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The difficulty in maintaining control over Kham was due to its inhabitants as well as to its geographical barriers. Kham was never unified within itself. There existed several forms of local leadership: the traditional aristocratic chieftains or kings (Tib. rgyal po); the hereditary lords (Tib. sde pa); the later Tusi (local chiefs that Chinese dynasties nominated in order to keep “loose reign” over frontier regions, through whom they exercised indirect rule); and lamas who controlled monastic institutions and estates. While inter-state relations were often maintained through marital ties or trading agreements, interstate conflict was the norm. Kham societies had strong cultures of machismo and revenge, and disputes over land and wealth were frequent.28 By the early twentieth century, Kham was divided into thirty-five states: twenty-six nominally under Chinese control and nine west of the Yangtze under the jurisdiction of Lhasa. These delineations were based on taxation systems.29 However, the borders of these polities had been set through a long history of interactions among different Tibetan groups, who had created their own polities that followed a wide variety of political forms, including kingdoms, monastic rulership, chieftainships, and autonomous pastoral areas. Erik Mueggler has recently called one of these states a “theatre state,” referring to the way that in Kham, as in Clifford Geertz’s study of nineteenth-century Bali, politics largely operated through court ceremonialism as realized “semiotics of state power” rather than as representations or allegories for other forms of political organizations.30

Zhuang’s Pictures as a View of Republican History in the Borderlands: Complicating Understandings of Sino-Tibetan Border Relations

In the twentieth century, however, things begin to change in Kham. Most notably, the long arm of the state became more apparent at this time, as it did throughout Zomia (according to Scott), from both the Tibetan and the Chinese sides. Despite the debacle of the Younghusband Mission of 1904, in which British army officers entered southern Tibet to force the Central Tibetan 28 29

30

Yudru, “Local Aspirations and National Constraints,” 205. Eric Teichman, Travels of a Consular Officer in Eastern Tibet, together with a History of Relations between China, Tibet and India (Kathmandu: Pilgrims Publishing House, 2000 [1922]), 3. Erik Mueggler, The Paper Road: Archive and Experience in the Botanical Exploration of West China and Tibet (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2011), 195.

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government to enter into trade with them, the appearance of the Mission within Tibet and the foundation of British trade outposts in southern Tibet led to great anxiety for the flailing Qing dynasty.31 The Qing responded by dispatching a number of different imperial representatives to attempt to counter British influence there. Mostly notably, due to a desire to retain Kham as a strong natural barrier against British invasion, the Qing thereafter began concerted campaigns to sinicize the inhabitants of eastern Kham. Xiuyu Wang has written of these campaigns as examples of the potential for the late Qing empire – which is often depicted as defunct and incompetent – to be creative in attempts at expansionism, which they termed “new policies” (xin zheng) or “changing local rule back to regular rule” (Gaitu Guiliu).32 Early measures included an agricultural program, in which Sichuanese were offered land if they moved to Kham to set up farms. These measures started in the town of Batang (Tib. ‘Ba ‘thang, Ch. Batang ). The amban assigned a new official to Chamdo (Tib. Chab mdo, Ch. Changdu) to oversee these measures, but the initial appointee, Feng Quan, set up his office in Batang rather than Chamdo. There he ordered the tilling of land and developed his own militia. Feng also gave land to foreign missionaries and attempted to limit local monasteries ordaining too many monks.33 This latter measure was particularly unpopular and inflammatory, leading to a riot in 1905. Tibetans attacked Chinese and missionaries, and a massacre took place in which the Chinese official Feng was killed. This led to political upheaval throughout western Kham, encompassing the areas of Bathang, Chamdo, Nyakrong (Tib. Nyag rong, Ch. Xinlong), and Litang (Tib. Li thang, Ch. Litang).34 From the Qing government’s perspective, stricter measures to quash insurgency and consolidate their authority were necessary, and the internal warfare in Kham gave rise to a series of new campaigns. Ma Wei Qi, the provincial commander-in-chief of Sichuan, was assigned to supervise campaigns after Feng’s murder. A magistrate from Ya’an, Zhao Erfeng (1845–1911) was assigned to work with him. In the early days, despite their attempts to pacify the situation, more massacres of Chinese settlers and soldiers were carried out by local residents. The Chinese response was a policy of “harsh pacification.” Zhao 31 32 33 34

Melvyn C. Goldstein, A History of Modern Tibet: The Demise of the Lamaist State (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989), 45. Xiuyu Wang, China’s Last Imperial Frontier: Late Qing Expansion in Sichuan’s Tibetan Borderlands ((Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2011), 1. Elliot Sperling, “The Chinese Venture in K’am, 1904–1911, and the Role of Chao Erh-feng,” The Tibet Journal, 1, 2 (1976), 13–14. Ibid., 14–15.

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Erfeng stationed himself in Litang to protect Ma’s supply lines and executed local lamas and officials in Batang.35 He also attacked local Khampa strongholds around Batang. In April 1906, Zhao implemented new development strategies for Chinese control in Kham,36 which soon resulted in another uprising, and new soldiers were brought into southern Kham. This led to the Xiancheng siege,37 which earned Zhao a reputation for violence and the nickname of “Butcher Zhao,” but also brought him rewards, as he was promoted to Frontier Commissioner for Yunnan and Sichuan. This marked the end of the Kham rebellions, but the Tibetans continued to resist colonization, so in 1909 Qing soldiers invaded western Kham again. In 1910 Zhao occupied Dege (Tib. Sdge dge, Ch. Dege) and several surrounding areas. The Drakyap (Tib. Brag g.yab. Ch. Chaya) monastery was destroyed, and many atrocities committed.38 This successful expansion attempt inspired Zhao to try to take Lhasa. The Thirteenth Dalai Lama, Tupten Gyatso, fled to Darjeeling in India and was officially deposed in Lhasa by the Qing government. Later that year, Tibet was returned to the Dalai Lama under a new Chinese policy whereby he would only be permitted to exercise his temporal role.39 Due to continuing problems with local Tibetan leaders switching allegiances, the Qing implemented more reforms in 1911 to replace indigenous leaders. Chieftains in Kham nominally aligned themselves either with Lhasa or with Beijing, though they still continued in practice to pursue their own interests.40 Later in 1911, however, these assorted arrangements were radically renegotiated following the collapse of the Qing dynasty. In previously Qing-occupied areas of Kham, Chinese garrisons mutinied, and the amban in Lhasa was at35

Douglas A. Wissing, Pioneer in Tibet: The Life and Perils of Dr. Albert A. Shelton (New York: Palgrave, 2004), 84. 36 For more on this process, see Wang, China’s Last Imperial Frontier. 37 Sperling, “The Chinese Venture in K’am,” 16–17. The siege took place when Zhao, after arriving with troops, had several skirmishes with local monks. The monks retreated to a local monastery, which had thick walls well-suited for sp. defense. Zhao surrounded the monastery with his troops, and a siege ensued. The siege lasted for several months, only stopping after Zhao’s troops cut off the monastery’s water supply. Zhao intercepted a message from the monks which requested that monks from another monastery come to their aid and had several of his troops pretend to be the awaited monks. The monks within the monastery opened the gates to let in their supposed rescuers, only to find Zhao’s troops waiting on the other side. After fighting within the monastery, Zhao’s troops were finally triumphant, and Zhao ordered any remaining survivors of the opposing monk community executed. 38 Wissing, Pioneer in Tibet, 107. 39 Goldstein, A History of Modern Tibet, 54. 40 Yudru, “Local Aspirations and National Constraints,” 413–22.

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tacked. The Dalai Lama supported and encouraged the eastern Tibetan uprising against the Chinese in order to push them out. As the Republican Government came together and warlords moved into the space previously occupied by the Qing authorities in Kham, rebellion continued. Zhao was beheaded in 1911,41 but his successor was similarly brutal. 1911 saw huge violence in Dartsédo (Tib. Dar rtse mdo, Ch. Kangding) and the destruction of Chamdo monastery. While later Republican leaders apologised for the indiscipline of Republican troops and attempted to redress the issue, the destruction of monastic property left a bitter “legacy of resentment.”42 The introduction of Republican rule in China led to a new relationship between the Dalai Lama and the Republican government, along with a new discourse of rule in China. This was articulated by the Republican President Yuan Shikai as the concept of unifying the “Five Races” (wuzu) of China. These “races” were the Han Chinese, Manchus, Mongols, Muslims and Tibetans.43 In a new attempt to discipline the borderland, the concept of a new Chinese province of Xikang being created between Kham and Sichuan, which had long been discussed, began to circulate. In 1912, the Dalai Lama returned to Lhasa from another period of exile in India after having been deposed in 1910 by the Qing Dynasty.44 This time he was permitted to exercise his previous powers, and he began a vast modernization program aimed at establishing Tibet as a modern nation state. One important measure that he introduced was the upgrading of the Central Tibetan army, which was sent to Kham to fight under the command of the Kalön Lama (Bka’ blon bla ma) and also recruited local soldiers there.45 Rebellion developed in Kham to resist further colonization efforts and taxation by the Republican government.46 The chaos there was indicative of chaos elsewhere in the country, as warlords jostled with the Republican government for control, and there was no central authority. Instead, the Nationalists were forced, in James Leibold’s words, to “…compete with a variety of independent actors – foreign imperialists, regional warlords, frontier 41 Teichman, Travels of a Consular Officer, 33, outlines how Zhao was killed by mutinous troops during the rebellions that led to the fall of the Qing dynasty. 42 Ibid., 38. 43 For more on the nuances of Republican period minorities policy, see James Leibold, “Unmapping Republican China’s Tibetan Frontier: Politics, Militarism and Ethnicity along the Kham/Xikang Border,” The Chinese Historical Review, 12, 2 (2005), 167–201. 44 Goldstein, A History of Modern Tibet, 52–53; Tuttle, Tibetan Buddhists in the Making of Modern China, 51. 45 Teichman, Travels of a Consular Officer, 38–40. 46 Goldstein, A History of Modern Tibet, 88–83; Teichman, Travels of a Consular Officer, 43–46.

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minorities, political factions and third parties – each with their own conceptions of the nation-state and its direction.”47 After the Northern Expedition brought some temporary stability to the country, the different factions present in Sichuan province on the border with Kham united to declare allegiance to the new Nationalist government. General Liu Wenhui, a general from Sichuan, became the new Governor there in 1928, and, later in the year when the Nanjing government decided to establish Xikang Province to encompass the borderland between Sichuan and Kham, he quickly moved in to establish his authority over the new territory. It is noteworthy, however, that historians have considered Xikang when it was originally declared in 1934 “virtually fictitious” due to the lack of state apparatus in the province and also because of ongoing disputes over borders and sovereignty.48 However, Liu’s behavior after he established his authority was far from imagined, as he treated Xikang as his “personal fiefdom” up until it was dismantled following the beginning of the PRC in 1950. Using its resources, he worked to extend his influence over Sichuan, particularly after he lost a civil war with his uncle Liu Xiang in 1932–1933.49 It was in this environment that Zhuang undertook his initial travels. Zhuang Xueben’s early travels and work came at a crucial time in the development of scholarship regarding China’s borders. Not only were borderlands seen as crucial for national stability and protection of boundaries, but the Nationalist government also intended to attempt to mirror the legacy of the Qing, which had been a vast, culturally diverse empire, in order to create a stronger nation state. Problematically, the way that Chiang Kai-shek attempted to foster a unity was through a narrow discourse of China as a nation of one people – Chinese – and minorities were but sub-varieties of this central ethnicity. The Communists in turn recognized the limitations of this discourse and in contrast argued for “ethnotaxonomic vitality” by acknowledging difference.50 The bureaucratic feasibility of this acknowledgement was quite another matter, and the early Communist period would see the implementation of state attempts to create tighter ethnic taxonomies that resulted finally in the recognition of the fifty-six minorities today.51 47 48

Leibold, “Un-mapping Republican China’s Tibetan Frontier,” 172. Hsiao-ting Lin, Tibetan and Nationalist China’s Frontier: Intrigues and Ethnopolitics, 1928– 1949 (Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 2006), 69. 49 Leibold, “Un-mapping Republican China’s Tibetan Frontier,” 174. 50 Thomas Mullaney, Coming to Terms with the Nation: Ethnic Classification in Modern China (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2011), 2. 51 Mullaney’s Coming to Terms with the Nation outlines this process.

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Zhuang’s work therefore emerges at an interesting crossroads for the study of ethnicity in modern China, before the emergence of the Communist categorization. Therefore the minorities that appear in his work – such as the Qiang, Rong, Yi, Tibetans, Mongolians, and Salar – may have been re-categorized since his period, or may have been submerged into other ethnic groups. In Zhuang’s work, he tends to emphasize difference and ethnicity, mostly through focusing on material markers. His style for doing so changes over time. Some images, such as those of the Qiang from 1934 are clearly posed. The central foci of these images are Qiang men dressed traditionally, but they sit awkwardly looking sideways at the camera with pipes in their mouths for drinking local alcohol. The image therefore captures a local tradition and system of drinking, but is artificial in its composition. Zhuang continued to take such photographs later in his career, but managed over time to make them appear less awkward. He was also interested in material production and culture, and his photographs emphasize this interest. In those from Tibetan areas around Kangding in the late 1930s for example, he captures the work of a potter (Figure 13.1), as well as of a printer. In doing so, he provides viewers with valuable information related to local economies and material production. Zhuang’s most famous and arguably distinctive images, his headshot portraits, also tend to emphasize the different. His subjects stare straight into the camera, but are always adorned in local jewelry and clothing, which draw the viewer’s eye away from the subjects and to their clothing. Clothing is an obvious marker of ethnicity and hence of difference. (Figure 13.2) He also takes full-length portraits in order to capture the clothing in more detail. Many of these portraits taken throughout his career are of Tibetan women’s backs. His numerous portraits of Tibetan women’s hair ornaments and jewelry provide information related to cultural concepts of wealth. However, his framing of his subjects is also noteworthy. In Figure 13.3, for example, Zhuang centers a nomadic woman adorned with hair ornaments with her back to the camera and a mountain and monastery in the background. This image not only depicts her dress, but through positioning her with a monastery in the background connects her, a Tibetan lay woman, with a symbol of Tibetan authority, the monastery. This image suggests something of the close relationship between laity and monastic establishments. Zhuang’s interest in these relationships and cultural practice more generally are also vividly illustrated in his fascination with Tibetan Buddhist subjects. Throughout his career, he photographed hundreds of monasteries as well as their inhabitants. These pictures included portraits of different Buddhist figures, including lamas (Figure 13.4), oracles, and yogis (Figure 13.5). In these images, he again emphasized setting. Figure 13.4 depicts a monastic official in full

Depicting Life in the Twentieth-Century Sino-Tibetan Borderlands 355

Figure 13.1

Taken on the road north of Kangding, in 1937–8, published in Zhuang Xueben Quanji (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 2009), Vol. 2, p. 447, Image 1.

Figure 13.2

Taken in 1934, published in Zhuang Xueben Quanji (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 2009), Vol. 1, p. 84, Image 5.

356

Figure 13.3

Holmes-tagchungdarpa

Taken in Qinghai, 1935–1937, published in Zhuang Xueben Quanji (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 2009), Vol. 1, p. 275, Image 12.

Depicting Life in the Twentieth-Century Sino-Tibetan Borderlands 357

Figure 13.4

Taken in Gyalrong ( Jiarong), 1934, published in Zhuang Xueben Quanji (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 2009), Vol. 1, p. 99, Image 6.

Figure 13.5

Taken in Golok (Guoluo), 1934, published in Zhuang Xueben Quanji (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 2009),Vol. 1, p. 159.

358

Figure 13.6

Holmes-tagchungdarpa

Taken in Bathang, 1940, published in Zhuang Xueben Quanji (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 2009), Vol. 2, p. 648, Image 14.

ritual ceremonial dress, while also demonstrating his hierarchal importance by including a group of monks behind him in the shadows. Such an image can be read as another attempt to represent visually Tibetan social relationships. He also photographed ritual life in Tibetan areas, including monastic dances (known as cham, seen for example in Figure 13.6). These photographs all bring to life a vividly different Buddhist culture, while including spectators in the background, thereby showing viewers again the local interaction with ritual life. As beautiful and detailed as these images were however, they still emphasized difference. Rather than promoting cultural interchange, such images could also negatively influence perceptions of borderland cultures by leading the viewer to focus in a simplistic way on colorful, mysterious or mystical elements of Tibetan culture.

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Zhuang’s photographic focus shifted over time, particularly with the entrance of new patronage. After exhibiting his work to great public interest and publishing multiple articles with urban periodicals, Zhuang’s work caught the attention of the western frontier militarist, Liu Wenhui, who invited Zhuang to photograph the changes in Xikang. Liu was a creative and persistent ruler, who considered it a mission to modernize his borderland state. Under him, the Xikang Administrative Committee engaged in planning which, while not actualized, at least imagined a Xikang united through new roads and railway lines as well as the introduction of mass electricity through the development of hydro-electric plants. They also had creative ideas about making Xikang economically independent by exploiting the natural resources of the forests and grasslands though milling, mining and cultivation. To carry out these vast modernizing measures, more settlers were required, so early propaganda campaigns were established to try to attract Han settlers, especially farmers, to the region. The major crop that these settlers would grow was opium, still a major commodity in China.52 However, propaganda was also targeted at young educated people in the cities to entice them to come and work on their frontier and thereby contribute to the nation. Educated people were targeted due to the necessity of studying the resources available in Xikang, which needed to be mapped and categorized in order to be more successfully exploited.53 Zhuang’s travels in Xikang in the late thirties and early forties were emblematic of these trends. His work though was far from straightforward propaganda. An element of Zhuang’s photography that problematized overly simplistic representations of local cultures and issues of development was that, in his focus on material culture as a theme in his work, he also captured change and hybridity. This is particularly the case for the images of dress and technology in his photography. Hybridity became a central motive in his photography and is important for disrupting straightforward representations of “development” in border areas during this time. Rather than showing the success of state-led projects, Zhuang’s work often shows development on the ground and suggests that some state-led initiatives were less than successful. His work in Xikang is especially distinctive in this way. Liu Wenhui’s sons are shown wearing western-style suits, for example, in a series of informal pictures. (Figure 13.7) Other elites are also shown in western dress, with gramophones and other signifiers of western technology. In contrast, pictures of classes in one of the schools 52 53

Leibold, “Un-mapping Republican China’s Tibetan Frontier,” 175. Andres Rodriquez, “Building the Nation, Serving the Frontier: Mobilizing and Reconstructing China’s Borderlands during the War of Resistance (1937–1945),” Modern Asian Studies, 45, 2 (2011): 350–351.

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Figure 13.7

Liu Wenhui’s family, taken in Kangding, 1938, published in Zhuang Xueben Quanji (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 2009), Vol. 2, p. 459.

established by the government in Badi shows children with bare feet and village dress. (Figure 13.8) Similarly, throughout images of Xikang, roads are shown unfinished, traditional buildings are still in vogue, and generally there appears to be little significant change to suggest that the propagandistic claims of development in the area were underway. Images of local elites also contradict discourse regarding the need to civilize the borderlands and of local barbarianism. For example, the chieftainess (or Tusi) of Kanze, Dechen Wangmo (Tib. Bde chen dbang mo, Ch. Deyinwangmu), a crucial figure in Xikang politics in the late 1930s,54 is shown happy, relaxed, and friendly in a series of photographs, including one with a friend wearing a western suit. (Figure 13.9) These images in summary present alternate discourses to those of the state regarding change in the area and suggest the importance of local histories – both visual and literary – for understanding the change sweeping through the Sino-Tibetan borderlands and other regions. 54

See Lin, Tibet and Nationalist China’s Frontier, 110–111, for more on Dechen Wangmo’s role.

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Figure 13.8

Badu Primary School, taken in Danba, 1938, published in Zhuang Xueben Quanji (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 2009), Vol. 2, p. 468.

Guangxi, on the other side of the Dong world, provides us with a fascinating counterpoint to Xikang and what was happening on the Sino-Tibetan frontier during the Republican era. As with Xikang, in the 1930s Guangxi was led by militarists. This group was known as the Guangxi Clique and was made up of generals who had cooperated with Chiang Kai-shek after the Northern Expedition of the late 1920s, but had then decided to split from Nanjing in the early

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Figure 13.9

Taken north of Kangding in late 1937–8, published in Zhuang Xueben Quanji (Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 2009), Vol. 2, p. 436.

thirties. However, unlike in Xikang, where modernization was believed to be the key to developing a strong region, the Clique became distinctive in China through pursuing a “reconstruction program” based around a strongly militaristic form of government.55 This militarism stemmed from the Clique’s belief that China’s first priority should be national sp. defense following the Japanese activity in Northeast China in 1931. They aspired to introduce a number of means to ensure this sp. defense, including providing training and arms to commoners and introducing a theoretically “honest, duty-bound and energetic civil service,” child and adult education, widely available public health facilities, and the suppression of banditry together with other groups including the communists and gentry.56 They argued that China could only be saved 55 56

Diana Lary, “One Province’s Experience of War: Guangxi, 1937–1945,” in China at War (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2007), 316. Eugene William Levich, The Kwangsi Way in Kuomintang China, 1931–1939 (Armonk, NY: M.E. Sharpe, 1993), 28–29.

Depicting Life in the Twentieth-Century Sino-Tibetan Borderlands 363

through the organization of “ten million youths into an anti-Japanese army (in order to) engage in one great bloodletting” and so introduced mass military training.57 These aspirations and policies that fostered regional identity drew together the complex sections of Guangxi society, which included multiple ethnic communities who were indigenous to the area as well as Hakka who had arrived later and more recently Han immigrants, as well as a variety of different linguistic and economic groups.58 Without the same history of regional identity, could the eclectic province of Xikang survive? Did modernization methods, rather than militarism, defeat the need for shared regional identity? The answer is no, but for complex reasons, as ultimately the Guangxi model also did not survive. In the 1930s, life in Xikang was marked by continuing border and administrative disputes among Liu, the Nationalists, and the Tibetans and also massive demographic change in the area. However, there were other smaller scale changes as well. Liu Wenhui had modernization methods targeted towards Tibetans and other ethnicities that were intended to bring them within the purview of the Xikang state and, rhetorically at least, the nation. These measures included introducing schools and public hygiene campaigns.59 Along with the trade facilitated by frontier policies, new commodities began to circulate between Tibet and China that found their way into the borderlands, including new forms of clothing, food, and technology. Yet, despite these measures, Kham was still never entirely incorporated into the Nationalist nation-state. Disputes over boundaries continued, and the Nationalist government’s attention shifted elsewhere during the war years. After the founding of the People’s Republic of China in 1949, Xikang was dismantled, and Liu Wenhui received a new post in the Communist government. It was eventually not through negotiation, but war and violence that the PRC managed to gain a foothold in Kham during the 1950s, though resistance continued up into the 1960s.60 Only at this time did Kham, after centuries of attempts by different regimes and powers to incorporate it, become part of a modern nation-state. By contrast, and perhaps due to its success in fostering regionalism, Guangxi was successfully incorporated into the nation-state, and much earlier. After the Sino-Japanese war heated up in the late 1930s, there was concern that 57 58 59 60

Ibid., 22. Diana Lary, Region and Nation: The Kwangsi Clique in Chinese Politics, 1925–1927 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1974), 5. Rodriguez, “Building the Nation, Serving the Frontier,” 355–356. Carole McGranahan’s Arrested Histories: Tibet, the CIA, and Memories of a Forgotten War (Durham: Duke University Press, 2010) outlines this war.

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Guangxi’s local focus was leading to a decentralization of power that was undermining Nationalist resistance. In 1936, Guangxi lost autonomy, but its successful military training program led to this province producing excellent soldiers to fight Japan.61 Members of the Guangxi Clique remained powerful figures at the national level right up until 1949.62 Guangxi was incorporated into the new People’s Republic of China thereafter, and unlike the Sino-Tibetan frontier, its distinctive regional identity has never led to post-liberation calls for autonomy. The respective fates of Guangxi and Kham’s border region can be attributed, it seems, to the type of differences that Zhuang acknowledged and even emphasized in his photography. They went back to issues of identity. As Diana Lary has noted, Guangxi was always part of the broader Chinese cultural order, with shared affiliation among most of the population related to local identity.63 But as Zhuang’s photographs often illustrated, the inhabitants of the Sino-Tibetan frontier came from very different cultural backgrounds. They looked different, dressed differently, practiced unique religions and traditions, and did not necessarily speak Chinese dialects. This meant that they could not be so easily assimilated into the nation-state. Their local experiences of administrative experiments as they were depicted in Zhuang’s photography provide us with a very different historical narrative than that experienced by Guangxi and related by mainstream sources. Conclusion You cannot compare us Go-log with other people. You obey the laws of strangers, the laws of the Dalai Lama, of China, and of any of your petty chiefs. You are afraid of everyone; to escape punishment you obey everyone. And the result is that you are afraid of everything. And not only you, but your fathers and your grandfathers were the same. We Go-log, on the other hand, have from time immemorial obeyed none but our own laws, none but our own convictions. A Go-log is born with the knowledge of his freedom, and with his mother’s milk imbibes some acquaintance with his laws. They have never been altered…. To the advice of a stranger we will not hearken, nor will we obey ought but the voice of our conscience with which each Go-log enters the world. This is why we have ever been free as 61 Lary, “One Province’s Experience of War,” 317. 62 Lary, Region and Nation, 207–208. 63 Ibid., 7.

Depicting Life in the Twentieth-Century Sino-Tibetan Borderlands 365

now and are the slaves of none – neither of Bogdokhan nor of the Dalai Lama. Our tribe is the most respected and mighty in Tibet, and we rightfully look down with contempt on both Chinaman and Tibetan.64 This quote comes from an interview collected by Joseph Rock in the process of his many excursions into the Sino-Tibetan borderlands. It is a powerful statement that conveys to the reader a self-representation of a borderland inhabitant. It is a unique source in that it calls to attention the difference between a borderland inhabitant and an inhabitant of “the valleys,” as James C. Scott has called non-highlanders. This self-representation allows us insight into how problematic and difficult state intervention has been in the Tibetan borderlands of China. However, as this essay demonstrates, the foundations of that intervention are not as straightforward or one-dimensional as state-centered narratives would suggest. Instead, local histories provide us with alternate understandings of the Sino-Tibetan borderlands during this period of rapid change. A novel yet crucial genre that signifies this time of change and is available for understanding these histories may also be found in photography. Zhuang Xueben’s photography provides us with a unique and complex legacy. His corpus suggests the complex motivations in Chinese agency in the Tibetan borderlands – for example, he became involved with the Nationalist government there largely it seems due to his interest in travel and exploration, rather than simplistic political rhetoric. As Mo Yajun has pointed out, his work therefore leaves behind complicated legacies of colonialism. And despite his mobilization of certain discourses of empire and racism through the use of motifs of difference, his work also allowed for unique forms of Tibetan agency to manifest themselves, challenging the standard unidirectional rhetoric of development and state-led campaigns of modernity. That Tibetans, and other people in the borderlands, so willingly and straightforwardly posed for their photographs flatly contradicts and dismisses colonialist stereotyping of minorities as backwards and passive. Zhuang’s photographs are also unique in that, through the challenging of stereotypes, they encourage sympathy. As curator Zhu Qi has pointed out (though not unproblematically), this sympathy makes Zhuang’s work quite unique, as did his habit of providing his subjects with copies of their photographs.65 This acknowledgement of agency and participation additionally 64

65

Joseph Rock, The Amnye Ma-cchen Range and Adjacent Regions: A Monographic Study, Serie Orientale Roma 12 (Rome: Instituto Italiano per il Medio ed Estremo Oriente, 1956), 127. Zhu Qi, “Zhuang Xueben: Ethnography, Western China, 1934–1939.”

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troubles the categorization of his work as propaganda, providing as it does an important local perspective of history and modernity on an indigenous level in the borderlands. Far from being a borderland without recorded history, these local forms of history provide crucial perspectives on the new forms of state intervention in the Sino-Tibetan borderlands that continue the long traditions and narratives of change and resistance in eastern Tibet. Acknowledgements Parts of this chapter have previously appeared in Amy Holmes-Tagchungdarpa, The Social Life of Tibetan Biography (Lanham: Lexington Books, 2014), and appear here with permission. A special thanks to Mr. Zhuang Wenjun and Zhonghua Shuju for permission to use Zhuang Xueben’s photographs. I want to acknowledge the invaluable assistance of Zhang Miaosi in securing these copyright permissions. The permissions were kindly sponsored by the Bankhead Fund of the Department of History at the University of Alabama. Thanks also to my chair Professor Kari Frederickson for her aid in locating this assistance. Thanks also to Mo Yajun for sharing her unpublished work and an interest in Zhuang Xueben, to Kathlene Baldanza for bringing me into the AAS panel that began this volume, and to James Anderson and John Whitmore for their feedback and support. Bibliography Bell, Charles. Portrait of a Dalai Lama: The Life and Times of the Great Thirteenth. Boston: Wisdom Publications, 1987 [1946]. Chaudhary, Zahid R. Afterimage of Empire: Photography in Nineteenth Century India. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2012. Epstein, Lawrence. “Introduction,” in Khams pa Histories: Visions of People, Place and Authority (Proceedings of the 9th Seminar of the International Association for Tibetan Studies), edited by Lawrence Epstein. Leiden: Brill, 2002. Glover, Denise M., Stevan Harrell, Charles F. McKhann and Margaret Byrne Swain, eds. Explorers and Scientists in China’s Borderlands 1880–1950. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2011. Goldstein, Melvyn C. The History of Modern Tibet, Vol. 1, 1913–1951: The Demise of the Lamaist State. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991.

Depicting Life in the Twentieth-Century Sino-Tibetan Borderlands 367 Gu Zucheng, et al. Qing shilu zangzu shiliao 清實錄藏族史料 (Sources of Tibetan History from the Veritable Record of the Qing), vol. 1. Lhasa: Tibet People’s Publishing House, 1982. Harris, Clare. “The Photograph Reincarnate: The Dynamics of Tibetan Relationships with Photographs,” in Photographs Objects Histories, edited by Elizabeth Edwards and Janice Hart, 132–147. London: Routledge, 2004. Henriot, Christian and Wen-hsin Yeh, eds. “Introduction,” in History in Images: Pictures and Public Space in Modern China. Berkeley: Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, Berkeley, 2012. Holmes-Tagchungdarpa, Amy. The Social Life of Tibetan Biography: Textuality, Community and Authority in the Lineage of Tokden Shakya Shri. Lanham: Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, forthcoming. ––––––. “Defining Peripheral Power: Writing the History of the Eastern Tibetan Kingdom of Lhathog,” in New Views of Tibetan Culture, edited by David Templeman, 7–20. Caulfield, Vic.: Monash University Press, 2010. Hong, Shizhong, Liu Shengli, Xu Jiting and Zhuang Wenjun. “Interpretation and Research on Photographs about Diexi Earthquake Shot by Zhuang Xueben in 1934.” Seismology and Geology, 1 (2011): 208–224. Hostetler, Lisa. Qing Colonial Enterprise: Ethnography and Cartography in Early Modern China. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005. Lary, Diana. Region and Nation: The Kwangsi Clique in Chinese Politics, 1925–1927. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1974. ––––––. “One Province’s Experience of War: Guangxi, 1937–1945,” in China at War, edited by Stephen MacKinnon, Diana Lary, and Ezra Vogel, 314–334. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2007. Leibold, James. “Un-mapping Republican China’s Tibetan Frontier: Politics, Militarism and Ethnicity along the Kham/Xikang Border,” The Chinese Historical Review, 12. 2 (2005): 167–201. Levich, Eugene William. The Kwangsi Way in Kuomintang China, 1931–1939. Armonk, NY: M.E. Sharpe, 1993. Lin, Hsiao-Ting. Tibet and Nationalist China’s Frontier: Intrigues and Ethnopolitics, 1928– 49. Vancouver: University of British Columbia, 2006. ––––––. Modern China’s Ethnic Frontiers: A Journey to the West. Oxford: Routledge, 2011. McGranahan, Carole. Arrested Histories: Tibet, the CIA, and Memories of a Forgotten War. Durham: Duke University Press, 2010. Mo, Yajun. “Itineraries for a Republic: Tourism and Travel Culture in Modern China, 1866–1954.” Ph.D. Dissertation, University of California Santa Cruz, 2011. ––––––. “The New Frontier: Zhuang Xueben and Xikang Province,” in Chinese History in Geographical Perspective, edited by Yongtao Du and Jeff Kyong-McClain, 121–140. Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2012.

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Morris, Rosalind. “Introduction,” in Photographies East: The Camera and Its Histories in East and Southeast Asia, edited by Rosalind C. Morris, 1–28. Durham: Duke University Press, 2009. Mueggler, Erik. The Paper Road: Archive and Experience in the Botanical Exploration of West China and Tibet. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2011. Mullaney, Thomas. Coming to Terms with the Nation: Ethnic Classification in Modern China. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2011. Rock, Joseph F. The Amnye Ma-cchen Range and Adjacent Regions: A Monographic Study, Serie Orientale Roma 12. Rome: Instituto Italiano per il Medio ed Estremo Oriente, 1956. Rodriquez, Andres. “Building the Nation, Serving the Frontier: Mobilizing and Recon­ structing China’s Borderlands during the War of Resistance (1937–1945),” in Modern Asian Studies, 45, 2 (2011): 345–376. Samuels, Geoffrey. Civilized Shamans: Buddhism in Tibetan Societies. Kathmandu: Mandala Book Point, 1995 [1993]. Schaefer, William. “Shanghai Savage.” positions: east asia cultures critique, 11, 1 (2003): 91–133. Scott, James C. The Art of Not Being Governed: An Anarchist History of Upland Southeast Asia. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009. Sontag, Susan. On Photography. New York: Picador, 2001 [1973]. Sperling, Elliot. “The Chinese Venture in K’am, 1904–1911, and the Role of Chao Erh-feng,” The Tibet Journal, 1, 2 (1976): 10–36. Strassler, Karen. Refracted Visions: Popular Photography and National Modernity in Java. Durham: Duke University Press, 2010. Shakya, Tsering and Clare Harris. Seeing Lhasa: British Depictions of the Tibetan Capital 1936–1947. Chicago: Serindia, 2003. Teichman, Eric. Travels of a Consular Officer in Eastern Tibet, together with a History of Relations between China, Tibet and India. Kathmandu: Pilgrims Publishing House, 2000 [1922]. Tuttle, Gray. Tibetan Buddhists in the Making of Modern China. New York: Columbia University Press, 2005. van der Kuijp, Leonard. “Tibetan Historiography,” in Tibetan Literature: Studies in Genre, edited by José Ignacio Cabezón and Roger R. Jackson, 39–56. Ithaca, NY: Snow Lion, 1996. Wang, Xiuyu. China’s Last Imperial Frontier: Late Qing Expansion in Sichuan’s Tibetan Borderlands. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2011. Wissing, Douglas A. Pioneer in Tibet: The Life and Perils of Dr. Albert A. Shelton. New York: Palgrave, 2004. Yang, Mayfair Mei-hui, ed. Chinese Religiosities: Afflictions of Modern and State Formation. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008.

Depicting Life in the Twentieth-Century Sino-Tibetan Borderlands 369 Yudru Tsomu. “Local Aspirations and National Constraints: A Case Study of Nyarong Gonpo Namgyel and His Rise to Power in Kham (1836–1865).” Ph.D. Dissertation, Harvard University, 2006. Zhu, Qi. “Zhuang Xueben: Ethnography, Western China, 1934–1939,” in Photography from China Fotofest 2008, translated by Fiona He, 36–49. Houston: Fotofest, 2008. Zhuang Xueben. Qiang rong kaocha ji羌戎考察記 (Investigative Report on Qiangrong). Shanghai: Liangyou tushu yingshua gongsi, 1937. ––––––. et al. (eds.), Chen feng de li shi shun jian: She ying da shi Zhuang Xueben 20 shi ji 30 nian dai de xi bu ren wen tan fang 1934–1939 塵封的歷史瞬間－攝影大師莊學 本 20 世紀 30 年代的西部人文探訪 1934–1939 (Dust of the historical moment – the Photographer Zhuang Xueben’s 1930s Cultural Travel in the West 1934–1939). Chengdu: Sichuan Minzu Chubanshe, 2005. ––––––. Zhuang Xueben Quan Ji 莊學本全集 (The Complete Works of Zhuang Xueben), edited by Li Mei, Wang Huangsheng and Zhuang Wenjun. Beijing: Zhonghua Shuju, 2009.

Chapter 14

From Land to Water: Fixing Fluid Frontiers and the Politics of Lines in the South China / Eastern Sea Kenneth MacLean

Introduction Different political entities have redrawn the Sino-Vietnamese frontier, including its maritime limits, more than a half-dozen times since the late nineteenth century. These entities – the Qing Empire, the French Third Republic, the Republic of China, Imperial Japan, the Democratic Republic of Vietnam, the Republic of Vietnam, the Socialist Republic of Vietnam (SRV), and the People’s Republic of China (PRC) – have used a combination of tactics ranging from bilateral treaties to military force in order to advance their respective interests in the borderlands. This essay examines present-day conflicts between the SRV and the PRC over their maritime frontier with a focus on the historical, legal, and scientific basis for their competing territorial claims and the identity politics that inform them. Conflicts related to China’s southern frontier are not new as the other chapters in this collection demonstrate; they date back more than two thousand years. Nonetheless, a significant change has occurred. Neither the SRV nor the PRC has, until quite recently, made concerted efforts to establish permanent sovereign control over large parts of the South China Sea, which Vietnamese speakers call the Eastern Sea. Both countries, traditionally thought of as land-based empires, now recognize that their natural security is directly linked to their ability to fix this previously fluid frontier in ways that serve their strategic political and economic needs. Terrestrial frontiers, like maritime ones, can be fluid as well;1 however, they are differently so. Different kinds of boundary lines produce different kinds of territorial effects offshore. These effects, since they often overlap with one another, justify conflicting claims to the same territory. To understand why this is the case, it is necessary to engage with the technical disputes regarding the placement of these lines in the “South China / Eastern Sea.” Importantly, the lines political entities historically used to demarcate where sovereign state spaces end and non-state spaces begin in the “South China / Eastern Sea” did 1 Witness the sixteenth century events in Guangxi; see Baldanza in this volume.

©

5 | 

/

371

From Land to Water Table 14.1 Maritime lines Year

Name

Parties involved

Type

1887

Constans Agreement

Bilateral

1948 1973

U-Shaped Line Square Neutral Zone

1982 1996 2000

11-Point Line Hainan Line 21-Point Line

2009

Continental Shelf Submission (north) Continental Shelf Submission (south)

Third Republic France Qing Dynasty Republic of China Democratic Republic of VN People’s Republic of China Socialist Republic of VN People’s Republic of China Socialist Republic of VN People’s Republic of China Socialist Republic of VN

2009

Socialist Republic of VN Malaysia

Unilateral Bilateral Unilateral Unilateral Bilateral Unilateral Bilateral

not replace those which came before. Instead, different boundary lines have continued to coexist, though not on equal terms since they framed the territorial claims of what are now the PRC and the SRV in ways one or both sides found objectionable. Bilateral agreements have resolved some of these disputes. Others, however, remain unresolved (See Table 14.1). In both cases, the terms of these (dis-)agreements have sustained acrimonious debates among Vietnamese speakers and their Chinese counterparts about the reasons for and significance of these changes to Vietnam’s “geo-body,” Thongchai Winichakul’s term for those spaces that evoke the “nation” regardless of whether or not they fall within a state’s current territorial boundaries.2 Since Vietnamese idiomatically define their country as a combination of “land and water” (đất nước), the competing representations of Vietnam’s “geobody” shed light on a number of issues. In this essay, I focus on the problems that follow from the extension of land-based forms of sovereignty and jurisdiction out into maritime spaces. These problems, I argue, help explain why past efforts to resolve the disputes over which country “owns” which parts of the “South China / Eastern Sea” have failed to achieve their intended results. Instead, different forms of violence have waxed and waned as the countries involved have sought to perform their sovereignty offshore – most often by 2 Thongchai Winichakul, Siam Mapped: A History of the Geo-Body of a Nation (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, Honolulu, 1997), 17.

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colonizing different features (i.e. rocks, islets, and islands as well as reefs, cays and atolls). These geographic features provide natural reference points against which their maritime claims are projected offshore, unlike the border markers on land that can be easily relocated. I will provide details on these acts of “cartographic aggression” below, but before doing so it is necessary to foreground the significance of this maritime region.3 The “South China / Eastern Sea” is one of the world’s largest bodies of water after the five oceans, covering approximately 3.5 million square kilometers. It is also the world’s fourth most productive fishery, and it possesses substantial deposits of natural gas and oil. In addition, the region is one of the busiest maritime zones in the world. Approximately half the goods sent globally by sea pass through the “South China / Eastern Sea” en route to their final destination.4 The sheer scale of these economic activities connect the region in ways the mountainous land borders do not; they additionally explain why neighboring states, the PRC and the SRV among them, employ a range of legal and extralegal methods to assert their claims to the same features. Doing so is problematic, however, as nearly all two hundred named natural landforms – the highest of which is 3.8 meters (barely more than 10 feet) above sea level – are underwater at high tide. When these particularities are taken into account, the arcane debates over the accuracy and legitimacy of the lines that delimit the “South China / Eastern Sea” assume a different significance. They do so because of what they reveal about: 1) the legal complications that follow from the extension of land-based forms of sovereignty and jurisdiction on a graduated basis; 2) the impact these lines have upon the ongoing normalization of Sino-Vietnamese relations; and 3) the re-emergence of “patriotism” as a salient term of protest in response to the competing depictions of the geo-bodies of both countries. All three concerns, which I develop below, were readily apparent during the 2009 fishing ban when I began research on this topic, and all remain salient today.

The Fishing Ban

During the early morning hours of August 1st a fast moving tropical storm prompted the Chinese Maritime Affairs Department on Hainan Island to issue 3 Greg Austin, China’s Ocean Frontier: International Law, Military Force, and National Development (Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 1998), 331. 4 Nguyễn Hồng Thảo, “Maritime Delimitation and Fishery Cooperation in the Tonkin Gulf,” Ocean Development and International Law, 36 (2005): 26.

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an emergency warning to all vessels in the vicinity to seek safe harbor until the strong winds and sixteen foot-high swells subsided. The emergency warning, the second in less than a week, provided little solace for Nguyễn Tấn Lự, captain of QNg 95031-TS, and his crew from central Vietnam. Deteriorating weather conditions forced them to seek shelter among the more than thirty islets, sandbanks, and reefs that constitute the Amphitrite group of the Paracel Islands. Unfortunately, August 1st was the final day of the ban, which the PRC had imposed unilaterally upon all forms of commercial fishing in waters north of twelve degrees north latitude two-and-half months earlier. Since the ban was still in effect, a Chinese naval patrol boat seized control of the Vietnamese vessel and towed it to the Chinese military base on Woody Island, the largest of the Paracel Islands.5 Once there, the Vietnamese fishermen were charged with violating China’s territorial sovereignty and held until their family members could raise funds to pay the fine needed to secure their release. The incident was not an isolated one (indeed such events continue to this day6). During the summer of 2009, Chinese naval patrol boats had impounded at least four Vietnamese vessels while the ban was in effect and pursued dozens more, often over considerable distances. The state-controlled media of the SRV, which closely chronicled the dispute, regularly featured statements from high-ranking Vietnamese officials denouncing the ban as a violation of their country’s territorial sovereignty. More than one hundred articles followed, featuring different types of “evidence” that purported to demonstrate the depth of Vietnam’s historic claims as well as its legal rights under the terms of the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea. These articles were further aug5 Zheng He, the famed explorer, plotted its location on the map during the Ming dynasty. During the Qing dynasty, the Guangdong navy mapped most of the Paracel Islands and erected a stele on the island. Since then, various states have controlled the island: France, Japan, the Republic of Vietnam, and the PRC. Both Taiwan and Vietnam still claim the island. William Callahan, “Sharing Sovereignty: Security and Spatiality in the South China Sea,” in Contingent States: Greater China and Transnational Relations (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2004), 64–74. 6 Claimant states met every year since 2009 to discuss how to prevent future incidents from escalating into serious conflicts. Nevertheless, Chinese law enforcement agencies took aggressive actions against Vietnamese ships conducting oil surveys in disputed waters between March and June of 2011. Diplomatic efforts diffused the crisis, and both sides agreed: to resolve their disputes through negotiations; to oppose third-party intervention [especially the United States]; and to use the media to prevent extreme nationalism from destabilizing the situation. Incidents continue to occur, however. See, Li Mingjiang, Chinese Debates of South China Sea Policy: Implications for Future Developments (Singapore: S. Rajaratnam School of International Studies, 2012); International Crisis Group, Stirring Up the South China Sea (Brussels: International Crisis Group, 2012).

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mented by a vast body of commentary, most of it posted online, concerning the fishing ban, including the contentious question of who rightfully owns the approximately 650 reefs, atolls, cays, rocks, islets, and islands, named and unnamed, that constitute the Paracel and Spratly Archipelagoes. This was not the first time such a measure had been put in place. The PRC had imposed similar bans on parts of the “South China / Eastern Sea” since 1995 as a conservation measure to stem the decline in yields caused by overfishing and environmental degradation. The bans were for this reason timed to coincide with the annual shift in trade winds that precedes the start of the southwest monsoon – an event that reorients the migration routes taken by yellow-fin and big-eye tuna, which move freely across different maritime boundaries. Nonetheless, the 2009 ban was both the largest to date – it affected approximately 128,000 square kilometers – and the most rigorously enforced to that point with eight naval patrol boats dispatched to the region, insisting on their control of the sea (and indeed of the air over it as well)7. Since I was in Vietnam at the time, I used the opportunity to visit Đà Nẵng, Quảng Ngãi, and Nhà Trang where I spoke with dozens of temporarily unemployed fisherman, many of whom rely upon tuna for their livelihoods. “If I don’t catch fish I will starve,” complained Tiến Dũng, a thirty-four year-old deckhand from Đà Nẵng, who was forced to seek construction work in the city as a consequence of the ban. The boat he previously sailed with, Dũng explained, had narrowly escaped a patrol boat earlier that month. “We can’t fish when running away and the price of fuel is so high that it is almost too expensive for us even to bother.” So the captain, he explained, decided to use the time to repair his boat and lines rather than risk bankruptcy, as did thousands of others whose vessels were similarly idled by the ban. Nearly everyone I spoke to voiced similar frustrations, but not all of them were directed solely at the PRC Government or its naval patrols. Many also expressed anger, confusion, and bitterness over what they perceived to be the contradictory response of their own government. “Every inch of soil, each meter of water are the blood and bones of our people!,” fumed one tuna boat captain over his inability to fish in what he had been taught was Vietnamese territory. Not surprisingly, some high-ranking officials – most notably Lê Dũng, spokesman for the SRV Ministry of Foreign Affairs – vigorously defended the right of all Vietnamese to fish in and around the Paracel and Spratly Archipelagoes on the grounds that the ban violated the country’s sovereign authority in 7 T. Brook, Mr. Seldon’s Map of China: Decoding the Secrets of a Vanished Cartographer (New York: Bloomsbury Press, 2013), 3–9.

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these areas, a view he asserted was supported by international law. Other branches of the SRV Party/state, however, played a more equivocal role in the dispute. Chu Tiến Vĩnh, head of the Agency for Aquatic Resource Management and Protection, a sub-unit of the Ministry of Agriculture and Rural Development, for example, reaffirmed the government’s public position, but adopted a far more pragmatic stance. His agency issued an official letter to local authorities that also contained a map indicating which parts of the “South China / Eastern Sea” Vietnamese fishermen should avoid while the ban was in effect since the country’s marine police lacked the resources to provide armed escorts for deep-water boats. Vietnamese vessels were instead encouraged to travel in groups of five to seven and to fish in close proximity to one of the approximately twenty islands occupied by Vietnam’s armed forces or the oil and gas blocks in the Nam Côn Sơn basin where dozens of offshore platforms and production rigs are located.8 By contrast, the Tổng cục II, a military intelligence agency, which is housed within the Ministry of Defense and reports directly to the General Secretary of the Communist Party and the other members of the Politburo, adopted a sharply different approach. Founded in 1995, the agency investigates individuals and organizations inside Vietnam and abroad that engage in activities perceived to threaten the Party or the state of Vietnam. Its operatives reportedly coordinated efforts to suppress popular demonstrations against the fishing ban and to arrest more than a half-dozen intellectuals who expressed their concerns regarding China’s conduct in the region on their personal blogs – a move that was part of a broader crackdown on freedom of speech that took place during 2009 and continues today.9 The conflicting responses taken to this particular territorial dispute suggest why it is misleading to regard the Vietnamese Party/state as a unified and coherent entity that thinks or acts like a person. Different segments of the Party/ state serve quite different constituencies, and this has led them to define what constitutes a threat to the country’s national security in antithetical ways. Several factors have contributed to this unexpected outcome. Among them, the normalization of Sino-Vietnamese relations, a complicated and still ongoing process that secretly began in 1991. While the “normalization” process privi8 Công Văn số 358 của cục trưởng Cục Khai thác và bảo vệ nguồn lợi thủy sản về lệnh cấm đáng bắt cá của Trung Quốc ở vùng biển Đông [Official Dispatch No. 358 from the Head of the Aquatic Resource, Management, and Protection Agency regarding China’s Fishing Ban in the Eastern Sea], issued 7 May 2009. 9 Shawn Crispin, “Chinese Shadow over Vietnamese Repression,” Asia Times Online (12 September 2009), http://www.atimes.com/atimes/China/KI12Ad04.html.

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leged the restoration of economic and trade relationships between the two countries, the resolution of their frontier territorial disputes, which date back to the late nineteenth century, was an explicit precondition to continued progress in this as well as other areas.10 Official efforts to delimit their shared land and maritime boundaries, however, have proven to be far more complicated and contentious than anticipated. Attempts to resolve the natural status of irredenta – geographic areas claimed by one state, but under the real or imagined sovereign authority of another – are particularly difficult here as these disagreements inevitably reference different moments in Sino-Vietnamese historical relations, as seen earlier in this volume. This relationship stretches back in time more than two millennia – long before either entity existed in any identifiable political or even cultural sense – and includes multiple episodes of direct and indirect colonization and outright war in addition to more recent revolutionary and socialist forms of solidarity. For these reasons, territorial disputes inform a wide array of identity practices, not all of which converge with officially authorized ones.11 These practices, which I discuss at the end of the essay, are further complicated by international law.

Liquefying Sovereignty

The Third UN Conference on the Convention of the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS III) entered into legal force in 1994. UNCLOS III was a concerted attempt to standardize the diverse and frequently conflicting regimes governing different forms of economic activity in maritime regions, but especially fisheries and offshore energy development made possible by technological advances in deep-water oil and gas extraction. One effect of this agreement was the extension of land-based models of sovereignty, sovereign rights, and other forms of jurisdiction into the sea for distances up to 350 nautical miles. The legal demarcation of these zones was, however, crucially dependent upon the location of a coastal state’s maritime baseline. Prior to UNCLOS III, cartographers used rhumb lines, geodesics, parallel trace, arc tangents, and acres of great circles to quietly expand their territorial claims farther into the sea. After UNCLOS III, 10 11

Brantly Womack, China and Vietnam: The Politics of Asymmetry (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 212–237. Ken MacLean, “In Search of Kilometer Zero: Digital Archives, Technological Revisionism, and the Sino-Vietnamese Border,” Comparative Studies in Society and History, 50, 4 (2008): 862–894.

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From Land to Water Table 14.2 Graduated sovereignty and jurisdiction in maritime regions Category

Distance in nautical miles

De jure authority

Internal Waters Territorial Waters Contiguous Zones

0 ≤ 3 (baseline) 3 ≤ 12 3 ≤ 24

Sovereign Semi-sovereign Jurisdiction (customs, fiscal, sanitary, and immigration laws) Sovereign rights over exploration and use of marine resources and control of shipping Sovereign rights under seabed (oil, gas, minerals) Principle of Mare liberum

Exclusive Economic Zones 3 ≤ 200 Continental Shelf

 ≤ 350

International Waters

 ≥ 200

signatories were required to use the same method – a series of short straight line segments parallel to the contours of the tidal low water mark – to fix their baselines, which could not, except under special circumstances, be greater than three nautical miles offshore (See Table 14.2). While this new requirement helped standardize the territorial limits of the other maritime zones since they and the rights afforded to them were calculated in relation to the baseline, UNCLOS III produced a number of unintended effects. Most relevant here, it dramatically increased the number of instances where two or more states found themselves in conflict due to overlapping maritime claims – a problem that occurred every time the distance separating their Exclusive Economic Zones was less than a combined total of four hundred nautical miles. In the context of the “South China / Eastern Sea,” UNCLOS III dramatically reshaped the geo-bodies of several littoral states. The Philippines, for example, now possessed sovereign rights and jurisdiction over maritime territories that were more than three times the country’s total land holdings. Since UNCLOS III had similar (if less pronounced) effects upon Indonesia, Malaysia, Vietnam, and China, conflicting claims to the same maritime territories were inevitable. Inter-state competition among different ASEAN states and with China over the real and imagined resources these territories contained has helped militarize the “South China / Eastern Sea” and sustain low-intensity conflicts in a number of contested areas – often under the guise of eradicating piracy, which has steadily worsened in recent years as well. These conflicts regularly result in fatalities, and security experts remain concerned that large-scale armed conflicts

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are still possible despite various bilateral agreements and the establishment of a “Code of Conduct” between the PRC and the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) in 2002, which forbids the further seizure of currently uninhabited features. However the Code has done little to resolve these tensions or, for that matter, prevent further construction and militarization, as the agreement lacks meaningful enforcement provisions.12 As one sign of this, nearly all the coastal states that border the “South China / Eastern Sea” routinely employ “sovereignty-producing” practices to establish de facto forms of sovereignty and jurisdiction over different parts of the maritime region in addition to de jure ones. The SRV and the PRC have both issued rival exploration concessions to different foreign energy companies seeking oil and gas deposits in and around the Spratly Archipelago even though neither state has the undisputed sovereign right to enter into such agreements.13 This outcome is made possible by another “sovereignty-producing” practice – the state-sponsored occupation of natural features, including some that are partially or wholly submerged during high tide. Occupation is most often accomplished directly through the construction of military facilities, which permit a state to establish a permanent presence on a given landform. Indirect forms are also used to demonstrate that a feature is “occupied,” either by dispatching soldiers to it at regular intervals on a daily basis, anchoring ships over it, or visually monitoring it from a directly occupied one nearby. Where in prior centuries the states of Vietnam and China had rarely involved themselves directly in these waters, except perhaps to handle what they termed piracy,14 such tactics have now enabled the former to occupy six islands, seventeen reefs, and three banks in the Spratly Archipelago, while the latter has secured nine reefs in the same area as well as all the features located in the Paracel Archipelago. Effort to resolve these disputes is further complicated by the fact that the ontological status of many of these features is not clear. Following nine years of negotiations, UNCLOS III was only able to adopt a single provision concerning islands. While Article 121 sets out a three-part definition of an “island,” it did not address the legal status of insular formations. For this reason, it remains uncertain which formations are “islands” and thus entitled to their own 12 13

14

Callahan, “Sharing Sovereignty: Security and Spatiality in the South China Sea.” Michael Richardson, Energy and Geopolitics in the South China Sea, Implications for ASEAN and its Dialogue Partners – Discussion Forum (Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2009). On piracy, see Kim in this volume, G.E. Dutton, The Tây Sơn Uprising (Honolulu, HI: University of Hawai’i Press, 2006), 219–27, and N. Cooke, Li Tana, & J.A. Anderson, eds., The Tongking Gulf Through History (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011).

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territorial sea (12 nm), contiguous zone (24 nm), and Exclusive Economic Zone (200 nm).15 Moreover, this problem can only be addressed after the dispute over sovereignty is fully resolved and the formations properly delimited. These pre-requisites, however, have not prevented all the coastal states in the region (with the exception of Brunei) from proclaiming the various features they currently occupy to be “islands.” It is on this basis that the Vietnamese Ministry of Foreign Affairs rejected China’s self-declared right to impose a temporary fishing ban on all waters north of 12 degrees north latitude. The Ministry not only regards Vietnam to be the rightful owner of the entire Paracel Archipelago, but its official spokesmen also maintain that its features meet the legal definition of “islands” and thus generate their own zones of graduated sovereignty and jurisdiction. For this reason, Ministry officials argued, the Chinese seizure of Vietnamese fishing boats violated Vietnam’s sovereignty since the vessels were less than twelve nautical miles from the nearest “island” and thus well within Vietnam’s territorial waters. Vietnamese claims to ownership draw upon a fascinating array of materials that date back to the Hồng Đức Map of the Đại Việt ruler Lê Thánh Tông, which was prepared between 1460 and 1490 and re-edited in the seventeenth century,16 while Chinese ones date back to the eleventh. These claims are made more complicated by the fact that Chinese forces seized Woody Island, the Paracel Archipelago’s largest feature, in 1956, immediately after the French completed its military withdrawal from the region and, following a fierce naval battle with the Vietnamese in 1974, took control of all the remaining islets, sandbanks, and reefs. While the Vietnamese government has not abandoned its claims to the Paracels, its submissions to the United Nations Commission on the Limits of the Continental Shelf in early 2009 have further confused matters. Its request to have Vietnam’s extended continental shelf recognized on techno-scientific grounds is procedurally possible only if the disputed features occupied by Chinese forces since 1974 are officially classified as “rocks” rather than “islands,” as the latter generate their own zones of graduated sovereignty and jurisdiction and would thus render the submissions moot. In short, there is no place in the “South China / Eastern Sea” where the extended continental shelf of one coastal state (if recognized) would be unaffected by the zones of graduated sovereignty and jurisdiction afforded to a neighboring one or its islands under 15 16

Marius Gjetnes, “The Spratlys: Are They Rocks or Islands?,” Ocean Development & International Law, 32 (2001): 191–204. See Whitmore in this volume and idem., “Cartography of Vietnam,” in The History of Cartography, vol. 2, part 2, ed. J.B. Harley and D. Woodward (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995), 481–87.

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international law. Consequently, the SRV’s current efforts to obtain UN recognition of its extended continental shelf may inadvertently undermine its own arguments regarding who rightfully owns the Paracel and Spratly Archipelagoes.

Continental Shelf

The fishing ban was not simply a conservation measure; it was also a pointed message. Articles 76 and 77 of UNCLOS III permit a coastal state to extend its Exclusive Economic Zone from its current 200 nautical mile limit out to 350 nautical miles provided certain geological and geo-morphological conditions are met and no overlapping claims to the “Extended Continental Shelf” exist. Although UNCLOS III went into effect in 1994, the UN Commission on the Limits of the Continental Shelf required five more years to standardize the submission process. Coastal states that had ratified the Convention on the Law of the Sea prior to this date were then given a ten-year period in which to prepare their submissions. This made 13 May 2009 the deadline for the initial round of submissions that, if accepted, would grant sovereign rights to the coastal state to explore and to exploit any natural resources found in the seabed and subsoil of its extended continental shelf, as well as to control international shipping through it. The Commission received fifty-one (partial) submissions prior to the deadline, including two from the SRV. The first was a joint submission prepared in conjunction with Malaysia concerning their claims to the southern part of the “South China /Eastern Sea” (6 May). Brunei was also invited to participate, but politely declined. The second, filed the following day, concerned Vietnamese claims to the northern part of this Sea (7 May).17 The PRC immediately protested both submissions in a note verbale to the United Nations Commission on the Limits of the Continental Shelf. The text stated that China possessed not only “indisputable sovereignty” over all the Paracel and Spratly Archipelagoes, but “enjoys sovereign rights and jurisdiction over the relevant waters as well as the seabed and subsoil thereof.”18 These claims prompted the SRV and Malaysia to respond in kind, reiterating in separate statements that their submissions to the Commission “constitute[d]

17 18

Division for Ocean Affairs and the Law of the Sea, accessed May 30, 2011, http://www. un.org/Depts/los/clcs_new/commission_submissions.htm. Notes Verbales CML/12/2009 (13 April 2009) and CML/17/2009 (7 May 2009) China.

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legitimate undertakings” as parties to UNCLOS III.19 However, the content of the Vietnamese note verbale was considerably more forceful in its rejection of the Chinese counter-claim and the attached map, which the Vietnamese delegates to the United Nations denounced the following day as having “no legal, historical, or factual basis” and was, as a consequence, completely “null and void.”20 Nguyễn Bá Cẫn, the former Prime Minister for the defunct Republic of Vietnam and now abroad, raised similar objections. He submitted a separate dossier to the UN Commission on the Limits of the Continental Shelf the very next day (9 May). Not surprisingly, the dossier, co-signed by 246 different overseas Vietnamese organizations based in the United States, Europe, and Australia, rejected Chinese maritime claims; but it also challenged the legitimacy of the two studies the SRV submitted. According to the co-signers of the dossier, more than eighty different countries, including France, Great Britain, the United States, and the Republic of China (i.e. Taiwan), which maintains its own claims to different features in the “South China / Eastern Sea,” had recognized the Republic of Vietnam as a legitimate state. Despite this recognition and the USled multi-national effort to defend the Republic of Vietnam’s sovereignty, their country had been the “victim of an armed invasion,” and, the co-signers continued, the “policy of discrimination and mistreatment” its former citizens experienced after the Second Indochina War (1959–1975) was akin to a “territory under colonial domination” by the SRV. For these reasons, the diasporic Vietnamese co-signers expressed their concerns regarding the adequacy and completeness of the two reports the SRV submitted to the UN Commission on the Limits of the Continental Shelf. Specifically, they feared that the SRV would fail either to file a submission or, alternatively, to meet the deadline and thus forfeit any future claims to an extended continental shelf.21 As evidence, the co-signers cited the three territorial agreements the Communist Parties of Vietnam and China had reached in secret in 1999 and 2000 concerning their land border, the delimitation of the Gulf of Tonkin, and the shared fishing rights therein.22 These agreements, which the co-signers rejected as illegal since the legal existence of the Republic of Viet19 20 21

22

See: Notes 86/HC–2009 (8 May 2009) Vietnam; HA 24/09 (20 May 2009) Malaysia; 240 HC–2009 (18 August 2009) Vietnam; HA 41/09 (21 August 2009) Malaysia, respectively. Note 86/HC–2009. “Thư Ngỏ của Thủ Tướng VNCH Nguyễn Bá Cẫn Về Việc Đệ Nạp Hồ Sơ Đăng Ký Thềm Lục Địa,” May 3, 2009, accessed, 18 August, 2014, http://hqvnch.net/default.asp?id=1326&lstid =178. Ramses Amer, “Assessing Sino-Vietnamese Relations through the Management of Contentious Issues,” Contemporary Southeast Asia, 26, 2 (2004): 320–345.

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nam had never been officially nullified, they claimed transferred a significant – though still not precisely known – amount of Vietnamese territory to China. In doing so, they argued, the Communist Party of Vietnam demonstrated that it was either unable or unwilling to protect the territorial integrity of the “nation” from Chinese expansionism. Hence their request that the Secretary General of the United Nations take steps to safeguard the “legitimate interests and rights” on behalf of the “People of South Vietnam.”23 While the legal basis for these claims is questionable, Nguyễn Bá Cẫn’s submission, which was prepared at considerable expense with the help of technical experts, is nonetheless significant. First, it reveals how the territorial disputes have enabled some politically-engaged Vietnamese to separate the “nation” from the “state” by dissolving the hyphen that is presumed to link them, yet retain a culturally authentic position from which to mount their critiques by claiming true patriots must take action to protect the country’s geo-body from further losses. Such criticisms, which are different from officially-sponsored forms of maritime nationalism, are articulated most often online, but they also increasingly find expression offline inside Vietnam where open dissent has taken a number of different forms: large student-organized protests outside the Chinese Embassy and Consulate; anonymous roadside banners; and the backs of individuals in four cities who wore T-shirts urging fellow patriots to keep the country green and secure by canceling a controversial Chinese-managed bauxite mine in the Central Highlands and by declaring the Paracel and Spratly Archipelagoes to be Vietnamese territory. (The organizers behind the T-shirt protest were detained for more than a week as a consequence of their actions.) Second, the diasporic submission highlights as well an issue where its views actually coincide with the very state it rejects – namely, their shared concern over the status of the U-shaped line, which Chinese delegates attached to its note verbale to the United Nations. The text and the map that accompanied it provided the first official statement on the significance of this line since it first appeared on Chinese maps more than sixty years ago, a topic to which I turn next.

23

Republic of Vietnam, “Executive Summary,” May 11, 2009, accessed May 15, 2011, http:// hqvnch.net/default.asp?id=1334. This charge of ‘lost territory’ echoes that laid against Mạc Đăng Dung of the sixteenth century; see K. Baldanza, ‘The Ambiguous Border: Early Modern Sino-Vietnamese Relations,’ Ph.D. dissertation (University of Pennsylvania, 2010), and in this volume.

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The U-Shaped Line

The demarcation of the Sino-Vietnamese land border was completed on New Year’s Day, 2009. The process, which required more than a decade to carry out, was celebrated in the state-managed press in both countries as a “diplomatic milestone” since the year also marked the thirtieth anniversary of the 1979 border war – a brief, but bloody conflict that left tens of thousands dead and wounded on both sides of the border in less than a month. However, neither government has released an official map of this new land border. By contrast, official maps of the Gulf of Tonkin are readily available, even though the delimitation, similarly carried out in secret, ceded two-thirds of the contested territory (6,500 square kilometers of water) claimed by the two countries to China. The previous boundary had been set in 1887 as part of the French-Chinese Constans Agreement and helped establish where French-administered Tonkin ended in cartographic terms and the Qing Empire began. Towards this end, a red line bisecting the Gulf at 105 degrees and 43 minutes east of the Paris meridian south to 21 degrees and 23 minutes north latitude was drawn on the new maps.24 Unfortunately, the agreement failed to provide a precise definition of the line’s significance. The French version generally referred to the line as an international boundary; however, the Chinese one merely described it as a form of “geographic shorthand” to conveniently assign ownership of the islands found in the gulf, a practice common at the time.25 Since the Constans Agreement did not specify which translation was to be given precedence, the legal status of the meridian line remained uncertain, but largely uncontested until the 1930s when territorial disputes over the “South China / Eastern Sea” again emerged as a genuine transnational concern. The 2000 agreement resolved some of the ambiguities of the 1887 treaty and established rules for the temporary co-management of fishing within a common zone covering 33,500 square kilometers. The result, according to government officials and their legal scholars on both sides, was the equitable and proportional division of the Gulf, with 53.23% apportioned to Vietnam and 46.77% to China. However, the agreement failed to resolve several outstanding issues – among them, the national status of the waters outside the joint fishing 24

25

Article 3(2) of Treaty of Tientsin between France and China concerning the Delimitation of the Franco-Chinese Frontier (9 June 1885), with ratifications exchanged (28 November 1885). Zou Keyuan, “Maritime Boundary Delimitation in the Gulf of Tonkin,” Ocean Development & International Law, 30 (1999): 239.

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area but inside the U-shaped line that appeared to enclose them. This line was the first major extension of China’s southern frontier in over half a millennium, since the Mongols had moved into Dali (now Yunnan) and the Ming briefly took Đại Việt (northern Vietnam).26 For the past six decades, the PRC has declined to explain whether it regards the U-shaped line to be part of the country’s “historical waters” – an ill-defined legal category which permits states that have ratified UNCLOS to extend their territorial control beyond the limits of the maritime zones defined in it under certain circumstances. The PRC’s silence on this matter ended abruptly in early May of 2009 when delegates from the country’s Permanent Mission to the United Nations filed a formal objection regarding Vietnam’s submissions to the Committee on the Limits of the Continental Shelf. This note verbale, referencing the map that accompanied it, declared that everything within and under the U-shaped line, including the contents of its sub-soils, was national territory. The declaration prompted an immediate response. Vietnamese Ministry of Foreign Affairs spokesman Lê Dũng declared the line to be “worthless because of the lack of legal, historical, and practical foundation” at a press conference in Hà Nội the following day – a view the country’s delegates to the United Nations reiterated in slightly more diplomatic language through their own note verbale, also issued on May 8th, challenging China’s position on the matter.27 These sharply conflicting views on the status of this line can be read in a number of ways. Nearly all of them, however, are informed by the key tropes around which state-sponsored forms of nationalism in both countries are organized. In China, this commonly takes one of two inter-related themes: 1) its national humiliation, arising from the territorial losses to France, Britain, and other imperial powers during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries; and, more recently, 2) the country’s return to its rightful place in the world.28 In Vietnam, by contrast, the official emphasis continues to be primarily upon the nation’s “unbroken tradition of resistance to foreign aggressors,” particularly the Chinese.29 These narratives quite obviously define the relationship between each “nation” and its respective geo-bodies in profoundly different ways. These same 26 27 28 29

On Yunnan, see Anderson and Brose in this volume; on Đại Việt, see Swope in this volume. No. 86/HC2009 (8 May 2009). William Callahan, “The Cartography of National Humiliation and the Emergence of China’s Geobody,” Public Culture, 21, 1 (2009): 141–173. Patricia Pelley, “The History of Resistance and the Resistance to History in Post-Colonial Constructions of the Past,” in K.W. Taylor & J.K. Whitmore, eds., Essays in Vietnamese Pasts (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1995), 232–245.

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narratives also highlight why the territorial disputes involving the two states have been so difficult to resolve. The competing narratives of the “nation” lay claim to the same maritime spaces, though not always for the same reasons. Moreover, the claims produce an affective excess that cannot be fully contained by legal procedures or scientific studies. Real and imagined pasts, as well as proposed futures concerning how the material resources in these spaces will be used, continually threaten to overwhelm the present. This is a particularly salient problem here since the UN Commission on the Limits of the Continental Shelf is not empowered to resolve questions of sovereignty. Its staff can only evaluate the technical merits of the submission, which means different kinds of historical “evidence” remain crucial to both state and nonstate actors who seek to bolster the political legitimacy of their territorial claims at home and abroad. The legal status of such evidence remains unclear, however. The generic concept of “historic rights,” although present in international law, is derived from a more specific one, “historic bays,” which refers to comparatively small bodies of water, “over which a coastal nation has traditionally asserted and maintained dominion with the acquiescence of foreign nations.”30 But it is not immediately apparent how the latter concept might apply in the context of the “South China/ Eastern Sea,” one of the world’s largest bodies of water after its oceans. A third term, “historic waters,” emerged during the 1950s as part of the negotiations related to UNCLOS I (1958). But again, scholars were not able to resolve the qualifying criteria or legal status of such waters at the time, as the concept, if formalized, would permit coastal states to establish rights to maritime areas in ways that were at odds with those specified in UNCLOS III. Indeed, the concept of “historic waters” was so controversial that delegates to the Third UN Conference opted to drop it from the agenda entirely.31 Despite these legal uncertainties, the governments of both China and Vietnam regularly use the generic concept of “historic rights” to buttress their legal and techno-scientific arguments, most often by emphasizing the length of time each state (and its predecessors) has exercised actual authority over a particular area and the attitude of other states to such claims. While the earliest forms of such “evidence” date back to the eleventh and fifteenth centuries respectively for China and Vietnam, the U-Shaped line has a much more recent origin. Most accounts of the U-shaped line, also known as the “dotted” or “dashed” line,” begin with official maps the Republic of China published in 1947. How30 31

Black’s Law Dictionary, 6th Edition (St. Paul, MN: West Publishing Co., 1990), 730. Zou Keyuan, “Historic Rights in International Law and in China’s Practice,” Ocean Development & International Law, 32 (2001): 149–151.

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ever, a number of earlier versions exist. The first known line appeared in a 1914 map prepared by Hu Jinjie, a well-known cartographer.32 His personal drawings served as the basis for a series of other privately published maps during the 1920s and 1930s. These maps, when taken together, reveal that the U-shaped line has moved steadily southwards from the Paracels to the Spratlys and then to James Shoal at four degrees north latitude, 112 degrees east longitude. Interestingly, the line’s movement coincided with the emergence of a new genre of Chinese cartography on the eve of the First World War. These “national humiliation” maps, as they came to be known, detailed China’s territorial losses over time, often in bright color. In doing so, the volumes that contained them (such as Gu/Jia Yijun’s textbook Geography of China’s National Humiliation (Zhongguo guochi dili))33 graphically depicted the political, economic, and cultural anxieties caused by the transformation of the Qing Empire into the Republic of China.34 The result was an apparent paradox, as the different cartographic genres presented two radically different versions of the country’s geo-body – one set depicted an expanding China, the other a contracting one.

Vietnamese Positions

The U-shaped line took on new significance in late 1947 when the Ministry of Interior for the Republic of China renamed all the islands in “South China / Eastern Sea” and placed them under the supervision of the Hainan Special Administrative District, linked to that southern Chinese island. Two months later, the Ministry released the Atlas of Administrative Areas of the Republic of China, which included the first official map of the U-shaped line available to the general public. The PRC promptly adopted this map and the territorial claims it made visible. During 2009, while in Vietnam, I showed the map to an informant, Phong, who promptly dismissed the U-shaped line as “a cow’s tongue long enough to lick Malaysia” (như cái lưỡi của con bò kéo dài đến tận Malaysia). This view was not his alone; the phrase is widely used among Vietnamese speakers, both inside and outside the country. So too are the critiques they mount against it. My conversations with different Vietnamese over the past 32 33 34

Han Zhenhua, ed., Woguo nanhai zhudao shiliao huibian (A Compilation of Historical Materials on China’s South China Sea Islands) (Beijing: Oriental Press, 1988), 355. As cited in William A. Callahan, “The Cartography of National Humiliation and the Emergence of China’s Geobody” in Public Culture 21 (1). Li Jinming & Li Dexia, “The Dotted Line on the Chinese Map of the South China Sea: A Note,” Ocean Development & International Law, 34 (2003): 287–295.

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several years regarding the various territorial disputes often show a sophisticated awareness of the problems associated with the U-shaped line. This is due in part to increased access to the Internet, which has made it much easier for Vietnamese-speakers concerned about what they perceive to be Chinese expansionism to become amateur experts by reading and writing about the vast array of historical, legal, and scientific materials now posted online. Much of this purported “evidence” is of uncertain veracity. However, a growing percentage of it originates from official sources, such as the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the SRV, which published an electronic version of its handbook on maritime law and the relevance of this work towards the territorial dispute during the 2009 fishing ban.35 Trần Công Trục, a legal scholar who had participated in sensitive negotiations with China as a member of the Vietnamese Government’s Border Committee (1995–2004), granted a number of interviews attacking the fishing ban and dismissing the legitimacy of the U-shaped line. Extensive coverage that summer was also given to Lý Sơn Island, located thirty kilometers off the coast of Quảng Ngãi Province in the center of the country, where a museum dedicated to documenting Vietnam’s purported sovereignty over the Paracel and Spratly Archipelagoes now stands. The island is not only home to many of the fisherman detained for violating China’s ban; its residents also host an annual festival celebrating the “Squads of Heroes,” local men who conducted salvage operations among these features from the 14th century onwards and became, under the Nguyễn dynasty in the 19th century, a proto-naval force. For the first time ever, a series of conferences on the maritime disputes were held in Hà Nội and Ho Chi Minh City during 2009, 2010, 2011, and 2012 – all of which received significant international and domestic press coverage. Regardless of the precise source of their information, many of my everyday interlocutors were aware that the shape and extent of the line had changed significantly over time. The dashes, they noted, also lacked precise coordinates, with the notable exception being the southernmost one at four degrees north latitude. For these reasons, several Vietnamese with more specialized knowledge said the U-shaped line was a form of geographic shorthand, not unlike the controversial red line found in the 1887 Constans Agreement. But such claims, they continued, were now irrelevant because international law does not permit states to extend their territorial waters beyond the three nautical mile limit. Interestingly, a number of Chinese scholars have expressed similar concerns over the U-shaped line; however, these concerns have done little to dissuade those officials who set China’s foreign policy, as evidenced by the 35

Bộ Ngoại Giao, Sổ Tay Pháp Lý Cho Người Đi Biển (Hà Nội: NXB Chính Trị Quốc Gia, 2002).

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country’s bellicose response to the extended continental shelf submissions Vietnam and Malaysia filed with the United Nations.36 Conclusion Since the late nineteenth century, the political entities now known as the SRV and the PRC have issued more than a half-dozen lines concerning their respective claims to different parts of the waters that separate them. Several of these lines were the result of bilateral negotiations, but others were enacted unilaterally, often through force. Other ASEAN states (especially Malaysia and the Philippines) have rejected the validity of these lines as well, including the baselines that serve as the foundation for the zones of graduated sovereignty and jurisdiction that follow from them. But just as the land frontier between China and its southern neighbors has proven to be surprisingly elastic, so has the water frontier off to its east. The Senkaku (Diaoyu) Islands in the “Sea of Japan / East China Sea,” which the PRC claims as its own, have become another potential flashpoint for violent conflict. In fact, PRC actions in the region and Japan’s responses to them over the past several years have damaged bilateral relations to the point that some security experts now call for a crisis management initiative between Tokyo and Beijing.37 The maritime disputes among the Government of South Korea, the PRC, and the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea in the Yellow Sea, which are worsening, exhibit similar patterns.38 In each instance, historical, scientific, and legal “evidence” posted on the Internet plays a key role in shaping popular opinion at home and framing the issues for international views. Despite the growth of maritime nationalism, which is a world-wide phenomenon, progress on such territorial disputes increasingly revolves around a single issue: the extent to which a state has the right to regulate foreign ships, including military ones, travelling outside its territorial waters but within its Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ). UNCLOS articles 58 and 87 reaffirm customary “navigational rights and freedoms,” which the United States and approximately 140 of the current 157 signatories argue permits traditional naval activities (e.g. scientific surveys, military exercises, and surveillance) in addition to commer36 37 38

Peter Kien-Hong Yu, “The Chinese (Broken) U-Shaped Line in the South China Sea: Points, Lines, and Zones,” Contemporary Southeast Asia, 25, 3 (2003): 405–430. Sheila Smith, “Japan and the East China Sea Dispute,” Orbis, Summer (2012): 371–390. Michael McDevitt and Catherine Lea, “The Yellow and East China Seas.” CNA Analysis & Solutions Maritime Asia Project Conference Report, May (2012): 1–80.

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cial travel between ports. The PRC and remaining signatories maintain to varying degrees that states possess the legal right to restrict these freedoms where they perceive such activities to impinge upon their sovereignty and security. This disagreement has serious implications at a number of levels. At the regional level, serious violent conflict may obligate the United States to take direct military action as a consequence of the mutual defense treaties it has signed with South Korea, Japan, Taiwan, and the Philippines.39 Such action may further reduce the willingness of the PRC to comply with international norms and rules on other issues as well as the likelihood that the United States will become a party to UNCLOS. Finally, geo-political tensions elsewhere may lead to increased acceptance of the Government of the PRC’s position on the EEZ. Given that EEZs cover one-third of all the world’s oceans, such a shift would have a tremendous impact globally on seaborne trade, oil and gas exploration, scientific surveys, overseas military bases and installations, and flyover rights.40 Due to the stakes, it is not surprising that attempts to negotiate an equitable and just solution to the territorial disputes in the “South China / Eastern Sea” have failed. A tense standoff involving Chinese and Filipino naval forces over the Scarborough Reef and the rich fishing grounds that surround it in April of 2012 is the latest in the growing number of incidents that have nearly turned violent. The following month the PRC announced that its navy would again enforce the annual fishing ban (June 1-August 31), which it did again in 2013. Several claimant states, the SRV among them, immediately filed formal protests, indicating that they would not honor the ban, which has heightened fears that the security situation could deteriorate even further.41 Current efforts led by some ASEAN member states to create a regional code of conduct with the PRC so as to prevent future conflict, although welcome, is likely to be downgraded from a legally binding document to a political statement.42

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Ben Dolven, Shirley Kan, and Mark Manyin, “Maritime Territorial Disputes in East Asia: Issues for Congress,” Congressional Research Service January (2013), 13–25; Bonnie Glaser, Armed Clash in the South China Sea, Contingency Planning Memorandum No. 14 (New York: Council on Foreign Relations, 2012). Ronald O’Rourke, “Maritime Territorial and Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ) Disputes Involving China: Issues for Congress,” Congressional Research Service, May (2013), 28, 31, 36–67. International Crisis Group, Stirring Up the South China Sea, 5–7; Li, Chinese Debates of South China Sea Policy, 10–13. Ian Storey, Slipping Away? A South China Sea Code of Conduct Eludes Diplomatic Efforts (Washington D.C.: Center for New American Security, 2013).

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The reasons for the ongoing tensions are complex, especially in the case of Vietnam and China where the attempt to normalize bilateral relations has exacerbated old anxieties as well as created new ones. Normative maps that depict the nation’s geo-body as it was or as it should be have proven to be particularly potent in this regard since they also claim to reveal essential “truths” about the nature of Sino-Vietnamese relations. Hence the crucial role different forms of historical “evidence” play in augmenting and sometimes supplanting international legal frameworks and techno-scientific studies, particularly where neither is fully able to resolve overlapping disputes over the same territory. Such “evidence,” as I have pointed out, increasingly plays another role as well. In recent years, official efforts to reduce lingering tensions between the two states (in part through the demarcation of their shared land and maritime boundaries) have contributed to the re-emergence of patriotic discourse distinct from officially sponsored national ones. For these individuals, patriotism offers an attractive alternative to maritime nationalism, which is closely associated with the Party/state, as well as to rights-based discourse, which is vulnerable to accusations that it is Western in origin and thus culturally inappropriate. Patriotism, by contrast, predates both and is seen by those who use it to offer an authentically Vietnamese (or Chinese) position from which to mount moral critiques of the Party/state, particularly where its policies are believed to undermine the nation’s territorial integrity and security. This development, which in Vietnam links northerners and southerners as well as members of the diaspora, is a relatively recent one.43 For this reason, it remains premature to draw any hard conclusions concerning the impact post-Cold War patriotism has had upon Vietnam’s internal affairs or its bilateral relations with China. While the Vietnamese Ministry of the Interior has encouraged such sentiments in relation to the Paracel and Spratly Archipelagoes, security officials have arrested and imprisoned several dozen bloggers and cyber-dissidents over the past decade for posting essays critical of the government’s (non-) actions with regard to China’s military and economic expansion.44 Close attention to these debates and the role different lines play in sustaining them provides a novel means to explore how maps draw all these issues together not only spatially but historically as well. China’s southern frontier has been the site of tension as its limits have intermittently expanded and 43 44

Nhung Bui, ‘War/Peace Journalism Approach in Vietnamese Online Media Coverage of the South China Sea Dispute,’ M.A. Thesis (Örebero University, 2012). See Reporters Without Borders, Annual Overviews (2002–2012). Currently (mid–2013), 35 such individuals are in jail, the second highest number in the world after China.

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contracted over time for more than two millennia. At present, these limits are once again expanding. This time in an asymmetric, concerted, and unprecedented fashion into the sea, which has provided the impetus for different polities, societies, and individuals to take extra-legal as well as legal action to define China’s maritime frontier from both sides in ways conducive to their own interests. This dynamic, as the other contributions to this volume clearly indicate, is not new. These northern states (now the PRC) have acted to establish themselves in ever more southern and southwestern locales, and the latter’s inhabitants as well as those farther south have engaged the newly created frontier situations in ways intended to make changing conditions more favorable to themselves. First with the Qin-Han expansion, then the Mongol-Ming re-formation, and now the maritime extension, where a diverse array of local, national, regional, and international actors are presently contesting one another’s authority to fix this fluid frontier. Bibliography Amer, Ramses. “Assessing Sino-Vietnamese Relations through the Management of Contentious Issues.” Contemporary Southeast Asia 26, 2 (2004): 320–345. Austin, Greg. China’s Ocean Frontier: International Law, Military Force, and National Development. Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 1998. Black’s Law Dictionary, 6th Edition. St. Paul, MN: West Publishing Co., 1990. Bộ Ngoại Giao [Ministry of Foreign Affairs]. Sổ Tay Pháp Lý Cho Người Đi Biển [Legal Handbook for Fishermen]. Hà Nội: NXB Chính Trị Quốc Gia, 2002. Brook, Timothy. Mr. Seldon’s Map of China: Decoding the Secrets of a Vanished Cartog­ rapher. New York: Bloomsbury Press, 2013. Callahan, William. “The Cartography of National Humiliation and the Emergence of China’s Geobody.” Public Culture 21, 1 (2009): 141–173. ––––––. Contingent States: Greater China and Transnational Relations. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2004. Cooke, Nola, Li Tana, and James A. Anderson, eds. The Tongking Gulf Through History. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011. Crispin, Shawn, “Chinese Shadow Over Vietnamese Repression,” Asia Times Online, September 12, 2009, accessed September 20, 2013, http://www.atimes.com/atimes/ China/KI12Ad04.html. Cục Khai Thác và Bảo Vệ Nguồn Lợi Thủy Sản. Công văn số 358 của cục trưởng Cục Khai Thác và Bảo Vệ Nguồn Lợi Thủy Sản về lệnh cấm đáng bắt cá của Trung Quốc ở vùng Biển Đông [Official Dispatch No. 358 from the Director of the Aquatic Resource,

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Management, and Protection Agency regarding China’s Fishing Ban in the Eastern Sea], May 7, 2009. Dutton, George. The Tay Son Uprising: Society and Rebellion in Eighteenth-Century Vietnam. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2006. Gjetnes, Marius. “The Spratlys: Are They Rocks or Islands?” Ocean Development & International Law 32, 2 (2001): 191–204. Governments of Malaysia and the Socialist Republic of Viet Nam, Joint Submission of Malaysia and the Socialist Republic of Viet Nam to the Commission on the Limits of the Continental Shelf Pursuant to Article 76, Paragraph 8 of the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea 1982 in Respect of the Southern Part of the South China Sea, 6 May 2009, accessed September 20, 2013, www.un.org/depts/los/clcs_ new/.../mys_vnm2009excutivesummary.pdf. Han Zhenhua, ed., Woguo nanhai zhudao shiliao huibian 我國南海諸島史料彙編 (A Compilation of Historical Materials on China’s South China Sea Islands). Beijing: Oriental Press, 1988. International Crisis Group. Stirring Up the South China Sea. Brussels: International Crisis Group, 2012. Kien-Hong Yu, Peter. “The Chinese (Broken) U-Shaped Line in the South China Sea: Points, Lines, and Zones.” Contemporary Southeast Asia 25, 3 (2003): 405–430. Li Jinming and Li Dexia. “The Dotted Line on the Chinese Map of the South China Sea: A Note.” Ocean Development & International Law 34 (2003): 287–295. Li Mingjiang. Chinese Debates of South China Sea Policy: Implications for Future Developments. Singapore: S. Rajaratnam School of International Studies, 2012. MacLean, Ken. “In Search of Kilometer Zero: Digital Archives, Technological Revisionism, and the Sino-Vietnamese Border.” Comparative Studies in Society and History 50, 4 (2008): 862–894. Nguyễn Bá Cẫn, “Thư Ngỏ của Thủ Tướng Nguyễn Bá Cẫn Về Việc Đệ Nạp Hồ Sơ Đăng Ký Thềm Lục Địa [Open Letter from the Former Prime Minister of the Republic of Vietnam Nguyen Ba Can Regarding (Vietnam’s) Continental Shelf Submission],” May 3, 2009, accessed September 20, 2013, http://www.hqvnch.net/default.asp?id= 1326&lstid=4. ––––––. Submission to the Commission on the Limits of the Continental Shelf Pursuant to Article 76, Paragraph 8 of the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea, 11 May 2009, accessed September 20, 2013, http://hqvnch.net/default.asp?id=1334. Nguyễn Hồng Thảo. “Maritime Delimitation and Fishery Cooperation in the Tonkin Gulf.” Ocean Development & International Law 36 (2005): 25–44. Pelley, Patricia. “The History of Resistance and the Resistance to History in Post-Colonial Constructions of the Past.” In Essays in Vietnamese Pasts, edited by Keith W. Taylor and John K. Whitmore, 232–245. Ithaca: Cornell University Press.

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Permanent Mission of Malaysia to the United Nations, Note Verbale 24/09, 20 May 2009, addressed to the Secretary-General of the United Nations referring to Note Verbale CML/17/2009, 7 May 2009 of the People’s Republic of China, accessed September 20, 2013, http://www.un.org/Depts/los/clcs_new/submissions_files/mysvnm33_09/ mys_re_chn_2009re_mys_vnm_e.pdf. ––––––. Note Verbale HA 41/09, 21 August 2009, address to the Secretary-General of the United Nations referring to Note Verbale No. 000819, 4 August 2009, of the Republic of the Philippines, accessed September 20, 2013, http://www.un.org/Depts/los/clcs_ new/submissions_files/mysvnm33_09/mys_re_phl_2009re_mys_vnm_e.pdf. Permanent Mission of the People’s Republic of China, Note Verbale CML/17/2009, 7 May 2009, addressed to the Secretary-General of the United Nations referring to the Joint Submission of Malaysia and the Socialist Republic of Vietnam to the Commission on the Limits of the Continental Shelf, accessed September 20, 2013, http://www. un.org/Depts/los/clcs_new/submissions_files/mysvnm33_09/chn_2009re_mys_ vnm_e.pdf. Permanent Mission of the Socialist Republic of Vietnam, Note Verbale 86/HC/2009, 8 May 2009, addressed the Secretary-General of the United Nations referring to Notes Verbale CML/12/2009, 13 April 2009, CML/17/2009, 7 May 2008, and CML/18/2009, 7 May 2009, of the People’s Republic of China, accessed September 20, 2013, http:// www.un.org/Depts/los/clcs_new/submissions_files/mysvnm33_09/mys_re_ chn_2009re_mys_vnm_e.pdf. ––––––. Note Verbale 240/HC–2009, 18 August 2009, addressed to the Secretary-General of the United Nations referring to Notes Verbale 000818 and 000819, 4 August 2009, of the Republic of the Philippines, accessed September 20, 2013, http://www.un.org/ Depts/los/clcs_new/submissions_files/mysvnm33_09/vnm_re_phl_2009re_mys_ vnm_e.pdf. Richardson, Michael. Energy and Geopolitics in the South China Sea: Implications for ASEAN and Its Dialogue Partners. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2009. Treaty of Tientsin between France and China concerning the Delimitation of the Franco-Chinese Frontier, 9 June 1885, with Ratifications Exchanged, November 28, 1885. United Nations Division for Ocean Affairs and the Law of the Sea, “Submissions, through the Secretary-General of the United Nations, to the Commission on the Limits of the Continental Shelf, Pursuant to Article 76, Paragraph 8, of the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea of 10 December 1982,” September 13, 2013, accessed September 20, 2013, http://www.un.org/Depts/los/clcs_new/commission_submissions.htm.

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Whitmore, John, “Cartography of Vietnam,” in The History of Cartography, vol. 2, part 2, eds. J.B. Harley & D. Woodward (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995), 481–487. Winichakul, Thongchai. Siam Mapped: A History of the Geo-Body of a Nation. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1997. Womack, Brantly. China and Vietnam: The Politics of Asymmetry. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. Zou Keyuan, “Maritime Boundary Delimitation in the Gulf of Tonkin,” Ocean Development & International Law 30 (1999): 235–254. ––––––. “Historic Rights in International Law and in China’s Practice.” Ocean Development & International Law 32 (2001): 149–151.

Chapter 15

Asymmetric Structure and Culture in China’s Relations with Its Southern Neighbors Brantly Womack

Introduction This essay differs from the others in that it attempts to present a general framework for analyzing China’s interactions with neighbors and with border localities. Being more theoretical, it is also less engaging than the previous narratives. I begin with a sketch of what I mean by asymmetric relationships and then race through Chinese dynastic history to provide a sense of the context of the gradual emergence of mature asymmetric relationships. The third section addresses China’s southern relations utilizing the narratives of previous chapters. Finally, I conclude by addressing the relevance of China’s traditional relationships for its current situation.

Asymmetry in General

An asymmetric relationship is one between two actors of different capacities in which the smaller/weaker one (b) cannot successfully challenge the larger/ more powerful one (A), but in turn A cannot sustain domination over b. In state-to-state relationships, the respective physical, geographic, and demographic differences are not likely to change, so asymmetric relationships are usually long term and the direction of the asymmetry is embedded in the relationship. Different perspectives arise from b’s greater exposure and A’s relative indifference, but ultimately A’s experience of the limits of power and b’s of the costs of resistance tend to produce a normal pattern of interaction in which A reduces b’s concerns by acknowledging b’s autonomy and boundaries while b demonstrates that it does not challenge A’s greater power by showing deference to A. The exchange of acknowledgment and deference does not “solve” an asymmetric relationship; rather, it provides a pattern, implicit or explicit, in which continuing conflicts of interest are managed. An asymmetric relationship is not a symmetric relationship temporarily out of balance. The roles of A and b are not transposable, although each might

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have other relationships in which they play different roles. An asymmetric relationship is not simply one of domination or harmony, although the narratives of b will tend to highlight righteous resistance to A’s malevolent intentions, while A will emphasize its benevolence and moral superiority in preserving harmony. Lastly, asymmetric relationships are not restricted to state-to-state interactions. For example, personal relationships within most families are non-transposable, and no one family member can prevail unilaterally and decisively without long term costs. Despite different narratives, in normal times patterns of acknowledgment and deference can be discerned. While structure does not dictate culture, to the extent that culture involves an awareness of and a habituation to reality, structure provides culture’s terrain. A peculiarity of asymmetric terrain is that it is uneven. Thus one might expect three cultural resonances: the quite different self-conscious narratives of A and b plus the more formal diplomatic culture of interaction. Each side’s narrative is likely to combine its positional experience with an assertion of its interests against the other side – for b, wrongs suffered, successful resistance, need for vigilance, for A, benevolent power, unreliability and ingratitude of b, problems of punishment. The formal diplomatic culture is likely to be a pattern of ritualized interaction in which acknowledgment and deference are embedded in the mode of contact and thereby encourage normalcy by negotiating or deflecting conflicts.

China and Asymmetry

The defining peculiarity of East Asian political relationships in contrast to the West has been the lasting centrality of China. As I have argued elsewhere,1 the Mediterranean Sea provided a hollow center for the premodern West over which habits of trade and colonization could develop and around which empires could compete. By contrast, China’s population and productivity provided a solid center for Asia. Even though its political unity and power waxed and waned, its centrality remained. While Western political culture concentrated on a calculus of competition, expansion, and victory, relationships with China were usually asymmetric, and the tributary system became the metonym for pre-modern China’s diplomatic context. The exchange of titles and seals of office for deferential delegations to Beijing, with gift-giving in both directions, 1 Brantly Womack, “Traditional China and the Globalization of International Relations Thinking,” in Brantly Womack, China Among Unequals: Asymmetric Foreign Relationships in Asia (Singapore: World Scientific, 2010), 153–182.

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fits well the basic exchange of acknowledgment for deference in a normal asymmetric relationship. Of course, there were exceptions and, more importantly, there was a long learning curve. As Victoria Hui and others have argued, the Warring States period was more similar to the modern West in its competitive strategies, and the Qin saw itself as a victor rather than as the manager of relationships.2 By contrast, the early Han, extending the less bloodthirsty and more compromising pattern that brought Liu Bang (Gaozu, r. 206–195 BCE) to power, enfeoffed kings (wang) and gave gifts and royal marriage partners to China’s major northern opponent, the Xiongnu. Han Wudi (r. 140–87 BCE) returned to the expansionist militarism of the Qin, though now clothed as imperial Confucianism.3 Both Gaozu’s soft policies and Wudi’s hard policies were successful in the short term. Gaozu ended the “you live, I die” situation left by the Qin and stabilized China’s domestic and external relations. Wudi’s conquests vastly expanded China’s territory and conquered peoples. But also both were unsustainable. Gaozu’s domestic permissiveness created problems for central control, and his conciliatory policy strengthened the Xiongnu. Wudi created a classic case of imperial overreach by alienating conquered populations, thereby creating a constant source of trouble on an extended frontier. Later attempts at pitting various nomadic groups against one another in a “divide and rule” strategy spilled over into deeper turbulence within the Han area and led to the retreat of the Han population from the northern border. If pacification rather than exploitation was the primary motive of China’s external relations, then the Han had not yet found the management formula. The crucial contributions of the Tang and Song were the “loose reins” (jimi) policies of the Tang and the Song’s implicit admission of the limits of power. As the Tang improved its methods of domestic administration in heartland areas, it also recognized hereditary local leadership as long as that leadership did not challenge the center. Moreover, its cultural openness and wealth made peaceful relationships possible and profitable for its neighbors, a cultural asymmetry shown by Kelley. By contrast, from its beginning the Song dynasty had to fashion a diplomacy appropriate to the limits of its power, and this involved recognition of the autonomy and boundaries of neighbors. Part of the Song’s desperate effort to preserve its centrality was to recognize the limits of the center. As a memorial from 988 put it, “If they (the enemy) come, be

2 Victoria Tin-bor Hui, War and State Formation in Ancient China and Early Modern Europe (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005). 3 Michele Pirazzoli-t’Serstevens, The Han Dynasty (New York: Rizzoli, 1982).

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fully prepared to resist them; if they depart, resist the temptation to pursue them.”4 The Mongols despised the weakness of the Song and in naming their dynasty the Yuan (from the Yi Jing “qian yuan” – original creative force) saw themselves as world rulers rather than as a delimited center. By snapping the whip of military superiority, they, like Han Wudi, overextended their area of control. As many essays in this book illustrate, they reached the limits of their power in Southeast Asia. The example of the Yuan led the Ming to institutionalize the tributary system as diplomatic culture for the exchange of acknowledgment and deference. The Qing continued this system, but, with the globalization of the modern era and its own defeats at the hands of Western imperialism, its realm was no longer the center of a world, or of Asia.

China and Southeast Asia

As the other essays illustrate, China’s relationships with Southeast Asia, and with Vietnam in particular, provide excellent lessons of successes and failures of asymmetric diplomacy. Anderson’s contrast of the organization and fates of Dali and Đại Việt in the face of Mongol threats underscores the importance of central leadership in coordinating and enforcing resistance. And Brose’s positive judgment of Muslim leadership in Yunnan answers the question of why resistance did not eventually re-emerge and coalesce there. In contrast to Yunnanese assimilation, Mongol pressures required Vietnam to clarify for itself its identity and autonomy from China.5 The tortured diplomatic exchanges between Đại Việt and the Yuan shown by Sun proved that deference was impossible because the Yuan would not respect autonomy. Resistance by Đại Việt, and even the latter’s cooperation with Champa, its longtime rival, was necessary. Sun also portrays the rougher diplomatic exchanges between the Yuan and Burma, with essentially the same result of resisting Mongol assertiveness and strengthening local identity.6 The assertion of Mongol power constructed its limits.

4 Zhang Ji, quoted in Wang Gungwu, “The Rhetoric of a Lesser Empire,” in Morris Rossabi, ed., China Among Equals (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983), 53. 5 Brantly Womack, China and Vietnam: The Politics of Asymmetry (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 123–125. 6 For more Burmese and Korean examples see also Zhou Fangyin, “Equilibrium Analysis of the Tributary System,” Chinese Journal of International Politics, 4, 2 (2011): 147–168.

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The best case contrasting the failure and success of asymmetric diplomacy is provided by the Ming occupation of Vietnam (1407–27), as shown by Swope, and Whitmore’s description of the golden age of Vietnamese Confucianism under Lê Thánh Tông. In contrast to the Yuan, the Ming successfully re-annexed Vietnam because of division and turmoil caused by the usurper Hồ Quý Ly. Of course, as Swope points out, new weapons helped. Chinese annexation encountered increasing popular resistance under Lê Lợi, and Lê Lợi’s advisor Nguyễn Trãi incorporated popular solidarity into the earlier assertion against the Yuan of historical autonomy.7 But just as Vietnam had been cautious in its diplomatic posture vis-à-vis the Yuan, Lê Lợi was careful to return the defeated soldiers and to wait a decent interval before asking for recognition of the Lê dynasty from the Ming. Here deference was clearly founded on autonomy rather than submission. Reliance on the established framework of a normal asymmetric relationship was a prerequisite for Lê Thánh Tông’s reconstruction of Đại Việt as a Confucian state. If China still threatened Vietnam, it would seem unpatriotic to claim to be “Thiên Nam,” the southern Heaven, an autonomous part of the “zone of manifest civility.” China could serve as a grand repository of “best practices” to be adapted to Vietnamese conditions. But the smaller side of an asymmetric relationship is never completely at ease, as is illustrated by Whitmore’s account of Thánh Tông’s suspicions of the Ming ship that ran aground. Deference implied neither credulity nor submission. Nevertheless, security on its northern border and strengthening the state allowed Đại Việt to defeat and occupy Champa, moving Vietnam’s own fiery frontier. The stable asymmetric relationship between China and Vietnam remained useful for both sides for the next five hundred years, as illustrated especially by Kim’s essay. It was not an equal relationship – the boundary between the judicial systems had a beveled edge – but respect for boundaries and for the general normalcy of the relationship was assumed.

The Asymmetric Fiery Frontier

One of the major contributions of this volume is the attention paid to nonstate actors and to the ambiguity of state control in southern China and Southeast Asia. Generally, there is a natural bias toward state-to-state relations and to the China side of these relationships because most contemporary documentation is from Chinese histories and archives. The bias is akin to Winston 7 Nguyen Khac Vien, Vietnam: A Long History (Hanoi: The Gioi, 1993), 81–86.

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Churchill’s quip that “history will be kind to me, for I intend to write it.” Baldanza and Dennis use local gazetteers – histories of officials rather than official histories – to illuminate the actual events and power relationships at the ground level, and Churchman uses the spaces in official administrative records to re-map the zone of actual visibility and presence of the Chinese state. Other essays, like Holmes-Tagchungdarpa’s, describe the vagaries and fluidity of border area relations. Clearly center-local and state-nonstate relationships are also asymmetric, but the formalities of the tributary system do not apply. Within the jimi (“loose reins”) approach to coping with non-Han areas, hereditary local rulers (Tusi) could be seen as a way of stabilizing and formalizing asymmetric relationships. The Tusi were acknowledged by the center, but they could not challenge central authority. As in state-to-state relations, the practical frontier between local autonomy and central authority was ambiguous and changing, as was the force that each side was capable of deploying. But it would be a mistake to interpret the lack of formal federal institutions as evidence that central power was limited only by its ignorance and incompetence. The center floated as a rather light ship on a sea of compliant localities, and avoiding storms was a key part of the mission of its officials. Several new considerations emerge as we move from the general center/locality problem to that of border areas. Any locality has interests different from the center, but in addition a border has different external interests from the center.8 It may benefit from smuggling and therefore collaborate with its partner area in the neighboring country. Its leadership, as in the case of Baldanza’s Lin Xiyuan, may be interested in building a career by being more aggressive about China’s interests than the center itself is. And there is the problem of cross-border exit and safe-base opportunities not available to inland localities. The cases described by Kim and Davis as well as the problem of the Mạc related by Ong provide graphic illustrations of the advantages and limits of border localities. While both neighboring central governments had an interest in controlling borders, interstate cooperation required a formality that could be evaded or frustrated by border localities. Hence the temptation sometimes yielded to taking “hot pursuit” across the border, as General Pershing did in trying to capture Pancho Villa almost a century ago.

8 This argument is developed in Brantly Womack, “China’s Border Trade and Its Relationship to the National Political Economy,” The American Asian Review, 19, 2 (Summer 2001): 31–48.

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Conclusion: Looking Forward

The first half of the twentieth century saw Asia de-centered. China’s internal chaos and Western domination created a fraternity of suffering that was fundamentally different from traditional asymmetric relationships. Southeast Asia was fractured into different metropolitan zones of control. Overseas Chinese became an important new feature of modern Southeast Asian economies, but at the low end of asymmetric relationships with colonial authorities. Japanese imperialism did not produce a new Asian center, but rather a more exploitative and briefer form of domination in the context of a world war. With the establishment of the People’s Republic of China in 1949, the second half of the century was completely different from the first, but normal diplomatic relations were hampered by China’s isolation and the ambiguity between its state-to-state commitment to mutual respect and its party-to-parties commitment to revolution. The exception – China’s with Vietnam – proved the rule by becoming its most turbulent neighborly relationship. Only with the policies of reform and openness in the Deng Xiaoping era have China’s diplomatic relations become more stable and interactive, and since 2008 its asymmetry with its southern neighbors has been highlighted. In general, China has done an outstanding job of improving its regional relationships since 1990. It has normalized relations with Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, Singapore, and Indonesia and has settled land border disputes with all neighbors except India. It organized the Shanghai Five in 1996, which became the Shanghai Cooperation Organization in 2001. With Southeast Asia, it has encouraged trade and investment with every country. More impressively, it has been an enthusiastic partner of ASEAN, especially since 1997. It was the first non-regional state to accede to the Treaty of Amity, beginning a very positive train of diplomatic progress for ASEAN culminating in the American accession in 2009. The ASEAN-China Free Trade Area proceeded from initial commitments in 2002 to formal inauguration in 2010. 2008 did not mark a change in China’s policy, but it has proven to be a watershed for its asymmetric regional situation. The global financial crisis began an era of worldwide economic uncertainty to which only China (until 2012) appeared immune. In a global atmosphere of anxious caution, China’s striking momentum faces its partners with the prospects of increasing dependence on China’s trade and investment, while at the same time they are individually less important to China. China no longer appears as a member of the fraternity of developing countries, but as a Power. Moreover, the only certainty in the global economy is that it is not going to return to the pre-2008 complacent stability. The US-centered post-Cold War era has been replaced by an era driven by

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global uncertainty. These situational factors converge to make China’s neighbors acutely sensitive, not only to China’s words and actions, but also to future vulnerability. Is China’s neighborhood becoming its backyard? Now that China has peacefully risen, will it remain peaceful? The sovereignty disputes in the South China Sea shown by MacLean are a synecdoche of these heightened concerns. Sovereignty claims are by nature absolute, and they touch the political third rail of the imagined national body no matter how insignificant the territory. An outsider might wonder that such fervent claims are made about uninhabited bits of sand that were first seriously mapped by the British in the nineteenth century and pose physical hazards to maritime traffic. Indeed, the insignificance and hazards of the islands provide the grounds for the various conflicting national claims, which were given greater urgency since the late 1970s by the prospects of petroleum.9 An ironic peculiarity of South China Sea contestation is that, given the shallowness of all claims, each claimant must maintain its standing by pushing the edge of its claim and loudly complaining when others do the same. Otherwise passivity would suggest insincerity and create facts of law regarding possession as well as facts on the “ground.” The diplomatic necessity of official pushing and shoving is amplified by nationalistic voices on all sides. Although there have been no military casualties since 1988 and no major shifts of occupation or claims, the South China Sea has become, as MacLean’s essay demonstrates, a vortex for concerns about Chinese domination and patriotic fervor. His account of overseas Vietnamese proclamations is particularly interesting, since patriotism was the Achilles’ heel of the Saigon regime while it was in power. Governments throughout the region, but especially Vietnam, are caught between the increasing necessity of their relations with China and anxieties about future vulnerabilities. For different reasons, the United States is in a similar situation of concern, and thus its “pivot toward Asia” is met with open hands in the region, if not with open arms. Pre-modern history suggests that there is no final solution to China’s new asymmetries, but a stable framework for managing them might be possible. The basic exchange of acknowledgment for deference is still relevant. Neighbors need to be credibly assured that their identities and boundaries will be respected. China needs to be confident that concessions will not be used against its interests.

9 Brantly Womack, “The Spratlys: From Dangerous Ground to Apple of Discord,” Contemporary South East Asia, 33, 3 (2011): 370–387.

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Sources Consulted Hui, Victoria Tin-bor. War and State Formation in Ancient China and Early Modern Europe. New York NY: Cambridge University Press, 2005. Nguyễn Khắc Viện. Vietnam: a Long History. Hanoi: The Gioi Publishers, 1993. Pirazzoli-t’Serstevens, Michèle. The Han Dynasty. New York: Rizzoli, 1982. Wang Gungwu. “The Rhetoric of a Lesser Empire.” In China Among Equals: The Middle Kingdom and Its Neighbors, 10th–14th Centuries, edited by Morris Rossabi, 47–65. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983. Womack, Brantly. “China’s Border Trade and Its Relationship to the National Political Economy.” The American Asian Review 19, 2 (Summer 2001): 31–48. ––––––. China and Vietnam: The Politics of Asymmetry. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006. ––––––. “Traditional China and the Globalization of International Relations Thinking.” In China Among Unequals: Asymmetric Foreign Relationships in Asia, 153–182. Singapore: World Scientific, 2010. ––––––. “The Spratlys: From Dangerous Ground to Apple of Discord.” Contemporary South East Asia 33, 3 (2011): 370–387. Zhou Fangyin. “Equilibrium Analysis of the Tributary System.” Chinese Journal of International Politics 4, 2 (2011): 147–168.



Glossary A’mu 阿募 Abači (Abachi 阿巴赤) Acha 阿察 Ai Lao 哀牢 Aju 阿朮 Ali 阿裏(哩/利) Amban (angbang) – 昂邦 Amdo (A mdo) An Ao 安鰲 An Bang 安邦 An Dương 安陽 An Ji 安濟 An Quan 安銓 An Yu 安宇 Anchang 安昌 Anfu 安復 Annam/Annan 安南 Annan dutong shi 安南都統使 Annan guowang 安南國王 Annan shizi wu duolü, zaozao lianbiao ru dijing 安南世子無多慮, 早早連鑣 如帝京 Annan suixiao wenzhang zai, weike qingtan jingdiwa 安南雖小文章在, 未可 輕談井底蛙 Annan Xingji 安南行記 Annan xuanweisi 安南宣慰司 Anzhou 安州 Aqi 阿齊 Ariq Qaya 阿里海牙 Atai 阿台 Awu 阿吾 Ba Điểm 巴 點 ba fan shun yuan xuan wei si 八番順元 宣慰司



  

Bắc 北 Bắc Giang 北江 Bắc tặc 北賊 Bác Tam 博三 Badi 巴底 Bai 白 Baibaxifu 八百媳婦 Bailiang 百梁, Bàn Đạo Kiềm 盤道鉗 Ban Liang 班良 Bang Giao 邦交 Báo cực truyền 報極傳 Bảo Lạc 保樂 Bảo Thắng 保勝 Baoheding 寶合丁 Baoshan 保山 Basalawarmi 把匝剌互爾密 Basa-qutduq (Basi hudou 八思忽都) Bathang (‘Ba ‘thang) Bathang 巴塘 Bazi 壩子 Beijing 北京 Beiluohedaer 孛羅合答兒 Bi shu man chao 避暑漫抄 Binh Di 平夷 Bình Ngô Đại Cáo 平吳大誥 Bình Lệ Nguyên 平厲原 Bo 焚 Boshi 博是 Boyan 伯顏 bu duan zhi yu 不端之語 Bu guiting, bu chujiang 不跪聽, 不出降 bu jing zhi tan 不經之談 bu tingming 不聽命 bu zu zheng 不足徵 Buyantiemuer 不顏鐵木兒 Buyunshi 卜雲失

406 Cai Jing 蔡經 Cai Yuanpei 蔡元培 Cảm Thành感誠 Cangwu 蒼梧 Canzhi zhengshi 参知政事 Cao Bằng 高平 Cao Lỗ 高魯 cao shi 草市 Cao Thông 高通 Celeng 策楞 Cen Jilu 岑繼祿 Cen Yingchen 岑映宸 Chai Chun 柴椿 Chamdo 昌都 (Chab mdo) Changqing 長慶 Chaolie daifu 朝列大夫 châu 州 Chen Boshao 陳伯紹 Chen Fu 陳孚 Chen Guangqian 陳光前 Chen shu 陳書 Chen Tan 陳檀 Chen Wenche 陳文徹 Cheng Kuan 程寬 Cheng Pengfei 程鵬飛 Chengdu 成都 chenghuang miao 城隍廟 Chengzhou 成州 Chengzong 成宗 Chi Lăng 支  棱 Chí Thành 至誠 Chojung (chos ‘byung) Chongqing 重慶 Chu Zhen’gong 楚震公 chuanqi 傳奇 Chunqiu 春秋 Chuxiong 楚雄 Cili 慈利 Čïnač (Suonanban 唆南班) Cổ Bút 古筆

Glossary Cổ Khê 古溪 Cuan 爨 Cung Hoàng 恭皇 Đa Bảo 多寳 da jiangjun pao 大將軍炮 Da Lun xu 大倫墟 Dadian 大甸 Dadu 大都 Daguo Zhai 打郭寨 Daguo zhichen, bubai xiaoguo zhijun 大 國之臣 , 不拜小國之君 Đại La 大羅 Đại Nam 大南 Đại Than 大灘 Đại Thông 大通 đại toát đại liêu ban phục 大撮大僚班服 Đại Việt 大越 Dai Yao 戴耀 dajie 大捷 Dali Guo 大理國 Dalian Dong 大廉洞 Daluhuachi 達魯花赤 dâm tự 淫祠 Đặng Thạnh Vương 鄧盛王 đạo 道 Đào Tử Kì 陶子奇 Daohua 導化 Daolao 倒老 Daonian 倒捻 Daonianzi 倒捻子 Dartsédo (Dar rtse mdo) Dashuai 大帥 dasi she you, wu wen yuanjin  大肆赦 宥，無問遠近 Datong 大通 Dechen Wangmo  德欽汪姆  (Bde chen dbang mo) Dégé 德格 (Sdge dge) Depa (sde pa)

407

Glossary dianhua 點化 Ding Wenjiang 丁文江 Đinh An 丁安 Đinh Củng Viên 丁拱垣 Đinh Liệt 丁列 Đinh Văn Thản 丁文坦 Đỗ Kiên Nhất 杜堅一 Đỗ Quốc Kế 杜國計 Đỗ Thiện 杜善 Dong 洞 or 峒 Dong 董 Động Bản Pass 洞板隘 Đông Bộ Đầu 東步頭 Đông Các 東閣 Đông Đang 同登 Đông Kinh東京 Dong’an 東安 Dongchuan 東川 Dongxing 東興 Douzhou 竇州 Drakyap 察雅 (Brag g.yab) Dụ chư tỳ tướng hịch văn 諭諸裨將檄文 Du Huidu 杜慧度 Du Tianhe 杜天合 Du Zengming 杜僧明 Duan 段 Duan clan 段氏 Duan Sushun 段素順 Duan Xingzhi 段興智 Duan Yanzhen 段彥貞 Duan Zibiao 段子標 dudu 都督 Dulao 都老 Dunianzi 都念子 Dương Minh 陽明 Duyuanshuai 都元帅 E’ertai 鄂爾泰 Enping 恩平 Ezhou 鄂州

Faguo yingzhao yi 蕃國迎詔儀 Fahulading 法忽剌丁 fan guonei jun xian jia you waikou zhi, dang sizhan, huo li bu di, xu yu shanze taocuan, bude ying jiang 凡國內郡縣 假有外寇至，當死戰，或力不 敵，許於山澤逃竄，不得迎降 Fan Ji 樊楫 Fanli 藩籬 fan yiguan dianli fengsu, yi yi benguo jiuzhi 凡衣  冠典禮風俗 , 一依本國舊 制 Fanwang chaogong li 蕃王朝貢禮 Fanzhu chaojin li 蕃主朝覲禮 fashu 法術 Fei Gongchen 費拱辰 Fei Shen 費沈 fei zhou xian zhi suo 非州縣之所 Feng Quan 風全 fenshao guonei si shou, kaijue zuxian fenmu, lu sha minjia laoshao, cui po baixing chanye, zhu can fu xing, wusuobuwei  焚燒國內寺守，開掘祖 先墳墓，擄殺民家老少，摧破百 姓產業，諸殘負行，無所不為 Folangji 佛郎機 Fuchang 富昌 fu 府 fuzhou 符咒 Gaitu Guiliu 改土歸流 Ganzi 甘孜 (Dkar mdzes) Gao 高 Gao He 高和 Gao Pian 高駢 Gao Qizhuo 高其倬 Gao Xiang 高祥 Gao You 高誘 Gaoxing 高興 Gaoyao 高要

408 Gaozhou 高州 Gaozong 高宗 Ge Hong 葛洪 Gélukpa (Dge lugs pa) Gia Định 嘉定 Giai viết Chiến. Vạn nhân đồng từ, như xuất nhất khẩu 皆曰 戰 . 萬 人 同  辝 , 如 出 一 口 Golok 果洛 (Mgo log) Gong Yin 龔蔭 Guan Zhong 觀仲 Guangbing (Quang Bính) 光昺 ( 昞 ) Guanggu 管故 Guangxi Commandery 廣熈 Guangxi 廣西 Guangzhou Ji 廣州記 Guanyin 觀音 Gubao 谷保 Gudang Dong 古黨洞 Gui 圭 gui 桂 gui 鬼 gui shi 鬼市 Guihua City 歸化城 Guihua 歸化 Guizhou 貴州 Guojia 國家 Guozhu 國主 Gusen 古森 Guzi 孤子 Gyalpo (rgyal po) Gyalrab (Rgyal rabs) Hà Bổng Chiêu 何俸招 Hà Nội 河內 Hải Đông 海  東 Hải Dương 海陽 Hãm Sa 陷沙 Han Gaozu 漢高祖 Hàn Lâm 翰林

Glossary Han Wudi 漢武帝 Hanlin Academy 翰林院 Hao Yu 郝裕 He Chengtian 何承天 Hẻ Trưởng 矣長 Head of District 知縣 (zhixian; trị huyện) Heidier 黑的兒 Hengyang 衡陽 Hepu 合浦 Hesaerhaiya 合撒兒海牙 Hezhou 河洲 Hiến Tông 憲宗 Hiếu 孝 hiệu 號 Hiếu Tôn Quốc Hoàng 孝尊國皇 Hồ Nguyên Trừng 胡阮澄 Hồ Quý Ly 胡季犛 Hoa Lư 華閭 Hoài Đạo 懷道 Hoàng A Xã 黃亞社 Hoàng Công Toản 黃公纘 Hoàng Đế Thụ Mệnh Chi Bảo 皇帝受命 之寶 Hoàng Đức Lương 黃德梁 Hoàng Kim Cúc 黃金菊 Hoàng Kim Nguyên 黃金元 Hoàng Phúc Vệ 黃福衛 Hoàng Văn Đồng 黃文桐 Hoàng Triều Quan Chế 皇朝官制 hoàng-đế (huangdi 皇帝 ) Hồng Đức 洪德 Hongzhi 弘治 Hou Han shu 後漢書 Hu 胡 Hu Zhishi 胡知事 hua min 化民 Huai 淮 Huainanzi 淮南子 Huan 驩 Huang Bing (Hoàng Bỉnh 黃炳 )

409

Glossary Huế (Thuận Hóa 順化 ) Hügechi 忽哥赤 Hugeer 忽哥兒 Hui 回 hui min yao ju 惠民藥局 Huian 惠安 Huihuijun qianhusuo 回回軍  千戶所 Huijun 回軍 Huitong Guan 會同館 Huitong zhili 會同之禮 Huitong 會同 Hulonghaiya 忽籠海牙 hulu 胡虜 Hùng 雄 Hưng Hóa 興化 Hunqilan 渾乞濫 Huotou 火頭 Huxin 忽辛 huyện 縣 Hy Dương 矣揚 idiqut 亦都護 Jiabo 价博 Jiading 嘉定 Jiajing 嘉靖 Jianchuan 劍川 jiang xi 江西 Jiangling 江陵 Jiangning 江寧 Jiangtou 江頭 Jianshan 監山 Jianzhou 建州 Jiao 交 jiaohua 教化 Jiaozhi ji 交趾記 Jiaozhi 交趾 Jiaozhou ji 交州記 Jiaozhou 交州 Jin 晉

Jinchi 金齒 Jinghu Zhancheng 荆湖占城 Jinkang 晉康 Jinle 金勒 Jinsha 金沙 jinshi 進士 Jiu Tang shu 舊唐書 jiu zhi bu xiu Man Yi, wei qi wu guan yu xian zhi ye  舊志不修蠻夷  ,  謂其無 關於縣志也 Jiuzhou 九州 jun 君 jun 郡 Junlian 筠連 junqi ju 軍器局 Junxian 郡縣 Junyan zhi ze chen chubai  君言至則臣 出拜 juren 舉人 Kaiping yuan nian 開平元年 Kalön Lama (Bka’ blon bla ma) Kang Senghui 康僧會 Kangding/ Dartsédo 康定 Kanmalashili 勘馬剌失里 Kezhai Zagao Yi Xu Gao  可齋雜稿一續 稿 Kham (Khams) Kham Tibet Trading Company (Kangcang maoyi gongsi 康藏貿易公司 ) Khâu Cấp Hill 丘急嶺 Khȃu ȏn 丘溫 Kiến Sơ 建初 Kính Quang 敬光 Kính Trình 敬日呈 Kinh 京 kuanyou 寬宥 Kuizhou 夔州 La 羅

410 La’e 剌俄 Lạc Long 貉龍 Lạc 雒 Lading 剌定 Lam Sơn Động Chủ 藍山峒主 Lan Qin 蘭欽 Lan Yu 藍玉 Lạng Giang 諒江 Lạng Sơn 諒山 Langong 浪穹 Langqu 莨渠 Lao 獠 Lào Cai 老街 Lão Thử 老鼠 lao zu 老祖 Laqiu 剌秋 Lê Cong Mạnh 黎公孟 Lê Diễn 黎演 Lê Duy Kỳ 黎維祺 Lê Duy Phổ 黎維溥 Lê dynasty 黎朝 Lê Hoàn 黎桓 Lê Khắc Phục 黎克復 Lê Lợi 黎利 Lê Mục 黎目 Lê Niệm 黎念 Lê Tắc 黎崱 Lê Thánh Tông 黎聖宗 Lê Thọ Vực 黎壽域 Lê Trọng Đà 黎仲佗 Lê Tuân 黎荀 Lê Văn Nhận 黎文認 Li 俚 Li Bangxian 李邦憲 li bing 黎兵 Li Buweng 李布翁 Li Heng 李恒 Li Hongzhang 李鴻章 Li Jinxing 李金星 Li Jiukui 李九葵

Glossary Li Mei 李梅 Li Panwang 李盤王 Li Qian 李謙 Li shuai 俚帥 Li Sidao 李思道 Li Siyan 李思衍 Li Tianbao 李天保 Li Xiangen 李仙根 Li Xingjian 李行簡 Li Yuanxi 李元喜 Liang Sanqi 梁三岐 Liang shu 梁書 Liang Wang 梁王 Liang Zeng 梁曾 Liang Zibin 梁子賓 Liangshan 凉山 Liangyou Publishing Company (Liangyou tushu yinshua gongsi  良友圖書印刷 公司 ) Lianzhou 廉州 Liaoge 了葛 libu youshilang 禮部右侍郎 Lịch Triều Hiến Chương Loại Chí 歷朝憲 章類誌 Liexian zhuan 列仙傳 Lili cuan 禮例纂 Lin Xiyuan 林希元 ling qi 令旗 Lĩnh Nam chích quái liệt truyện 嶺南摭 怪列傳 linh tích 靈跡 Lintao 臨洮 Linxia Huizu Zizhi Qu 臨夏回族自治區 Linyi 林邑 Linzhang 臨漳 Lishi wenti 歷史問題 Litang 理塘 (Li thang) Liu Delu 劉徳祿 Liu Geping 劉格平 Liu Mian 劉勔

411

Glossary Liu Shiying 劉世英 Liu Shizhong 劉時中 Liu Tingzhi 劉庭直 Liu Wenhui 劉文輝 Liu Xiang 劉翔 Liu Yuan 劉源 Liu Zongyuan 柳宗元 Liushi 六事 Lizong 理宗 lộ 路 Lȏ River 瀘江 Lộc Châu 祿州 Logyu (lo rgyus) Long Biên 龍編 Long Độ 龍度 Longsu 隴蘓 Lu Anxing 盧安興 Lu Jia 陸贾 Lu Xun 盧循 Lüeyang 略陽 Lugu Lake 瀘沽湖 Luo An 羅安 Luo gui 羅鬼 Luo Ping 羅平 Luodian 羅殿 Luodou Dong 羅竇洞 Luofu 羅浮 Lương Như Hộc 梁如鵠 Lương Thế Vinh 梁世榮 Luoshigui 羅氏鬼 Luozhou 羅州 Lý 李 lý 理 Lý Bí/ Lý Bốn 李賁 Lý Chiêu Hoàng 李昭隍 Lý Huệ Tông 李惠宗 Lý Huy 李暉 Lý Nhân Tông 李仁宗 Lý Ông Trọng 李翁仲 Lý Phật Tử 李佛子

Lý Phục Man 李服蠻 Lý Phúc Trị 李福治 Lý Tế Xuyên 李濟川 Lý Thái Tổ 李太祖 Lý Thường Kiệt 李常傑 Ma 馬 Ma Duanlin 馬端臨 Ma Lục Garrison 麻六寨 Ma Suofei 馬鎖飛 Ma Yuan 馬援 Mạc 莫 Mạc Đăng Dung 莫登庸 Mạc dynasty 莫朝 Mạc Khang Võ 莫康武 Mạc Kính Cung 莫敬恭 Mạc Kính Mão 莫敬卯 Mạc Kính Thự 莫敬曙 Mạc Phúc Hải 莫福海 Mahu fu zhi 馬湖府志 Mahu jiu zhi zai An shi shi xiang er chi dai jia sheng ye, gu bu zu guan 馬湖舊志 載安氏事詳而侈殆家乘也 , 故不足 觀 . Mahu tu xun jian 馬湖土巡檢 Mahu 馬湖 Man 蠻 Man Yi 蠻夷 Mangshi Route 芒施路 Manhao 蔓毫 manzi 蠻子 Mao Bowen 毛伯溫 Mao La 茅羅 Mas’ud (Masuhu 馬速忽 ) Mậu Hợp 茂洽 Meng Jian 蒙薦 Mengzi 蒙自 Mian 緬 Mian guozhu 緬國主

412 Military Commandary 陳撫 (pinyin: Chenfu; vn: trấn phủ) Min 民 Ming 明 Ming shilu 明實錄 Mingshi 明史 Minh Mạng 明命 Ministry of Rites 禮部 (Li Bu; Lễ Bộ) Minzu 民族 Móng Cai 芒街 Mosuo 摩娑 Mu Ying 沐英 mục 牧 Muken 木肯 Muli (Smi li) Muli 木裡 Muluodian 木羅甸 Mỵ Châu 媚珠 Na 納 Nagu (a.k.a. Najiaying 納家營) Naiai 乃愛 Nalading 訥剌丁 Nam 南 Nam Tấn 南晉 Nam Thiên 南天 Nam Tiến 南進 Nam Việt/ Nan Yue 南越 Nan Qi shu 南齊書 Nan shi 南史 Nandingzhou 南定州 Nanfuzhou 南扶州 Nanhezhou 南合州 Nanjing 南京 nanjing 南境 Nanliu 南流 Nantong 南通 Nanyue zhi 南越志 Nanzhao 南詔 Nanzhou yiwuzhi 南州異物志

Glossary Nasir al-Din (Nasulading 納速剌丁) National Trekking Society (青年組成的 全國步行團 neifu 内附 Ngawa 阿壩 (Ngaba) Ngô Quyền 吳權 Ngô Sĩ Liên 吳士連 Ngô Văn Sở 吳文楚 Ngụy Danh Cao 偽名高 Nguyễn Cư Đạo 阮居道 Nguyễn Địa Lô 阮地爐 Nguyễn Đức Hoan 阮德懽 Nguyễn Lĩnh 阮領 Nguyễn Lu 阮盝 Nguyễn Nghĩa Toàn 阮義全 Nguyễn Ngọc Hán 阮玉漢 Nguyễn Ngọc Huân 阮玉勛 Nguyễn Nhạc 阮岳 Nguyễn Nộn 阮嫩 Nguyễn Quang Bình 阮光平 Nguyên Thanh 元清 Nguyễn Thế Khôi 阮世魁 Nguyễn Thế Lộc 阮世祿 Nguyễn Trãi 阮廌 Nguyễn Văn Hàn 阮文翰 Nguyễn Văn Phúc 阮文富 nhân 仁 Nhật Tân 日新 Ning Changzhen 寧長真 Nội Bàng 内旁 nội loạn 内亂 Nông Công Phái 農公派 Nongmin 農民 Noulading 耨剌丁 Nữ Nghe Pass 女兒關 Numoudian 怒謀甸 Nùng 儂 or 㺜 Nyakrong (Nyag rong) Nyakrong 新龍

413

Glossary Omar 烏馬兒 ơn 恩 Ông Phúc 翁富 Ouyang Wei 歐陽頠 Panzhou 潘州 Phạm Cụ Điạ 范巨地 Pham Minh Tự 範明字 Phạm Sư Mạnh 范師孟 Phạm Thuần Hậu 范純厚 Phan Hoành Diệu 潘宏耀 Phan Huy Chú 潘輝注 phủ 府 Phù Đổng 扶董 Phù Lan 扶蘭 phủ lộ tư 府路司 Phù Vạn 扶萬 Phú Lương 富良 Phùng Hưng 馮興 ping li dong 平俚洞 Pingshan 屛山 Pingzhang Ali 平章阿  剌 pingzhang 平章 Poluo Hadaer 孛羅哈達兒 Province 省 (pinyin: sheng; vn: tỉnh) Pu’an 普安 Pudong 浦東 Qi 杞 Qi Jiguang 戚繼光 Qian Ren 喬人 Qiang 羌 qianhufu (chiliarchy) 千戶府 Qianlong 乾隆 Qiao Chen 喬臣 Qin Jiang 欽江 Qin Shihuangdi 秦始皇帝 Qing Empire 大清 Qing Guest 清客 (Qingke; Thanh Khách)

Qing Miltia Vice-Commander  清團副 領  (pinyin: Qingtuan Fuling; vn: Thanh Đoàn Phó Lãnh) Qing Subject 清人 (Qingren; Thanh Nhân) Qinghai 青海 Qinzhou zhi 欽州志 Qinzhou 欽州 Qiongzhou 瓊州 Qitaituoyin 乞台脱因 Qiu He 丘和 Qiu zhang 酋長 Qonïš Tegin (Huonichi dejin  火你赤的 斤) Quận Tầm 郡尋 Quảng Oai 廣威 Quảng Yên 廣安 Quanzhou 泉州 que dian 闕典 Quốc Hoàng 國皇 Qursman (Huo’er siman 火兒思蠻) Qusein (Huxin 忽辛 ) Qusïm (Huxian 忽先 ) Qúy Hoa Garrison 歸化寨 Ren Guan 任官 Rixuan 日烜 Rong 容 ru bantu 入版圖 ru xue 儒學 Ruxi 如昔 Šadi (Shadi 沙的 ) sanshiqi bu huimeng bei 三十七部會盟 碑 Sanzhen 三陣 Sayyid ‘Ajall Shams al-Din (Saidianchi shansiding 賽典赤贍思丁) Semuren 色目人 Shan Jidi 閃繼迪

414 Shan Yinglei 閃應雷 Shan Zhongtong 閃仲侗 Shan Zhongyan 閃  仲儼 Shanchan 鄯闡 Shang Di 上帝 Shangguo 上國 Shanghai 上海 shangshu 尚書 Shanshi 閃氏 Shehui 社會 shen 神 shen qiang 神槍 Shen Quanqi 沈佺期 Shen Zhaoqian 沈肇乾 shenji jiangjun 神機將軍 shenji ying 神機營 Shennong 神農 Shenqin ruchao chenzi zhi zhifen ye  身 親入朝 , 臣子之職分也 Shexue 社學 Shi Xie 士燮 Shicheng 石城 shidafu 士大夫 shijian 世見 shilang 侍郎 Shiluo 時羅 Shiqi 石碕 Shiqu (Ser shul) Shiqu 石渠 Shiwan Mountains 十萬大山 Shixiu 時休 shiyijian 世壹見 shizi 世子 Shizu ping Yunnan bei 世祖平雲南碑 shu zhe zai dao zhi qi ye 書者載道之器 也 Shuangtou dong 雙頭洞 Shuangzhou 雙州 or 瀧州 Shumanta 梳蠻塔 Shun 舜

Glossary si dong 四峒 Sicheng 泗城 Sichuan 四川 Sihai huitong zhiwu 四海會同之舞 Sile Fort 思勒營 sili xiaowei 司隷校尉 Silin 澌廩 Siming 思明 Sơn La 山喇 Song 宋 Song shu 宋書 Songshou 宋壽 Songzhu 宋主 Sử Ký 史記 Suanzhierwei 算只兒威 Sui shu 隋書 Suodu 唆都 Susun Tegin (Xu xue dejin 雪雪  的斤) Taigong 太公 Taiping 太平 Taiping huanyuji 太平寰宇記 Taiping xu 太平墟 Taiping yulan 太平御覽 taishou 太守 Taizu 太祖 Tam Đảo 三島 tammachi 探馬赤軍 Tan Daoji 檀道濟 Tần Sầm 秦岑 Tan Xiu 談修 Tang Daizong 唐代宗 Tang Dezong 唐德宗 Tang Muzong 唐穆宗 Tangchang 蕩昌 Tao Daming 陶大明 Tập Hiền Hall 集賢殿 Tekeš (Tiegeshu 帖哥尗 ) Temo xidong sanshiliu 特磨溪洞三十六 Thái Nguyên 太原

Glossary Thái-miếu 太廟 Thân Nhân Trung 申仁忠 thần nhân 神人 Thăng Long 昇龍 Thanh Hoá lộ 清化路 thành hoàng 城隍 Thánh Vũ Army 聖羽軍 Thát Đát 殺韃 Thiên Nam Dộng Chủ 天南峒主 Thiên Nam Dư Hạ Tập 天南餘暇集 Thiên Nam Hoàng Đế Chi Bảo 天南皇帝 之寶 Thiền 禪 Thiết Lược 鉄略 thổ 土 thổ hào 土豪 thổ tục 土目 (pinyin: tumu) thổ thần 土神 thổ ty 土司 (pinyin: tusi) Thông Chính Sứ (Tong Zheng Si 通政司) thủ lịnh 首令 thử sứ 刺史 Thượng Đế 上帝 Thụy Hương 瑞香 Tì Trúc 茨竹 Tian 天 tianbing 天兵 Tian Chao 天朝 (Thien Triều) Tiandi Hui 天地會 Tianjian 天監 tianjiang 天將 Tianzhou 田州 Tielang 貼浪 Tô Bách 蘇百 Tô Lịch 蘇歷 Toghan 脱驩 Tôn 尊 Tonggu wang 銅鼓王 Toqluq Šagan (Tuoli shiguan 脫力世官) Toru Puhua 寬徹  普化 ̣

415 Trần 陳 Trần Bình Trọng 陳平仲 Trần Di Ái 陳遺愛 Trần Đình Huyên 陳廷暄 Trần Hoảng 陳晃 Trần Ích Tắc 陳益稷 Trần Kiện 陳鍵 Trần Lộng 陳弄 Trần Nhân Tông 陳仁宗 Trần Nhật Huyên 陳日烜 Trần Phủ 陳甫 Trần Quang Khải 陳光啟 Trần Quốc Khang 陳國康 Trần Quốc Tuấn  陳國峻  (Hưng Đạo 興 道 Prince) Trần Thái Tông 陳太宗 Trần Thánh Tông 陳聖宗 Trần Thủ Độ 陳守度 Trần Tú Ái 陳秀嵈 Trần Tự Khánh 陳嗣慶 Trần Văn Lộng 陳文弄 tri châu 治州 Triệu 趙 Trịnh Đình Toản 鄭廷瓚 Trịnh Long 鄭隆 Trịnh Xiển 鄭  闡 Trưng 徵 Trương 張 tu da shi 圖大事 Từ Liêm 慈廉 tu si 土司 tu xiancheng 土  縣承 tu xun jian 土巡檢 tu yi 土夷 tu zhifu 土知府 Tufan 吐蕃 tuguan zhifu 土官知府 tuntian 屯田 tuo tai huan gu 脫胎換骨 Tuohuan 脫歡

416 Tusi 土司 Tuyên Quang 宣光

Glossary

Văn 文 Văn Chiêu 文昭 Vân Đồn 雲屯 Vạn Hạnh 萬行 Vân Hội 雲會 Vạn Kiếp 萬劫 Vân Trà 雲茶 Vi Phúc Quản 韋福琯 Vice Military Commander  副領兵  (pinyin: Fulingbing; vn: phó lãnh bình) Việt 越 Việt điện u linh tập lục toàn biên 粵甸幽 靈集錄全編 Việt điện u linh tập 粵甸幽靈集 Vĩnh Châu 永州 Vĩnh Tuy 永綏 Vũ Ninh 武寧

Wanli 萬曆 Wanshou Guan 萬壽觀 Wei 魏 Weiyuan 威遠 Wen Fangzhi 溫放之 wen xian bu zu 文獻不足 wen xian tong kao 文献通考 Wengzhong Junhe 翁仲君何 Wengzhong 翁仲 Wozhu 窩主 Wu 吳 wu da yuan shuai 五大元帥 Wu Maer 烏馬兒 Wu Sangui 吳三桂 Wu Shan 巫山 wu wenxian 無文獻 wu zu 五族 Wuding 武定 wuju 武舉 Wuling 武陵 Wuman buluo sanshiqi  烏蠻部落三十 七 Wuping 武平

wai 外 wai yi 外夷 Waiguo junzhang laichao  外國君長來 朝 Waizhong guanxishi 外中關系史 wan kou chong 碗口銃 Wan Nu 萬奴 Wang Jian 王鑒 Wang Junhou 王君侯 Wang Mang 王莽 Wang Shangyong 王尚用 Wang Xiangzhi 王象之 Wangqi 王氣 Wangren 王人 wangyan 妄言 wanhufu (myriarchy) 萬戶府

xi An shi zhi lou xi 洗安氏之陋習 Xi Jiang duhu 西江督護 Xialei 下雷 Xiancheng 鄉城 xianglao zhi koushi 鄉老之口實 Xiangting er qi 相挺而起 Xiangyang 襄陽 Xiantong 咸通 Xianyang 咸陽 Xiao Cheli 小車里 Xiao Mai 蕭勱 Xiao Xi Tian 小西天 Xiaozong shilu 孝宗實錄 xích 尺 xidong 谿峒 xie shu 邪書

Uriyangqadai (Wuliang Getai  兀良合 臺 or Wuliang Gedai 兀良合帶 )

417

Glossary Xikang 西康 Xin Tang shu 新唐書 Xin Yifu 信宜福 xin zheng 新政 Xin Zhiri 信直日 Xin’an 新安 (V. Tân An) Xinchang 新昌 Xing yuan 姓苑 Xingzhong 興中 Xinning 新寧 Xinning 興寧 Xinzhou 新州 Xiongcuo 雄挫 Xiu shijian zhili 修世見之禮 xu 墟 Xu Nanyue zhi 續南越志 Xu Yuanyu 許元育 xuanfu shi 宣撫使 Xuanweisi 宣慰司 Xun Fazhao 荀法超 Xun Fei 荀斐 Xun Jiang 荀匠 Xundian 尋甸 Xunjiansi 巡檢司 Xuong Giang 昌江 Ya’an 雅安 Yaghan Tegin (Yehan dejin 也罕的斤) Yan feng si 驗封司 Yang 楊 Yang Lin 楊林 Yang Zhaojie 楊兆傑 yanjiang bu bingchuan, li mushan  沿江 布兵船 , 立木栅 Yao Jun 姚俊 Yexiantiemuer 也先帖木爾 Yi 夷 Yi 彝 Yi Di 夷狄 Yi ethnicity 彝族

Yi Yi Ping Yi 以夷平夷 Yi zu 彝族 Yinghan 岑映翰 Yingqi 嬰齊 Yinjin shi 引進使 Yiwang fu 義王府 Yixibuxue 亦奚不薛 yong xia bian yi xiu zheng li shi 用夏變 夷修政立事 Yongchangfu 永昌府 Yongle 永樂 Yongli Emperor 永曆 (a.k.a. Zhu Youlang 朱由榔 ) Yongning 永寧 Yongzhou Dao 永州道 Yongzhou 邕州 you chengxiang 右承相 Yu di ji sheng 輿地紀勝 yu fu 玉符 Yu shu lou 御書樓 Yuan 元 yuan yi wuqian ren zhaoxiang ba fan man yi, yong yi jinqu jiaozhi  願以五千人 招降八番蠻夷，用以進取交趾 Yuanhe junxianzhi 元和郡縣志 Yuanhui 元徽 Yudijisheng 輿地紀勝 Yuezhou 越州 Yulüshu 玉律術 Yumi buchuan 語秘不傳 Yunnan 雲南 Yunnan fu 雲南府 Yunnan tong zhi 雲南通志 Yunnan Weiwuer yiqian ren 雲南畏吾兒 一千人 Yuwen Heitai 宇文黑泰 Zeng Gun 曾袞 zha fu 劄付 Zhancheng 占城

418 Zhang Bang 張榜 Zhang Lidao 張立道 Zhang Wenhu 張文虎 Zhang Xingjian 張行簡 Zhang Xuan 張瑄 Zhang Yue 張岳 zhang 丈 Zhanla 占蜡 Zhanyi 霑益 zhao 召 Zhao Chang 趙昌 Zhao Erfeng 趙爾豐 Zhao Shi 趙始 Zhao Tuo 趙佗 Zhaoqing 肈慶 Zhejiang 浙江 zhen 鎮 Zheng He 鄭和 Zheng Sixiao 鄭思肖 Zheng Xiong 鄭熊 Zhengde 正德 Zhennanwang 鎮南王 Zhennan 鎮南 Zhenxi Route 鎮西路 Zhenyuan 貞元 Zhi Kai 智開 zhiguai 志怪 Zhiyuan duobing qian chaotian  只緣多 病欠朝天 Zhong 中 Zhongguo guochi dili 中國國恥地理

Glossary Zhongguo xinfushi 中國信副使 Zhongguo xinshi 中國信使 Zhongguo 中國 Zhonghe 中和 Zhongqing lu 中慶路 Zhongshuling 中書令 Zhongwai guanxishi 中外關系史 Zhongxing 中興 Zhou Enlai 周恩来 Zhou Shixiong 周世雄 Zhou Wenyu 周文育 Zhu Gui 朱貴 Zhu San Taizi 朱三太子 zhu wenwu chen liuli haiwai, huo shi Zhancheng, huo xu Jiaozhi, huo bie liu yuan guo  諸文武臣流離海外，或 仕占城，或婿交趾，或別流遠國 Zhu Xi 朱熹 Zhu Yigui 朱一貴 Zhu Youlang 朱由榔 Zhu Yuanzhang 朱元璋 Zhuang Xueben 莊學本 zhuhou 諸侯 zizhe shenzhi erye 子者身之貳也 Zizhi tongjian 資治通鑑 zongguan 總管 zongzhi tuben 宗支圖本 Zu Liangfan 祖良范 zuo cheng 行省  左丞 Zuoshi chunqiu 左氏春秋 Zuozhuan 左傳

Index administrative units  68, 70n42, 110, 112–13, 170, 188 alliances  9, 14, 16, 17, 106–10, 181, 188, 197, 264, 325 amnesty  139, 310, 310n77, 311 An Dương, King  88–91 An family  265–70 Annan  12, 16, 17, 18, 26, 86, 88, 88n22, 94, 101, 109, 120, 122, 127, 137, 159–60, 178–82, 208–18, 221–25, 227n89–28, 233, 234, 253, 275, 278, 279, 283, 290, 301, 304, 308, 311–13 Annan Pacification Office  214–15, 217 anti-folk stories  79–80 Arrayed Tales (LNCQ)  80–82, 87, 98, 102– 103 ASEAN  377–78, 388–89, 401 asymmetric relationships  10, 300, 395–96, 399, 401 asymmetry  6, 38, 46, 55, 252, 258, 376, 394–96, 398, 401, 403 authority  78–79, 82, 103–5, 182, 201–2, 280, 282–83, 305, 325, 328–29, 331, 347, 350, 353, 366–67 autonomy  9, 18, 44, 47, 121, 228, 232, 234, 260, 271, 319, 364, 395, 397–99 Autumn Assizes  293n22, 294, 296, 299, 306n64, 314–15 Ava  28–30, 232 ban, fishing  372–75, 379–80, 387, 389 Bangkok  37, 38 bandits  19, 48, 61, 65, 102, 185, 187, 280, 290–91, 295, 297–98, 303–4, 307, 332–33 banishment  293n21, 298 Báo cực truyền  82–85 Baoshan  149, 151 blogs  375 bloggers  390 Board of Punishment (Qing)  294, 298–99, 306n64, 310n78 border areas  185, 347, 359, 400 border localities  395, 400 border region  60, 76, 187



  

borderlands  10–12, 39, 41, 44–45, 47–49, 51, 53, 55, 188, 322–23, 325–28, 335–36, 340–47, 352–53, 365–66 southern  322–23 southwestern  259, 261, 268 western  341–42, 344 borderlands powerbrokers  330, 335–36 borders  2, 11, 14, 28–29, 31, 33–34, 38–40, 42–43, 53, 170–74, 182–87, 246–47, 252– 54, 275–76, 297–301, 303, 400 boundaries  11–12, 19, 22, 29–31, 33–35, 38, 53, 55, 252–53, 289, 300–05, 395, 397, 399, 402 Boundary Commission (Franco-Qing) 329, 329n22 bronze drums  17, 61–63, 67, 73–74 Buddhist miracle tales  82–85 Buddhists  80, 82–83, 85, 101, 203 Burma  25, 28, 30, 44, 139, 140–43, 148–49, 163, 194, 196, 202, 206, 227. See also Myanmar Burmese  26, 28, 35, 193, 205 Burmese king  203–6, 228 Cao Bằng  185, 273–75, 284, 296, 324, 383 Cao Lỗ  88–90, 95 Cao Thông  88–91 capital  37–38, 41, 50, 53, 119, 123, 125, 128– 29, 196–97, 200, 207, 236, 238, 271, 274 cartography. See maps Celestial Court  195, 210, 220, 222–23, 225, 301, 308, 311, 326 Cen Yinghan  273, 277–278, 284–85 Central Asia  23, 83, 136, 141, 143–45, 152, 293n21, 294, 304, 309 Central Kingdom  5–6, 12, 14, 16–17, 22, 39, 233–34, 248, 253 centrality  159, 396–97 Chai Chun  212–16 Champa  17, 26, 111, 122–23, 160, 165, 211–12, 214, 217, 254, 398–99 Chen Boshao  69,70 Chen Fu  212, 223–24, 226 Chen Gangzhong  212, 223–24, 226, 229 Chen Wenche  73

420 Cheng Kuan  159 Chiang Mai  23, 28, 196, 202–3. See also Lan Na chieftains  14, 16–17, 22–23, 29–30, 47, 62, 65, 68, 110, 130, 142, 185, 202, 261, 271 China and Vietnam  44, 322–23, 328, 385– 99 China’s relations  227, 395, 397, 399, 401 Chinese administrators  79, 81–83, 86, 95–97, 103 Chinese capitals  33, 47, 193, 195–96, 198, 204, 228 Chinese-style gunpowder weapons  164– 66 Chinese world order  193, 195–96, 199, 228–29, 231, 264, 303, 313, 321 Chosŏn  35, 39, 157, 312–17. See also Korea Chosŏn judiciary  313–16 Chosŏn subjects  313–15 Chu Market  42, 330, 332–33, 335 Cochinchina  293, 308 communities, Hui. See Muslims Complete Book (DVSKTT)  88n22, 100, 114, 123, 126, 129, 174, 215, 216 Constans Agreement  371, 383, 387 continental shelf  379–381, 384–385, 388 criminals  290–97, 297n38, 298–300, 307– 08, 310, 313, 313n87, 314–15, 315n93, 316 Cuan  15, 17,109, 120 Ðại Nam  37, 325–27 Đại Việt  12, 16, 19, 21, 25–27, 29–30, 35, 37, 39, 45, 47, 106–8, 110–13, 116, 118–25, 127–31, 137, 142, 156–60, 162–66, 169–171, 173–74, 178–79, 182, 184–85, 188, 195–96, 198, 200, 206–14, 216–20, 232–43, 245– 48, 251–54, 290–93, 295–304, 306–12 government of  239, 244–45 king of  225, 292, 295, 297–99, 307, 309, 311 northern  274, 290–91, 295, 307 Đại Việt sử ký toàn thư. See Complete Book Dai Yao  186–188 Dalai Lama  344, 351–52, 364–66 Dali  12, 16, 21, 106–7, 109–10, 112, 116–20, 130–32, 136–37, 142, 146, 149, 200, 208, 384 Dali court  116–18, 122, 129

Index Dali kingdom  14, 18, 106, 108–11, 116–18, 120, 124, 130, 134, 200 Dali state  110, 137 Đăng Lợi Ngô  171, 175, 189–90 Departed Spirits (VDULT)  80–87, 89, 89n24, 90–91, 94–95, 97–100 Đinh Liệt  241, 245–46 diplomacy  204, 397–99 diplomatic  8, 174n19, 176, 194, 200, 214–15, 228, 232–34, 243, 248, 250, 373n6, 383– 84, 396, 398–99, 401–02 dong  2, 6, 12, 14–15, 19, 27, 29, 65–67, 75, 112, 115, 169–76, 178–79, 181–88, 407 dong chiefs/leaders  21, 38–39, 185–86 dong communities  15, 17–19, 25, 29 dong regions  17, 170–71 dong societies  16, 19, 35, 172, 253 Dong world  1, 3, 9–12, 14–19, 21–23, 25–30, 32–34, 37–39, 41–44, 46–47, 108–09, 232, 235, 253, 348 Northern  42–43 Southern  3, 27, 45, 247 dreams  17, 86, 90, 96, 103, 131 Du Shuhai  169, 172–73, 180–81, 190 Duan clan  118, 130, 137, 146 Duan Xingzhi  117–18, 120 Dulao  62–64, 67 east-west frontier  12 Eastern/South China Sea  47, 370–72, 374– 75, 377–81, 383, 385–86, 389, 392, 402 E’ertai  32, 277, 283–84 EEZ (Exclusive Economic Zone)  377, 379– 80, 388–89 elephants  2, 27, 29–30, 32–33, 37, 49, 62, 140, 161, 163, 204, 209–10 elite  79, 85, 95, 103, 152, 359 embassies  35, 193, 195–96, 199, 228, 231, 242–44, 252–53, 313 emperor  22, 73, 198–99, 209–11, 213, 217, 219–23, 225, 234, 240–41, 257, 299, 301, 303, 311–12 empire  9, 11, 22–23, 32, 34, 37, 40, 48–51, 54, 59, 118, 132, 264, 270–71, 365–66 envoys  123, 195, 198–207, 209–10, 212, 215, 217–18, 220, 223–25, 227–28, 243–44, 275 Exclusive Economic Zone. See EEZ execution  205, 228, 266, 269, 295, 295n27, 298

Index expansion, Chinese southern  14, 16, 27, 53, 188 extradition  296–97, 299, 316 fiery frontier  5,9, 14,41, 46–47, 399 filial piety/filiality  83, 86, 150, 241, 251, 253, 254 firearms  156–66 firearms technology  157, 163 fisherman  374, 387 fishing  297, 372–75, 379–81, 383, 387, 389 foreign policy  40, 41, 228, 235, 239, 344, 387 foreign rulers  197–200, 227–28 Four Dong  169–174, 174n19, 175n23,176, 178–79, 181–88 Franco-Chinese frontier  383, 393 frontier  1–3, 5–6, 9–12, 14–15, 18–19, 25–27, 31–35, 39–48, 232–33, 243–45, 284, 288– 89, 293–95, 318 frontier administration  112–13 frontier policy  30, 33, 40 frontier zone  135–36, 143, 151, 206 fugitives  247, 289, 291, 303, 307–10, 312, 316 Gaitu Guiliu  3, 14, 31–33, 37, 40, 43–44, 47, 260, 277, 285, 350 Gao Pian  17, 79, 86–91, 94–96, 109, 234–36 garrisons  117, 124–25, 127, 138, 141, 146–47, 147n28, 149, 172, 351 gazetteers  27, 29, 41–42, 169, 173, 177–78, 259–71, 400 genealogies  265–68 geo-bodies  40–41, 371–72, 377 governor  67, 69–70, 72, 83–84, 93, 137, 139–40, 143, 276, 293, 325–27 Guangdong  18, 59, 61–62, 64, 73, 171–72, 176, 276–77, 279–80, 290–95, 298, 305–6, 308, 310 Guangnan  18–19, 21, 310 Guangxi  18, 26, 29–30, 61–62, 246–47, 269, 275–77, 279–82, 291–92, 294, 296–98, 301–3, 307–8, 311, 361–64 clique  361–62, 364 governor of  280, 292, 295, 303 Guangzhou  65, 71, 73–74 gui (specter)  282–83 gui shi (spectral/ghost markets)  281

421 guihua  282–83 Guizhou  2, 18, 22, 26–27, 30, 42, 44, 71, 73, 122, 195–96, 227, 263–64, 267, 293–94 gunpowder technology  25, 157–59 Gusen  171, 173, 177, 183–84, 187 Hainan Island  128, 178, 372 Han (Chinese)  2, 5–6, 16–18, 40–41, 43, 49, 64, 67, 84, 120, 171, 200–01, 233, 253 Hà Nội/Hanoi  18, 59, 95, 107, 114, 123, 161, 185, 207, 233, 274, 317, 333, 384, 387 See also Thăng Long Heavenly King of Phù Đổng  98–103 Heger II drums  62, 66, 73–74 Hepu  59, 61, 65–66, 68–69, 71, 74–75 heterodoxy/ies  284 Hezhou Gazetteer  260, 272 “historical waters,” 384 Hồ Quý Ly  160–61, 163–64, 236, 399 Hoàng Hoa Thám  334 Hoàng Kim Cúc  323, 325–27, 330, 335 Hoàng Phúc Vệ, 297–99, 301, 304, 316 homicide  314 horses  73n58, 84, 102–3, 126, 163, 200, 212– 13, 226, 265 Hu people  83–85 Huế court  324, 331 Hui. See Muslims Huihuijun  149 Huitong  197–98, 214, 221, 223 imperial edicts  149–50, 194, 196, 202–3, 210–11, 218, 227, 323 Indochine  330, 336 international law  319, 372, 375–76, 380, 385, 387, 391–92, 394 interstate crime  289, 300 Interstate law  288n2, 289–90, 300, 307, 314, 319 interstate justice  289, 307 Japan  41, 157, 317, 330, 344, 370, 373n5, 388–89, 401 Japanese  33, 42, 183n56, 288n2, 346, 362, 363, 401 Jiang Tingyu  75–77 Jianshan  171, 173, 184 Jiaozhou/Jiao Region  59–60, 66, 81–84, 86, 89–92

422 Jiaozhi  17, 52, 61, 84, 89, 122–23, 169, 181, 200, 208, 217, 233, 261–62, 279 Jimi  16, 18–19, 113, 397, 400 Jin Hong  278–80 Jinsha River  116–18 judiciary  289–93, 295–99, 301, 306–08, 313, 313n87, 314–16 Choson  313, 313n87, 314–16 Dai Viet  290–92, 297–99, 303, 308 Qing  290, 293, 295–96, 299, 301, 303, 306–308, 313, 314–16 jurisdiction  33, 73, 177, 184, 239, 266, 289– 90, 292, 296, 299, 313, 371–72, 376–80, 388 Kangxi emperor  31, 33, 275 Kengtung  38–39, 53 Kham  33, 41–42, 339, 348–53, 363, 409 Khubilai Khan  116–19, 121–23, 127–28, 130, 133, 137–38, 142, 144–45, 155, 197–98, 200- 01, 204, 207–9, 211–14, 216–20, 223, 226–27 Khubilai Khan’s Court  123, 128–29, 132 Khubilai’s edict  211–12, 214–15 kingdoms  83–84, 87, 103–4, 106–8, 110, 114, 116, 119–21, 125, 131–32, 197–99, 201, 205, 214, 217 Konbaung  34, 37, 38 Korea  35, 39, 156, 194–95, 198, 222, 228, 288–90, 305, 312, 317–18, 320–21 See also Chosŏn kowtow  196, 198–200, 202–04, 206, 209– 12, 218, 221, 223, 227 Kunming  137–41, 146–47, 149, 151, 154–55, 201–02, 205, 208, 229, 231, 262, 265, 271, 338 Lan Na  23, 26, 28, 29, 38. See also Chiang Mai Laos  41, 45, 61, 68–69, 75, 171, 283, 308, 330, 336, 401, 410 Lao people  72 law  184, 266, 269, 289, 293, 295, 298–300, 317, 319, 333, 364, 373, 373n6, 375–77, 380, 385, 387, 402 Law of the Sea  373, 376, 380 Lê court  275, 311–12, 315–16 Lê Duy Kỳ  302, 309

Index Lê Dynasty  100, 103, 164, 171, 174, 185–86, 235, 248n44, 249–50, 252, 399 Lê Hiến Tông  244 Lê Lợi  163, 172–74, 235–36, 243, 399 Lê Tắc  88, 101, 126, 132, 200, 208, 212–19, 222–24, 226–27 Lê Thánh Tông  232, 237, 240, 251–52, 379, 399, 410 Legitimacy  78, 259, 267, 271, 333, 372, 381, 385, 387 Li and Lao dong  67, 72–74 Li Jiukui  279–80, 282–83 Li Mei  279–80, 282, 345, 369 Li people,64–65, 70, 73 Li Shiyao  293–95 Li Siyan  197, 218–19 Li Tianbao  278, 280, 282–83 Li Yunquan  197–99 Liang empire  73–74 Liang Sanqi  330–33, 335 Lin Xiyuan  169–70, 176–78, 181–85, 188–89 line/lines  7, 10, 12n34, 27, 39, 41, 46, 59, 74, 170, 184, 252, 370–72, 376–77, 382–88, 390 Lingnan  62, 281 Liu-Song Dynasty  68–69, 71, 74 Liu Wenhui  346, 359, 363 Liu Zongyuan  92–93 literature  259–63, 271 local history  340, 344 local spirits  78, 80, 86–88, 90–91, 95–96, 99, 101, 103 Lý Dynasty  78–79, 81, 91–92, 94–97, 99– 103, 107, 111–15, 119–21, 131, 133, 160–61, 163, 233–34, 236–37, 411 Lý Nhân Tông  97 Lý Ông Trọng  91–92, 94–95 Lý Phục Man  95–96 Lý Sơn Island  387 Lý Thái Tổ  95–96, 99–100, 102–3 Lý Thường Kiệt  97, 112 Ma Yuan  2, 67–68, 92–93 Mạc  30, 33, 37, 39, 170–71, 174–76, 178–82, 185–88, 247, 274–76, 284–85, 292, 400, 411 Mạc Đăng Dung  174–75, 179, 180–82, 274, 286, 382

Index Mạc Dynasty  174, 181, 241, 274, 283, 286 Mạc Kính Thự  273–74, 283–84 Mạc Nguyên Thanh  275 Mahu prefecture  259, 265–71 Mainland Southeast Asia  14–15, 33, 37–38, 41–42, 44, 109, 111, 194, 217, 227–28 Malaysia  46, 377, 380–81, 388, 392–93 Man  2, 6, 15, 22, 29, 32, 61, 63, 106, 246, 263, 268, 271, 282–83, 325 manifest civility, domain of  6, 232, 240– 41, 244–46, 251–54, 264 maps  3–4, 12–13, 15, 19–20, 23–24, 29, 32, 42–43, 170, 184, 373, 375, 382, 384, 386 maritime boundaries  374, 376, 390 maritime nationalism  382, 388, 390 maritime regions  372, 376–78 Maw Shan/Luchuan  25–26, 163 Mekong River  32 Miao wall  37 “middle ground,” 9, 259 Min  29, 32, 177, 268 mineral wealth, extraction  2, 23, 30, 32– 33,138–39, 147, 377 miners  33, 291, 294 Ming  23, 25–31, 149–50, 156–69, 172–77, 179–84, 186–89, 232, 234–36, 245, 247– 48, 252–54, 261–66, 268–69, 271–72 Ming borderlands  260 Ming China  157–59, 187, 235, 246 Ming court  31, 146, 149, 152, 174, 183–84, 198, 228, 236, 243–45, 247–48, 250, 253, 265 Ming Dynasty  148, 156–57, 159, 180, 199, 275–76, 373 Ming emperors  149, 159, 174, 198, 248, 251 Ming empire  160, 169–70, 179–80, 184, 238 Ming firearms  162–63 Ming forces  25, 146, 160 Ming founding  259–60, 266 Ming frontier  239, 247 Ming garrisons  147 Ming government  30, 173, 178, 186 Ming Hongzhi emperor  243 Ming invasion and occupation of Vietnam 160–61 163, 399 Ming Jiajing emperor  182 Ming officials  146, 173, 185–87, 267 Ming state  27–29, 136, 139, 170–71, 183, 246, 253, 259–60, 269–70

423 Ming Taizu  145, 147, 152, 238 Ming territories  185, 187 Ming troops  160, 174, 186–87 Ming Yongle emperor  35, 150, 156, 159–60, 167–169, 249, 263 Ming Yongli emperor  148, 277 Minh Mạng Project  323–25, 327 Mo Yajun  341–42, 345, 365–66 monastery  98, 343, 346, 351, 354 Mongol attacks  111, 115–16 Mongol China  140, 142, 145, 152 Mongol conquest  21, 106, 136–37, 148–49 Mongol control  117–18 Mongol court  121–22 Mongol empire  127, 142–43, 152 Mongol envoys  26, 116, 118, 200, 207 Mongol forces  115–17, 120–21, 125, 130, 206 Mongols  21, 23, 110–11, 115, 117–20, 122, 124–28, 130–31, 136–40, 142–46, 151–53, 197–98, 201, 206–7, 227–28 ‘Morton style’ portraits  343, 346 mosques  135, 139, 153n37 Mu Ying  145–47, 147n28, 148, 148n29, 151–52 Mu’ege  17–18 Muslim merchants  208–10 Muslims  136–53, 352 Myanmar  16, 21, 23, 26, 28, 30, 34, 37, 41, 44, 119, 232 See also Burma Nam Viet  233–34 Nanjing  146, 148, 159–60, 164, 170, 344, 361 Nanning  112, 184, 212–13 Nan Qi  68–69, 77, 412 Nan Yue. See Nam Viet Nanzhao  12, 16–18, 86, 106, 109, 206 Nanzhong  16 Nasir al-Din  138–40, 412 nation  30, 41–43, 249, 342, 345, 353, 359, 363–64, 371, 382, 384–85, 390 nation-state  353, 363–64 Nationalist (China)  340, 344–47, 352–53, 363–65. See also Republican (China) National Trekking Society  344 native chieftaincies  187–88, 277, 286 native chieftains  14–15, 31, 51, 117, 126, 146– 47, 150, 267–68, 273, 276–77 native domains  264–67, 271

424 native officials. See Tusi Ngô Sĩ Liên  91n28, 100, 240–41, 242n26, 244–46, 254 Nguyễn Cư Đạo  240, 244–46 Nguyễn Dynasty  39, 158, 322–23, 325–26, 328–29, 331, 333, 335, 387 Nguyễn Ðức Hoan  325–27 Nguyễn Nộn  100–101 Nguyễn Trãi  235, 399 northern border (Dai Viet/Vietnam)  166, 232, 234–35, 245–46, 325–26, 332, 397, 399 northern China  136, 138 Northern empire  47, 233–34, 236 northern frontier  7–9, 19, 113 northern Vietnam  6, 17, 38–39, 42, 67, 76, 109, 180, 281, 325, 328, 330, 334, 384. See also Tonkin Nùng  18, 112, 121, 172, 325 opium  333, 359 oral culture  259 Overseer (Mongol)  118, 136, 202, 208–11 Pacification Commissions. See Xuanweisi Pagan  15–16, 21, 23, 26, 111, 203–5, 221, 227 Pagan court  205–6 Pan Wang  280, 283 Paracel and Spratly Archipelagoes  374, 380, 382, 387, 390 Patriotism  372, 390, 402 Pearl River  65, 74, 281, 286 People’s Republic of China. See PRC Phạm Thuần Hậu  297–98, 413 Phan Hoành Diệu  308 Phan Huy Chú, 218, 248, 250 Phan Văn Ca  112, 125–26, 133 Philippines  46, 377, 388–89, 393 photographs  339, 341–43, 346–47, 354, 358, 360, 364–65 photography  41–42, 340–45, 359, 364–65 Phù Đổng,, Heavenly King of. See Heavenly King of Phù Đổng pirates  183, 187, 297, 308, 310, 334, 336 polities  2, 5, 7, 9, 12, 25, 30, 116, 195–98, 227–28, 236, 240, 348–49 PRC (People’s Republic of China)  7, 41, 43–47, 343, 347, 363, 370–74, 378, 380, 384, 386, 388–89, 391

Index precedent (legal)  308, 314–16 prefect  113, 176, 201, 261–64, 266 native  259–61, 265–66, 269, 327 prefecture  59, 90, 114, 120, 138, 150, 179, 260–61, 263, 265–66, 281 prophecies  17, 78, 82, 98, 100, 103 Protector of the Western Rivers  68–71, 73 protocol  195–99, 205, 207, 210, 212, 218–21, 223–24, 228 provinces  59–60, 65–66, 69–73, 125, 127, 135–36, 138–39, 145–47, 151–53, 294, 309, 323–28, 330, 333, 335 provincial officials  291, 301, 303, 306–7, 310–11, 316 punishments  294, 316 Qianlong emperor  34–35, 37, 42, 45, 292– 98, 301, 303, 306–8, 310, 315–16, 318 Qianlong period  288, 290, 313, 316 Qin Dynasty  9, 88, 91, 93 Qing borderlands  296, 307, 310 Qing code  288n2, 293 Qing court  34–35, 37, 40, 51, 285, 297, 305, 308, 311 Qing domain  296, 313, 315 Qing emperor  311, 318–19 Qing empire  42–43, 304–5, 318, 322–23, 326, 328–29, 332–34, 370, 383, 386 Qing frontier  311 Qing judiciary  289–90, 295–96, 299, 301, 306–8, 313–16 Qing soldiers  273, 297–98, 303, 307, 351 Qing state  31–32, 289–90, 292–94, 296, 299–304, 307–18 Qing subjects  289–92, 294–96, 300–301, 305–7, 309–14, 318, 325, 331–32 Qing territory  307, 311, 326 Qinzhou  169–73, 176–79, 182–83, 185–87, 189, 212, 328 Qiu Jun  29, 253 Qujing  106, 110 raids  73, 173, 177, 185–86, 330–32 rebels  97, 100, 139, 163, 170, 185, 205, 280, 292, 302, 309–11, 316, 334 rebellion  42, 66, 74, 110, 161, 176, 181–82, 261, 263, 275, 290, 292, 310–11, 333, 352 Red River  17–18, 60–61, 67–68, 73–74, 78,

Index 80–81, 83, 85–86, 88–89, 92–94, 96, 102– 3, 111, 162–63, 206 Red River Plain  60, 66–67, 74 refugees  160, 170, 185, 187, 294, 309, 311–12, 315 regionalism  8, 363 repatriation  294, 299, 307, 309, 311, 316 Republic of Vietnam  370, 373, 381–82 Republican (China)  42, 340–41, 341n12, 342–44, 352, 361 See also Nationalist (China) resistance  119, 137, 145, 147, 173–74, 201, 206, 359, 363, 366, 368, 384, 392, 395–96, 398 Revolt of the Three Feudatories  30–31, 276. See also Wu Sangui ritual  238–39, 279, 281, 283, 286, 288–89, 291, 293, 295, 297, 299–301, 303, 305, 311–13, 317–19 rivers  22, 32, 63, 70–74, 78, 86, 89–90, 95, 97, 106, 121, 124, 126–27, 129, 326 Rock, Joseph  342, 365 rulers  22–23, 38, 78–79, 103, 115, 130–31, 158, 160, 196–99, 218, 227–28, 233–34, 237–38, 241, 244–46 salt  115, 329 Sayyid ‘Ajall Shams al-Din  137–41, 143, 145–48, 151–53, 413 scholars  7, 10, 37, 40, 80, 82, 156–58, 176– 77, 193, 196, 232, 235, 238, 240–48, 250–53 schools  139, 177, 236–37, 250, 259, 263, 271, 359, 363 Scott, James C., 6–7, 74–75, 107–109, 130, 228, 339–40, 349, 365. See also Zomia Semuren  143–44, 151–52 Seoul  313–14, 317, 319 separatism/separatist  9, 44 Shehui  41–42 Shen Zhaoqian  273, 283–84 Shenji ying  156, 159 Shi Xie  79, 83–85, 87–88, 94, 234, 241 shrine  84, 86, 90–91, 94, 96–97, 101, 103 Sicheng  273, 276–77, 278, 280, 283–84, 294, 311 Sichuan  18–19, 21, 26, 42, 44, 116–17, 137, 142–44, 260, 264–66, 309–10, 345, 347, 350, 352–53

425 Singapore  401 Sinic  5–6, 232–33, 242, 244, 259 Sinic world  151, 234, 240–42 Sino-French War  329–31 Sino-Tibetan borderlands  33, 51, 342–44, 360, 365–66 Sino-Vietnamese border  46, 59, 283, 328– 29, 376 Sino-Vietnamese frontier  15–16, 27, 48, 75, 112–14, 284–85, 324–25, 336, 370 Sino-Vietnamese relations  2, 47, 253, 274, 303, 313, 390–91 Sinocentrism  194, 312 Sipsong Panna  23, 28, 32, 34, 202, 247 Six Demands  198, 208, 211–13, 215 slaves  62, 294, 365 Socialist Republic of Vietnam. See SRV Song China  137, 199, 220 Song Dynasty  18–19, 92, 97, 172, 178, 209, 397 Song empire  200–201 Song envoys  200 Soumissionaire  323, 328, 330–34 South China/Eastern Sea. See Eastern/South China Sea South China Sea trade  156 Southeast Asia  3, 12, 25, 107, 131, 156–58, 185–87, 238–39, 398–99, 401 Southeast Asian  5, 7, 14, 22, 34, 43, 46, 63, 75, 106–8, 165, 198, 235, 240 Southeast Asian states  3, 14, 108, 111, 158 southern frontier (of China)  7–8, 11–12, 23, 25–26, 29–30, 32, 35, 37–38, 156–57, 195–96, 233, 247, 273, 284–85, 319 Southern Ming  276, 287 Southern Song  2, 121–22, 216, 238, 252, 327 Southwest China  106, 108–09, 259, 274, 304 southwestern borderlands  5–7, 16, 42, 259, 261, 263–64, 268, 391 sovereignty  33, 300, 306, 311, 317–20, 323, 353, 376, 378–79, 385, 389 territorial  289, 300, 312, 373 spirits  2, 17, 78–82, 84–91, 94–104, 119, 131, 178, 233–34, 239, 281, 342, 344 SRV (Socialist Republic of Vietnam)  45, 370–73, 380–81, 387–89 state control  3, 33, 42, 54, 328, 399

426 state formation  157–58, 368, 397 states  31, 37–40, 106–12, 169–71, 173, 175– 77, 179–81, 187–89, 239–41, 257, 289, 300–305, 335–36, 375–78, 385 subjecthood  289, 306–08, 311–12, 332 subjects  5, 107, 109, 173, 210–11, 288–89, 296, 299–302, 306–8, 310–14, 316, 343, 346, 354 Tai leaders  323, 326–27 Tai muang  23, 28, 37, 67, 247, 254 Tai powerbroker  325–26, 328 Taiping Prefecture  187, 263 Taiping Rebellion  37, 39 Tammachi  141 Tang Dynasty  12, 16–18, 66, 87, 95–96, 109, 112, 172–73, 198, 233, 265, 305–6, 397 Tây Sơn  217, 292, 292n19, 302, 305, 308, 309, 319, 324 telegraph  40, 323, 328–30, 332–33 temple  92–93, 98–100, 103, 152, 177, 221– 22, 270 territorial disputes  376, 382–83, 385, 387– 89 territoriality  33, 289, 300–301, 303–4 territory  1–3, 15, 17, 29–33, 35, 46, 65–66, 68–69, 113–14, 117–19, 121, 184, 186, 232– 33, 301–2 Thaí Nguyên  274, 330, 332–33, 335 Thăng Long  107, 119, 121, 124, 207, 232–34, 236–37, 240, 242–47, 249–51, 253–54, 256, 274–76, 311, 317. See also Hà Nội/ Hanoi court of  243, 253–54 Thanh Hóa  236, 241, 243, 245–47, 250 Thiền (Chan/Zen),98–99, 102–03, 236 Thiên Nam  240–42, 251–52, 399 Thirty-seven tribes  110 Three Constants  250–51 Tibet  17, 19, 26, 39, 222, 342, 344, 346, 348– 51, 363, 365 Tibetans  349–52, 354, 358, 363, 365 Tô Lịch  86, 86n18, 87, 95 Toghan  124–29, 415 Tonkin  37, 52, 328–30, 333–34, 336–38, 392. See also northern Vietnam Tonkin Protectorate  323, 328–36 Toungoo  28, 34, 277

Index trade  8–9, 15–17, 19, 23, 25, 33, 37, 45, 108, 110, 115, 130, 135, 147, 152, 157, 163, 165, 170–71, 173–74, 183n56, 185–87, 294n25, 334, 348, 350, 363, 374, 376, 389, 396, 401 Trần Dynasty  19, 80, 100–03, 107, 110, 112– 15, 118, 120–23, 125–29, 131, 157, 160, 200, 206, 207n41, 209–12, 214–22, 224, 227, 234–35, 237, 240, 327 Trần Ích Tắc  126–27, 226 Trần Nhân Tông  123, 129, 212–13, 216–17, 219–26 Trần Quốc Tuấn (the Hưng Đạo Prince) 123– 25, 128–29, 215 Trần Thái Tông  119–21, 207 Trần Thánh Tông  120, 122, 124, 126, 207, 212, 219 tributary sovereignty  318–19 tributary system  6, 38–39, 193–94, 196, 199, 239, 300, 396, 398, 400 Triệu Dà. See Zhao Tuo Tuntian  141 Turner, Frederick Jackson  7, 7n20, 10 Tusi  3, 14, 19, 21–23, 26–27, 29–32, 34, 39, 42–44, 187–88, 253, 259–60, 265–67, 271, 276, 284–85, 400 Tusi Era  21–22, 31, 37–38, 47 Tusi system  23, 141, 146, 265 Tuyên Quang  292, 324–26, 335 U-shaped line  371, 382–87 UNCLOS  376–78, 380–81, 384–85, 388–89 United Nations  381–82, 384, 388 United Nations Commission on Limits of the Continental Shelf  379–80, 383, 385 Uriyangqadai  116–19, 121, 137, 416 Uyghurs  143–44, 152, 154 Vietnam  75, 167, 180, 253–54, 288–90, 324, 371, 373–75, 379, 381–84, 398–99, 401–2 Vietnamese  111–13, 158–59, 162–66, 173–74, 186–87, 206–9, 214–18, 232, 235–36, 238, 246–47, 252–54, 295–97, 301–4, 331 Vietnamese army  128–29 Vietnamese authorities  291, 324 Vietnamese capital  128, 208, 226, 276 Vietnamese Chronicle. See Complete Book Vietnamese court  113, 119, 123, 130, 198–99, 207, 209, 216, 218, 227

427

Index Vietnamese criminals  296–97, 299–300, 316 Vietnamese envoys  160, 216–17 Vietnamese frontier  109 Vietnamese judiciary  289–92, 296–99, 308 Vietnamese king/ruler  113, 207–8, 210–21, 223, 226–27, 241. 243. 251. 291, 295, 299, 307, 309, 311–12, 316 Vietnamese literati  241, 249–50 Vietnamese officials  214, 218, 290–91, 318, 323–24 local  247, 290, 305 Vietnamese pirates  297–98 Vietnamese refugees  39, 307–8 Vietnamese scholars  82, 171, 220, 222, 240, 244, 250 Vietnamese state  59, 158, 172, 175, 239, 289–90, 300, 307, 323, 325, 327, 330, 335 Vietnamese subjects  289–90, 296–97, 307, 309–10, 312, 316 Vietnamese territory  174, 215, 236, 326–27, 374, 382 Vietnamese troops  125, 187, 211 waiyi  198, 207, 211–14, 216–17, 224, 227 wangren  209–10, 220 war  35, 38, 53–54, 176, 178–79, 181–83, 204– 5, 213–14, 217–19, 221, 225, 266–67, 269, 362–64, 367 warlords  42–43, 234, 274, 352 water, territorial  377, 379, 387–88 weapons manufacture  156–57, 161–65 West River  61, 63, 65, 68, 70–73, 75 Wu Sangui  30, 275 Xikang  341, 344, 346–47, 352–53, 359–63 Xinjiang  294, 296, 304 Xiongnu  91, 94, 397 xu (portal)  280, 281 Xuanweisi (Saenwifa, Pacification Commis­ sioner)  21, 26, 28, 38, 253

Xuanweisi territory  28–30 Xu Mingshan  128, 216, 218–19 Yaghan Tegin  142–43, 417 Yangzi valley  3, 12, 15–17, 206 Yao and Shun  62, 76–77, 250–51 yishitongren (treating all equally)  298, 309, 312 Yongle emperor. See Ming Yongle emperor Yongli emperor. See Ming Yongli emperor Yongzheng emperor  32–34, 51, 275, 280, 283, 348 Yuan capital  206, 213, 216–17 Yuan court  122, 127, 129–30, 140, 198, 201– 6, 208–14, 217–19, 223, 226–27 Yuan Dynasty  101, 130, 141, 149, 228, 265, 270 Yuan emperor  122, 127, 201–2, 208, 212, 219 Yuan envoys  198–99, 202–6, 211, 213–14, 216, 218–19, 223–26, 228 Yuan frontier  226 Yuan Zhiyuan  205, 229 Yuezhou  59–61, 68–71, 74 foundation of  59, 69–70, 75 Yunnan  12, 14–15, 17–18, 21–23, 25–26, 30, 135–36, 138–55, 202–3, 205–9, 221–22, 260–62, 293–94, 297–99, 307–10 Yunnan Fu  138, 142–43 Yunnanese Chinese  45, 49 Yunnan frontier  44 Yunnan Plateau  26, 131, 142, 195, 203, 206 Zhao Erfang  350–51, 351n37, 352 Zhao Tuo  64, 88–90, 92, 199–200, 226, 234, 241 Zhou Dynasty  250–51 Zhuang  3, 15, 48, 65, 172 Zhuang Xueben  41, 341–48, 353–54, 359, 364–67, 369 Ziqi kingdom  118–19 Zomia  6–7, 74–75, 109, 112, 130, 339, 349. See also Scott, James C.