Representing Lives in China: Forms of Biography in the Ming-Qing Period 1368–1911 9781942242918

Table of contents :
Contents
Preface
Introduction
PART ONE SEARCHING FOR THE SUBJECTS Life Stories and Biographical Accounts
1 Kubilai’s Empresses Biographical Perspectives
2 Surname Restoration Petitions and the Mutability and Manipulability of Patriline in Ming China
3 The Chinese Scholar-Rebel-Advisor Li Yan in the History and Literature of the Mid-Twentieth Century
4 Between Collaboration and Resistance: The Third Way of Mao Xiang (1611–1693)
PART TWO UNDERSTANDING THE AUTHORS Portraying Lives in Various Media
5 Wang Shizhen as Biographer: Genres and Agendas
6 Painting a Dual Biography
7 Engendering Lives: Women as Self-Appointed and Sought-After Biographers in the Qing Dynasty
PART THREE FOLLOWING THE TEXTS Creation, Publication, Revision, and Transmission
8 Re-Collecting Yue Fei: Yue Ke, Jintuo cui bian, and the Making of a Chinese Hero
9 Fathers and Sons in the Mingshi: A Thematic Reading of a State History
10 Loyalty, History, and Empire: Qian Qianyi and His Korean Biographies
11 From Female Martyrs to Worthy Mothers: The Shift in Exemplary Women’s Biographies in the Ming–Qing Dynastic Histories
12 Conclusion
Bibliography
Index
About the Contributors

Citation preview

REPRESENTING LIVES IN CHINA

The Cornell East Asia Series is published by the Cornell University East Asia Program (distinct from Cornell University Press). We publish books on a variety of scholarly topics relating to East Asia as a service to the academic community and the general public. Address submission inquiries to CEAS Editorial Board, East Asia Program, Cornell University, 140 Uris Hall, Ithaca, New York 14853-­7601.

Number 191 in the Cornell East Asia Series. Copyright ©2018 Cornell East Asia Program. All rights reserved. ISSN: 1050-2955 ISBN: 978-1-939161-01-7 hardcover ISBN: 978-1-939161-91-8 paperback E-book: 978-1-942242-91-8 e-book Library of Congress Control Number: 2018957340 Cover Image: Fotohunter. Chinese surnames background. Shutterstock ID: 23176072.

The paper in this book meets the requirements for permanence of ISO 9706:1994.

Caution: Except for brief quotations in a review, no part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form without permission in writing from the copyright holder. Please address all inquiries to Ihor Pidhainy, Roger V. Des Forges, and Grace S. Fong in care of the East Asia Program, Cornell University, Ithaca, NY 14853-7601.

REPRESENTING LIVES IN CHINA Forms of Biography in the Ming–Qing Period 1368–1911 edited by

Ihor Pidhainy | Roger V. Des Forges Grace S. Fong

East Asia Program Cornell University Ithaca, New York 14853

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To the Past Historians and Biographers who have enriched our understanding of China and its peoples

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Contents

Preface 

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Introduction1 I  SEARCHING FOR THE SUBJECTS LIFE STORIES AND BIOGRAPHICAL ACCOUNTS  1 Kubilai’s Empresses Biographical Perspectives | George Q. Zhao

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  2 Surname Restoration Petitions and the Mutability and Manipulability of the Patriline in Ming China | Joseph Dennis41   3 The Chinese Scholar-Rebel-Advisor Li Yan in the History and Literature of the Mid-Twentieth Century | Roger V. Des Forges   4 Between Collaboration and Resistance The Third Way of Mao Xiang (1611–1693) | Jun Fang

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71 115

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II   UNDERSTANDING THE AUTHORS PORTRAYING LIVES IN VARIOUS MEDIA   5 Wang Shizhen as Biographer Genres and Agendas | Kenneth J. Hammond143   6 Painting a Dual Biography | Elizabeth Kindall

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 7 Engendering Lives Women as Self-­Appointed and Sought-­After Biographers in the Qing Dynasty | Grace S. Fong

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III  FOLLOWING THE TEXTS CREATION, PUBLICATION, REVISION, AND TRANSMISSION   8 Re-­Collecting Yue Fei Yue Ke, Jintuo cui bian, and the Making of a Chinese Hero | Leo K. Shin

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  9 Fathers and Sons in the Mingshi A Thematic Reading of a State History | Ihor Pidhainy253 10 Loyalty, History, and Empire Qian Qianyi and His Korean Biographies | Sixiang Wang299 11 From Female Martyrs to Worthy Mothers The Shift in Exemplary Women’s Biographies in the Ming–Qing Dynastic Histories | Yi Jo-­Lan

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12  Conclusion 

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Bibliography 

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Index421 About the Contributors

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Preface

This project originated about ten years ago with discussions between two graduate school classmates, Ihor Pidhainy and Adam Bohnet, at the University of Toronto. They were interested in how people living in Ming China (1368–1644) and Chosŏn Korea (1392–1910), widely known as the “late imperial” or “early-­modern” era, represented other people’s lives in various kinds of biographies. They subsequently communicated with other scholars working on related topics. These exchanges resulted in presentations at meetings of the Canadian Asian Studies Association and the Association for Asian Studies, followed by a research conference in the Summer of 2013 held at the University of British Columbia hosted by Professor Leo Shin. We would like to thank the following organizations for their generous financial support for the initial conference which made this volume possible: The Academy of Korean Studies (Grant# AKS-­2013-­C13) and the James P. Geiss Foundation, the departments of History and Asian Studies at the University of British Columbia, King’s University College at the University of Western Ontario, and Marietta College. Thereafter some participants, including Adam Bohnet, Saeyoung Park, Si Nae Park, who all work on Korea, and Tim Sedo, who worked on China, withdrew from the project to fulfill other commitments. One scholar who was not at the conference, Jun Fang, joined in the project. To assist in the process of selecting, editing, and revising the papers for publication, Pidhainy asked fellow authors Grace Fong and Roger Des Forges to serve as coeditors. Given the loss of four papers dealing with Korea, we decided to refocus the volume on representing Chinese lives in the Ming (1368–1644) and Qing (1644–1911) periods.

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We would like to thank deeply Mai Shaikhanuar-­Cota for all of her tireless support and editorial assistance. As Managing Editor at Cornell East Asia Series, she has been a great advocate and editor, guiding us through the various challenges we faced in putting this volume together. We would also like to thank the various anonymous readers, some four or five brave souls whose comments, suggestions, and directions provided us with sound approaches to the revision and reworking of our draft volume. Finally, we would like to thank the various staff and members of organizations, universities and libraries that assisted us in this project, including Seumin Kwan of AKS and Phyills Fidler of Kings University College at the UWO.

Introduction Since the Chinese early on considered human thought and action in the past to be important bases for effective performance in the present, forms of biography developed along with forms of historiography. The earliest Chinese written records were inscriptions on oracle bones of the Shang dynasty (ca 2070–1600 bce). They recorded questions kings and diviners posed to royal ancestors regarding how to rule the realm. They included the earliest brief accounts of lives.1 Fuller accounts appeared in the early texts that became known as the “Confucian classics,” at least three of which were histories: The Venerable Documents 書經, The Spring and Autumn Annals 春秋, and The Tradition of Zuo 左傳. Other early texts, such as Analects by Confucius 孔子 (551–479 bce) and Qu Yuan’s 屈原 (340–278 bce) “Encountering Sorrow” 離騷, contained brief accounts of the lives of the putative authors and of others. During the Former Han dynasty (202 bce–8 ce), Sima Tan 司 馬談 (180–110 bce) and his son Sima Qian 司馬遷 (135–85 bce) compiled the Historical Records 史記, which was the first comprehensive history 通史 that recorded what had happened during the multimillennial past of the known world. That voluminous history included many “arrayed traditions” or “aligned biographies” 列傳 of notable individuals and groups organized according to their functions in society and designed to serve as positive or cautionary models for later generations. In the Latter Han (27–220 ce), Ban Biao 班彪, his son Ban Gu 班固 (32–92 ce), and his daughter Ban Zhao 班昭 (49–120 ce) compiled a History of the [Former] Han 漢書 that became the first standard history 正史, i.e., the record of a dynasty 朝代 or polity 政體 written in the succeeding dynasty.2 1. Keightley 1983, 2000; for reconstruction of one woman’s life, see Haapanen 2002. 2. For an overview of forms of Chinese history, see Wilkinson 2013: 592–655. For Ban Zhao, see also Swann 1932.

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In the period of division that followed the Latter Han, poets such as Tao Qian 陶潛 (365–427 ce) used their verses to produce virtual autobiographies 自傳 avant la lettre.3 Liu Yiqing 劉義慶 (403–444) compiled A New Account of Tales of the World 世說新語, which featured the Seven Worthies of the Bamboo Grove and many others who were depicted in more personal and even individualistic accounts. These indigenous forms of life narratives were complemented and enriched by new hagiographies of eminent monks and nuns espousing Buddhist ideals that entered China from India and spread to the rest of East Asia including Korea and Japan.4 When China was reunited in the Sui (589–617) and Tang (618–907), historiography became once again—and even more so—the responsibility of the state; official dynastic histories were produced in the Historiographical Institute 史館 established by Tang Taizong.5 Outside of official history, accounts of the lives of individuals were written in commemorative and funerary genres, such as epitaphs 墓誌銘 and accounts of conduct 行狀, genres that are analyzed in Chapters 5 and 7 by Hammond and Fong, respectively. During the Song, new biographical and autobiographical forms appeared, such as chronological biographies that arranged records and events by year (年譜), and various autobiographical materials produced and sometimes arranged by the subject him or herself in individual collections of prose and poetry (別集 or 詩文集). In later periods, biographical materials were included in local gazetteers 地方誌 and genealogies (宗譜，家譜) while biographies 傳 written by an author were often included in his or her collected works as part of their literary writings. Finally, biographical works entitled individual biography 別 傳 or “external” biography 外傳 point to their “unofficial” and informal nature 野史.6 In comparison with the West, broadly defined, where religion and science have long been regarded as the most important sources of knowledge and wisdom, in China history and biography usually took pride of place in understanding how the natural and human worlds work. Under these circumstances, beginning in the seventeenth century, Europeans and Americans became interested in Chinese biographical traditions, including the concern for histori3. Owen 1986. 4. Wright 1952; Tsai 1994; Grant 2009; Kieshnick 2011. We use “China” to designate various polities historically located in the geographic territory of present-­day China. 5. Wilkinson 2013: 609. Twitchett 1992: 13–20. 6. For an overview of forms of Chinese biography see Wilkinson 2013: 148–172; Ng and Wang 2005.

INTRODUCTION3

cal precedents and models and preoccupation with historical lessons and significance.7 In the twentieth century, Western historians drew on Chinese historical and historiographical works to produce biographies of major figures such as Confucius, the First Emperor of the Qin 秦始皇帝 (259–210 bce), and the only female emperor, Wu Zetian 武則天 (624–705). They translated autobiographical writings by Sima Qian and Gu Jiegang 顧頡剛 (1893– 1980) and analyzed writings by a host of lesser personalities.8 Scholarly production of biographies of historical figures from the Ming and Qing periods include two major English-­language collaborative projects by Chinese and Western historians in the middle of the twentieth century. In 1944 Arthur W. Hummel, Fang Chao-­ying 房兆楹, and Tu Lien-­che 杜聯喆 published a collection of biographies of some two hundred “eminent Chinese” of the Qing period. In a preface, the distinguished Chinese scholar Hu Shih 胡適 (1891–1962) described it as “the most detailed and best history of China of the last three hundred years that one can find anywhere today.” Although Hu Shih had earlier been a leading critic of what he and other intellectuals of the May Fourth generation liked to call “Chinese tradition,” he stated that the form of these biographies “is in line with the Chinese tradition of historiography.”9 Just over thirty years later, Chauncey Goodrich, Fang Chao-­ying, and Tu Lien-­che published a very similar English-­language collection of 659 biographies of people from various walks of life in the Ming period. The frontispiece quoted the American transcendentalist Ralph Waldo Emerson (ca. 1882) to the effect that “there is properly no History; only Biography.” While this statement was hyperbolic, Fang and Tu followed it with an aphorism of their own, apparently based on a phrase from Sima Qian’s Historical Records: “Events are recorded because of the person, and the person is transmitted by means of the events” (yinren jishi, yishi chuanren 因人記 事，以事傳人).10 In other words, we might say that people make history and history in turn shapes people. Taken together, these two major works remind us of the important relation between history and biography in China during the Ming–Qing period as well as before and after that era. Around 1900, a leading Chinese scholar, the late Qing reformer Liang Qichao 梁啓超 (1873–1929), had criticized what he termed “traditional” Chi7. Mungello 1989: 271–77; Giles 2006 [1902]. 8. Creel 1949; Bodde 1967 [1938]; Watson 1958; Goodrich 1953; Hummel 1931; Levy 1953, 1955, 1960; Fitzgerald 1956. For updated biographies of some of these figures, see Chin 2007; Wood 2007; Hardy 1999; Guisso 1978; Schneider 1971. 9. Hummel 1943: p. v. 10. Goodrich and Fang 1976.

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nese historiography and called for a “new” history that would absorb Western methods and result in a “modern” form of historiography.11 One result was the writing of new forms of biography that attempted to preserve the strengths of previous practices while digging deeper into the psychological and social dimensions of Chinese lives. For the early Ming period, for example, in 1944 the historian Wu Han 吳晗 (1909–1969) wrote a biography of the Ming grand progenitor Zhu Yuanzhang 明太祖 朱元璋 (1328–1398) that attempted to take the measure of the man in light of current developments in China and the world.12 For the late Qing period, there was Hsin-­pao Chang’s (1922–1965) biography of Commissioner Lin Zexu 林則徐 (1785–1850), which drew on Chinese and Western approaches in an effort to provide a balanced account.13 Similarly, in the 1950s, leading Western or Western-­based historians of China tried to go beyond Chinese biographical traditions and translations of Chinese works to use the tools of social science to research and write the history of China.14 Arthur Wright wrote that “biography in the sense of a rounded portrait of personality in the context of his time and milieu is foreign to the Chinese literary tradition,” and he held that “biographies in the modern Western sense may add new dimensions of understanding.”15 Denis Twitchett argued that Chinese biography focused on “the commemorative and the didactic” and lacked Plutarch’s effort to give “as full as possible a likeness of the man and preserving the essential individual flavor of his personality.” In Twitchett’s view, the scholar-­bureaucrats for whom the dynastic histories were designed as manuals of precedents were satisfied with “the bare account of a subject’s performance of his limited role as a member of the bureaucratic apparatus.”16 Here Twitchett was speaking of the aligned biographies in the standard histories and local gazetteers, which he considered to be inferior forms of writing lives. Fortunately, he concluded, the “modern historian” can use a variety of materials to “check, modify, and amplify the standard account.” Although Twitchett here focused his attention on aligned biographies in 11. Liang 2009 [1901]: 161–71. Liang himself has been the subject of many biographies including most recently in English: Tang 1996. 12. Wu 1944, 1949, 1965; Goodrich and Fang 1976: 381–92; Schneewind 2006: ch. 18. 13. Chang 1964; Hummel 1943–44: 511–14. 14. Wright 1953; Fairbank 1953; Nivison and Wright 1959; Wright 1960; Beasley and Pulleyblank 1961. 15. Wright 1962: 4. 16. Twitchett 1962: 34–35.

INTRODUCTION5

standard sources, he strongly implied that there were no major alternatives in China, like that of Plutarch in the West, and that historians would need to draw on “Western” and “modern” practices to check and modify “traditional” Chinese sources. In an earlier essay, Twitchett had acknowledged a wider range of Chinese biographical materials, including those of the late Han and early North and South dynasties, but even there he emphasized the limitations of such sources for “the modern scholar.”17 More recently, Pei-­yi Wu (1927–2009) in his pioneering work on Chinese autobiography still argued that “traditional Chinese autobiography” was unable “to escape from the tyranny of historiography and break the chains of biography.”18 Wu continued to invoke the European Renaissance and Reformation as standards for appraising Chinese autobiographers in the late Ming and early Qing. Paradoxically these injunctions from leading Chinese and Western historians and literary critics working on China—biased as they were—did not impede, but probably enhanced, the production of valuable biographies using Chinese and Western methods on both sides of the Pacific and in Europe. Over the last half century there has been an outpouring of historical monographs representing Chinese lives in the Ming–Qing period as well as before and after that era. These works have included fairly intimate portraits of Chinese rulers.19 There have also been useful biographies of scholars and officials.20 Innovative efforts have also been made to represent the lives of com17. Twitchett 1961: 114. For a defense of Chinese historiography, including biography, see Kao 1982. 18. Wu 1990: 9. 19. See, for example, biographies of Ming Taizu (r. 1368–1399), Yongle 永樂 (1403–1425), Wanli 萬歷 (1573–1620), Hong Taiji (?, d. 1643), Dorgon 多二滾 (d. 1650), Shunzhi 順治 (r. 1644–1662), Kangxi 康熙 (r. 1662–1723), Yongzheng 雍正 (1723–1736), Qianlong 乾隆 (1736–1796), and Cixi 慈禧 (1835–1908): Schneewind 2008; Tsai 2002; Huang 1981; Sun and Li 1983; Zhu 2008; Zhou 2008; Zhou and Zhao 1986; Spence 1974; Huang 1974; Kahn 1971; Elliott 2009; Seagrave 1993. 20. Gao Qi 高啟 (1336–1374), Wang Yangming 王陽明 (1472–1529), He Jingming 何精明 (1483–1521), Yang Jisheng 楊繼盛 (1516–1555), Zhang Dai 张岱 (1597–1684), Xu Jie 徐階 (1503–1583), Hong Chengchou 洪承疇 (1593–1665), Fang Yizhi 方以智 (1611–1671), Wang Fuzhi 王夫之 (1619–1692), Kong Shangren 孔尚任 (1648–1718), Li Yu 李漁 (1610–1680), Cao Xueqin 曹雪芹 (d. 1763), Chen Hongmou 陳宏謀 (1696–1771), Zhang Xuecheng 章學誠 (1738–1801), Zhao Yi 趙 翼 (1727–1814) , Li Hongzhang 李鴻章 (1823–1901), Kang Youwei (康有為 (1858– 1927), Liang Qichao, and Xi-­liang 錫良 (1853–1917): Mote 1962; Tu 1976; Bryant 2008; Hammond 2007; Spence 2007; Dardess 2013; Wang 1999; Peterson 1979;

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moners, dissidents, rebels, and revolutionaries who often left few traces in the written records and have to be reconstructed from literary fragments, hostile accounts, oral sources, and conflicting rumors.21 In addition to books, there were numerous article-­length biographies and studies of biographies.22 As well, there has been a large repertory of Chinese scholarship on the genre of biography and recent publications of collections of Chinese biographies in English.23

NEW QUESTIONS IN BIOGRAPHICAL WRITINGS ON CHINA SINCE THE 1990s Still, the biographical literature in China and in the rest of the world up to the 1990s left largely unaddressed two major questions about biography in the Ming–Qing period, the focus of the present volume. First, why did historians and literary critics assume that the subjects, authors, and managers of texts during that period were almost exclusively male? If that assumption was wrong, what roles did women play as not only “subjects” of biographies, but also as biographers and autobiographers in recording and compiling histories and biographies in that era? Second, in overcoming the biases in the comparative frame of earlier scholarship in the twentieth century, what new methods and perspectives have been adopted for understanding the place of Ming– Qing biography in Chinese and world history? In the following paragraphs we will address these two questions in a chronological review of recent studies of women and biography relevant to the Ming–Qing period. We will highStrassberg 1983; Black 1989; Hanan 1988; Wu 1961; Rowe 2002; Nivison 1966; Du 1983; Hsiao 1975; Gao 2006; Chang 1971; Des Forges 1973. 21. These figures would include: a farm family named Zhang 張 that had direct contact with the Ming founder; a woman named Wang 王 (d. 1672) who was murdered by her husband in the early Qing; a commoner named Zeng Jing 曾靜 (1679– 1736) charged with treason in the eighteenth century; the rebel Hong Xiuquan 洪秀全 (1813–1864) in the nineteenth century; the revolutionary Sun Yat-­sen 孫中山 (1866– 1925) at the end of the Qing; and a common villager during the Republic. Schneewind 2006; Spence 1979, 1996, 2002; Schiffrin 1968. Wills 1994; Harrison 2005. 22. Waltner 1987, 2011; Moloughney 1992; Li 1994, 1995; Mann 2009; Schneewind 2009; Pidhainy 2011. 23. Yang 1994, 2009, 2012; Zhang 2000; Chen Lancun 2012. Woolf 2011–2012; Brown 2014.

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light shifts in textual sources, methodology, and approach exemplified by significant studies in the China field.24 In the 1990s in Western scholarship on China, as part of a global trend, women scholars along with a few men, turned to examining and analyzing the contributions of women to history, literature, and biography in China, focusing mainly on the Ming–Qing period.25 These studies have emphasized both the quantity and quality of women’s social roles and cultural production. In Chinese Women in the Imperial Past: New Perspectives (1999) edited by Harriet Zurndorfer, several chapters are devoted to women’s lives and their biographical representation. Essays by Wilt Idema, Mark Elvin, and Anne Gerritsen problematize biographical representations of women, making visible women’s presence in history from the Song to the Qing, and opening up new perspectives and paths of inquiry.26 In a volume of translations entitled Under Confucian Eyes: Writings on Gender in Chinese History (2001) edited by Susan Mann and Yu-­yin Cheng, many heretofore neglected textual materials related to women and gender were made available to the general reader, texts that showed the importance of Confucian perspectives on women’s lives and culture in the millennium from the Tang through the Qing. Significantly, included are not only biographies of women, but biographical and autobiographical writings by women of the Ming–Qing period.27 In 2003 Des Forges published a book on cultural centrality and political change in northeast Henan Province in the late Ming. The monograph was based heavily on biographies of people from all walks of life. It found that, during that period, many figures, including women, saw parallels between the late Han and their own times. The book was followed two years later by a chapter in a conference volume that argued that many historical actors in the central plain in the early Qing perceived analogies between the early Tang and their own day. Eleven years later the author incorporated such analogies into a theory about patterns in Chinese and world history and historiography, with ramifications for the construction of biography.28 Abetted by the rediscovery and increased availability of writings by women in historical China and advances in feminist scholarship in the 24. For an overview of women’s histories, see Wilkinson 2013: 173–80. 25. Ebrey 1993; Ko 1994; Mann 1997; Widmer and Chang 1997; Chang and Saussy 1999. 26. Zurndorfer 1999: 13. 27. Mann and Cheng 2001. 28. Des Forges 2003, 2005, 2016; for an early formulation of the theory, see Dai 1987.

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1990s, the twenty-­first century witnessed an upsurge in critical studies on women’s history and new translations of women’s literary production. Among significant works is the enormous anthology of women’s writings, coauthored by Wilt Idema and Beata Grant (2004), which covered the course of two millennia from the Han through the Qing, a long period that the authors referred to as “imperial China.”29 They contextualize their translations with relevant biographical and historical materials, locating the first high tide of women’s literature in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries of the late Ming period. In contrast, Susan Mann (2007), adopting an innovative biographical approach with a nod to Sima Qian, wrote an outré history 外史 in which she used her well-­informed and carefully disciplined imagination to fill in the written record of talented women in a single elite family in the eighteenth century. Her goal was to represent them “with their feelings, words, and deeds intact.”30 Impressively, Mann draws on a longstanding Chinese biographical technique that is also consistent with trends in postmodern and world historiography. In literary studies, Grace Fong published a monograph entitled Herself an Author: Gender, Agency, and Writing in Late Imperial China (2008). Operating creatively within several paradigms, the author noted that recent studies “challenge and revise modern historiographical discourse and institutional histories that inscribe traditional Chinese women, if at all, as the subordinated and silent gender.” She called for “a different conceptual model of literary history … that takes into account the discursive formation that is poetry in the lives of men and women in the late imperial period.”31 Although Fong employed the commonly used term “Late Imperial China” to refer to the Ming and Qing periods, she used critical concepts such as agency to open up a new field of research—women as subjects and authors of biographies and autobiographies. In The Precious Raft of History: The Past, the West, and the Woman Question in China (2008), Joan Judge examines how the “woman question” in the late Qing and early Republican eras in many ways signifies that momentous period of social and political transformation. She approaches the question by asking how Chinese intellectuals and educators engaged with women’s biographies, both in the Chinese historiographical tradition and 29. Idema and Grant 2004. 30. Mann 2007. 31. Fong 2008: 2–3, 9, 23, 28, 33, 47, 71, 75, 77, 83, 93, 106, 108, 112, 125, 128, 139.

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using translated biographies of Western women to seek models and changes— figuratively “salvation”—for not only women but also society at large. Three years later, Judge and Hu Ying coedited a volume, titled Beyond Exemplary Tales: Women’s Biography in Chinese History, which focuses exclusively on issues around the production and interpretation of women’s biography in Chinese history. Engaging with biographical sources from the Han period to the present, including fiction and oral history as well as more conventional genres, the essays reflect on and employ innovative methodologies, new theories and approaches. More than half of the essays are on Ming and Qing biographical projects and issues, demonstrating the rich materials for women’s lives available in these two dynasties. Furthermore, some of them explore issues relevant to chapters in our volume, particularly those with reference to events, politics, figures, and genres in early historical periods (Des Forges, Chapter 3; Shin, Chapter 8). For example, Harriet Zurndorfer assesses the degree to which biography, or autobiography, can reveal the “interiority” of its subjects. She shows how Liu Xiang’s 劉向 (77–76 bce) Biographies of Women 列女傳 was reinterpreted over time, particularly during the Ming and Qing.32 Nanxiu Qian examines the alternative tradition of women’s biographies “rooted in the free-­spirited Wei-­Jin intellectual aura” and reflected in successive editions of—and knock-­offs from—the New Account of Tales of the World, including Women’s Tales of the World, over centuries.33 Beverly Bossler and Katherine Carlitz both show how the division between fictionalized lives and “real” lives in the Yuan and Ming were closely connected. Finally, Ellen Widmer’s discussion of Qing women writing biographies in the form of prefaces and postfaces highlights the issue of women’s intervention in biographical genres which is further explored by Fong in this volume (Chapter 7). More recently, Marjorie Dryburgh and Sarah Dauncey coedited a collection of essays on writing lives in China from 1600 to 2010. Although only two out of eight chapters dealt with life writings before the twentieth century, the Introduction and Chapter 1 “Chinese Life Writing: Themes and Variations,” offer insightful critiques of previous and some persistent views, such as that Chinese life narratives were less objective than archival sources, less literary than fiction, and less revealing than biographies in other cultures. Instead, the authors argue that these apparent “flaws” and “gaps” can be made into productive spaces for enquiry. In doing so, Dryburgh and Dauncey remind us of the need to avoid the binaries of individualism and collectivism, private and 32. Judge and Hu 2011: 3.55, 64, 69. See also Raphals 1998; Liu Xiang 2014. 33. Judge and Hu 2011: ch. 4.

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public, tradition and change in reading life writings. They point out the many exceptions to the conventional norms of Confucian, didactic, state-­centered, and masculine forms of telling lives, suggesting the need to revise the rules, i.e., widespread assumptions about “Confucian China.” Regarding patterns of continuity and change, they emphasized the alternation between unity and disunity, order and disorder of the Chinese polity, and how historical figures were often judged accordingly. Similarly, appraisals of individuals’ thought and action would depend on their positions in the spectrum from center to periphery, or from Chinese to foreign, which shifted along with the constantly evolving definition of Chinese identity.34 They see a causal relation between late Ming commercial, demographic, and political changes and foreign incursions and the transformation of biographical production as “an important strategy in the recording of personal and communal achievement and the affirmation of social networks and values.”35 While the essays in Dryburgh and Dauncey’s volume cover a variety of new forms of writing lives in China in the twentieth and early twenty-­first century, they also describe considerable continuity over time and space. Although the editors continue to use terms like “traditional” and “new,” they are aware of the possibilities of recurrence and reappropriation, and they challenge any simply linear pattern of historical development from tradition to modernity, feudalism to capitalism, or empire to republic.

THE PRESENT VOLUME In assessing how our papers fit together, we considered presenting them in roughly chronological order. In that case we would have started with the life of a scholar-­general’s effort to reunite the Song polity (960–1279) based in the central plain. We would have continued with dynastic records of the role of wives in a Mongol ruler’s project to establish a China-­centered world order. We would then have taken up a standard history’s mission of providing a coherent narrative of the rise and fall of the Ming polity. That story would have included narratives of the state’s policing of the use of surnames, a prominent scholar-­official’s agenda to make sense of mid-­Ming politics, a lower-­level elite’s role as advisor to a commoner rebel intent on overthrowing the Ming, and two scholar-­officials’ strategies to get through the Ming–Qing transition without losing their honor or their lives. We might then have concluded with 34. Dryburgh and Dauncey 2013: 33. 35. Ibid., 35; Brook 1998.

INTRODUCTION11

an early Qing attempt to record a father and son’s physical and moral pilgrimages, with several women’s assertions of authority in writing prose biographies of both men and women, and with enhanced state efforts to foster the ethics of motherhood among both elite and commoners in biographies of women in the Qing dynastic history. After due consideration of the chronological framework, we decided instead to organize the chapters around three analytical questions. First, in light of the well-­k nown difficulty of discovering what actually happened in history, what do extant stories and biographies tell us about how the Chinese subjects actually lived their lives in those earlier times and places? Second, given the evanescence of written as well as oral sources, how did contemporary and later Chinese authors portray people’s lives in prose, art, and poetry? And, third, considering the high status of written records in China, how were various Chinese texts created, published, revised, and transmitted over time and space? By focusing on the forms and contents of varied biographical representations of Chinese subjects from the Song (906–1279) to Qing periods and by interpreting them in the context of the millennium ending in the mid-twentieth century (early People’s Republic), we aim to enhance our understanding of those life stories in the larger contexts of Chinese and world history. To do so, we examine a variety of genres of life writing beyond the form of “aligned biographies,” and include subjects that cut across gender, class, ethnic, and regional boundaries. In the process we have challenged existing chronological theories of Chinese history and literary theories on biographies; we pay particular attention to the question of periodization that will enable us to locate and historicize our subjects, authors, and texts in time and space. Some authors are relatively content with existing periodizations that describe the Ming and Qing as late imperial or early modern China. Others consider these ways of thinking about time as no less paradigmatic than the Marxist–Leninist–Maoist periodization of feudalism, sprouts of capitalism, semifeudalism/semicolonialism, old and new democracy, and socialism that still shapes scholarship in the People’s Republic. Still others have considered the possibility that the Ming and Qing periods could have been particular kinds of polities that had precedents in the past and sequels in the future. One author in particular has attempted to test this theory against the data available for the Ming–Qing transition in the mid-seventeenth century (Chapter 3). Part One of this book, titled “Searching for the Subjects: Life Stories and Biographical Accounts,” features four studies that seek to uncover the identities and fortunes of figures whose lives were nearly elided, reidentified, trans-

12

REPRESENTING LIVES

formed, or misinterpreted by standard histories, informal histories, tomb epitaphs, and/or political ideologues. The authors of these studies realize that it is impossible to know all of what really happened in history, but they read both the contents and between the lines of standard and informal histories, use newly discovered materials, including epitaphs and genealogies, and explore competing notions of loyalism to go beyond extant narratives in search of the “true face of history.” In Chapter 1, George Q. Zhao seeks to explain, in the context of steppe society in which women often played remarkably active political roles, why Chabi 察必 (d. 1281), the first wife of Khubilai 忽必烈 (r. 1260–1294), apparently had a major positive impact on his reign, while the second wife Nanbi played a much less positive—or (at least) visible—role. Zhao reads between the lines of the standard Yuan History 元史, which ultimately accorded Nanbi a posthumous temple name, to suggest that she was a victim of a power struggle over the succession that followed Khubilai’s death and that she suffered from some of the same kinds of antipathy that was directed at bad last rulers, corrupt officials, and femmes fatales in earlier Chinese polities. In Chapter 2, Joseph Dennis explores why many Ming men changed their family names and later petitioned to restore their original names. He discovers a variety of reasons: some men had entered into uxorilocal marriages and had taken the names of their wives, and others had been adopted and had taken the names of their adoptive fathers. Some among these men petitioned to change their names so as to return to their original patriline, others petitioned simply to redress errors made by bureaucrats in writing their names, while still others wanted to escape from feuds within or between families, to avoid taxes and military service, or to advance their social and political status. Whatever the reason, Dennis shows that petitions to change family names were remarkably common during the Ming, demonstrating the ability of men in this period to manipulate their identities in a society supposedly dominated by strong patrilines. It remains to be seen if changes in family names were indeed more common in the Ming period because of higher levels of geographical and social mobility than in previous—and possibly later—periods. In Chapter 3, Roger Des Forges examines the life story of Li Yan 李巖 (d. 1644), the provincial graduate from Qi county, Henan Province, who was thought to have assisted the commoner rebel Li Zicheng 李自成 (d. 1645) in overthrowing the Ming dynasty, only to die at the hand of his leader, thereby clearing the way for the rise of the Qing (1644–1911). Having preliminarily treated the written origins and development of the story in previous publications, the author focuses here on the endurance and expansion of the story in

INTRODUCTION13

histories, novels, and plays in the late Republic and early People’s Republic despite calls for “doubting antiquity and “writing new history.” The likely oral origins of the story as well as its place in Chinese and world history would become clear only after the discovery in 2004 of a genealogical manuscript prefaced in 1716, topics to be treated in a book tentatively titled “The Chinese Scholar-­Rebel-­Advisor Li Yan, 1606–2016.” In Chapter 4, Jun Fang describes how the Jiangnan scholar Mao Xiang 冒 襄 (1611–1693) adopted a neutral position vis-­à-­vis the fallen Ming and the new Qing Manchu regime, a stance he argues was typical of many, if not most, Chinese of the day. Mao did not become a Ming loyalist because he had passed the Ming provincial civil service degree only in 1642 and had not held office under the Ming; neither did he serve the Qing because he wanted to devote himself to scholarship and to transmitting Chinese culture in a time when it seemed to be under siege. Like other notable members of the scholar elite in his position in the early Qing, he patronized and took as concubine a cultivated courtesan. Part Two of the book, titled “Understanding the Authors: Portraying Lives in Various Media,” turns to examine biographical production by a major Ming scholar-­official, an accomplished Qing landscape painter, and several talented female writers of poetry and prose. The authors explore these biographers’ motivations in producing accounts of a wide variety of lives of colleagues, family members, and friends, and these subjects were driven by their own personal agendas and conveyed their own values. The authors do not necessarily attempt to uncover the actual lives at issue but instead focus on how the writers and artists reveal their own understandings of the meaning of their subjects’ experiences in the process of biographical representation. In Chapter 5, Kenneth Hammond shows how the towering mid-­Ming literary figure, Wang Shizhen 王世貞 (1526–1590), wrote a long informal record of the Northern Song literatus Su Shi 蘇軾 (1037–1101) to express his broad cultural perspective; a substantial prosopography of Ming grand secretaries, who were virtual prime ministers, to advance his political agenda against more powerful officials; numerous biographies to perpetuate the memory of respected historical and contemporary scholars; and a multitude of grave inscriptions, eulogies, memorials, grave records, and spirit-­path stelae to bolster the social status of lesser men and to earn money in the process. The willingness of such a prominent literatus to write biographies of less prestigious persons suggests the importance of such publications as vehicles for propagating one’s own ideas as well as earning a living in an increasingly commercial society.

14

REPRESENTING LIVES

In Chapter 6, Elizabeth Kindall examines evidence from the eleventh to seventeenth centuries to suggest that Ming Dynasty artists utilized the visual lexicon of selfhood to create pictorial biographies. These pictorial biographies communicated the selfhood of specific people by illustrating various dimensions of their personalities in discrete topographical journeys. She further argues for a subgenre within this nuanced tradition of painting in which the life journeys of two related individuals are presented in one painting. In Chapter 7, Grace Fong consults a wide spectrum of women’s literature now accessible in both print and digital media to show how women in the high Qing wrote prefaces, family letters, accounts of conduct, accounts of events, and outright biographies (zhuan) of men as well as women at the request of others or on their own initiative. Women also wrote biographies to commemorate and express their personal sentiments over the deaths of kin, friends, and even servants. The increase in recent revisionist historical and literary scholarship has enhanced our understanding of women’s literary culture in the Ming and Qing periods. A particularly developed field is women’s self-­writing or autobiographical writing in a variety of genres. Thus, women’s biographical and autobiographical writings in the Ming and Qing now invite comparative study not only from an indigenous historical perspective but in a world literature context. In the third and final section of the book, titled “Following the Texts: Creation, Publication, Revision, and Transmission,” four authors focus on material or textual evidence adduced by previous authors to capture the lives of their subjects. Our authors engage in close readings of extant texts, compare and contrast them with each other, and examine the fruits of intertextuality over time and space. They demonstrate again that careful analysis of such texts will reveal how lives are variously recorded and interpreted under different political and social circumstances. In Chapter 8, Leo Shin shows how the scholar-­general Yue Fei’s 岳飛 (1143–1141) son and grandson took advantage of a political transition and access to state documents to compile texts written by and about the Southern Song patriot, and how their compendia became an essential archive consulted by almost all subsequent commentators on the martial hero. In his lifetime Yue Fei was known to have admired the swordsman Guan Yu 關羽 (d. 219) of Three Kingdoms’ fame. Shin provides a solid foundation for examining how Yue Fei developed into a superhuman hero analogous to Guan Yu, who became the god of war. In Chapter 9, Ihor Pidhainy explores how the much-­admired, if sometimes criticized, Ming History recorded relations between fathers and sons

INTRODUCTION15

from the commoner Zhu family who founded the polity to the commoner Li rebels who helped to overthrow it. Along the way, he discusses the many permutations of the ideal of filial piety that was normally embraced by all ranks of society but often fell short of realization and/or came into conflict with loyalty to the state. This study provides a model for thematic treatment of standard histories as coherent narratives making sense of successive polities and it opens the way to comparisons with the standard histories of earlier and later polities as revealed in dynastic histories. Pidhainy also examines the use of rhetorical tropes in the Mingshi and argues that meaning of the text was also conveyed through these very tropes. In Chapter 10, Sixiang Wang analyzes how Qian Qianyi 錢謙益 (1582– 1664) identified with three Korean scholars who remained loyal to the Koryŏ state and how he remained loyal to the Ming even though he did not die on its behalf and even briefly served the new Qing regime. All the while Qian remained nostalgic about the Ming and entertained assumptions and made assertions of Chinese cultural superiority over Korea. Qian thus espoused a culturalism shaped in part by Ming loyalism, which made it impossible for him to accept the analogy between the Zhou and the Qing that was common in China during his lifetime. In Chapter 11, Yi Jo-­Lan illustrates a shift from the arrayed women’s biographies in the Ming History, which honored women who sacrificed their lives (especially when doing so for their husbands), to the arrayed women’s biographies in the Draft Qing History, which celebrated the virtue of motherhood and women who devoted themselves to the welfare of their sons. In analyzing this shift, she takes both the system of honors ( jingbiao 旌表) and the potential sources—gazetteers—used by compilers into consideration. In this way, she is able to identify the key factors in the categorization of women’s biographies of the time and elucidate the socioeconomic backgrounds of the subjects in the arrayed biographies as well as the selection criteria adopted by compilers. This shift may in part reflect late Qing and Republican interest in the key role women played historically in education, particularly in their role as mothers, whether of imperial subjects or new citizens of the nation-­state.

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PART ONE

SEARCHING FOR THE SUBJECTS Life Stories and Biographical Accounts

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1

Kubilai’s Empresses Biographical Perspectives George Q. Zhao

INTRODUCTION It is often suggested that steppe women enjoyed higher status than sedentary women and that some strong women from the steppe influenced the court culture of some Chinese dynasties. That was true of some empresses of the Sui and Tang (7th–8th c.) dynasties who had originated in the steppe and shared the authority of their spouses and sons in the central plain. One consequence, as many scholars have pointed out, was the following Song dynasty’s (10th–13th c.) decision to impose severe restrictions on court women, including those who came from the sown regions of China. This pattern was replicated when the strong political influence enjoyed by empresses in the Yuan dynasty (13th–14th c.) was followed by strict limits on the power of rulers’ wives in the Ming dynasty (14th–17th c.).1 Among the Mongol rulers, Khubilai Khan (r. 1260–1294) was the first to make the transition from the steppe to the sown and to found a Chinese-­style polity, the Yuan (1279–1368). Whereas his grandfather, Chinggis Khan, had obtained his wives through capture, sometimes from enemy tribes, and used them for pleasure and diplomacy, only Khubilai’s first wife, a Märkit woman 1. Holmgren 1991: 59.

19

20I  LIFE STORIES

named Hulu-­heichen, had been captured and she was given to him by his grandfather when he was very young. Khubilai later rejected the practice of taking wives from conquered groups, and he took no women from the Southern Song palace when he occupied it in 1279. On the other hand, despite her capture and involuntary matrimony, Chinggis Khan’s mother had been a very strong woman and that particular precedent, combined with the general frontier culture of strong women, may have influenced Khubilai to respect his spouses and especially those he chose for himself. This chapter explores the lives and political involvement of Khubilai Khan’s two principal wives, Chabi 察必 and Nanbi 南必, in the Yuan dynasty (1279–1368). Marco Polo claimed that Khubilai had four legitimate wives, each with her own court and no fewer than three hundred beautiful girls in attendance, as well as many eunuchs and other male and female servants. According to Rashid al-­Din, however, there were five women called wives (khatun) among Khubilai’s consorts. Among them, Chabi was certainly the most famous, with a lengthy biography in the standard Yuan History (Yuanshi 元 史). She was encouraged by Khubilai to be politically involved and helped him make many prudent decisions. Two years after her death, Nanbi, who was from the same Ongirrat tribe, succeeded her as Khubilai’s principal wife. In Khubilai’s later years, she hosted him in her ordo and was permitted by him to issue edicts in his name. The Yuan History, however, does not record any specific decisions made—or even influenced—by her during the fierce struggles over the succession that followed Khubilai’s death. In this chapter, I shall explore the similarities and differences between Chabi’s and Nanbi’s roles during and immediately after Khubilai’s reign. My hypothesis is that both women played an important part in helping Khubilai govern one of the most far-­flung polities in history, but Chabi’s record is fuller because she was Khubilai’s companion at the height of his power while Nanbi’s mark on history was obscured by political conflict at court in Khubilai’s last years. Chabi experienced the ups and downs of Khubilai’s early career and became his principal wife; she died before her husband did. Her political achievements included helping Khubilai in a power struggle with his younger brother Arigh-­Böke and advising him in making judicious policy decisions. Nanbi, on the other hand, witnessed the last years of Khubilai’s reign and apparently became deeply involved in the politics of the waning Yuan polity, although her precise roles remain far from clear. While Chabi’s political contributions have been praised highly by historians, Nanbi has received much less attention and her political involvement, insofar as it is acknowledged is roundly criticized. The Yuan History mentions Nanbi’s active role in the last years of Khubilai’s reign, but it provides

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no tangible or detailed evidence of her political influence. It is highly possible that her name was eliminated from many of the historical sources that originally mentioned her. She seems to have engaged in fierce political struggles with her daughter-­in-­law, Zhenjin’s (M. Jin Gim’s) wife, Kökejin, and ended up on the losing side of the conflict. Steppe tradition encouraged women’s political involvement, and most of the Mongol wives of rulers were very active in politics throughout the history of the Mongol world order. Some became regents and exerted influence over the government when the rulers were too young, too ill, or too old to manage state affairs. They consistently influenced the rulers’ decisions on policy and played important roles in the election and enthronement of new rulers. Thus, despite gaps in the record regarding Nanbi, the trend in the Yuan dynasty was an escalation of the influence of the empresses and the decline of the power of the emperors. The principal source for this study is the official history of the Yuan dynasty (Yuanshi), which was compiled hastily in less than one year, 1368, the first year of the Ming dynasty. It is incomplete and inaccurate in many respects, especially the “aligned biographies” (liezhuan 列傳) section, and it has therefore been widely deemed to be the least satisfactory of the more than two dozen official dynastic histories of China. But the Yuanshi preserves valuable source materials. In the words of Endymion Wilkinson, “the fact that it is unpolished is a blessing in disguise in that many documents are preserved in their original or near-­original state.”2 As part of his selective inheritance, Khubilai shared his grandfather Chinggis’s view that men are often judged by the virtue of their wives, who should therefore be good housekeepers. In their view, a husband should be able to trust his wife, and a wife should be willing to obey her husband. As Chinggis himself reportedly put it: A woman whose husband has mounted to go hunting or on an expedition should keep the home in order and decorated so that if an envoy or a guest alights at the home he will see that everything is well arranged, and she should prepare good food and see to the guest’s needs. As a consequence, she will have made a good name for her husband, his reputation will be good, and he will hold his head aloft like a mountain in assemblies and gatherings. A man’s good repute is known from the goodness of his wife. 3 2. Wilkinson 2013: 780. 3. Rashiduuddin1998: Part Two, 296.

22I  LIFE STORIES

In Khubilai’s eyes, a wife should be beautiful, but also obedient, diligent, and intelligent. His ideal wife would be someone like his daughter-­in-­law, Kökejin, whom Khubilai himself selected for his son and crown prince, Jin Gim (C. Zhenjin, True Gold). According to one story, One day, during a hunting trip, Khubilai felt thirsty, so he went to a nearby tent to look for a drink. There he saw a girl weaving camel hair. When Khubilai asked her for some mare’s milk, she replied: “We have milk but my parents and brothers are not home right now. Since I am a girl I cannot give it to you.” When Khubilai decided to leave, the girl stopped him and said: “Since I am home alone, if you come and leave, it is not appropriate according to custom. My parents will come back soon, so please just wait for a while.” Soon her parents came home and presented the milk to Khubilai. When Khubilai left he was full of praise for her and said: “If I could get such a girl as my daughter-­in-­law, wouldn’t that be nice?” Later, when the court searched for a wife for the crown prince, Khubilai was not satisfied with any of the candidates. When an old minister reminded him of Kökejin, he was extremely pleased, and chose her as a concubine of the crown prince.4

Although we do not know how Khubilai selected Chabi to be his wife, he married her when he was still a prince and she became his favorite consort. She played an important political and diplomatic role, especially in appealing to her Han Chinese subjects by favoring reconciliation of Mongol–Han differences. Some Chinese historians, however, regarded Nanbi, the successor of Chabi, to have been mismatched with Khubilai. Perhaps this was partly because during Nanbi’s tenure in the position of principal empress, Khubilai adopted some imprudent policies that ultimately caused trouble for the Yuan dynasty. In the eyes of Chinese historians, his most dubious successes and his most disastrous failures were his foreign expeditions. While his initial campaigns were in the best tradition of Chinese state-­making and Mongol continental expansion, his later repeated efforts to conquer Japan and his costly intervention in Java deviated from standard Chinese and Mongol military exploits that had previously been largely limited to continental territory. These later initiatives arguably failed because of the Mongols’ dependence on the remnant Song navy and their lack of experience in maritime warfare.5 Moreover, Khubilai’s domestic policies have also been thought to have failed

4. Song et al. 1976: 116.2898. Kökejin was also from the Onggirat tribe. 5. Rossabi 1983: 206.

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in the 1280s as a result of a general “lack of control.”6 Some historians seem to imply that Nanbi was partially responsible for the failures in governance during Khubilai’s late years, but this cannot be demonstrated with convincing evidence. In fact we may be dealing here with a stereotype, somewhat like that of the “femme fatale” and the “bad last ruler,” that was periodically invoked to explain the fall of a state or a dynasty.7 Moreover, we have reason to believe that Nanbi was a victim of the political struggles following Khubilai’s death. Mongol empresses, imperial concubines, and princesses played very important political roles both before and after the establishment of the Mongol Empire. Their political power was legitimate by Mongol customary laws (M. Yosun). We have found that during the reigns of the thirteen Mongol khans including the emperors of the Yuan dynasty, eleven empresses were actively involved in governmental affairs, and some empress-dowagers partially or even fully controlled their sons.8 Although Khubilai provoked protests from some conservative Mongol princes and nobles for moving his capital from Karakorum (“Upper Capital,” Shangdu) in the steppe to Dadu (“Great Capital,” which later became Beijing) inside the wall, he made serious efforts to maintain other Mongol traditions. His strategy was to adopt elements of Han Chinese culture without being overwhelmed by them. With Chabi’s help, Khubilai was able to prevail over his ambitious brother and to pacify the potentially resistant Chinese scholar-­ gentry and commoners. Khubilai and his wives lived in Chinese-­style palaces, but he still used the Mongol term ordo to refer to his palaces instead of the Chinese term hougong 后宫. 9 According to the Yuan History, Khubilai had four ordos, the same number as his grandfather had. The only difference was that the ordos of Chinggis were located in four different geographic areas, while Khubilai’s were all concentrated in the same city, Dadu.10 6. Ibid. 7. For a classic femme fatale, Xi Shi 西施, see Luo 1991: 8. 744–45; for a historical bad last ruler, Sui Yangdi 隋炀帝, see Wright 1964: 158–87. 8. Zhao Yi 2008: 188. 9. Ordo (palace; Orda or Horde) is a nomadic palace for the Mongol aristocrats. 10. The heads of Chinggis Khan’s four ordos are Börte Ujin, Hulan, Yesui, and Yesugan. Most early studies believed that the four ordos were located in four different geographic areas, but Japanese scholar Uno Nobuhiro’s research indicates that they were actually four groups of nomadic people moving about in search of pasture (see Nobuhiro 1989). According to Rashid al-­Din, when Chinggis Khan died, each of the

24I  LIFE STORIES

In a typical Chinese royal harem, only one woman at a time had the authority to occupy the position of empress, but in Mongol tradition a khan might have many wives simultaneously and they were all titled “legitimate wives” (khatun).11 The Chinese had a complex ranking system for empresses. For instance, the inner court of Tang dynasty comprise one empress, four madams, nine subranks of concubines, as well as many other titles of royal consorts.12 Khubilai had many empresses and concubines, but only eight empresses and two concubines were recorded in the Yuan History under Khubilai’s temple name (Shizu 世祖).13 They were listed by ordo as follows: The first ordo The second ordo The third ordo The fourth ordo Ordo unknown

  1. Empress Tiegulun (Tegülün)   2. Empress Chabi   3. Empress Nanbi   4. Empress Talahai   5. Empress Nuhan   6. Empress Boyao Wuzhen   7. Empress Kuokuolun   8. Empress Sugedali   9. Imperial Concubine Babahan 10. Imperial Concubine Sabuhu

The listing of the eight empresses under Khubilai’s name has sometimes been mistaken to mean that they all belonged to him.14 In fact Empress

four ordos moaned for one day, which indicates that the four ordos were at the same place at least at that special time (Rashid al-­Din 1997, Jãmi‘al-­Tawarïkh, Shiji 史集, v. 1, pt. 2: 323). 11. There are exceptions. According to Zhao Yi, “the rituals stipulate that one emperor can have only one empress. Yet in the troubled times the rules and laws were always broken, and one emperor might have several empresses.” See Zhao Yi 2008: 225. 12. It is believed that the Chinese harem institution was originated in the Western Zhou dynasty (1100–771 bce) and completed in the Western Han dynasty (206 bce– 24 ce), which was observed by most of the following dynasties. See for details, Zhu Ziyan 1998: 49. 13. Song 1976: 2697–99. 14. Ke 1988: 104, 483.

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Sugedali was the empress of the Taiding Emperor Yesün-­Temür (1324–1328).15 She received an imperial edict to inherit Khubilai’s ordo in the third year of the Taiding era (1326) and received yearly allowances thereafter. Her name can also be found under the name of the Taiding Emperor in the Tables of Empresses and Imperial Concubines (Hou-­fei Biao). The editors of the Yuan History apparently realized this problem, and complained about this confusion: “[T]here was a division of ordos. When [an emperor] died, there was a practice of inheriting and maintaining the palaces [of the emperor]. The confusion of palaces and titles, and the obscurity of statuses, were very serious.”16 Another source of confusion was the Senior Empress Tiegulun. She did not have a biography in the Yuan History. In the Tables of Empresses and Imperial Concubines, her name was listed separately, not belonging to any ordo. However, in Ke Shaomin’s New Yuan History (Xin Yuanshi), she has a very short biography that puts her in the first ordo. According to Ke, she was from the Onggirat tribe, and was the daughter of Tuolian. She served Khubilai before he ascended the throne.17 Morris Rossabi believes that she died before Khubilai became the Great Khan of the Mongols and the emperor of China.18 All these statements could be true, but apparently Khubilai as a prince had but one ordo before he ascended the throne. This ordo later became the first ordo, and the rest of his wives were assigned to the remaining three ordos. Tiegulun and Chabi both married Khubilai when he was still a Mongol prince, but, for some reason, Tiegulun did not share in the glory of Khubilai when he became the Great Khan, while Chabi did. A final source of confusion arises from the accounts of the Venetian merchant traveler Marco Polo and Persian historian Rashid al-­Din. Marco Polo claimed that Khubilai had four legitimate wives, and each one had her own court with no less than three hundred beautiful young women in attendance, as well as many eunuchs and other men and women.19 These four “legitimate” 15. Her name is mistakenly written as Suge Dasi 速哥答思 in “Houfei Biao” in the Yuanshi. According to footnote 9 of the collation in Yuanshi, the character Si 思 should be li 里. See Song 1976: 106, 2703. 16. Ibid. 1976: 114, 2693. See “Houfei Biao.” 17. Ibid. 1976: 104, 483. 18. Rossabi 1979: 167. Rossabi states that Chabi was Khubilai’s second wife. Actually she seems to have been his third wife. At least two women married Khubilai before Chabi. The first was Qoruqchin Khatun, who was given to Khubilai by his grandfather Chinggis Khan when she was only thirteen years old. The second wife of Khubilai was Tiegulun. 19. Marco Polo 1984: 71.

26I  LIFE STORIES

wives are probably the four hosts of the four ordos. According to Rashid al-­ Din, however, there were five women called Khatun among Khubilai’s wives: (1) Chabi Khatun, (2) Qoruqchin Khatun, (3) Dörbejin Khatun, (4) Baya’ujin Khatun, and (5) Nanbi Khatun.20 According to Rashid al-­Din, Qoruqchin Khatun was the daughter of Qutuqu, the brother of Toqta Beki, the ruler of the Märkit who rose in rebellion during the reign of Chinggis Khan and fought many battles against him but was finally forced to surrender. Rashid al-­Din tells us that this woman gave birth to a son named Qoridai, whose name is missing from the Yuan History. Khubilai Khan married her before any of his other wives, and she was also older than the others. However, in the end her rank was reduced, probably because of her family background.21 It is well known that Chinggis Khan especially disliked the Märkit tribe, once telling his son Jochi, “There is no tribe worse than the Märkit. We have fought many battles with them and suffered untold troubles and difficulties on account of them.”22 Qoruqchin Khatun’s fate might have been affected by her tribe and her name might have been eliminated from some historical records for that reason.

CHABI, PORTRAYED AS THE IDEAL EMPRESS FOR KHUBILAI KHAN Among Khubilai’s wives, Chabi was definitely the most famous, with a lengthy biography in the Yuan History. She was from the Onggirat clan, and the daughter of Anchen 按陳, who became the Prince of Hexi in 1292 and was titled Prince of Jining posthumously in 1295. After becoming Khubilai’s wife, she gave birth to a son who became the crown prince in 1273, Jin Gim, posthumously titled Yuzong. She was no doubt the woman whom Khubilai Khan loved the most, not only for her beauty but also for her intelligence and foresight. To begin with, Khubilai might not have become the Great Khan had it not been for Chabi’s intercession at a critical juncture. In 1258, Khubilai’s elder brother, the then Great Khan Möngke, launched a campaign to conquer the Southern Song. Möngke ordered Khubilai to lead troops south to assault the Song troops in Hubei while he led his forces to the southwest to attack the western flanks of the Song armies in Sichuan. Arigh-­Böke, Möngke’s younger brother, remained in Mongolia to guard the ancestral homeland. In the fol20. Rashid al-­Din 1997: 187. 21. Rashiduuddin 1998: 422. 22. Ibid., 53.

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lowing year, 1259, Möngke died when attacking Diaoyu City in Sichuan. His two younger brothers reacted quite differently to his death. Khubilai decided to abide by his elder brother’s command and continue his campaign against the Song forces. He said: “I have received orders to advance southward. How can I return without merit?”23 Meanwhile, Arigh-­Böke and his supporters maneuvered to seize the throne. Alandar, one of his closest allies, moved his troops toward Kaiping, a town in present-­day Inner Mongolia where Khubilai had started to build his capital in 1256. Chabi, who had stayed behind in Kaiping while her husband went on campaign to the south, tried to stop Alandar’s advance. She dispatched an envoy to inform Khubilai of his younger brother’s scheme. She also boldly reprimanded Alandar for daring to advance on a town in which she and Khubilai’s young son Jin Gim resided. In the meantime her envoy delivered her urgent message to Khubilai, urging him to return north as quickly as possible. In response to Chabi’s urgent request, Khubilai returned to north China and prepared for a struggle with his younger brother for the khanate. Having secured his base in north China, he summoned a noble conference (M. khuriltai) and ascended the throne with the support of a small group of Mongol nobles. With them he soon launched a campaign against Arigh-­Böke. After many battles, he finally defeated Arigh-­Böke and became the undisputed ruler of the Mongol domains in East Asia. Chabi’s political involvement was encouraged by Khubilai, who regularly listened to lectures on classical Chinese historical works. He especially liked to hear the stories in Sima Guang’s Comprehensive Mirror to Aid in Government (Zizhi Tongjian 資治通鑒), one of the most comprehensive histories of China, which emphasized territorial unity as the most important basis for legitimate rule.24 One day in 1277 Khubilai attended a lecture on the Comprehensive Mirror by the Chinese scholar Wang Silian 王思廉. Wang related the story that the highly respected second Tang ruler, Taizong, had once reacted to criticism by the upright minister Wei Zheng 魏徵 by condemning him to death and even suggesting that Wei Zheng’s brother-­in-­law should kill him. According to the story, Senior Empress Zhang-­Sun 長孫 donned mourning clothing and remonstrated with her husband, urging him to have mercy on Wei Zheng. Her intervention was successful, helping to strengthen Tang Taizong’s reputation as a model ruler who accepted criticism from his loyal ministers. Touched by this story, Khubilai ordered a eunuch to lead the tutor Wang Silian to Chabi’s ordo to tell her this story. After hearing the story, the 23. Song 1976: 4, 61. 24. Franke 1982: 165.

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empress declared: “This is truly an example of how to be helpful to the emperor’s mind.”25 She told Wang: “You should select a number of good essays like this and explain them to the emperor; but be careful not to choose blasphemous passages (i.e., those excessively critical of royal authority) that will only upset him.”26 Chabi apparently learned a lot from this story and others like it, for she practiced gentle remonstrance with great imagination and ingenuity in her later career. During Khubilai’s reign, Chabi influenced several important political decisions. For example, in the early years of the reign, four members of the Imperial Guard (M. kesig) proposed that the areas around the capital be turned into pasture land for the Mongol horses, and Khubilai approved their proposal. This had been the intended policy of the Mongol conquerors for several generations, in part to ensure that there would be no Han Chinese living close to the capital who could cause trouble. But such plans had been opposed in Ogodei’s reign by Han Chinese and Khitan intellectuals such as Yelü-­Chucai 耶律楚材, who suggested that the Mongol rulers set up tax bureaus and appoint tax collectors in China to support the Mongols’ military conquests.27 By sanctioning the request of the four members of the Imperial Guard who wanted to change China’s sedentary agricultural economy to a pastoral economy around the capital, Khubilai probably wanted to appease the Mongol princes and nobles who had questioned him for establishing his capital in the central plain. This policy might have been very unwise, however, because it would have threatened the interest of the Han Chinese population of the central plain and jeopardized popular acceptance of Mongol rule in north China. Chabi, probably persuaded by Chinese scholar-­officials, realized the inappropriateness of the proposal and decided to stop it. To avoid offending Khubilai, she chose to reprimand Liu Bingzhong, one of Khubilai’s most trusted Chinese advisors, for not reminding the emperor of the potential problems of the proposal. She reportedly told him: You are an intelligent man among the Han people [a category that had expanded to include the Khitan, Jurchen, and even Korean people of north China in this period]. The emperor will listen to you. Why have you not remonstrated with him? If this was the beginning of establishing the capital, it would be all right to use the land to herd horses, but now the lands 25. Song 1976: 160, 3765. See the biography of Wang Silian. 26. Ibid. 27. Song 1976: 114, 2871. See the biography of Yelü Chucai in Yuanshi, p. 3458; Rachewiltz 1962: 189–216.

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have already been divided among the soldiers and commoners as their property, how can we take away their property by force?28

With this timely reminder, which Liu Bingzhong probably transmitted to Khubilai, the ruler seems to have realized the impropriety and unfeasibility of this proposal, but he was apparently reluctant to admit his mistake and rescind his decision. According to the Yuan History, his reaction was “silence” (moran 默然), which might be understood as tacit acquiescence, leading to the result that “this matter was then put to sleep” (qin 寝).29 It appears that this matter ended up with no decision, but, in the event, the Mongol noblemen were not allowed to encroach on the agricultural land of the Chinese farmers who lived around the capital. This was the first political intervention recorded in Chabi’s biography, and the Chinese scholars who wrote her biography obviously set a high value on it. Like most founders of new dynasties, when Khubilai finally conquered the Southern Song in 1279, he tried to understand the reasons for its extinction so that he and his descendants could learn a lesson and prevent—or at least delay—their dynasty’s descent down the same road to ruin. He therefore encouraged his ministers to give him frank advice regarding his rule and policies. However, throughout Khubilai’s reign there were few ministers who dared take the risk of criticizing him, and he also proved to be more receptive to the indirect criticisms and suggestions of Chabi than to forthright critiques like those of the Tang minister Wei Zheng. Khubilai was especially displeased with the frank criticisms of his minister Lian Xixian 廉希憲. He reportedly once said to him, “Before, when you worked for me in my prince’s residence, you were able to tolerate my mistakes. Now that you have become a minister of a son of heaven, why have you, on the contrary, become stubborn and surly?”30 Khubilai might not have understood that, although Lian Xixian was a Uighur, he was also a Confucian scholar-­official and would therefore naturally urge Khubilai to follow Confucian ways in governing the polity. Lian courageously replied: “The matters concerning your prince’s residence were light, but the matters concerning the known world [lit. all under heaven, tianxia] are important. They are not comparable. Since you are now the son of heaven and I am the prime minister, if I comply with your erroneous policies, all people under heaven will suffer from it.”31 In this case, Khubilai 28. Song 1976: 126, 3091, see the biography of Lian Xixian. 29. Ibid., 114, 2871, see the biography of Chabi. 30. Ibid., 126, 3091, see the biography of Lian Xixian. 31. Ibid.

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failed to live up to the model of Tang Taizong, and Lian, unlike Wei Zheng, eventually lost his position because of his candor. Chabi issued two other warnings to Khubilai that also had an impact. In 1276, Mongol troops destroyed the Southern Song and the child emperor was captured and sent to Karakorum in Mongolia. When Khubilai held a feast to celebrate his victory over the Song, all the guests were extremely excited; Chabi alone seemed unhappy. Khubilai was puzzled and asked her, “Now that I have conquered the area south of the Yangzi River, I no longer need to use any military force. All the people are happy, but you seem unhappy. Why?” Chabi’s reply was unexpected. She knelt down and said, “I have heard that from ancient times until now no state has lasted for a thousand years. I will feel fortunate if I am able to prevent my descendants from falling into a similar situation [i.e., that of the Southern Song].”32 In her view, and/or the view of her biographers, the fall of the Southern Song was not an occasion for joyous celebration, but rather a cause for sober reflection on the evanescence of authority. On another occasion in the same vein, Khubilai displayed antique treasures taken from the Song palace storehouse and invited Chabi to view them. The empress reportedly only cast her eye casually over them and left. Clearly hoping to spur her enthusiasm, Khubilai dispatched a eunuch to ask her which items she would like to take for herself. Chabi replied, “The men of the Song preserved these objects for their descendants, but their descendants could not guard them and have passed them over to us. How can I be so hard-­ hearted as to take anything?”33 Here we have another story in which Chabi seems to be serving as a spokesperson for the Confucian scholars, who took any possible opportunity to sinicize the Mongol rulers. This story clearly exhibits their better natures, which, of course, they may or may not have shared with Chabi. When Song Empress Dowager Xie 謝 and Empress Quan 全 were captured and sent to Khubilai’s capital at Dadu, Chabi urged Khubilai to treat them with respect. Two concubines of the last Song ruler and two servants nonetheless committed suicide, and a third concubine, surnamed Zhu 朱, wrote a poem expressing her loyalty to the Song and calling for surviving Song subjects to take action against Mongol rule. Khubilai was angered and ordered that the bodies of all four be exposed and their heads be hung at Empress Quan’s residence. Chabi appears to have sympathized with the Song empresses and she reportedly tried to relieve their pain. She demanded three 32. Ibid. 1976: 114, 2871. See the biography of Chabi. 33. Ibid.

01 Zhao | Kubilai’s Empresses 31

times that Khubilai send them back to south China, claiming that Empress Quan was not accustomed to the northern climate. Khubilai rejected her demand, however, and reportedly said, “You women lack foresight. If we send her back south, and a rumor [of rebellion] arises, we would have to destroy her whole clan immediately. This is not the way to pity them. If we want to show compassion, we can offer her a pension and let her live in peace [in Dadu].”34 Chabi understood Khubilai’s concerns and did not insist on sending the women south. Instead she took good care of them in the capital and granted them a large tract of land for their sustenance. Empress Xie remained in Dadu until her death in 1283 at age 73, and Empress Quan became a Buddhist nun and died at a temple sometime after 1296. Chabi’s role, however, was not always seen by her biographer as positive. A certain Yuan court official, Ahmed (Abdu Rahmed), was initially a Central Asian (semu 色目) servant in Chabi’s ordo. It is not clear whether Chabi recommended him to Khubilai, but it is certain that it was through her that Ahmed met with Khubilai and soon became his trusted official. When Khubilai came to the conclusion that the Confucian scholars he trusted were unable to help him meet the huge financial demands of his empire, he turned to the Central Asians, many of whom were adept at business and financial management. Ahmed was a Muslim from the Feinakate (present-­day Tashkan in Uzbekistan). Initially he had served Anchen noyan, Chabi’s father, of the Onggirat tribe. When Chabi married Khubilai, she brought Ahmed to her palace, and through her Ahmed was able to meet Khubilai and establish a close relationship with him. Khubilai gradually discovered Ahmed’s special talents in business and financial management, and in 1264 promoted him to the position of assistant chief chancellor in the secretarial council (Zhongshu Pingzhang 中書平章). By reforming tax-­levying methods, establishing monopolies in salt, iron, medicine, and tea, and issuing a large amount of paper money, Ahmed generated huge revenues to support Khubilai’s many ambitious projects. Khubilai was so pleased that he praised Ahmed highly, saying: “A chancellor should be able to understand the heavenly principles, know geography, and fulfill his personal duties … from among the Huihui people, Ahmed is a talented and competent prime minister.”35 Historians have found, however, that Ahmed’s exploitative methods in fact drove many people into poverty and stirred public indignation. He was eventually murdered by two Chinese officials. Ahmed was therefore recorded as the first in the biogra34. Ibid., 114, 2871–72. 35. Ibid., 10: 202.

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phies of “treacherous court officials” ( jianchen 奸臣).36 Herbert Frank disagreed with the Chinese biographers: “The Chinese sources are without exception biased against him. Things might perhaps have developed differently if he had died peacefully in his bed around 1280.”37 Whatever Ahmed’s ultimate faults, it is not clear that Chabi was aware of them when she introduced him to her husband. Overall, Chabi appears to have been, in many ways, an ideal helpmate for Khubilai. The editors of the Yuan History commented that “this empress was clever, alert, and resourceful. She was sensible in the event of emergencies. In the early years of the dynasty, she made great contributions toward correcting the bad policies of the government.”38 Han Chinese were grateful to her because she seemed often to side with them when Mongol institutions and practices were in conflict with those of the Han Chinese. More remarkably, there is even some evidence of genuine love between Khubilai and Chabi. Khubilai’s first four sons, Duorzhi, Jin Gim, Mangkela, and Namuhan, were all born of Chabi, which suggests the level of their intimacy. A very homey anecdote confirmed the close bond between them. Mongol hats originally did not have brims, so sunlight sometimes made Khubilai dizzy when he engaged in archery. When Chabi learned about this, she immediately added a front brim to his hat. Khubilai was extremely happy and ordered that it become the standard design. Chabi reportedly also designed a new sleeveless garment that could be worn comfortably in combat. It soon became fashionable.39 In 1273 Chabi was awarded the respectful title “Empress of Zhen, virtuous, honorable, illustrious, holy, obedient to heaven, wise, and illuminating” (Zhenyi zhaosheng shuntian ruiwen guangying 贞懿昭圣顺天睿文光应). When she died in 1281 it was a great loss to Khubilai and to his polity.40 In 1294 when her son Zhenjin (temple name Chengzong, lit. completing ancestor) succeeded to the throne, he conferred on her the posthumous title of “Illustrious, honorable, obedient and holy” (Zhaoyi shunsheng 昭懿顺圣). In his words: 36. Ibid., 205: 4557, see the biography of Ahmed 阿合馬. 37. Herbert 1993. 38. Ibid., 114: 2871, see the biography of Chabi. 39. Ibid., 114: 2872. 40. Ibid., “Hou Fei Zhuan” 后妃傳 records erroneously that she died in the second month of the fourteenth year of the Zhiyuan era (1277). According to Yuanshi, juan 11, “Shizu Ji” 世祖紀 and juan 106 “Houfei Biao” 后妃表, Chabi died in the second month of the eighteenth year of the Zhiyuan era (1281).

01 Zhao | Kubilai’s Empresses 33 [T]his former empress’ great virtue can support all things, her righteous position can support the Heavens. She showed great leadership in the inner court, and promoted great virtue under Heaven. She served the emperor when he was still a prince, and together they passed through troubled times. She discerned potential danger and urged Shizu [Khubilai] to return his troops from the [Yangzi] river through Hubei. She provided excellent advice that helped Shizu ascend the throne in Shangdu. She had great prophetic vision and was able to make quick decisions based on her own judgment. She also set her mind on recommending persons of virtue to help the emperor. She helped my holy ancestor to establish the extreme honor of an emperor. She raised up my father to succeed in carrying out the heavy duties of the state.41

NANBI: A BIOGRAPHICAL MYSTERY In 1283, two years after Chabi’s death, Nanbi, who was also from the Onggirrat tribe and was the granddaughter of Chabi’s nephew,42 succeeded Chabi as Khubilai’s principal empress. By then, Khubilai was already sixty-­ nine years old. Although we do not know Nanbi’s age, by marrying her, Khubilai may have been trying to remedy his emotional loss. In any case, she was young and vigorous and soon produced a son, Tiemiechi. Possibly partly inspired by Nanbi’s youthful vigor and lacking Chabi’s wise advice, Khubilai once again sought to expand his empire, launching campaigns against Japan and Java, though the results, as we have seen, were disappointing. The authors of the Yuan History wrote a very short biography for Nanbi and the tone is quite negative: Empress Nanbi was the daughter of Xiantong 仙童 from the Onggirat clan. Xiantong was the grandson of Nachen 納陳. She became the empress in the twentieth year of the Zhiyuan era (1283) and lived in the Principal Empress’s palace (zheng gong 正宫). At that time Shizu was very old, so this empress gradually became involved in politics. The chancellors and ministers were unable to see the emperor frequently, and they had to report issues through the empress. She gave birth to a son whose name was Tiemiechi.43 41. Ibid., 114: 2872, see the biography of Chabi. 42. Ibid., 114: 2873. The empress Nanbi was the daughter of Xiantong, grandson of Nachen, Chabi’s father. 43. Ibid.

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To begin with, a biography of this length greatly underestimated her influence and its contents reveal the biases of Confucian biographical writing. It is not surprising that as Khubilai’s strength declined, he permitted Nanbi to issue edicts in his name or even in her own name, since Mongol empresses were entitled to play very important political roles both before and after the establishment of the Mongol empire. In the first place, they had the absolute right to participate in the khuriltai to determine the major issues of the Mongol polity and to elect and enthrone new leaders. In the second place, they often became regents, with direct control over the government. On occasion, they represented emperors who were too old or too ill to handle state affairs. One piece of distinctive evidence for the power of Mongol empresses is that they held the authority to set up their own government offices to issue decrees to the local governments. The decrees of empress and imperial concubines were called “exemplary edicts” (yizhi 懿旨), to differentiate them from the “imperial edicts” (shengzhi 聖旨) of emperors and “princely decrees” (lingzhi 令旨) of princes of the blood.44 The scarcity of information about Nanbi has led historians to neglect her, and even the usually reliable Persian sources are inaccurate and misleading.45 Khubilai married Nanbi in 1283 and he died in 1294, so it is highly unlikely that Nanbi did nothing significant for Khubilai at the Yuan court during this eleven-­year period. Since she was personally assertive, politically influential, and sexually nubile, it is hard to believe that she would voluntarily give up the opportunity to become an empress-dowager and to put her own son on the throne after Khubilai’s death. She must have made decisions that made her enemies, and she seems to have become involved in a political struggle with her husband’s daughter-­in-­law, the widowed Kökejin, and two powerful Mongol generals, Bayan and Yuxi-­Tiemur. According to Rashid al-­Din, for nearly a year before the khuriltai was held in 1295, Kökejin, the widow of Jin Gim, administered the affairs of the realm, though actually the period from the death of Khubilai to the succession of Temür lasted for only three months.46 These measures were obviously designed to foil Nanbi’s attempt to become regent. Since her son Tiemiechi was only ten years old when Khubilai died, and she had established her own political authority and competence in the late years of Khubilai’s reign, she had enough advantages to launch a campaign to become regent and to place her own son on the throne. 44. Zhao Yi 2008: 62. 45. For example, Rashid al-­Din recorded Nanbi as “princess” in The Successors. 46. Rashid al-­Din 1971: 8, 320.

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As history is usually written by the victors, it is very likely that Nanbi’s name was eliminated from the historical records after she lost the power struggle. As pointed out by Patricia Ebrey in her paper about Empress Xiang (1046–1101) of the Song dynasty, “the standard political narratives have their own limitations, as very few texts concerned with court politics escaped rewriting motivated by factional politics.”47 Jack Weatherford also argues that some important parts of the Mongol history were destroyed by the censors: The great queens of Mongolia protected their families throughout their lifetime. Genghis Khan created the nation and inspired it, but the queens gave it life. Like their father, these dedicated queens did not waste time, effort, and emotion building monuments; they built a nation. Like the lingering footprints and fossils of past ages, the evidence of their lives remain (sic), if only we are willing to search for it, [and are] willing to see it when we find it. The censors who sliced the pages did not destroy the history; they only hampered our ability to see it. In some ways the evidence is still all around us, scarcely even hidden, merely unrecognized.48

Then how can we find clues about these empresses? Patricia Ebrey has suggested reading strategies for biographies of empresses that “readers clearly need to be alert to what is omitted from these biographies and to the possibility of political motivations lying behind what is included. Even biographies of other consorts whose lives overlapped with theirs can provide clues of what has been left out or distorted.”49 These reading strategies can certainly be applied to the writing of the life story of Empress Nanbi based on the clues found in the Yuan History and other historical sources. According to the biography of Bayan 伯颜 in the Yuan History, on the day of renzi of the first month of the thirty-­first year of Shizu (January 28, 1294), the emperor was ill and cancelled court hearing. On the day of guihai (February 8, 1294), Chancellor Bayan returned from the army. On the day of gengwu (February 15) the emperor became seriously ill, on the day of guiyou (February 18) the emperor died in the Zitan Hall.50

47. Ebrey 2011: 193. 48. Weatherford 2010: 276–77. 49. Ebrey 2011: 211. 50. Song 1976: 127, 3115; see the biography of Bayan.

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According to the biography of Khubilai in the Yuan History, he died on February 22, 1294, and only two days later, on February 24, the hearse carrying his body left the capital to his final resting place, Qiniangu 起辇谷 in what is today Mongolia, where he was buried together with Chinggis and other Mongol khans.51 But the exact location has never been discovered. His empress Chabi was buried together with him and they were worshiped together in the imperial temple. The Yuan History does not mention whether Nanbi was buried together with Khubilai. As far as we know, when Khubilai died, Kökejin, Bayan, and Yuxi-­Tiemur acted quickly to seize power from Nanbi and her ally, the chancellor Wanze. Bayan became the interim regent, and “he ordered that all government officials give heed to him.” According to Rashid al-­Din, nearly one year before the khuriltai to determine the succession was held, Kökejin was already administering the affairs of the realm.52 Actually the period from the death of Khubilai to the succession of Temür was only three months.53 In the end Kokejin was successful in putting her son on the throne. As is well known, the founder of the Mongol empire and would-­be world order, Chinggis Khan, continued the Mongol practice of selecting heirs through the process of competition among sons to demonstrate who was the most talented (a process called tanistry) and a decision by leading nobles at khuriltai. The system had its meritocratic and even democratic aspects, but it often resulted in instability, conflict, and even violence (called by historians “bloody tanistry”).54 Influenced by his Han Chinese advisors, Khubilai decided to adopt the Chinese system, in which only the eldest son of the primary consort would be qualified to succeed to the throne. Although in 1273 Jin Gim was designated crown prince, the other Mongol princes and nobles considered this to be only a nomination with an election still to be held at the khuriltai. After Jin Gim died prematurely in 1285, Khubilai did not designate a replacement until the year before his death in 1294 when he chose his grandson, Temür, the son of Jin Gim, as his successor.55 The decision was bound to be contested. Khubilai had many sons, including four borne to him by Chabi. Two of the four, Duorzhi and Jin Gim, had predeceased Khubilai, but the other two, Mangqala and Namuhan, were alive and seemed well-­qualified to 51. Ibid., 17, 376. 52. Rashid al-­Din 1971: 8320. 53. Khubilai died in the first month of 1294. Temür ascended the throne in the fourth month of 1294. 54. Fletcher 1981: 8. 55. Song 1976: 18, 381. See the biography of Chengzong.

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succeed. This was a recipe for dissension, especially since Nanbi, Khubilai’s last empress, had a son of her own. The Yuan History reveals that the succession struggles were fierce. The primary opponent of Temür was Kamala, his elder brother, who was titled the Prince of Jin. He was a powerful Mongol prince and was representative of the princes in the northern steppes. The people and lands he governed included the four ordos of Chinggis Khan and their armies, as well as all the Tartar territories.56 Jin Gim’s wife Kökejin and Bayan played key roles. Kökejin bought a national heirloom, a jade seal from the descendants of the Mongol king Muqali, and presented it to Temür, announcing that it was from Khubilai Khan, to legitimize Temür’s claim to the khanate.57 In addition, Kökejin asserted that “Chechen-­Qa’an (that is, Khubilai Khan) said that whoever knew best the saying or decrees (biligs) of Chinggis Khan should ascend the throne. Now, therefore, let each of you recite his sayings so that the great men who are present may see which of you knows them better.”58 Because Temür was extremely eloquent and a good reciter, he declaimed the biligs well and with a pure accent, while Kamala, having something of a stammer and not being as talented in this respect, was unable to match him in the contest. All cried out with one voice: “Temür Qa’an knows them better and recites them better also. It is he that is worthy of the crown and throne.” This competition seems to have been orchestrated by Kökejin. When Kökejin suddenly made this proposal at the khuriltai, she was obviously partial to Temür, who might have been prepared for the recital, and of course, she knew that Kamala had a stammer. Although Temür won the competition, the struggle continued. Even when Temür was going to ascend the throne in the Palace of Great Peace (Da’an dian) in Shangdu, the other princes were still protesting. When Chengzong was ascending the throne in the Da’an Palace in Shangdu, the other princes complained. Bayan held his sword, standing on the step of the palace. He stated the lessons of the ancestors, announced the orders of the deceased emperor, and explained the reason and the importance of putting Chengzong on the throne. His words and facial expression were very stern. All the princes were shaking in their shoes and had to kneel down in front of the palace.59 56. Zhou 1986: vol. 3, 43. 57. Li Xianshen 1992: 368. 58. Rashid al-­Din 1971: 8, 321. 59. Song 1976: 127, 3115, see the biography of Bayan 伯顏.

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Chinese sources are strangely silent about Nanbi’s activities during this crucial juncture. What was she doing? What happened to her? Did she and her son fall victim to the alliance of Kökejin and Bayan? Were they murdered? We shall, perhaps, never know. Nanbi is not listed in the Table of Yearly Allowances (sui ci biao 岁赐表) in the Yuan History. Her son Tiemiechi is not listed in the Table of the Imperial Clan Genealogy. She may have been deprived of any political power by Bayan and Kökejin when Khubilai died, and she and her son Tiemiechi probably met hard times. This happened often in the transitional periods of power struggles in the Yuan dynasty. Whatever the meritocratic theory of tanistry and the democratic ideal of the khuriltai, almost every major transition was a kind of coup d’état accompanied by bloodshed. Only Bayan, Buhumu, and Yuelu Noyan were at Khubilai’s deathbed to receive the testamentary edicts. The chancellor Wanze was not allowed to enter Khubilai’s room. It therefore seems likely that this was the beginning of the plot by Kökejin and Bayan to seize power for their own faction. Wanze had complained about being prohibited from seeing Khubilai. It was probably not Khubilai who forbade Wanze from seeing him, but rather Bayan and Kökejin, who did so as part of their plotting to seize state power. The first person they had to deal with was Nanbi, because Khubilai had been living in her ordo, and she was entitled to make major political decisions and issue decrees on her own initiative.60 It was therefore necessary for Kökejin and Bayan to remove her before they could deal with other adversaries. However, according to Rashid al-­Din, Nanbi participated in the khuriltai. How do we explain this? One possibility is that Rashid al-­Din, who made many errors of documentation in his records, made another mistake here. For example, he recorded Nanbi as a princess, not empress, and he did not explain exactly how Nanbi participated in the khuriltai. If, on the other hand, Rashid al-­Din is correct that she was present, this would suggest that she was probably not executed. In the histories, both Temür and Kökejin were depicted as compassionate and kindhearted, although this could have been a result of their efforts to prettify their seizure of authority. We know, finally, that in 1331, in Wenzong’s reign, Nanbi was given a posthumous temple name. The precise date of her death nonetheless remains a mystery. In sum, the important role of women in steppe polities, including the new Mongol empire and world order of the thirteenth century, persisted despite 60. Khubilai was moved to live in Zitan Dian 紫檀殿 (Narra Palace) when he became seriously ill and eventually died there. This place was used for religious ceremonies, entertainments, and banquets.

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Khubilai Khan’s transfer of the capital to the central plain and the Hanification and even Confucianization of the Yuan polity. It was reflected in Chabi’s openly acknowledged and widely celebrated activities as Khubilai’s most prominent and powerful wife and also in Nanbi’s carefully hidden and even deprecated behavior during the struggle for power that followed Khubilai’s death. Further research is needed to reveal more details about that succession and about the implications of Nanbi’s fate for the status of both Mongol and Han women during the Yuan and in the succeeding polities of the Ming and Qing.

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Surname Restoration Petitions and the Mutability and Manipulability of Patriline in Ming China Joseph Dennis

INTRODUCTION Surname restoration petitions are an important form of autobiography and can be used to write biographies, prosopographies, and family histories. In their day, they could be used strategically to demonstrate morality, build a larger lineage group, move away from unwanted relatives, or legitimate a desired heir. Some petitions were filed within a few generations of the original surname change, but others came only centuries later, after most descendants probably no longer had any sense of belonging to any patriline other than that signified by their present surname. In some cases, the elapsed time between the original change and restoration suggests that, as important as patrilineal ideals were for the society, many people were more concerned with more immediate interests and recent realities. The importance of petitions to recover surnames demonstrates the mutability and manipulability of patrilines and the permeability of boundaries among lineages that may be particularly characteristic of Ming society. This chapter examines legal and social background relevant to understanding surname restoration, and explores typical and important cases. 41

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The Chinese very early on traced descent through the male line and adopted surnames that were designed to realize that ideal. Others, including foreign observers, have largely accepted that idea and have assumed that surnames were rarely changed and then only under extraordinary circumstances. Members of a family or lineage generally traced their origins back to a single common male ancestor and believed they were inheritors of his essential life force. Since surnames were a marker of this shared life force, they were thought to be essential for a civilized society. One might therefore think that surnames would be immutable, and a large body of theorizing held that they should be. But lived experience was more complicated, and historical conceptions of kinship in China were broader than shared male essence of the ancestors. Kinship also encompassed relationships that were constructed through marriage, adoption, and by other means. This chapter explores one of these methods for constructing relationships, “surname restoration” ( fuxing 復姓), and the biographies presented in petitions to change surnames. Of course, “restoring a surname” implies that it had once already existed and had been previously changed, and I will discuss such previous changes as well. The standard expressions for the initial changes were cong wai xing 從外姓 (to follow a surname other than that of one’s patriline); maoxing 冒姓 (to assume a surname); yixing 易姓, gaixing 改 姓, and gengxing 更姓 (to change one’s surname). Because the most common reasons for the initial changes were adoption, uxorilocal marriage (in which the groom sometimes took the bride’s surname), and widow remarriage, surname restoration appears at first glance to have been a tool for maintaining the centrality of patrilineal descent, a way of bringing back into the fold those who had temporarily gone astray. And in fact, surname restorations often served to reaffirm patrilineal ties that had been altered. However, as with adoption and marriage, surname restoration could also be the mechanism that created new kinship ties with people who were never previously recognized as family, even in the distant past.

LEGAL FRAMEWORK The Ming government took an active interest in people’s surnames as part of a more general concern with regulating family relationships and hierarchies.1 Family relationships were integral to the operation of Ming law, and 1. Waltner 1996: 36, 29–43. I am grateful to Ann Waltner for her assistance in developing this chapter.

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legal duties and punishments varied according to a person’s position in the hierarchy. Surnames were keys to identifying shared ancestry and duties, allowable heirs, marriageable people, household registration, and more. Under Article 113 of the Great Ming Code (Da Ming Lü 大明律), it was unlawful to marry someone with the same surname and if it should happen such marriages were to be dissolved. Commentators viewed this law as an expression of a moral principle. Other surname regulations were based on more practical concerns that varied over time. Some are contained in the Ministry of Personnel regulations, “Changing Personal Names and Restoring Surnames” (gengming fuxing 更名復姓), in the Collected Statutes of the Great Ming (Da Ming huidian 大 明会典).2 Soon after the Ming founding, Zhu Yuanzhang issued several edicts related to name changes. One of his concerns was to control the Mongols and Central Asians still resident in China, many of whom wanted to blend in with the dominant Han population. A 1370 edict required Mongols and Central Asians who had adopted Han Chinese names to restore their Mongol or Central Asian names. The required matching of name and ethnicity also went in the other direction: A 1403 regulation banned Han Chinese military personnel from taking Mongol names. The early Ming government also tried to control surname changes to make it harder for people assigned to a hereditary occupational category to escape from their status. This can be seen in a 1370 edict regarding government officials who, because of adoption or uxorilocal marriage, had had their registration category changed from commoner household to military, artisan, or salt-­making household. The edict required such people to maintain the new status in the registry. A 1386 edict demonstrated even more forcefully the state’s interest in maintaining existing surnames and related status. It declared that persons on the military register and subbureaucratic functionaries who changed their names were subject to confiscation of their property, exile of their families, and execution. There were of course, cases in which people successfully changed their names to escape the military obligations that came with military household registration, as can be seen from periodic governmental expressions of concern about the problem. By 1506, so many people had been escaping from hereditary military household status that the court dispatched seventeen investigating censors to try to rectify the registers. According to the Veritable Records, the losses occurred through name changes, false claims of extinguished households, and corrupt garrison officers and tithing unit leaders who helped cover up for those who had gotten themselves 2. Li and Shen 1963: 208–9.

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removed.3 Later in the Ming in Fujian, various kinship practices were used in concert with genealogy writing to assert Han status and escape from Dan 蛋 or She 畲 status that suffered from social and legal discrimination.4 The most important regulation on surname restoration was first published in 1393 in the “Duties and Authority of the Various Offices” (Zhu si zhi zhang 諸司職掌) and was later incorporated into the Collected Statutes with slight changes in the phrasing. The 1393 text described the procedure thus: In cases in which a ranked official or subbureaucratic functionary was adopted as a youth and wishes to restore his surname, the Ministry [of Personnel] shall transmit the request to the office of original registration for investigation of the facts. In the case of a ranked official, [these facts] and his youth name and altered name shall be set forth in a memorial. Upon correction, a notation shall be made on his personnel record. In addition, the Ministry of Revenue shall be notified and it shall append the change to the registers. For subbureaucratic functionaries, [the facts] and their youth names and altered names shall be sent to the Ministry [of Personnel], which may approve the change [without need for a memorial].5

This regulation created different procedures for ranked and unranked officials. Ranked officials submitted memorials, while unranked functionaries could obtain permission directly from the ministry. However, for both types of officer, investigations were to be conducted in the applicant’s native place. The investigative process will be illustrated in several of the cases discussed in this chapter. Sometimes investigations went quickly, but in other cases they took years. One extended investigation was that of Huang Fang 黃芳 (1476–1544) from Yazhou on Hainan Island, who passed the metropolitan examination in 1508, began his career in the Hanlin Academy, and became a famous official and scholar. In a preface he wrote for his Qionghai Zhong Lineage’s Revised Edition of the Zhong Lineage Genealogy (Qionghai Zhong shi zong qin xuxiu Zhong shi zupu 瓊海鐘氏宗親續修鐘氏族譜), he claimed that his family surnamed Zhong had lived for generations in Jiangxi, but that in the late Yuan Dynasty, his great-­great-­grandfather, a military official sent to Hainan, and his descendants were misregistered there as commoners under the Huang surname. Huang Fang learned of his ancestors’ surname, Zhong 鐘, from an old genealogy and in 1523, while serving as administration vice commis3. Ming shilu (Yingzong) 1961–1966: 421. 4. Szonyi 2002: 39–42. 5. Zhu 1981: 12.132.

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sioner in Guangxi, he submitted a surname-­restoration memorial. It took “five or six years” to investigate before it was finally approved.6 Such lengthy investigations were limited by a sixteenth-­century amendment to the procedure: In the third year of the Longqing era [1569–1570], a memorial was approved: High-­ranking officials (jingtang guan 京堂官) who submit memorials for the restoration of their original surnames are permitted to restore their surnames without prior investigation.

This precedent, or interpretation, appears to have been connected to the Li Ben case discussed below. Surname restoration memorials were not always approved. Wei Jiao 魏校 (1483–1543), who received his metropolitan degree in 1505, came from a lineage originally surnamed Li.7 In an undated memorial Wei asked that his surname be restored. He stated that his great-­grandfather, Li Lin 李琳, who was from Changzhou 長州, Nanzhili, had been adopted by Wei Shixun 魏士 珣, Li Lin’s maternal uncle, who lived in Kunshan 崑山. Over time, Li Lin’s descendants forgot their original surname and even married Kunshan women surnamed Li. This, of course, was both illegal and immoral. It was only when a Li elder started a big genealogy project that “it dawned on all people of the lineage to venerate their ancestors and respect their lineage” (presumably by restoring their original surname Li). The memorial added that the prominence of the Wei family in fact dates from the time of Li Lin’s entry into it and that Wei Jiao’s father had wanted to restore the surname, but for unknown reasons did not.8 Wei Jiao also failed in his effort to restore his Li family name. It is not clear if his petition was connected to an incident in which he broke a Buddhist patriarch’s Bu begging bowl while destroying temples in Guangdong. As Sarah Schneewind explains: When Wei looked at the pieces, he found that each had on it one half of his own surname, so that one read wei (abandon) and the other gui (ghost). Wei was spooked—perhaps afraid that the bowl foretold his fate as an abandoned ghost—and spared the temple.9

Wei’s collected works, which contain the petition, are published under the 6. Zhong 2006: 105–6. 7. Zhang 1980: 7250. 8. Wei 1983: 1.14b–15b. 9. Schneewind 1999: 94.

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surname Wei, and his biographies in the Ming dynastic history and the Veritable Records make no mention of any original surname, let alone that it was restored.10 Surname restorations by common people are naturally not as well documented as those of officials, and the Collected Statutes do not contain any regulations concerning commoner surname restoration procedures. Most likely, commoners simply used their desired name and reported the change when population and tax registers were updated, or when paying taxes. Feng Menglong’s early-­seventeenth-­century story, “The oil seller” (Mai you lang du zhan hua kui 賣油郎獨占花魁), tells of a refugee from Bianjing, the Northern Song capital, who after his adoptive father sends him away from their oil shop, wants to restore his surname so his biological father can find him. In the text, a question comes from an imaginary audience member: Storyteller, if someone from the upper classes, someone with a splendid career, restores his surname by petitioning the court or by notifying institutions such as the Ministry of Rites, the Imperial Academy, or the National Academy, the registers will be corrected and everyone will be aware of the change. But who is to know when a mere oil seller tries to restore his surname?

The oil seller’s solution was to write his original surname on one of the oil buckets he carried on a shoulder pole, and his hometown on the other. In this way, he got people to call him by his restored surname.11

RESTORATION PETITION FORMAT The basic format of surname restoration petitions can be seen in two petitions translated below. Both memorials were written by Huang Zhong 黃鐘 (1383–1443): Memorial Requesting Surname Restoration. Twelfth day of the fifth month of the Xuande era (June 24, 1429).12 In the Matter of Director of the Bureau of Ceremonies of the Auxiliary Ministry of Rites Huang Zhong Solemnly Narrating the Facts.13

10. Ming shilu (Shizong) 1961–66: 5711–12. 11. Feng 1960: 44; Hanan 2006: 42. 12. Kuang 1983: 67–70. 13. Here, “Auxiliary” refers to the primary Ministry of Rites in Beijing. Hucker 1985: 247.

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Your subject is a person registered in Jiangxi, Nanchang Prefecture, Jing’an County. My paternal grandfather Kuang Yuan’s 況淵 entire family, except my late father Kuang Zhongqian 況仲謙, died in the Yuan-­era rebellion. At the time, he was six sui, so Huang Shengzu 黃勝祖 of the same neighborhood, took him in, raised him as his son, and registered him under the Huang surname. In your subject’s view, each surname has its origin and transmission. I have been favored to serve the sagely court, which governs the realm through filiality. If I did not petition to recover my surname I would neglect my duty to my origins, and thus, I submit this memorial.

Huang Zhong’s memorial sets forth the simple case that his father was an orphan raised by a neighbor, and asserts, with minimal argumentation, that it is important to recognize his roots. His petition was approved. Changing one’s surname, however, might well raise secondary issues, such as what to do with earlier royal writings that use the prerestoration surname. A few months after Huang was granted permission to restore his surname to Kuang, he submitted a second memorial to deal with this problem: Memorial requesting surname restoration for imperial edicts. Fourth day of the ninth month of the fourth year (October 1, 1429). In the Matter of Director of the Bureau of Ceremonies of the Ministry of Rites Kuang Zhong Requesting an Exchange of Imperial Edicts. My grandfather Kuang Yuan’s entire family except my young father died in the Yuan-­era rebellion, so he assumed the surname Huang. In the ninth month of Yongle13 (1415), the emperor bestowed on me the position of secretary of the Bureau of Ceremonies in the Auxiliary Ministry of Rites. In the eight month of Yongle 22 (1424), I was promoted to director. In the first month of the first year of the Hongxi era (1425), I was given imperial edicts granting prestige titles to my parents and wife. In the fifth month of the fourth year of the Xuande era (1429) I submitted a memorial requesting surname restoration, and received the emperor’s rescript, “He may correct it. Obey this.” In addition to obeying the order, your subject further observes that he previously received Emperor Renzong’s great grace of being specially promoted to “Director” and was given imperial edicts.14 Now that the emperor has approved my memorial to restore my surname, night and day I have been filled with a trepidation that cannot be recompensed with ten thousand deaths because all of your subject’s previous edicts have the Huang surname. Thus I ask for the sage’s grace and mercy 14. The Yongle emperor died in August 1424, before Huang Zhong’s promotion, but the Hongxi reign period did not start until the new year.

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I LIFE STORIES to reissue them using the restored Kuang surname. I would have unlimited feeling for such extraordinary grace, and so petition.

The rescript stated, “It is approved to issue them.” This petition calls attention to the problem of removing former surnames from various documents on which they were found. In addition to edicts, this would have included genealogies, lineage halls, the Yellow Registers, contracts, etc. Changing the Yellow Registers was part of the surname restoration procedure, as seen in the regulations discussed above and in examples below.

RECITATION OF REASONS FOR SEEKING SURNAME RESTORATION Unlike taking a new style name, restoring one’s surname required an explanation of the underlying circumstances of the original surname change. Ancestors’ adoptions, uxorilocal marriages, and widow remarriages were the most commonly cited reasons. Others included ancestors fleeing violence, registration errors, or loyalty to a leader, as when Zhou Shizhong 周時中, a follower of the late-­Yuan rebel monk Peng Yingyu 彭瑩玉, took the Peng surname, but restored his surname to Zhou when Peng surrendered his troops to Zhu Yuanzhang’s army in 1362.15

Adoptions A typical adoption case is that of Right Vice Minister of Punishments Jiang Mian 蔣勉, who restored his surname to Bai 白 in 1431. His memorial stated that his parents died when he was young, and because he was raised by the lineage of his paternal grandfather’s sister’s husband, the Jiangs, he had been using their surname.16 A more complicated and interesting adoption case was that of Tong Pin 童品, a 1496 metropolitan graduate from Lanxi 蘭溪, Zhejiang. His path to office was long and his time in office short. In 1478, eight years before passing the provincial examination in 1486, he had already published a book, but it took him another ten years to pass the metropolitan exam and then only in the bottom tier. Despite his low ranking, he rose quickly to vice director in the Ministry of War, but retired in 1502. In 1499, before retiring, Tong submitted a surname restoration memorial. In it, 15. Ming shilu (Taizu) 1961–1966: 2126. 16. Ming shilu (Xuanzong) 1961–1966: 1900.

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he claimed that his ancestor Zhang Wenbing 章文炳 had been adopted out of his lineage to become heir to his maternal uncle, Tong Kejia. Wenbing had two sons, Fulao 福老 and Shoulao 寿老, who were therefore surnamed Tong. Tong Pin’s petition further stated that his cousin Tong Hu 童琥, who as of 1499 was serving as a director in the Ministry of Works, was descended from the same great-­grandfather, Tong Chang 童常. Tong Chang, Tong Pin argued, was “deeply concerned that later generations would forget their origins and so compiled the Lineage Genealogy of Two Surnames, Zhang and Tong (Tong Zhang erxing zongpu 童章二姓宗谱). Tong Pin then explained that his kin were scattered in various places, all using the Tong surname, and many no longer returned to the ancestral village. He worried that they did not recognize themselves as surnamed Zhang, which would make marriages “chaotic” and “destroy morals.” Same-­surname marriage was prohibited by law based on the idea that those with the same surname descended from a common ancestor and marriage was thus incestuous. Indeed, several Tong men had already married Zhang women, not knowing that they were in fact patrilineal relatives with the same surname. In the surname petition, he argued that the mourning obligations resulting from his ancestor’s becoming heir to the Tong family had already been exhausted. Tong Pin then asked that an order be sent to his place of registration to restore the Zhang surname to everyone who shared ancestors and lineage with him, and that their household registrations and taxes continue in their current places of registration. The Office of Transmission sent Tong’s petition to the Ministry of Personnel, which copied it and sent it on to the Zhejiang Provincial Administration Commission, to Jinhua prefecture, and to Lanxi County for verification. The vice magistrate of Lanxi investigated, and the district’s community elder Tong Bangda, and others, found that Tong Pin’s ancestor Zhang Wenbing had in fact become heir to Tong Kejia early in the Yuan Dynasty, and that Tong Pin’s other claims were also valid.17 The local investigation, however, also found that in 1381, several Tongs were removed from the local register and were in military service. In 1388, a distant relative recognizing the same ancestor had been sent into military exile at Yanzhou Guard 岩州衛, Sichuan, and later transferred to the Yiyong Guard 義勇衛. A successor to his military status had been required so that the army would not be shorted. The investigators further discovered that in 1408 another distant relative with the same ancestor had been sent into military exile at one of the horse pasturage offices as punishment for illegally raising domestic animals. His entire family had gone with him, and he had had no 17. Xiangxi Zhang shi zupu.

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descendants. The local investigators decided, however, that these findings constituted no impediment to approving Tong Pin’s request for the restoration of the Zhang surname to all descendants of their recognized ancestor. In 1507, the results of the investigation were forwarded to the Ministry of War for review of the cases of military exile. The Ministry of War found no problem but informed the Ministry of Personnel that, because the exiles occurred after Zhang Wenbing became heir to the Tong, the descendants now named Tong were still responsible for the two military service obligations, and that the military registers would be updated to reflect the restoration of the Zhang surname. Soon thereafter, the surname of Tong Pin’s entire lineage back to Zhang Wenbing was changed back to Zhang. In 1524, Tong Pin, now Zhang Pin, recompiled the Zhang genealogy and inserted the original memorial requesting restoration of the surname, the records of the investigations, and other relevant orders, so that, “people [in the lineage] would know their origins.” In revising the genealogy he was typical of Ming officials who successfully restored their original surnames.

Uxorilocal Marriage Uxorilocal marriage was the second most commonly cited rationale for the restoration of original surnames. For example, Wang Fuheng 王复亨 (born ca. 1367), an assistant commander in the Nanjing Embroidered Uniform Guard, submitted a memorial requesting such a restoration in 1436.18 Wang wrote that his grandfather, Yu Sijing 余思敬, was from Huguang and had served as an instructor in the Raozhou 饒州 Prefecture School in Jiangxi during the Yuan dynasty. Wang’s father, Yu Yide 余以德, had accompanied Wang’s grandfather to Jiangxi and had married uxorilocally into the family of Hu Junzheng 胡均正. Wang Fuheng’s grandfather and father had both died of disease when Wang was young, and he had therefore lived with the Hu family of his mother. In 1386, he joined the military in Liaodong and was sent to Jinan, Shandong, where, following his father’s example, he married uxorilocally into the household of a commoner Wang Youliang 王友亮. In 1400, he was called up to fight in the civil war and reported for duty at the county Buddhist registry office. The Buddhist superior recorded his name as “Wang Fuheng,” presumably because he had taken the Wang surname upon marriage. His petition stated that in 1407 Wang sailed to the Western Ocean with the eunuch Wang Jinghong 王景宏, Zheng He’s second in command, and was later promoted to the Embroidered Uniform Guard. At the time of the peti18. Wang 1900: juan shou, 4a–b.

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tion, he was seventy sui, suffered from eye disease, and had no son to rely on. He therefore wanted to adopt a member of the Yu lineage from his ancestral home in Huguang. The restoration of the Yu surname would recognize that they were from the same lineage and would facilitate the adoption. Although the existing text of the petition does not contain the rescript, the surname appears to have been restored because Wang Fuheng’s descendants used the Yu surname.

Widow Remarriage Despite the longstanding practice of encouraging widow chastity and opposing widow remarriage, young widows actually remarried with some frequency. In one case, in 1430, Chief Minister of the Court of Judicial Review Hu Si 胡燍 reported that his original surname had been Xiong 熊. His father had died when he was young and his mother had remarried a man named Hu. Hu Si had therefore used his stepfather’s surname when he was growing up. Now, however, he wanted to restore his original surname Xiong.19 Permission was granted.

Recording Errors Minor functionaries who managed the Ming household registers often made mistakes in recording people’s names. Many people who were illiterate had no way of knowing when mistakes were made, some who were literate had no opportunity to see the records, and a few who reviewed the records and caught the errors were unable to persuade the clerks to correct them. Some mistakes involved a stroke or two that changed one character into another; other mistakes were more egregious. An example of a well-­educated person whose surname was unaccountably written incorrectly was Jing Qing 景清, who placed second in the 1394 metropolitan examination. Jing claimed that his surname had originally been Geng 耿, but that it had been erroneously written Jing in the household register.20 Jing Qing was loyal to the Jianwen emperor, and was unable to restore his surname prior to his execution by the Yongle emperor in 1402. One of the most prominent yet puzzling cases of surname change as a result of scribal error involved the famous late Ming scholar official Lü Kun

19. Ming shilu (Xuanzong) 1961–1966: 1515. 20. Deng 1993: 390. Zhang Tingyu 1980: 4026.

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呂坤 (1536–1618).21 Lü passed the metropolitan examination in 1574 under the name of Li Kun 李坤. Early in his career, in 1578, he petitioned to have his original surname Lü restored, and it was granted. The story is an intriguing one, and hearkens back to the Ming founding. According to Lü Kun’s Lü Li xing yuan bei 呂李姓原碑 (Stele on the origins of the Lü and Li surnames), Lü had an ancestor, a gardener named Lü Heisi, who provided important assistance to Ming Taizu.22 Taizu offered Heisi a military position as reward for his service against the Mongols, but Heisi declined the offer and Taizu gave him one and one-­third pounds ( jin 斤) of silver instead. When Heisi had his court audience, the ruler gave Heisi the money and an edict granting him a tax exemption. The edict, which was not written in the emperor’s own hand, wrote his surname “Li” rather than “Lü.” Heisi told the emperor that the surname was written incorrectly. In response, the emperor took out his own brush to correct the character but accidentally also wrote “Li.” Because the error was now inscribed in the emperor’s own hand, Lü wrote in his petition, it could not be changed. Unwilling to recognize his error and exhibiting a cavalier attitude toward patrilineal succession, Taizu said to Heisi, “Nothing prevents you from changing your surname to Li,” i.e., from continuing to use Li instead of Lü as his surname.23 Not one to accept royal authority uncritically, Lü Kun reported that when Heisi was on his deathbed, he said to his son Li Cheng, The surname Li was not actually bestowed on us [by our ancestors or by the ruler], but rather we got it as a result of an error made by the court. Thus we can’t change it. While I am alive, my allegiance is to the ruler, but in death, it will be to my ancestors. So bury me under the name of Lü and write on my gravestone: Here lies Lü so-­and-­so.24

Here Lü articulated the interesting notion that the claims political authorities have over subjects terminate at death, whereas the claims of ancestors continue after death. This was only one way in which the Lü family creatively handled conflicts between the demands of their lineage and the demands of their state. While it is clear that Lü’s surname was in fact Li when he took the civil service examinations, there is an odd silence surrounding the surname 21. Handlin 1983; Des Forges 2003: 70–77. 22. Lü Kun 1997: 245 23. Ibid. 24. Ibid.

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change. The Ming History, which usually carefully recorded details of people’s origins in their biographies, does not mention Lü Kun’s effort to change his surname.25 Nor does any other source, including the Lü family genealogy, mention the error or the correction let alone the curious story of Heisi the gardener.26 This silence is perplexing. It may be that the surname change occurred early enough in Lü Kun’s career that it was not a matter of public interest. It may be that he suppressed the knowledge of the change, although because the only source we have of it is in his own hand, this seems unlikely. To serve his own interests, Ming Taizu changed other people’s surnames, but in some cases less arbitrarily than in the case of Lü Heisi. For example, to enhance his personal authority over the bureaucracy and the army, he adopted many sons of many other families and granted them the use of the royal surname Zhu. When they outlived their usefulness, he forced them to recover their original surnames. In at least one case, he clearly acknowledged the need for people to keep their original surnames so as to carry out the rituals honoring their ancestors and to produce heirs who could continue those activities. Zhu Yuanzhang changed his sister’s son’s surname to Zhu in 1354, but ordered him to resume his natal father’s surname in 1367.27 The following year, Taizu ordered Zhu Ying, another one of his adopted sons, to use his original surname, Mu. In this case he reportedly said, “You cannot cause your original lineage to lack an heir.”28

Imperial Prerogative Emperors could restore people’s surnames for a variety of reasons. Often, it occurred in conjunction with an appointment to office. In 1394, the emperor ordered the restoration of the Xie 謝  surname to Sun Yan 孫彥, an orphan from Zhu Yuanzhang’s neighborhood who had been raised by the Sun family and had taken their surname. Restoration happened only after Sun had been promoted to be assistant commander-­in-­chief of the Army of the Front, suggesting that it was a privilege earned through service or was publicized only in cases of people with a certain social standing.29 In another case, in 1372, Ming Taizu appointed a monk named Keqin 克勤, who was an instructor at the Waguan Monastery in Nanjing, to be deputy envoy in the third Ming em25. Ibid. 26. Ibid. 27. Ming shilu (Taizu) 1961–66: 310. 28. Ibid., 3206. Also see Pidhainy, Chapter 9 in this volume. 29. Ming shilu (Taizu) 1961–66: 3393.

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bassy to Japan. When Keqin returned in 1374 Taizu appointed him to a position in the civilian bureaucracy, director of the Bureau of Evaluations, and ordered him to recover his original surname, Hua 華.30 Although the emperor’s rationale for restoring Keqin’s surname is not recorded, it seems likely it was to indicate that he was no longer a monk.

Fleeing Violence Some people changed their surnames to hide out in dangerous situations. For example, one man named Xie Yongheng 謝永亨 escaped from a feud by fleeing to the household of a senior relative by marriage named Wang and took that surname as his own.31 His grandson named Wang Yikui 王一夔 passed the 1460 metropolitan examination with the highest grade in the realm. In 1472 Wang Yikui successfully petitioned to recover his original Xie surname. Later he petitioned again to have his father’s named changed from Wang back to Xie as well.32

Claims of No Improper Purpose One of the important elements of memorials was the reassurance that there was no improper purpose underlying the restoration attempt, such as escaping hereditary military or artisan obligations. This was in accord with the regulations cited above and an example can be seen in the case of Xu Zhiluan 徐之鸞.

The Case of Xu Zhiluan Xu Zhiluan was born in 1483, passed the metropolitan examination in 1511, and began his career in the Hanlin Academy. On February 24, 1521, at age 39, after ten years in office and two months before the Zhengde emperor’s death, Xu petitioned to restore his surname. The text is found in Xu’s collected works, Rongchuan ji 蓉穿集.33 Xu set forth three arguments for restoring his surname. First, he argued, the original change had been made over a century earlier out of necessity to protect the family. Second, no state interest would be harmed. Third, lineage 30. Ibid., 1777. Goodrich 1985: 1317. 31. He Qiaoxin 1991: 2090. 32. Ming shilu (Xianzong) 1961–66: 2032. 33. Qi 1988: 287.

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and morality are linked, which makes it important to rectify incorrect surnames. Xu stated that he was from Tongcheng, Nanzhili, but his ancestors had lived in Fengyang and were surnamed Qi 齊. In the late Yuan, commoners formed militias and there were violent feuds. His ancestor Qi Tianfu was concerned about lineage members’ involvement in the violence and feared it would bring disaster upon them. So he moved his household to Tongcheng and took the surname Xu to distance himself from his lineage. Xu further wrote that when the census was being conducted at the Ming founding and people were being put into categories, Xu Tianfu’s family did not yet know their classification. Later, his descendants were always required to provide two male tax units (ding 丁), one to serve in the Ganzhou Garrison and one to serve in the capital’s Wanping County as a filing and polishing artisan (cuomo jiang 剉磨匠). The service was not constant, so they also farmed. Although Xu’s great–grand-­uncle and grandfather were petty officers in the garrison, they were never able to change the surname back to Qi because, Xu Zhiluan claimed, they had little power and were isolated from the locale where they were registered. Nevertheless, according to Xu, the fifth-­generation spirit tablet still gave Qi as the family surname. Moreover, since he had attained a degree and served in office, it was appropriate for him to seek restoration. Xu further developed a moral argument. He wrote that “nothing was more important than lineage in [the gentleman’s] illumination of morality and rectification of orthodoxy” (minglun zhengzong mo da yu shizu 明倫正宗莫大于 氏族). In clarifying the obscure and correcting the false in records of the lineage, nothing was more important than examining cases of faulty surnames (zha mao 詐冒). Xu also distinguished his ancestor’s surname change from those resulting from uxorilocal marriage, arguing that his ancestor had had to accede to the prevailing conditions of his time; it was not that he had willfully abandoned his surname. Xu then stressed that those who strive to be filial cannot bear to forget their ancient lineage and that those who know shame cannot pretend to be something they are not. He stated that these facts had made him anxious night and day. Xu concluded his memorial by requesting that an edict allowing the surname change be sent down to the Ministry of Personnel. The ministry should then send an order to the office holding his original registration, “ordering that, in accord with practice, my lineage has Zhu as its name corrected in the Yellow Registers in the year when they are recompiled, and that a notice be sent informing the military and craftsmen labor service offices.” He reassured the emperor that he was not trying to escape service obligations, saying, “From now on, when the service group is short, [my lineage] will supply someone as

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in the past. I dare not have any other reason for this petition, such as shedding a heavy [burden] for a light one.” Whatever the truth in this case, some people asked to change or restore their surnames precisely to avoid paying their labor taxes, at least directly. For example, in a memorial in 1492, Nanjing Minister of Works Huang Tingxuan claimed that his great-­great-­grandfather had been surnamed Lin, but had married uxorilocally and taken the surname Huang. Apparently the Lins had no military obligations to the state whereas the Huangs did. To strengthen his case for restoration of the Lin surname, Huang Tingxuan funded an estate that would generate funds for a soldier who would be chosen from extended family members who were keeping the surname Huang. The fact that Huang Tingxuan’s petition was approved suggests that the early Ming regulation prohibiting officials born in military households from recovering commoner registration via surname restoration was a dead letter by 1492. Or perhaps the regulations remained in force but Huang-­t urned-­Lin got around them by arranging to fund a soldier from the Huang family.34 Some people changed their surnames in an effort to avoid punishment for illegal acts. This practice was recognized by experienced magistrates such as Zhu Qinxiang 朱欽相, who served in Nanhai County 南海, Guangdong Province, in 1616. According to his biography in the provincial gazetteer, Zhu immediately recognized even criminals who had changed their surname or given name, and he would say, “that appears to be so-­and-­so.” When they again offended, he would know. Even the extremely crafty criminals could not fool him.35

In other cases, no doubt, such maneuvers by criminals were successful.

SCOPE AND TIMING OF RESTORATION In some cases, a major issue in surname restorations was how other relatives viewed the requests. For example, Ge Hui’s 葛禬 surname at birth had been Sun 孫, but he was raised by his maternal grandparents, Ge Hua 葛華 and the Lady Zhang 張氏 and so took the surname Ge as his own. He passed the 1514 metropolitan examination and served in office for more than a decade under the surname Ge, but, in 1526, while he was serving in the Office 34. Szonyi 2002: 64–69. 35. Guangdong tongzhi 1983: juan 40.

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of Transmission, his maternal grandfather died and he took mourning leave.36 The following year Ge petitioned to recover his original surname Sun. His maternal grandmother, the Lady Zhang, challenged Ge’s request, arguing that because she and her husband had raised Hui, he should continue to use the surname Ge and his petition to change it back to Sun should be denied.37 According to the Veritable Records, the emperor Shizong sympathized with the grandmother and sent the petition to the Ministry of Personnel for debate. The ministry took the position that Ge Hui had always been—and continued to be—a Sun, but, since his grandmother was kind and Ge Hui had long obeyed her as his mother, he should not restore his surname until after her death. In that way, the ministry argued, his actions would be in accordance with both feeling (qing 情) (for his grandmother) and duty (yi 義) (to his forebears). In 1527, questions of adoption and lineage would have had particular urgency at court. The Great Ritual Controversy had barely been resolved, and while issues of surname were not involved in that controversy, the duties a man (in this case, the ruler Zhu Houcong, the Jiajing emperor) owed his natural father were central. The ruler Zhu Houzhao, the Zhengde emperor, had died in 1521 without an heir. In his will he named his cousin, Zhu Houcong, as his successor. But the ancestral instructions of the Ming founder did not permit succession by a cousin of the same generation. The Ministry of Rites, aware that the instructions did permit succession by a brother, argued that the dilemma should be solved by Zhu Houcong recognizing the former ruler Zhu Youcheng, the Hongzhi emperor, as his own father thereby becoming Zhu Houzhao’s “brother.” The Jiajing emperor flatly refused, reportedly asking, “Can a man change parents so easily?”38 Instead, Jiajing wanted his natal father to be recognized as an honorary ruler. Thus, the Lady Zhang’s petition arrived at court when issues of filiality and duty were highly charged. The terse narrative that has survived suggests that Ge Hui waited until his maternal grandfather Ge died, perhaps out of respect for the grandfather’s family feelings. But as the Lady Zhang demonstrated, grandmothers have feelings too and may identify with their husbands’ surnames. A careful examination of the officials involved in the controversy raises the possibility that Ge Hui’s desire to change his surname was connected to the Great Ritual Controversy. We know that Ge Hui was present at a protest

36. Ming shilu 1961–1966: 1497. 37. Ibid., 1715–16. 38. Fischer 1977: 109.

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against the Jiajing emperor’s refusal to accept the role of Hongzi’s heir.39 If we were to read Ge Hui’s stance solely in terms of his position on whether one could change one’s father (which of course would be an oversimplification of the issues involved in the Great Ritual Controversy), then Ge Hui made a public stance in favor of the transferability (however ephemeral) of filial devotion and duties. In his private life, he wanted to stop using his maternal grandfather’s surname and return to that of his natural father. The mystery here is why the Lady Zhang chose to appeal her grandson’s decision to return to his original surname, and why she thought that the emperor would be sympathetic, given his own strong anti-adoption stance in his personal life. It turned out, however, that Jiajing was sympathetic to Lady Zhang—perhaps because she cast her request in terms of sentiment (qing 情). Much of the emperor’s argument about why it was not possible for him to recognize the late Hongzhi emperor as his father was because it would be a violation of feeling toward his natal father. The emperor sent Lady Zhang’s request to deny Ge Hui’s petition on to the Ministry of Personnel, which was by this time tired of disputes over kinship. The ministry ruled in a way that seemed protective of Lady Zhang’s feelings—the change was not going to happen in her lifetime—but in fact at the same time suggested that the original surname had never really been changed. Ge Hui had, in this ruling, never been a Ge; the adoption and the transfer of surname had, in some ritual sense, never taken place. We do not know if this solution satisfied the Lady Zhang. But it was a reasonable attempt to mediate between the needs of living relatives and of dead ancestors.

CONSTRUCTING FAMILY RELATIONSHIPS: THE CASES OF LI BEN AND ZHANG LIN While many Ming men petitioned to recover their original patronyms for various legitimate reasons discussed above, some petitioned to change their surnames by fabricating evidence of links with more prestigious and powerful families simply to enhance the standing of their own families. We can see how this happened by looking at two quite complicated cases that unfolded over generations. In the first case, the key figure was Li Ben 李本, who was born in 1504 in Yuyao County, Shaoxing Prefecture, in Zhejiang Province.40 He was the son of Li Gai 李改 (1464–1526) and the Lady Yang 楊氏. Li Gai passed the pro39. Ming shilu 1961–1966: 5068. 40. For additional information on this case, see Dennis 2010.

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vincial examination, but failed the metropolitan examination and was not appointed to office. Instead, he worked as a clerk, teacher, and doctor. Through his medical practice Li Gai became friends with high officials and was able to entrust his son Ben’s studies to two powerful Yuyao natives, Xie Qian 謝遷, the 1475 optimus and grand secretary, and his son Xie Pi 謝丕, who eventually headed the Hanlin Academy.41 Li Ben outdid his father by passing the metropolitan examination in 1532 along with a classmate named Lü Guangxun 呂光洵.42 Lü had been born in 1508 into a lineage that had been producing officials since the Song. Both Li and Lü became high central government officials: Li was appointed grand secretary and he served alongside the extremely powerful officials Yan Song and Xu Jie. Lü Guangxun served as minister of war.43 The two men were friends and socialized in the capital and in their native Shaoxing.44 After long careers, Li and Lü retired to their Shaoxing homes. Li returned to Yuyao County in 1561 following the death of his mother and then built the Lü Family Mansion (Lü fu 呂府) in Shaoxing.45 Lü returned to Xinchang County between assignments in 1562 and retired there in 1568. The sixteenth century was a time of intensifying lineage organization in Shaoxing Prefecture. Prominent persons were seeking to gather together dispersed and often forgotten relatives to strengthen family bonds and enhance members’ ability to act collectively. Lineage halls were being built and genealogies were being compiled, some for the first time and some after long periods of neglect. Under these conditions, Li Ben and Lü Guangxun decided to claim that Li Ben was actually Lü Ben, a long lost relative of Lü Guangxun. Li Ben claimed to have discovered he was really a Lü soon after returning to Shaoxing for retirement. He examined Lü Guangxun’s lineage genealogy and thought he found his tenth-­generation ancestor listed therein. Li also learned that his ancestor’s spirit tablet was in the Lü lineage hall and had been cut by Lü Guangxun’s father, Lü Shiliang. In 1564, Li Ben visited Xinchang to pay his respects to his newly discovered ancestors, repair their graves, and to meet members of the Lü lineage.46 Several years later, in 1570, Li petitioned to change his surname from Li to Lü.

41. Lü Ben ca. 1570–1587, Yuyao Xinhe Lü: 6.13b–14b; Lei Li 1991: 73. Goodrich 1976: 550–54. 42. Zhu Baojiong 1980: 2518–19. Lü Shi zongpu, You Mu 1930a: 3.127a. 43. Zhang Xuan 1991: vol. 119, p. 99. 44. Lü Ben 1575: 9.16a–19b. 45. Lü Ben 1570. 46. Lü Ben 1575: 9.16a–19b.

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His petition and the attached rescripts stated the following: Memorial: Master Wen’an requests to restore his surname.47 Regarding the matter of begging for grace to restore a surname. Your subject has heard that nothing is more important than surnames in distinguishing [among people] according to birth and categorizing [them]. A surname is that which links one to the ancestors, indicates ultimate origins, and cannot be changed even after one hundred generations. Your subject has an ancestor Lü Deyu 呂德玉 who migrated from Xinchang to Yuyao. As the [current] dynasty began, names were being recorded in the population registers. He identified himself as “Lü Deyu” but the scribe mistakenly wrote “Li” 李 because Lü and Li sound similar. It was only after the register was finalized that he realized the mistake. Because the law [against changing the registers] was severe, he did not try to correct [the record] and [the family] had to accept the Li surname for themselves.

Thereupon, Deyu made a point to record this dilemma in the genealogy: “All of my descendants will in life use [the surname] Li, but in death they will still be Lüs. If later one of my descendants becomes an official, he must petition to recover the [Lü] surname.” Now it has been multiple generations and the gravestones and shrines [of our family] all are inscribed “Lü.” Seeing that I have been fortunate enough to become an official, it is appropriate that I respect my ancestor’s testamentary command to petition for restoration [of our original surname Lü]. I was, however, undeservedly permitted to serve thirteen years in the Grand Secretariat. Day and night I attended to public matters; there was not even the slightest time for rest. In the fortieth year of the Jiajing era, my mother became ill and died and I returned home to observe mourning. Thus, I did not petition in a timely manner. I firmly believe that there would be no obstacle to being a Li in life and a Lü in death for one who had never served as an official. But in the case of your humble subject, I was in previous years an official of the first rank who in the ninth and eighteenth years [of my career, was designated] “ratings fulfilled” (kao man 考滿) [meaning successful in three trienniel evaluations and ready for possible promotion].48 I twice received the Shizong emperor’s grace: My great-­grandfather and grandfather were both granted titles by means

47. Lü Ben 1570. 48. Hucker 1985: 278.

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of imperial edicts. Now, the edicts say “Li,” yet their graves say “Lü;” name and substance indeed have not yet been reconciled. Your humble subject further contemplates obtaining restoration [of the Lü surname] for all descendants of my ancestor Deyu. They all are on the commoner register; they are not on the military or the craftsmen register [and so have no duties for state service to shirk]. Today all I want is to change and recover the original surname—I have absolutely no other motivation. Prostrated, I long for the emperor to bring forth heavenly benevolence to illuminate your humble subject’s intolerable gloom by specially conferring permission to recover the Lü surname, and to cause the confirmation and restoration as a single body your humble subject’s family, those who have been officials, imperial university students, licentiates, commoners, etc., and to correct the registers. Submitted on the Fourth Year, Fifth Month, Twenty-­Second Day of the Longqing Era [June 25, 1570].

The rescripts to the petition stated the following: The emperor commands that the Ministry of Personnel know [this matter]. Grand Secretary and [concurrent] minister in charge of the affairs of the Ministry of Personnel Gao Gong 高拱, and others, carefully note: In our view of the matter of the former Grand Secretary Li Ben’s memorial to recover his surname, according to precedent the document should be sent to the government office [holding the] original register for thorough investigation of the facts. [The office’s findings] should all be [reported in a] memorial for correction [of the register]. However, the official in question formerly served as a great minister of the first rank and is now in his native place. The memorial is already based on the facts. Why not skip the thorough investigation, permit [the request], and order that this official and the officials, students, imperial university students, commoners, etc., [of his family] as one body recover the Lü surname and to make it known to the government office of the original register. Submitted on the Fourth Year, Sixth Month, Fourth Day of the Longqing Era (July 6, 1570).49 The Emperor orders that Li Ben and his sons, officials, etc., are all permitted to recover the Lü surname. 49. Ming shilu (Muzong) 1961–1966: 1145, confirms this approval. The emperor approved the memorial on the date of Gao Gong’s rescript.

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Key points in Li’s memorial and Gao Gong’s response must be kept in mind as this story unfolds: (1) Li claimed that the same ancestor who registered the family at the Ming founding learned of the mistake and created a record of it in a genealogy; (2) he ordered his descendants to use Li in life and Lü in death; (3) the gravestones were all inscribed “Lü”; and (4) contrary to normal procedure, no investigation was done before granting the restoration of the Lü surname. Both before and after Li Ben changed his surname he made a concerted effort to publicize the fact that he was really a Lü. The emperor’s approval of the surname change memorial would turn Li Ben into Lü Ben in the eyes of the state, but to achieve the on-­the-­ground social changes that would make the alliance meaningful it was necessary to conduct a public relations campaign, including the rewriting of the texts that embodied family history. Prior to submitting the surname change memorial, Li Ben traveled to Xinchang in 1563, “repaired” graves there, met his long-­lost relatives, and wrote biographies of the Xinchang Lüs that highlighted their supposedly shared ancestry.50 Sometime between 1570 and 1587 Li Ben, now called Lü Ben, compiled a genealogy setting forth his family history. Major literary figures including Wang Shizhen 王世貞 and Xu Wei 徐渭 wrote about the surname change. It was also noted in Ling Dizhi’s 1579 study of surnames, the Comprehensive Record of the 10,000 Surnames (Wan xing tong pu 萬姓統譜). Lü Guangxun’s 1579 gazetteer of Xinchang County, listed Lü Ben as a Xinchang metropolitan graduate resident in Yuyao.51 Li Ben and Lü Guangxun claimed common ancestry mainly on the basis of a thirteenth-­century epitaph inscribed in stone and analyzed by a cousin of Lü Guangxun named Lü Jiru’s 呂繼儒 in 1562, the year of Li Ben’s first visit to Xinchang. The stele, dated 1225, was for someone named Lü Yizhi 呂宜之 (1142–1225). It had been discovered years earlier by the lineage of Lü Guangxun’s mother, the Zhangs of Liquan 醴泉章氏. The cousin Lü Jiru wrote: Early in the Jiajing era, the Liquan Zhangs discovered Lü Yizhi’s grave. The epitaph stone lay hidden in the grass. We struggled for nearly thirty 50. Li Ben built a grave for Lü Lian 呂鐮, a key ancestor linking him to the Xinchang Lüs. The grave was destroyed during the Cultural Revolution but the epitaph stone was found by the Xinchang Cultural Affairs Commission. Xinchang wenwu zhi 2001: 62. The text was largely worn down, but the stone’s text can be found in the Lü genealogies discussed in this chapter. 51. Xinchang xian zhi 1981: 10.14b. Wang Shizhen 1991: 687–706. Xu Wei 1983: 607–8.

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years before the grave was finally restored, but by that time the Zhangs had made off with the epitaph stone. Someone, however, had secretly recorded the inscription and showed it to me. I tried one hundred ways to get [the stone] but could not. The Zhangs and my family have intermarried generation after generation and yet they want to wipe away my ancestor. It really is inhumane! I conducted research and found that the “eldest son Daren” 大任 mentioned in the epitaph is our Commandant-­escort (junma 郡馬) ancestor.52 The ancestor became a commandant-­escort by marrying the Prince of Fu’s (Fu di 福邸) daughter, but the epitaph did not record that fact. At first I was suspicious because of this, but after I had researched the histories and chronicles [I learned] that the Prince of Fu was Zhao Yurui 趙與芮, Emperor Lizong’s younger brother and father of Emperor Duzong.53 Emperor Lizong came to power from outside the palace due to the early death of the heir apparent. When [Lü] Daren buried his father [Lü Yizhi in 1225], Lizong was just ascending the throne and changing the reign period. Thus, at the time of burial, Zhao Yurui was not yet the Prince of Fu and Daren did not yet have the title Commandant-­escort. It was only in the third year of Duzong’s reign (sic)54 that Yurui was enfeoffed as the Prince of Fu and undertook the sacrifices to the Prince of Rong (Rong Wang 榮王). So Daren was not called Commandant-­escort until after he had buried his father with the epitaph! The county gazetteer says that [Commandant-­escort Lü was] “also called Danian,” but that is wrong. The Commandant-­escort ancestor’s son was called Lian 鐮, and he was the Wan generation number twelve ancestor (Wan shi’er fujun 萬十二府君). In the epitaph it says that the [Commandant-­ escort’s sons] were named Chong and Yan, but those were their childhood names (chuming 初名). [The epitaph calls Lü Yizhi’s great-­grandsons] Meiseng and Yaseng, but those must have been their milk names (ru ming 乳名). It is recorded in the county gazetteer that the Commandant-­escort’s grave is in Gantang 甘棠 and Gantang elders regularly come upon the ruins of [stone funerary] sheep and horses and a stele [signs of burial of a notable person]. How could there be any error?! I explain this epitaph so later generations shall not err, and I write it down here to make it known. 52. Hucker 1985: 202. 53. Lizong reigned 1225–1264; Duzong reigned 1265–1274. 54. The genealogy indicates that this is a typographical error and should read “third year of Lizong’s reign” (1227).

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I LIFE STORIES Respectfully recorded by twelfth generation descendant Jiru in the Renxu year of the Jiajing era (1562–1563).55

Lü Jiru’s conclusion that his ancestor, Lü Lian, was Lü Yizhi’s grandson appears to be based on nothing more than the fact that Lü Daren married someone surnamed Zhao, which was the Song imperial family’s surname, and that funerary animals in Gantang reveal that someone with rank was buried there. Zhao, however, was a common surname in Xinchang and eastern Zhejiang in the thirteenth century and many people were buried in Gantang. Not only is the connection tenuous, but Lü Jiru also had to explain away significant contradictory information, i.e., the names of Lü Yizhi’s son, grandsons, and great-­grandsons listed in his epitaph do not match the 1477 gazetteer entry for Commandant-­escort Lü or what Lü Jiru believed to be the taboo names of that person’s sons and grandsons. The gazetteer’s section on gravesites says that Commandant-­escort Lü Xian 呂暹 was buried at Gantang and the section on ministers states, “Lü Xian: Also named Danian. Style name Hongfu. Became commander-­escort by marriage to the Prince of Fu’s daughter.”56 Lü Jiru asserted that the gazetteer’s “Danian” 大年 was a typographical error for “Daren” 大任, ignored the fact that the epitaph stone did not list Xian 暹 as an alternate name for Daren 大任, and explained away the discrepancy in the sons and grandsons’ names by claiming the names in the epitaph were not their adult names. Lü Jiru’s conclusion that Lü Yizhi was Lü Xian’s father became the official lineage history as part of an effort by Lü Guangxun and others to build lineage cohesion in the sixteenth century. As a result of Lü Jiru’s analysis, Lü Yizhi became identified as the common ancestor of Lü Jiru and Li Ben. Lü Yizhi also was described as a descendant of Lü Yi 呂億, who migrated to Xinchang and became the Xinchang Lü ‘s first ancestor. Li Ben claimed that Lü Xian similarly migrated from Xinchang to Yuyao at the fall of the Song and was the Yuyao Lü’s first ancestor. Lü Jiru’s analysis continues to underpin the Lü lineage history to this day.57 While Lü Jiru’s analysis, standing alone, appears implausible, it is not impossible. But other information shows Li Ben’s claim to be false. The fabrication can be uncovered by comparing writings about the Li and Lü family members from before and after the name change. The strongest evidence that 55. Lü Ben ca. 1570–1587: 9.11–12. 56. Xinchang xian zhi 1477: 8.10; 13.2. The text states: “Lü Xian: yi ming Danian. Zi Hongfu. Shang Song Fu Di nü wei junma” 呂暹一名大年字宏父尚宋福邸女為郡馬. 57. Lü Shi zongpu, Xiao: 1930: 7.14a.

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Li Ben fabricated his claim is his father’s original epitaph. Sometime between Li Ben’s mother’s death on May 23, 1561, and her burial with her husband on November 16, 1561, Li Ben asked Grand Secretary Yuan Wei 袁煒 to write an epitaph for his father, Li Gai. Such epitaphs (muzhiming 墓誌銘) were cut in stone and inserted into burial chambers. There are two versions of Yuan Wei’s epitaph for Li Gai: The original text is found in Yuan Wei’s collected works. A later version is found in the genealogy compiled by Li Ben.58 The version in Yuan Wei’s collected works says that Li Gai’s “ancestors came from Henan and were surnamed Li. At the end of the Song dynasty the Wan generation number twelve ancestor moved to Yuyao. From then on [the Lis] were people of Yuyao.”59 This shows that as of 1561, Li Ben believed that his ancestors had been surnamed Li for hundreds of years prior to the supposed misrecording of the Lü surname as Li at the time of the Ming founding. The epitaph also contradicts claims in Li Ben’s memorial to change the surname. The memorial claimed that Li Ben’s family members used the surname Lü in death pursuant to the testamentary instruction of Lü Deyu, the ancestor who registered the family at the beginning of the Ming and who subsequently discovered the mistake. The epitaph, however, calls Li Ben’s father “Li Gai,” not “Lü Gai.” Thus, as of 1561, Li Ben’s father was not in fact a Lü in death. The epitaph also says nothing about residence in Xinchang County or the famous Tang and Song ancestors claimed by the Xinchang Lüs. If, as Li Ben claimed, there was a Lü Deyu genealogy that contained his testamentary instruction to restore the surname, the family’s century-­and-­a-­half residence in Xinchang and the famous Lü ancestors of the Tang and Song periods would no doubt have been mentioned in Yuan Wei’s epitaph. The absence of such information shows that Li Ben’s family had no memory of being Lüs and there was no genealogy containing a testamentary instruction to restore that surname. Before including Yuan Wei’s epitaph in his newly compiled genealogy, Li Ben eliminated references to the Li surname and added connections to the Xinchang Lüs. Li Ben changed Yuan Wei’s original words “ancestors came from Henan and were surnamed Li” to “ancestors came from Henan and were surnamed Lü.” He changed “father of Mr. Li Nanqu” 南渠 to “father of Nanqu” (Nanqu was Li Ben’s style name prior to his surname change). Li Ben also changed and elaborated on Yuan Wei’s sentence that read, “At the end of the Song dynasty Wan generation number twelve ancestor moved to Yuyao.” 58. Lü Ben ca. 1570–1587: 9.15a–18a; Yuan Wei 1970: 447–53. 59. Ibid., 447.

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The genealogy version of Yuan Wei’s epitaph is backdated to the original 1561 date, presumably to obscure Li Ben’s alterations. Li Gai’s epitaph was probably revised at the same time that the genealogy was compiled, sometime after the surname change was approved in 1570 and before Lü Ben’s death in 1587. Other epitaphs in the genealogy were similarly altered to eliminate information that contradicted the new family history. Returning to Lü Jiru’s analysis, his assertion that Lü Xian must be the “Wan generation number twelve ancestor” appears to have been an attempt to work backward from Li Ben’s record of the genealogical name for his family’s first Yuyao migrant ancestor.60 When the decision was made for the Lis to become Lüs, something was needed to plausibly connect that person to the Xinchang Lüs. Lü Jiru’s analysis of the commandant-­escort’s family simply declares without explanation that Lü Lian must have been the “Wan line number twelve ancestor.” He was able to do this because the Xinchang Lüs were not using such a genealogical charting system when Lü Yizhi was buried in 1225. Lü Yizhi’s epitaph did not list any generational character or number for him even though the first Xinchang Lü genealogy had been completed only one year earlier, in 1224. The character-number system was imposed later and thus it was possible to assign an uncharted deceased ancestor a desired character and number without contradicting previously known information. In 1562, Lü Yizhi was an excellent candidate to become Li Ben’s long-­lost ancestor because his epitaph stone had been viewed by Lü Jiru but had gone missing, his place in the lineage was murky, and the grave was known but ruined and needed restoration. Lü Yizhi’s position in the lineage was unclear because the Lü genealogy had been confused for centuries by the time Lü Jiru wrote about him. In fact, there was already confusion at the time of Lü Yizhi’s death in 1225. The Xinchang Lü’s first migrant ancestor was Lü Yi, who married uxorilocally and moved to Xinchang after North China fell to the Jin in 1126. The first postmigration Lü genealogy was compiled ninety-­eight years later, in 1224, by Lü Chongzhi 呂沖之, Lü Yizhi’s second cousin in the fifth Xinchang generation. The surviving preface says that the descendants were becoming more numerous by the day and at that time it was already impossible to avoid uncertainty in the genealogy.61 In the 1380s Lü Sheng 呂升, a member of the tenth Xinchang generation, attempted to recompile the Lü genealogy. He explained that the work was 60. The Yuyao first migrant ancestor is called “Wan generation number twelve ancestor” in Yuan Wei’s epitaph for Li Gai. 61. Lü Shi zongpu, You Mu 1930a: prefaces, p. 1.

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difficult because the descendants lived in scattered places and the old genealogy had been lost in the fires of war. In 1387 Lü Sheng wrote that his efforts had not yet fully borne fruit, but that he had managed to find a small descent chart in a chantry. Lü Sheng searched widely for information and claimed that he was finally able to infer the descent order. He noted that detailed biographies had been lost and for some people he could only find their names and their spouses’ names, but not their dates or gravesites.62 In 1411 Lü Yong 呂雍 compiled a genealogy. His preface explained that Lü Sheng died of old age before completing the project so he (Yong) continued the work. He explained that most family records were lost in the migration south at the fall of the Northern Song, but Lü Sheng was able to get thirty or forty percent of the epitaphs and spirit tablet inscriptions from a few surviving branch genealogies.63 Because so many Lü family records were missing, it would have been easy for Li Ben to fabricate a connection to the Lü ancestors. This brings us to the main question of why Li Ben went to such trouble to have his surname changed to Lü. We must infer the answer because neither Li Ben nor Lü Guangxun admitted that they had fabricated the kinship tie, let alone explained why they did it. Generally speaking, educated youths tried to achieve status and power by passing the civil service examinations, obtaining office, and making connections to move up in the bureaucracy. As successful officials’ careers progressed, they sought to use their temporary positions to obtain lasting status and power for their families. This concern was especially acute at retirement. One of the most important ways for officials from Zhejiang in the sixteenth century to accomplish this was to shift their focus from the capital to the local. Many sought to expand and strengthen kinship networks in their native places because these networks could provide the material, social, and political capital needed to transmit power across generations. Lineage was tremendously important in fifteenth and sixteenth century Shaoxing. Local gazetteers stressed its importance, e.g., the 1477 gazetteer of Xinchang County devotes a whole fascicle to describing and ranking local lineages.64 It notes that high-­status lineages were those having a genealogy that proves continuity of officeholders over multiple generations. Members of such lineages, even if poor, would typically not marry members of lineages that were merely wealthy. The importance of being from the right kind of 62. Ibid., 1b–2a. 63. Ibid., 3a. 64. Xinchang xian zhi 1477: juan 4; juan 11.

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family created an incentive to manufacture family status. Li Ben, although he himself had risen to become a grand secretary, did not come from a long line of scholar officials. Not one of Li Ben’s ancestors had passed the metropolitan examination or held a ranked post in the civil service.65 An alliance between the Li and the Lü had obvious advantages for both. Li Ben’s family did not appear to have been organized into a lineage prior to the surname change, whereas Lü Guangxun’s family had been well-­organized since the early-­fifteenth century and many lineage members were officials. The Lüs nonetheless would benefit from the retired grand secretary’s connections, both as a high official at court, and as a retiree in Yuyao and Shaoxing. It is easy to imagine that combining the power of the Li and the Lü across counties would enable them to have greater influence on the prefectural government than either would have had alone. Their alliance also might help both families resist attacks from political enemies made during their careers. Although Li Ben left government service on the death of his mother on May 23, 1561, his association with Yan Song was potentially a dangerous liability. Yan Song’s wife died that same year and Yan Song was losing favor with the emperor. In 1562 Yan was dismissed from office and three years later his son was executed. The Li/Lü alliance also could enhance their physical security. At Li Ben’s retirement the pirate threat to Shaoxing had only recently receded. The resources of large lineage groups might still be necessary to defend the region. For Li Ben, submitting the surname restoration petition expressed his change of focus from exercising power in the central government to building a power base for his family in his native place. It appears he used his influence at court to avoid the legally mandated investigation that could have cast doubt on his kinship claim. In fact, it appears that in 1569 Li Ben used his influence to get the law itself changed to allow high officials to alter their surnames more freely, and to use surname restoration even more effectively to build kinship alliances. Thus, when thinking about surname restoration in the late Ming, we should understand it not only as a practice that allowed men who had strayed from their ancestral patriline to get back on track, but also as a technique for strategically distancing oneself from undesirable old relatives and creating kinship ties with more desirable people. A case even more complex than that of Li Ben, the Shi/Zhang/Yang merger, shows that some lineages had multiple accretions over time using surname restoration. Zhang Lin 張琳 was born in Yuyao and became a metropolitan graduate in 1466. He subsequently rose to serve in a number of high 65. Lü Shi zongpu, You Mu 1930a.

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posts.66 According to his descendants’ genealogy, Zhang Lin’s seventh generation ancestor was Shi De 史德, who in the 1200s had three sons: the eldest became his heir; the second was adopted out to a defense commissioner ( fangyushi) surnamed Zhang; the third son was adopted out to someone surnamed Yang 楊.67 Zhang Lin descended from the second son. Some two hundred and fifty years later, in the 1490s, Zhang Lin petitioned the court to restore his surname to Shi.68 According to his father’s biography in a genealogy, Zhang Lin petitioned because his father had ordered him to do so as soon as he attained rank. It is also possible that he got the idea on his own when he compiled Zhang lineage genealogies in 1471 and 1487.69 All earlier genealogies had been damaged in the Song–Yuan and Yuan–Ming transitions. Zhang Lin may not have been aware of the Zhang-Shi connection until he began working on the compilations. Of course, as with Li Ben, he may also have fabricated the relationship. The descendants of Shi De’s third son, those surnamed Yang, restored the Shi surname four generations after Zhang Lin, in the late-­sixteenth century, in the time of Zhang Lin’s great-­great-­grandson Shi Siyuan 史嗣元. A Yang descendant, Yang Menglong 楊夢龍, led his relatives to recover the Shi surname and finally brought all of the descendants of Shi De’s three sons into a single lineage.70 Yang Menglong claimed that he descended from Shi De’s third son, the one who became heir to the Yang line. He noted that the historical traces of the ten generations back to Shi De were faint, but that family members knew well that their ancestor Yang was in fact a Shi because this had been continually told as a family story. According to Yang Menglong, the censor named Yang Yu 楊譽 who received his metropolitan degree in 1496 wanted to restore the Shi surname but never made it over to see the magistrate. Instead, the change came four generations later, when Zhang Lin/Shi Lin’s great-­great-­grandson, the metropolitan graduate Shi Siyuan, and his lineage uncle, the metropolitan graduate

66. Dasikong yizhuo gong zhuan: 16.4a–b. 67. Yuyao shi shi zongpu 1914: 1.1b. 68. He is referred to as Zhang Lin in a Hongzhi 6th year, 2nd month, renyin day entry of the Guoque, and as Shi Lin in a Hongzhi 9th year, 8th month, renwu day entry, so the memorial presumably was approved between those two dates (February 2, 1493, and September 14, 1496). Tan 1959, Guoque: 2557, 2695. 69. Yuyao shi shi zongpu 1914: 1.37a–b. 70. Ibid., 1.3b; 1.18b–19a.

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Shi Ke 史珂, with Menglong’s encouragement “used books” to prove the Yang/Shi connection and obtain the surname restoration.71 Yang Menglong justified the surname change by asserting that the Yangs used the Shi family regulations since the time of the original adoption, that the ordering of the generations had been made according to the Shi ordering, and that when the requirements of mourning passed (after the fifth generation) the duty to keep the new surname ended. Yang asserted, “Under these conditions, there was no choice but to recover the ancestral name.” In this case, and in other examples, arguments were made that once ritual obligations to the adopted family were satisfied it was acceptable to return to one’s original patriline. A second common justification, seen above in the case of Ge Hui, was that in a fundamental way the original family name had never been effectively given up.

CONCLUSION Surname restoration petitions provide important information that can be used to write biography, autobiography, prosopography, and family history. In their day, they could be used strategically to demonstrate morality, build a larger lineage group, move away from unwanted relatives, or legitimate a desired heir. Some petitions were filed within a few generations of the original surname change, but others came only centuries later, after most descendants probably no longer had any sense of belonging to any patriline other than that signified by their present surname. In some cases, the century or more that elapsed between the original change and restoration suggests that, as important as patrilineal ideals were for the society, many people were more concerned with more immediate interests and recent realities. The importance of petitions to recover surnames demonstrates the mutability of patrilines and the permeability of boundaries among lineages that may be particularly characteristic of Ming society. Further study of name changes in previous and later periods may be necessary to arrive at a full appreciation of their significance in the Ming. 71. The approximate dating to 1555–1603 is based on the date of Yang/Shi Menglong’s narration of these events, written in Wanli 30, the dates that Shi Ke and Shi Siyuan passed the exams and thus had easier access to the local magistrate. Shi Siyuan passed the provincial examination in 1555 and the metropolitan examination in 1559. Shi Ke passed the provincial examination in 1564 and the metropolitan examination in 1571.

3

The Chinese Scholar-­Rebel-­ Advisor Li Yan in the History and Literature of the Mid-Twentieth Century Roger V. Des Forges

INTRODUCTION Many Chinese are familiar with the story of the scholar Li Yan (李岩／巖 d. 1644) from Qi County 杞縣, in northeastern Henan Province, who helped the commoner rebel Li Zicheng 李自成 (1605?–1645) overthrow the Ming dynasty in 1644. According to the story, Li Yan and his younger brother Li Mou 李牟 advocated wise policies that enabled Li Zicheng to gain control of the central plain and Beijing. They eventually fell out with their leader, however, and were finally assassinated by him. That resulted in the failure of the rebel Da Shun 大順 regime to consolidate its hold on the mandate. It also allowed the rise of the Qing dynasty that governed China from 1644 to 1911. The written record may have begun with mentions of Li Yan in a mem1 oir. The story developed quickly in informal histories.2 Its core was ac1. Zhao 1644. 2. Xiwu landao ren 1644; Gong 1645.

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cepted by professional historians and incorporated into the biography of Li Zicheng in the “Ming History Manuscript” in the early eighteenth century.3 Already in the 1690s, however, knowledgeable Henanese observers had openly denied that there was any scholar named Li Yan from Qi County who played an important role in Li Zicheng’s rebellion.4 As it happened, those critics were not able to keep the story out of the Draft Ming History of 1723 or the final version of the official Ming History published in 1739.5 Nor were they able to prevent its transmission in histories and literary works through the Qing period. More surprisingly, the story, including the role of an extraordinary swordswoman Hong Niangzi 紅娘子 who rescued Li Xin 李信 from jail, survived calls by Liang Qichao 梁啓超 (1873–1929) for a “new history” 新史 and by the professional historian Gu Jiegang 顧頡剛 1893–1980) for “doubting antiquity” 疑古.6 Indeed, the story was celebrated by a scholar-rebel-advisor in 1944 and was endorsed by Mao Zedong 毛澤東 1893–1976), who believed it held valuable lessons for contemporary revolutionaries.7 After Mao died in 1976, three scholars once again raised serious doubts about the Li Yan story.8 Once more, however, skeptics were unsuccessful in debunking the legend and it remained credible as straight history in the eyes of most historians and the public. The origins and development of the written Li Yan story have been well recounted in previous publications and cannot be retold here.9 In this chapter, I shall focus instead on how and why the Li Yan story became so widely accepted and expanded in mid-­twentieth century literature, particularly between 1937 and 1978. In a forthcoming book, I shall show how a fragmentary genealogical manuscript of a Li family from Henei 河內 County in northwest Henan, prefaced in 1716 and discovered in 2004, not only solves the Li Yan puzzle but helps us to understand some of the likely oral as well as written sources of the story.10 The result will hopefully be a fresh biography of the Chinese scholar-rebel-advisor Li Yan for our own time, i.e., one based on the 3. Wan 1702: 408.11a. 4. Li and He 1693: 13 renwu, zhonglie; Zheng 1984: fanli 1. 5. Wang 1723: 183. 10, 21a; Zhang 1974: 209.7956–57, 7960, 7967–68. 6. Liang 2009: 161–71; Gushibian 古史辨 distinguishing traditional history (1926–1941) in Wilkinson 2013: 675. 7. Guo 1944, 1954; Mao 2005:27. 8. Gu 1978, 1979; Des Forges 1982, 1984; Luan 1986. 9. Gu 1978, 1979; Des Forges 1982, 1984; Luan 1985, 1986; Sato 2010. 10. Li 1716; Dai 2012; Li Yan jili kaohui 2013.

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facts insofar as they may be determined today. By looking at the place of the Li Yan story in the larger patterns of Chinese and world history, we may also be able to shed light on its relevance to our own time and place.

I. THE PERSISTENCE OF THE STORY IN THE REPUBLIC The first historian in the Republic to accept and transmit the story of Li Yan was Zhao Zongfu 趙宗復 (1915–1966). Zhao was from Wutai County 五台縣 in Shanxi, attended Yanjing University 燕京大學 in Beiping (Beijing), read Lu Xun’s 魯迅 (1881–1936) ABCs of Communism (共產主義 ABC), and participated in movements for democracy and against imperialism. In 1933, he joined the Communist Party, collected intelligence about Japan, and monitored the activities of the local militarist Yan Xishan 閻錫山 (1883–1960) and the Nationalist Generalissimo Chiang Kai-­shek 蔣介石 (1887–1975). In 1937, Zhao published an essay titled “An Outline History of the Rebellion of Li Zicheng.” It began with the rebellions that overthrew the Qin and then turned to the rebellions that overthrew the Yuan. The author described the failures of the late Ming state that led to the rebellions of Zhang Xianzhong 張獻忠 (1605–1647) and Li Zicheng. He focused on the leadership of Li Zicheng and emphasized the contributions of Li Yan.11 He speculated that the storied Li Yan’s father, Li Jingbai 李精白 (a metropolitan graduate of 1613), did not appear in the Qi County gazetteer because the compilers were ashamed of his association with eunuchs. Li Yan himself was excluded because of his association with bandits. Zhao insisted that the case of Li Yan “was not like that of Hong Daquan 洪大全 in the Heavenly Kingdom of Great Peace whose identity was completely fabricated.”12 Zhao concluded with the observation that the uprisings of “poor farmers” 貧農 like Li Zicheng could never succeed in founding their own regimes in the past. He nonetheless noted that Li Zicheng’s slogan of “land equalization” was in line with long-­ standing Confucian ideals and influenced the policies of the succeeding Qing polity.13 During the war of resistance against Japan, Zhao Zongfu resembled Li Yan in being a scholar-rebel. He also operated in a political minefield of competing authorities, including a local militarist, the Nationalist Party, the Communist Party, and Japanese-­sponsored regimes. This was all somewhat simi11. Zhao 1937: 127–38. 12. Zhao 1937: 139 n. 1; for Hong see Jen 1973: 84, 86. 13. Zhao 1937: 143–57.

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lar to the militarist, Ming, Shun, and Qing states in Li Yan’s time. At one point, Zhao was arrested by Yan Xishan 閻錫山 (1883–1960) and had to deny his membership in the Communist Party to escape execution. At other points, he submitted reports that may have been read by Communist Party leaders Mao Zedong, Zhou Enlai 周恩來 (1898–1976), and Zhu De 朱德 (1886– 1976).14 He survived the vicissitudes of war. During the first fourteen years of the People’s Republic, he served as vice-­president of Shanxi University and as president of Taiyuan Engineering College. Like state Chairman, Liu Shao-qi 劉少奇 (1898–1966), Zhao came under fire during the Cultural Revolution. Zhao may have thought deeply about Li Yan in the last years of his life when he was under suspicion from the leader he thought he had long served well. Like Li Yan, who was celebrated as a relatively humane rebel in the early Qing, Zhao Zongfu was rehabilitated as a loyal party member after 1978.15 The next afficionado of the Li Yan story was Guo Moruo 郭沫若 (1892– 1978). Guo was born into a merchant-landlord family in a small market town near Jiading 嘉定 Prefecture in Sichuan Province. He received training in the classics from a tutor, participated in demonstrations at the end of the Qing, and studied medicine in Japan. During the May 4th movement of 1919 he became interested in Marxism, and he responded to the May 30th incident in 1925 by joining the Nationalist Party. When Chiang Kai-­shek turned against the Communists in 1927, Guo participated in an uprising at Nanchang 南昌, joined the Communist Party as an underground agent, and left for Japan. He spent a decade in Japan, where he had the time and freedom to write. With the outbreak of war, he returned to China and thereafter was forced to move repeatedly. With the deterioration of relations between the Nationalist and Communist parties in 1940, Guo was removed from his position on a cultural work committee, giving him time to write during the Second World War.16 Among his writings was an essay titled, “Commemorating the 300th Anniversary of 1644.” This essay had its long-­term origins in Guo’s social background, which combined elite status with personal sympathy for the less fortunate. During the 1920s and 1930s, he had been particularly interested in the aristocratic poet Qu Yuan 屈原 (340–278 bce), who had remained loyal to his state despite its defects.17 After his involvement in the abortive revolution of 14. Bai 2000: 320–25. 15. Ibid., 326–29. 16. Roy 1971; Klein and Clark 1971: 458–61. 17. Schneider 1980: 103–6, 112–20.

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1927, Guo became increasingly interested in more plebian rebels, such as Chen Sheng 陳勝 (d. 208 bce) and Wu Guang 吳廣 (d. 208 bce), whose revolts had led to the uprising of the commoner rebel Liu Bang 劉邦 (256–195 bce). Liu Bang had gone on to defeat the more aristocratic Xiang Yu 項羽 (232–202 bce and to establish the Han polity.18 The more immediate context of Guo’s essay on 1644 was the continuing Nationalist–Communist civil war. In 1939 Mao and his secretary Chen Boda 陳伯達 (1904–1989) wrote, “In China’s feudal society, it was only these farmers’ class struggles, their uprisings and their wars, that provided the real motive force in the development of Chinese history.”19 In March 1943, Chiang Kai-­shek and his ghost writer, Tao Xisheng 陶希聖 (1899–1988), offered a more critical analysis of the nature of the two rebellions that had overthrown the Ming. They argued that after years of corruption, factionalism, and popular disaffection, “The three-­hundred-­year-­old Ming house was finally overthrown by the combined attacks of the roving robbers 流寇 Dashing Li and Zhang Xianzhong from within and the Manchu banner troops from without.”20 In April Tao followed up with an article comparing the late Ming roving robbers to the Communists and the Manchu armies to the Japanese.21 In the summer of 1943, Communist leaders in Yan’an responded to the Nationalist scenario with a broad-­ based commemoration of the three-­ hundredth anniversary of the overthrow of the Ming.22 In August Guo wrote an article praising the late Qin rebel Chen Sheng for using scholars in his movement in contrast with Liu Bang, who was hard on intellectuals.23 On January 16, 1944, Qiao Guanhua 喬冠華 (1913–1983), a member of the party’s Propaganda Department, wrote to the historian and poet Liu Yazi 柳亞子 (1886–1958) to say that Guo Moruo had recommended him as an expert on the Southern Ming to write an essay to open the commemoration.24 Liu pleaded ill health and declined the assignment, but he was well enough by 18. Lin and Huang 1992: 379–84. 19. Mao 1967: 2. 306–9; for a biography of Chen, see Klein and Clark 1971: 122–25. 20. Chiang 1943/1947/2013; for a biography of Tao, see Boorman and Howard 1979: II: 241a–43b. 21. Lin and Huang 1992: 387. 22. Feng 2008: 179–80. 23. Lin and Huang 1992: 387. 24. For a biography of Qiao, see Klein and Clark 1971: 179–82; for Liu’s work on the Ming, see Struve 1998: 99.

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April 1944 to write a brief memorial. In it he asserted that the death of Li Yan was “one reason for Li Zicheng’s failure” to found his own new regime.25 Meanwhile, Guo Moruo agreed to write a commemoration of the fall of the Ming. In doing research, he came across an informal history that was a principal source of the Li Yan story.26 The result was a twenty-­thousand-­ character account that was published serially from March 19 through 23 in the New China Daily located in the Nationalist capital of Chongqing.27 While Guo tried to provide a balanced account of the social and political causes of the rise and fall of the rebellion, he ended up devoting an estimated two-­ thirds of his text to Li Yan’s role. Guo began his account with a discussion of the relative importance of 1644, 1661, and 1683 in marking the end of the Ming. He weighed the relative responsibility of the last effective Ming ruler Chongzhen 崇禎 (r. 1628–1644) and his officials for the decline of the polity. He then turned to Li Zicheng, who had experienced shifting fortunes until he reentered Henan in 1640 on the heels of three years of drought and locusts. The resulting famine pushed many Henanese, including commoners and members of the elite, into the rebel ranks. In Guo’s words: [A]ccording to many kinds of historical records, the atmosphere changed because of the participation of “the Qi County provincial graduate Li Xin.” In “Li Zicheng’s biography” [in the Ming History] and in almost all other materials, this person is described with sympathy, and not necessarily only because he was a scholar. There were many other literati who followed Li Zicheng but none of them received the same kind of sympathy [that Li Yan did].28

In the spirit of earlier scholars, Guo attempted to reconcile differences over the dating of Li Xin’s activities in Qi. He argued that Li drafted his song to encourage relief not in 1635 but in early 1640 after the arrival of locusts and the commander Yang Sichang 楊嗣昌 (1588–1641) in the region. Li Xin was then jailed by the magistrate. Guo therefore no longer needed the female acrobat Hong Niangzi to explain Li Xin’s revolt, but he still had her rescue Li from jail and join him in rallying to Li Zicheng. According to Guo, Li Xin 25. Liu 1944: 54. 26. Guo March 1944; Xi Wu Landaoren 1644. For a less full but more accessible edition, see Gong 1645. 27. Guo 1944. I use here the more accessible edition of 1954. 28. Guo 1954: 2–9.

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cast his lot with Li Zicheng before the rebel leader attacked Yongning (永寧) in Henan in early 1641. Li Yan was thus the first Henanese scholar to become an advisor to Li Zicheng. He recommended Niu Jinxing (牛金星 1600–1650), who would serve as prime minister, who then recommended Song Xiance 宋 獻策, who would serve as commander-­in-­chief.29 Having first married a woman of his family’s choosing and then married in succession two other women of his own choice, Guo had shown interest in rebellious women beginning in the 1920s.30 Now, reading the biography of Li Zicheng, Guo commented that “the brief interjection of Hong Niangzi was very moving, but unfortunately at present there are no other materials to examine aside from the Ming History.” Perhaps reflecting his own concerns, Guo commented that Li Yan’s decision to leave Hong Niangzi’s camp after having been kidnapped by her probably reflected his unwillingness to put at risk his privileged status as a provincial graduate. Guo was critical of the Qianlong-­era Record of the Fungus Shrine, which he thought portrayed Li and Hong as comic figures engaged in a farce.31 He may have been reminded of his own marital experience when Li Yan abandoned his wife née Tang 湯氏, and went off with Hong Niangzi. He commented that “the Hong Niangzi story is extremely good material for a novel.”32 Apparently unaware of criticisms of the Li Yan story dating back to the early Qing, Guo accepted the ideas that Li Xin was the son of the Ming minister Li Jingbai and that he may have been ostracized in his home county because of his father’s participation in the eunuch party at court. Guo acknowledged that Li Yan’s official position in the rebel leadership was not high because he was only a second-­ranked general and only one of many advisors. Li Yan also lacked any substantive post comparable to those of Prime Minister Niu Jinxing, Commander-­in-­Chief Song Xiance, and Field Commander Liu Zongmin 劉宗敏 (d. 1644). Guo insisted, however, that Li Yan was a powerful symbol of literati support for the rebellion and attracted other intellectuals to the movement.33 29. Ibid., 10–14. 30. Gu 2005: 123. 31. Dong 1759. 32. Guo 1954: 15–16. Lady Tang was said to have uttered a poem when she was taken down after she hanged herself. Anon. [n.d.]. This reminded readers of the increasing literacy of women in the high Qing that resulted in both legendary and real female authorship not only of poetry but of prose, including biography. See Ropp 2001; Chapter 7 by Grace Fong in this volume. 33. Guo 1954: 17–20.

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When the rebels took Beijing, Guo distinguished between heroes and villains. First among the heroes was Li Zicheng, who demonstrated the virtues of discipline, honesty, economy, closeness to the people, and even filial piety toward his parents. Li wisely spared the Ming princes who surrendered to the rebel Da Shun state and he enfeoffed the Ming heir apparent according to “the rituals of Qi and Song” 杞宋之禮, i.e., the practice of enfeoffing descendants of the previous regime to propitiate their ancestral spirits and win over their descendants. Li Zicheng also delayed his claim to be a new son of heaven to facilitate negotiations with the Ming commander Wu Sangui 吳三桂 (1612– 1678) with whom he was prepared to unite to resist the Qing. A second meritorious figure was Master Li 李公子, who tried to protect the Empress Yi’an 懿安 (d. 1644), who was from Xiangfu County 祥符縣 in Henan, and who had opposed the eunuch party. Li Yan also tried to persuade Liu Lishun 劉理 順 (1581–1644), the scholar from Qi County who had placed first 狀元 in the civil service examinations, not to commit suicide but to serve the Da Shun state.34 Li Yan also submitted a memorial containing four points: to clean out the palace to make room for Li Zicheng to ascend the throne; to treat former Ming officials according to their merits; to station troops outside the city walls; and to enfeoff Wu Sangui, his son, and the Ming heir apparent. If implemented, Guo thought, these policies would have enabled the Da Shun regime to succeed. The third honorable rebel leader was Song Xiance, who predicted the ascent of an eighteenth son/child (十八子, 孩兒), i.e., a man named Li 李, to the throne. In Guo’s view, Song rightly opposed the restoration of the examination system, the employment of Buddhist officials, and the excesses of rebel troops. In Guo’s eyes, the leading villain was the general Liu Zongmin, who scuttled the negotiations with Wu Sangui by seizing his favorite concubine, Chen Yuanyuan 陳圓圓. Liu also used torture to expropriate ex-­ Ming scholar-officials, and he allowed his troops to plunder the capital. Almost equally bad was the prime minister, Niu Jinxing, who worked to reinstitute the examination system, became jealous of Li Yan and Li Mou, and persuaded Li Zicheng to order their assassination. In Guo’s judgment, if Li Yan had been able to recover Henan, he could have turned the rebellion into a resistance movement against external invasion. To be sure, commoners who founded new states, such as Han Gaozu and Ming Taizu, often killed meritorious officials suspected of disloyalty. Even if Li Zicheng had succeeded in founding a Shun dynasty, the execution of men like Li Yan would have hap34. For more on the political roles of empresses, see Chapter 1 by George Zhao in this volume.

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pened sooner or later. Still, it was wrong for Li Zicheng to kill Li Yan simply because he was ambitious. In this sense, both Chongzhen and Niu Jinxing were traitors.35 The response to Guo’s essay was swift. On March 24, the last day of Guo’s serial articles, an anonymous writer in the Nationalist Central Daily News, charged Guo with defeatism in suggesting that the Republic, like the Ming, would succumb to internal and external challenges. On the contrary, the Republic had broken the cyclical nexus of internal chaos and external disaster. Republicans should therefore celebrate historical figures who opposed both kinds of adversaries. They included Xie An 謝安 (320–385) in the Eastern Jin, Yue Fei 岳飛 (1103–1142) in the Southern Song, and Shi Kefa 史可法 (1601–1645) in the Southern Ming. Historians should not single out “bandits like” Li Zicheng and Li Yan as models and shower them with excessive praise.36 Three weeks later, on April 12, Mao Zedong offered a different analysis in a document titled “Our Study and the Current Situation.” He wrote: “Several times in the history of our party we have shown excessive pride and have in every case suffered losses.” He mentioned four cases of “line struggle” in 1927, 1930, 1931, and 1938 and concluded: “Comrades of the entire party need to take these cases of overbearing pride and mistakes as warnings. Recently we printed Guo Moruo’s essay on Li Zicheng and we call on comrades to take it as a warning so as not to repeat mistakes flowing from hubris after victories.”37 Mao’s description of the four cases of conceit was vague and self-­ serving, but his interest in learning from the late Ming experience was serious and sincere. On April 21, Guo wrote to the American historian of China, John K. Fairbank, and responded to the anonymous attack in the Nationalist newspaper. Guo said that he had been engaged for some months in doing historical research for “a play about the farmers’ movements of which Li Zicheng was representative.” His plan for a play, however, had “encountered a blow” in the form of “an irrational and noisy attack” in the Central Daily. Guo wrote that the Nationalists claimed to favor democracy and protect freedom of speech but his essay had undergone inspection and precipitated a controversy. Guo promised that he would go to his home in the countryside and continue re35. Guo 1954: 20–30. 36. Jiang and Tao 1944. For Xie, see Anon. 1979: 209; for Yue, see Anon. 1979: 378–79 and Chapter 8 by Leo Shin in this book; for Shi Kefa see the biography by Tomoo Numata in Hummel 1943–1944: 651–52. 37. Mao 1967: III. 173–74, 178 n. 13; Mao 1991: 3. 947–48.

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search.38 Two months later, on June 7, 1944, the Political Bureau of the Central Propaganda Ministry pointed out the educational significance of Guo’s essay on 1644.39 On November 21, 1944, Mao, in Yan’an, wrote to Guo, in Chongqing, expressing his enthusiastic support. He began by announcing: “We have used your essay … as reading material in our rectification campaign.” He stated, “Your historical essays and plays are beneficial to the Chinese people, and we hope you will write more of them.” He then issued a general invitation: “If you see any mistakes or deficiencies, I hope you will inform us in a timely manner.” Mao ended by expressing the hope to meet with Guo someday.40 Here Mao seemed to be playing the role of the wise ruler who respected his scholar advisor and encouraged him to write freely on a variety of issues. Guo continued to conduct research, though apparently more in libraries than in the field. On February 12, 1946, he published a brief essay in Chongqing titled “Regarding Li Yan.” He stated frankly that he “had very great sympathy” for Li because he was “a provincial graduate but was willing to join up with Li Zicheng.” Guo acknowledged that Li Yan “was compelled to do so by corrupt officials and clerks,” but he added that he (Li) was “also intellectually prepared to make such a decision.” Guo was aware that only one early historian had recorded Li Yan’s call for equal-­fields 均田, but he argued that that only proved that Li Yan “was not just an ordinary person.” Guo described the Qianlong-­period anonymously authored Recent Record of Taowu’s report of the suicide of Li Xin’s wife née Tang 湯 as “very good material for a play or a novel” and concluded that it “probably had some basis in fact.”41 He insisted that even if it were fabricated, “it would still be very interesting material.” Guo noted that this source claimed that Li Yan and Hong Niangzi became husband and wife, but he acknowledged “there is no way of knowing Hong Niangzi’s later fate.” Guo reiterated that he wanted to write a play about Li and Hong but “felt some difficulties” because he would have to deal with “the entire context.” Although Guo’s precise meaning was unclear, he seemed to suggest that he would have to acknowledge Li Zicheng’s ultimate responsibility for listening to Niu Jinxing and authorizing him to have the Li brothers killed.42 Guo could be confident that Mao Zedong liked 38. Guo April 1944: 112–15. 39. Jiang and Tao 1944: 92–93. 40. Mao 2005: 27–28. 41. Anonymous Qianlong. 42. Guo 1946 in Guo 1954: 31–32; in Guo 1973: 33–34; and in Jiang and Tao 1944: 116–17.

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his essay of March 1944 celebrating the overthrow of the Ming dynasty. He could not be so sure how Mao would react to his more recent piece on Li Yan, which seemed to appraise him more highly than Li Zicheng. Guo could be even less certain how Mao would respond to a play that might treat Li Zicheng even more critically. A year and a half later, in July 1947, Guo again raised the issue of a play about Li Yan in a preface to a publication titled Historical Personalities. He noted that he “originally wanted to write a play about Li Yan but did not succeed.” He remarked, probably facetiously, that “several friends” had done so and thus saved him the trouble. But he still expressed “the hope that we should take some focal points with the power to command attention and put them into a tragic play about Li Yan.” He wrote that “We should regard this man not only as a master, elder brother, and scholar, but as the embodiment and enactor of the people’s thinking.” He concluded that “although some materials relating to him have fallen into oblivion, he should still have an eminent position in the history of thought.”43 Guo clearly realized there were problems in documenting Li Yan’s life, but he seemed to want to turn him into a moderately transcendent model whose thought and action could inspire people everywhere and for all times. During the civil war (1945–1949), Guo was one of many prominent “nonparty personalities” who attempted to mediate between the Nationalists and the Communists. With the establishment of the People’s Republic in 1949, he became a leading public intellectual. Among his many activities and posts, he participated in cultural delegations to foreign countries, became president of the Chinese Academy of Sciences, headed the History Institute of the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, and edited the leading history journal in the People’s Republic, Historical Research 歷史研究. In 1958 he publicly reactivated his Communist Party membership, which had lapsed after 1927. Because of his broad interests stretching from poetry to science, two American biographers called him, with some hyperbole, “the closest thing to a Renaissance man that China has produced in this century.”44 Although Guo disavowed it, he was also to some extent a Li Yan–like advisor to Mao Zedong.45 Guo had met Mao in 1926 and had exchanged po-

43. Feng 2008: 188. 44. Klein and Clark 1971: 461–65. 45.Guo claimed instead that he was the embodiment of Cai Wenyi 蔡文姬, a woman poet of the late Han. Cai happened to hail from Qi County. Cihai bianji weiyuan hui 1985: 610; Gu 2005: 120–43.

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etry with him since 1940.46 Mao’s enthusiastic reception of Guo’s essay on Li Zicheng in 1944 was the beginning of a close personal friendship.47 That relationship enabled Guo to serve as an establishment intellectual while also flying above several dangerous political movements that took the lives of some of his friends.48 Guo owed his relative success to his flexibility (some would say opportunism) in navigating treacherous political waters.49 For example, during the Cultural Revolution, Guo tempered his attitude toward Li Yan from “very great sympathy” 很大的同情 in 1946 and 1954 to “a certain sympathy” 一定的同情 in 1972.50 According to one of his sons, Guo Moruo later “publicly spoke out and privately told us more than once: ‘I deeply regret that at the beginning I did not write up the Li Yan and Hong Niangzi story as a play.’  ”51 Here, in retrospect, Guo seemed to confide that his failure to write the envisioned play about the tragedy of Li Yan owed something to his concern that any adequate drama would risk making Li Yan into a hero and Li Zicheng into a villain. Guo could hardly have been more explicit in acknowledging that the main lesson he had drawn from the Li Yan story was not so much the general one stressed by Mao (to avoid conceit) or the specific one of importance to Guo (to avoid killing subordinates), but the more cynical one (to avoid confronting the leader if one wished to have a long life). In short, Guo regretted that he had not lived up to the model of the courageous scholar rebel advisor he had depicted Li Yan as being. While Guo Moruo continued to agonize over how to present the Li Yan story on stage, on November 12, 1944, Zhang Aiping 張愛萍 (1910–2003), commander of the Eighth Brigade of the Third Division of the New Fourth Army, had invited playwrights to help prepare the troops for entering the cities.52 In the next few years, no fewer than four scholars responded to the call by writing plays focused on the Li Yan story with a particular emphasis on Hong Niangzi. The first to respond may have been Li Yimang 李一氓 (1903–1990), an

46. Gu 2005: ch. 10. 47. Ibid., 155. 48. Ibid., chs. 5, 6, 7, 12. 49. Guo survived the Cultural Revolution but not all of his family members were so fortunate. Gu 2005: ch. 13. 50. Guo 1946 in Guo 1954: 31; Guo 1973: 33. 51. Feng 2008: 184, 190. 52. A 1993: 557–65.

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early member of the Communist Party and an old friend of Guo Moruo’s.53 In 1945 Li wrote a historical opera titled Nine Palace Mountain, named after the place where Li Zicheng died in 1645. The play dropped Li Yan’s original name Xin, his link to Li Jingbai, and his kidnapping by Hong Niangzi. Instead it explained Li Yan’s imprisonment as a result simply of his distribution of grain to the famished population and the magistrate’s suspicion that he was seeking popular support for a rebellion. Li Yan had previously provided assistance to Hong Niangzi to give her deceased father a proper burial, and she now came to his rescue out of gratitude for that help. She gained access to the prison with the collusion of a friend of her father’s who worked there as a guard, and she left it to her followers to kill the magistrate. Li Yan was worried about the legal implications of that action and asked Hong for her advice. She replied that she did not care as long as he would agree to marry her. Li Yan refused on the grounds that their backgrounds were too different. Hong reacted by cutting her throat. In the manner of the gentle hero, Li Yan broke into tears, but he soon regained control and went off to join Li Zicheng’s rebellion. He encouraged other rebel leaders to learn from the experiences of their predecessors in the Han period. But he and his brother did not avoid the fate of a model advisor in the early Ming when they were finally poisoned by Niu Jinxing.54 The second writer to put the story of Li Yan on stage was A Ying 阿英 (1900–1977) from Wuhu County 蕪湖縣 in Anhui Province. A began writing in the May 4th Movement, joined the Communist Party in 1926, was a member of the League of Left-­Wing Writers in the 1930s, and did united front work in journalism in the New Fourth Army in the 1940s.55 In March 1945 he completed his melodrama titled Dashing Prince Li.56 The play opened with a scene at Ningwu 寧武 pass in Shanxi in March 1644, with Li Yan worrying about what would happen when the rebel troops 53. Klein and Clark 1971: 506–9. 54. Li 1949: 1–7, 10, 13, 75–82. For the model gentle hero, see Liu Bei 劉備 (162–223) at the end of the Han. Ruhlmann 1960: 158. Li was probably aware that Ming Taizu and his minister Hu Weiyong 胡惟庸 (d. 1380) were said to have used poison to kill the model advisor Liu Ji 劉基 (1311–1375). Chan 1968: 38. In a unique comment on an existing play, Guo criticized Li’s conclusion (including Hong Niangzi’s suicide) as “too pat.” Feng 2008: 186. 55. A Ying in Wikipedia, accessed on February 22, 2016. 56. A 1963: 557–65. The play was printed by two different presses in 1946 and again in 1949 and 1955. I have not seen the 1946 and 1949 editions and I use the 1955 edition here.

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left the countryside and occupied Beijing.57 To lighten the discussion and perhaps to signal Li Yan’s joking relationship with Song Xiance, A Ying had Song make fun of Li Yan for failing to requite Hong Niangzi’s love.58 When the rebels took Beijing, playwright A Ying developed the rebel officer Luo Hu 羅虎 (lit. Tiger Luo) and had him rape a palace maiden named Fei Zhen’e 費真娥 (lit. True Beauty Fei). When a rebel witness reported the incident to Li Yan, he promised to investigate, but, in the end, Fei took matters into her own hands. She got Luo drunk and killed him before taking her own life.59 Li Yan’s younger brother, Li Mou, similarly tried to protect Wu Sangui’s concubine, Chen Yuanyuan, from Liu Zongmin’s attentions, but he was unable to do so because his troops were stationed outside the wall.60 When Li Yan asked Liu Zongmin not to punish people who complained about rebel abuses, Liu refused and complained about Li Yan’s constant criticism of other rebel leaders including Li Zicheng.61 When Li Yan heard from Li Mou that Wu Sangui had not yet decided how to deal with the Manchus, Li Yan proposed that Wu Sangui’s father, Wu Xiang 吳鑲 (d. 1644), and his concubine, Chen Yuanyuan, be sent to Wu Sangui to win him over. Niu Jinxing argued that Wu had already made up his mind to suppress the rebels and Li Yan’s proposal was motivated only by a desire to get Liu’s troops out of the city.62 When public opinion began to turn against the rebels, Niu Jinxing and Li Zicheng blamed Li Yan for lacking any coherent plan of his own. Niu even persuaded Li Zicheng that Li Yan was criticizing the Sage Ruler (Li Zicheng) for the decline in popular support for the rebels. It was at this point that Li Zicheng first declared that Li Yan had to be eliminated.63 Unlike previous writers, A Ying had Song Xiance announce the arrest of the Da Shun magistrates in Henan and urge Li Zicheng to send Li Yan to deal with it. Niu Jinxing opposed sending Li Yan on the grounds that he would recruit local bravos and establish his own authority in the province. When Li Zicheng doubted there would be a problem, Niu mentioned the possibility that Li Yan could use Song Xiance’s prophecy about the eighteenth child to take the throne for himself. He pointed to the example of Sima Zhao 司馬昭 (211– 57. A 1955: 7, 15–16. 58. Ibid., 19–20. 59. Ibid., 63–73. 60. Ibid., 75–77. 61. Ibid., 97–101. 62. Ibid., 110–16. 63. Ibid., 162–65.

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265 ce), a general who first served the Wei state and then gradually replaced it, enabling his son Sima Yan 司馬炎 to found the Western Jin 晉 in 265 ce. Struck by the analogy, Li Zicheng ordered Niu to do what he clearly wished to do, i.e., kill Li Yan and Li Mou.64 When informed of Li Zicheng’s decision, Li Yan made a spirited and comprehensive defense of his role and demanded to meet with the leader face to face. His demand was refused and Li Zicheng mocked Li Yan at a distance for trying to benefit from the eighteenth-­son prophecy.65 A Ying concluded his play by using three monks to appraise the six main characters. They suggested that Niu Jinxing was like the bad last minister of the Shang dynasty and they “wanted everyone to remember the Zhi General 制將軍 Li Yan forever … including all his words and actions on behalf of the people.”66 Like Guo Moruo, A Ying seemed to want to turn the deceased Li Yan into a model advisor despite the lack of any text by his hand.67 In October 1944, another well-­k nown writer, Ma Shaobo 馬少波 (1918– 2009), also tried to immortalize Li Yan’s words and actions in a Beijing opera titled The Dashing Prince Enters the Capital. It was first performed in a Communist base area in Shandong Province in 1944, and it was published a year later in the same place. Ma for the first time gave Hong Niangzi an original home, Yifeng Subprefecture 義封廳, in Kaifeng Prefecture, and supplied her with a subordinate, Zhou Guangde 周廣德 (lit. Broad Virtue Zhou).68 The opera began in spring 1642 with Zhou Guangde telling Niu Jinxing at the base of Yifeng mountain that Hong Niangzi had rescued Li Xin from jail, married him, and gone with him to join Li Zicheng. At Hong’s fort in the mountains, Li Xin and Hong Niangzi openly expressed their affection for each other, and together sang arias to persuade Niu Jinxing to join them in supporting Li Zicheng.69 With the support of Hong Niangzi, Li Yan persuaded Li Zicheng to go west to Xi’an, rather than south to Nanjing as proposed by Niu Jinxing, or directly north to Beijing as proposed by Liu Zongmin. Later that spring at Li Zicheng’s fort in a suburb of Xi’an, the longtime friends Li Zicheng and Liu Zongmin called themselves great princes 大王 and extended 64. Ibid., 166–68. 65. Ibid., 169–75. 66. Ibid., 198–99. 67. For the importance of texts in establishing the authority of advisors in Chinese history, see Chan 1968: 36, 42, 43, 46, 47, 48. 68. Ma 1980: 11–12. 69. Ibid., 13–19.

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the title to the three new recruits.70 Li Zicheng changed Li Xin’s name to Yan 岩, “to represent his steadfastness.”71 Regarding political strategy, Li Yan cited an ancient adage: “Those who accord with the people flourish, those who oppose the people perish.” Perhaps this was meant to explain why the rebels adopted the name Great Accord 大同 for their new polity. When asked if the rebellion would succeed, the diviner Song Xiance hedged his bets, replying that “if Li Zicheng followed the people’s hearts and minds,” he might realize the prophecy that an eighteenth son would take the throne.72 In acts 4 and 5 set in Shanxi, Ma contrasted Liu Zongmin’s suspicious treatment of residents of a county with Li Yan’s warm attitude toward the people of the prefecture.73 In Beijing, Li Zicheng at first followed Li Yan’s advice and ordered his subordinates not to harm the common people. Li Mou reported on the deaths of Chongzhen and Tiger Luo and tried to protect Wu Xiang and Chen Yuanyuan.74 But Liu Zongmin boasted about having spent the night with a beautiful woman (Chen Yuanyuan) and rejected Li Mou’s suggestion that he might end up like Tiger Luo (i.e., killed by the woman he had violated).75 Niu Jinxing meanwhile criticized Li Yan’s concerns for the empress Yi’an and the scholar Liu Lishun as private sentiments at odds with the public interest. Hong Niangzi, Li Yan, and Li Zicheng engaged in a war of arias over how to maintain the people’s trust and win the allegiance of Wu Sangui.76 After Wu sided with the Qing against the rebels, Li Zicheng retreated from Beijing to Xi’an, and Li Yan and Hong Niangzi accompanied him. Ma Shaobo had Li Yan report to Li Zicheng on the expulsion of Shun magistrates from Henan and he had Niu Jinxing get Li Yan and Li Mou drunk before he killed them. To avenge the death of Li Yan and Li Mou, Liu Zongmin wanted to kill Niu Jinxing. Hong Niangzi stopped him, arguing that there was enough blame for the death of the Li brothers to go around. She wanted to take their remains back to Henan for burial, but she was captured and killed by Qing forces. Liu Zongmin committed suicide, Song Xiance fled to the mountains, and Niu Jinxing surrendered to the Qing. Li Zicheng acknowledged that he had lost the mandate to rule, and Zhou Guangde rejoined that he would have 70. Ibid., 20–22. 71. Ibid., 23–24. 72. Ibid., 25–31. 73. Ibid., 32–35. 74. Ibid., 32–37. 75. Ibid., 40–44. 76. Ibid., 45–51.

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succeeded if he had followed Li Yan’s advice. Both men were then captured by the Qing and put to death.77 In his October 1945 preface to the published edition of the opera, Ma Shaobo reported that it had been performed in over sixty venues, stretching from the Resist Japan University to rural villages. He expressed the hope that the play had driven home the lessons of the rise and fall of Li Zicheng’s rebellion.78 Li Yan was generally portrayed in history and literature as acting on behalf of the people, raising the question of how “the people” thought and acted under rebel authority. In the late 1940s, three relatively obscure writers, Wu Tianshi 吳天石 (1910–1966), Xia Zhengnong 夏征農 (1904–2008), and Shen Ximeng 沈西蒙 (1919–2006), wrote another play, titled Record of Jiashen, which attempted to answer that question. In a brief preface, they cited the theme of “excessive pride and underestimation of the enemy” that Mao had emphasized.79 They focused on the usual suspects and added quite a few (fictive) commoners who served as objects of the rebel leaders’ actions and as subjects able to comment on those actions. The play opens in October 1640 in the Qi County jail with three commoner prisoners who are singing Li Yan’s “Song to Encourage Relief.” They refer to Master Li as a good man and consider what the world would be like if all wealthy landowners followed his good example. They agree that it would produce an era of “great peace and equality” 太平, but they do not expect it to come soon. In Xu Wencai’s 徐文彩 words: “The known world is really not fair, and, not being fair, it cannot have great peace and equality.”80 When the newly arrived inmate, Li Yan, joins the conversation, he points out that all three men are innocent compared with officials and elite families who are refusing to suspend taxes and provide relief during the famine. Li Yan also acknowledges that he is receiving better treatment than they are because he is a reader of books 念書人.81 Hong Niangzi is arguably the most important person in the first act, but she does not appear in person. We learn about her views and activities only from others. Li Yan says the officials claim they are suppressing banditry but in fact they are forcing people like Hong Niangzi to rebel. In an allusion to Li Yan’s flight from Hong’s camp, commoner Zhang Zhengcai 張正才 wonders 77. Ibid., 52–74. 78. Ibid., 75–76. 79. Wu, Xia, and Xi 1950: benshi. 80. Ibid., 3. 81. Ibid., 7.

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aloud if he (Zhang) would have joined Hong before being arrested and jailed by the magistrate. Commoner Wang Xianlong 王獻隆 boldly asked why Li Yan had not agreed to marry Hong Niangzi after being kidnapped by her, but there was no reply. Commoner Xu only commented that Hong was a “good woman” 好人 and sighed. Hearing that Hong might be sending someone to penetrate the jail, the jailer demanded that Li Yan help to disperse the crowd that had formed at the gate to the magistrate’s office. He promised that Li Yan would be rewarded as a “meritorious official” 功臣 if he cooperated, but Li Yan refused.82 Soon Hong Niangzi was rumored to have entered the city. In the chaos that followed, Li Yan led his fellow inmates out of the prison and the magistrate was killed. Li Mou arrived and told Li Yan that Hong Niangzi was at his home waiting to see him. Li Yan said, “Very well,” but, instead of going home, he rushed off to “help Li Zicheng rise up to save the common people of the central plain from deep water and scorching fire.”83 In the third act, as the rebels closed in on Tongguan, Li Yan continued to show his concern for public opinion and the views of the masses. He congratulated a former fellow commoner inmate for learning how to deal with the even more plebian victims of famine who were joining the rebellion.84 He reassured local elders that he would consult with them on policies, and he inquired into people’s views of Li Zicheng.85 He encouraged Liu Zongmin to establish a base for military operations, warned Niu Jinxing not to become overconfident, and called on all his colleagues to take Li Zicheng’s sober lifestyle as a model to be emulated.86 In act 5 in Beijing, Li Yan focused on promoting measures to win over Wu Sangui but was unsuccessful on every count.87 He joined the rebel retreat from Beijing but vowed that he would continue to resist the Qing.88 More notable than what the authors included in their final chapters was what they excluded. Unlike most previous accounts that had Hong Niangzi 82. Ibid., 9–14. 83. Ibid., 14. Do we hear here an echo of Gao Juehui’s insouciance regarding the servant-­girl Mingfeng (who is in love with him) in his quest to save the world as depicted in Ba Jin’s novel Family, which took China by storm in the 1930s? See Stapleton 2016: ch. 1. 84. Wu, Xia, and Xi 1950: 54–55. 85. Ibid., 57, 62. 86. Ibid., 79–80. 87. Ibid., 103. 88. Ibid., 121–32.

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commit suicide or join Li Zicheng’s rebellion, sometimes playing an important role in it, this play offered no clue to her ultimate fate. Similarly, unlike all previous accounts that had Li Yan and Li Mou assassinated at the hands of Niu Jinxing and Li Zicheng, this play made no reference to the brothers’ final destiny. The authors probably felt that the absence of any reliable information made it difficult to imagine Hong Niangzi’s later activities. Li Yan was probably murdered by Li Zicheng, but the authors, like Guo Moruo before them, may have felt that, in 1950, discretion was the better part of valor in handling a case of a scholar advisor executed by a rebel leader. In any case, the authors ended their narrative with musical scores for several new songs celebrating the rebels’ achievements. They were apparently more interested in embedding the Li Yan story in popular culture than in scoring points in elite politics.89 While playwrights willing to take the risk had a field day with the Li Yan–­ Hong Niangzi story in the last years of the Republic, at least one historian continued efforts to verify its authenticity. Zhao Zongfu had acknowledged that there was no evidence that Li Yan had a provincial degree and Guo Moruo characterized some of the sources he used as unreliable, but both of those public intellectuals accepted Li Yan as a model historical personality and Hong Niangzi as a valuable literary construct. In 1948 a professional historian, Li Wenzhi 李文治 (1909–1996?), published a carefully researched monograph titled Popular Uprisings of the Late Ming.90 It accepted most of the standard Li Yan story but rejected the claim that Li Xin rallied to Li Zicheng in 1638. It suggested instead that Hong Niangzi led a White Lotus attack on Qi County and kidnapped Li Xin in that year.91 At the same time, the figure of Hong Niangzi inspired some women (and/ or men) in the late Republic to follow her example. On January 31, 1948, five thousand cabaret girls marched on the Guomindang government’s Bureau of Social Affairs in Shanghai to protest a government decision to shut down twenty-­nine dance halls. When the demonstrators failed to get a meeting with the bureau director, they trashed the building. Police suppressed the rioters, injuring more than seventy. They launched an investigation into Communist involvement and made special efforts to locate “a woman in a red dress” 紅衣 女郎 who was described by journalists as having demonstrated an exceptional command of martial arts during the assault on the bureau. No such woman could be found among the more than seven hundred who were arrested, and the many participants who were brought to trial vehemently de89. Ibid., 133–43. 90. Li 1948: 103. 91. Ibid., 104, 145 n. 23.

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nied any radical connections.”92 Two days later, the Shanghai police suppressed a strike by workers, who were largely female, at the Shen Xin Number Nine cotton mill. More than a thousand military police forced the strikers out of the factory, injuring more than a hundred and killing three. Once again the government “launched a determined but fruitless search for a ‘woman in red dress’ who allegedly had directed the workers offensive.” In this case the woman may actually have existed and her name may have been Qi Huaiqiong, but the characters of her name are unknown. When her coworkers learned that the police were looking for her, they helped her change her clothes so as to escape detection. Some accounts say the person in red was actually a man.93 Communist or not, female or not, this figure suggests that the model of Hong Niangzi existed in late Republican popular culture. It may have survived independently, or, more likely, as a result of the interplay of written and oral accounts in the 1940s.

II. FLOURISHING OF THE STORY IN THE EARLY PEOPLE’S REPUBLIC In 1962 the professional historian, Xie Guozhen 謝國楨 (1901–1982), writing under the brush name Gang Zhu 剛主, published an article in the scholarly journal Scholastic Monthly raising the issue of Li Yan’s and Hong Niangzi’s historicity.94 Xie was a widely respected authority on the Ming– Qing transition and particularly on the myriad informal histories relating to that period.95 He was also from Anyang 安陽, in north Henan Province, and may have had a particular interest in Li Yan and Hong Niangzi as fellow provincials. He was aware that some previous writers had denied the existence of any scholar named Li Yan from Qi County in Li Zicheng’s rebel army. Xie himself doubted that the slogans favoring “humaneness and justice” and “equalization of land” were produced just by Li Yan. In Xie’s view, they were common ideals that could have been invoked by anyone at anytime. But Xie noted that Li Yan’s activities in the central plain were widely noted by contemporaries in the north and south. He argued that “we cannot say there was no such person” because “that would be using one hand to cover the eyes and ears of everyone.”96 92. Perry 1993: 124. 93. Ibid., 125. 94. Xie 1962. 95. Xie 1931. 96. Ibid., 58.

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In defense of Li Yan’s historicity, Xie mounted a direct assault on the private historian Zheng Lian’s 鄭廉 (1628–1701) credibility. He said Zheng ignored the fact that many people who joined rebellions changed their names or used nicknames, making them difficult to identify. As a scholarly member of the ruling class, Zheng was afraid that acknowledging the existence of Li Yan, who “married a rope artist” and “followed bandits,” would cause the loyal county of Qi to suffer an “irradicable calumny.” Zheng dismissed sources that contained the Li Yan story for engaging in “street talk and alley gossip,” ignoring the fact that his own account did the same thing. Finally, Xie argued that Zheng Lian himself had lived among the bandits and was embarrassed to discuss other intellectuals who had done the same.97 In sum, Xie concluded, Zheng denied Li Yan’s existence, but we can just as easily affirm it. Xie then turned to the matter of Hong Niangzi. He believed Hong first appeared in a “relatively reliable” early Qing text and was entered into the Ming History.98 Xie acknowledged that “materials regarding the story of Hong Niangzi’s knight errantry were not numerous,” but related “rumors spread very widely and she had participated in” several uprisings. Xie noted that sources recorded that “roving bandits attacked Qi County” in 1635 and a “White Lotus sorcerer attacked Qi” in 1638. Xie asked rhetorically: “How do we know that Hong Niangzi was not in” those revolts; “How do we know she was not the sorcerer herself?”99 As for Hong’s followers, Xie thought they would be like those of a “diviner” 卦子 named Chen Si 陳四 who headed a group of more than one hundred circus performers, including women and children, who traveled from Taiyuan 太原 to many different parts of China in 1701. Such groups were generally welcomed in the increasingly commercial society of the time. In 1708, however, Chen’s troupe came under suspicion at Kangxi’s 康熙 (r. 1661–1722) court as migrants, rebels, or even Ming loyalists. As a result, Chen was executed and his followers were sent into exile in Heilongjiang, where they became slaves of the military.100 As for Hong Niangzi, Xie wrote: The heroic female performer … distanced herself from the restrictions of the feudal teachings of the rites, escaped from the hardships of travel and 97. Ibid., 58. 98. See Wu 1969; Dai and Wu 1680s; and Tu Lien-­che’s biography of Mao in Hummel 1943: 563–65. 99. Xie 1962: 60. 100. Ibid.

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Xie stopped short of claiming that Hong was as real (or as individual) a historical person (or persons) as Li Yan, but he argued that her story was of some historical significance because it revealed the life (or lives) of an important group of people and the challenges they faced under—as well as the threats they posed to—the Ming–Qing establishment.102 Two years later, in 1964, Cao Guilin 曹貴林, a senior researcher in the History Institute of the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences in Beijing, published a major essay, “An Account of Li Yan,” which appeared in China’s leading history journal. Cao recognized that the Qi gazetteer and Shangqiu informal history denied that there was any provincial graduate from Qi by that name who played an important role in Li Zicheng’s rebellion. But, Cao argued, there were so many sources that included him, “It is difficult to deny his existence.”103 The gazetteer of Qi might have excluded him because he joined the farmers’ army, but his effort to protect Liu Lishun, the first-­place metropolitan graduate from Qi, was evidence, Cao thought, that Li Yan was from that county.104 Li Yan was not the son of Li Jingbai, but historians may have “drawn on the career of Li Jingbai’s son, Li Xu (李栩) to add militia work to Li Yan’s biography.”105 There were questions about what degree Li Yan held, if any; but there could be no question that “he was a feudal intellectual.”106 Cao doubted that the eighteenth-­son uprising in Qi County in 1638 was connected to the activities of Hong Niangzi, but he suggested that the appearance of Red Turban rebels in Henan in November 1640 and the appearance of rebels dressed in red at Liu Lishun’s house in Beijing “may help us to understand the relationship between Hong Niangzi and Li Yan.”107 101. Ibid., 61. 102. Xie seemed to suggest that there were several people operating under the generic title Hong Niangzi at the end of the Ming. That is close to a recent and well-­ informed understanding of Robin Hood in Europe. See Knight 2003. 103. Cao 1964: 154, n. 2. 104. Ibid., 153, 154, n. 6. 105. Ibid., 155 n. 1. 106. Ibid., 154. 107. Ibid., 156 n. 8, 9.

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Cao noted that many of Li Yan’s proposed policies were similar to those of reform-­minded scholar-officials at the end of the Ming.108 These policies appealed to the general population that was suffering from inequality in landholding and increases in land taxes. Cao disagreed with the view that the slogans to reduce taxes and equalize landholding were merely empty promises designed to get farming people’s support.109 Li Yan’s call for eliminating oppression and providing relief encouraged popular attacks on landlord bullies and corrupt officials. His concern for military discipline was reflected in slogans like “Killing a man is like killing my father, raping a woman is like raping my mother.” His policy of “respecting meritorious scholars” won the support of many upright scholar-officials while sanctioning attacks on corrupt members of the feudal elite.110 Each one of Li Yan’s four points had positive as well as negative features.111 With respect to Li Yan’s death at the hands of Niu Jinxing, Cao clearly sided with Li against Niu. Li Yan wanted to go home to restore Shun authority there, not to create a separate rebel regime let alone to betray the rebellion and revive the Ming. A rebel state located in the heart of the central plain would have been in a stronger position to resist the Qing established in Beijing and the Ming holding on in Nanjing. As for Niu Jinxing, he had been jailed and stripped of his degree before joining Li Zicheng’s rebellion. He had brought little to the rebellion and had become jealous of Li Yan, who was popular with the rebels and the people. Niu was a careerist who joined the rebellion to get wealth and power while Li Yan “was an important revolutionary in Li Zicheng’s farmers’ army.”112 In the debate over the basis of revolutionary authority, Cao clearly favored political ideology over social origins. In his eyes, Li Yan was a shining example of a person who transcended his upper-­class origins to serve the interests of the majority of the people. Cao Guilin no sooner published his article appraising Li Yan than the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution began. The revolution was, among many other things, a debate between Party Chairman Mao Zedong and State Chairman Liu Shaoqi over the relative importance of class struggle versus economic development in constructing socialism. In 1965 differences over how to evaluate Li Yan appeared in the pages of the Literary Gazette in

108. Ibid., 157, n. 2, 3. 109. Ibid., 157–60. 110. Ibid., 162–64. 111. Ibid., 165–67. 112. Ibid., 168–72.

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Shanghai.113 In June, Yang Kuan 楊寬 (1914–2005), a noted authority on early Chinese history at Fudan 復旦 University, initiated the discussion. He argued that “Li Yan’s biggest failing was that he was unable to escape from the bonds of feudal thought, his standpoint was not firm, his struggle was not decisive, and there was a divergence between his views and those of other generals in the farmers’ army.”114 Li Yan held a local military title and depended on wealthy families to provide relief. He became alienated only because his family was in disrepute, he was kidnapped by Hong Niangzi, and he was jailed by the Ming magistrate.115 He must have won some battles to be named a Zhi general and his ballads were pitched to children, but he and his brother Li Mou looked down on the commoner rebels including Li Zicheng.116 His call to have only judicial experts categorize former Ming officials would have put the authority in the hands of a former Ming official, his effort to protect the empress and the optimus revealed his excessive lenience toward elites, and his proposal to negotiate with Wu Sangui was a case of too little too late. Li Yan’s project to lead troops to Henan, on the other hand, was a sincere effort to try to save the Shun state and not a plot to establish a separate regime.117 In July, a younger historian, Fan Shuzhi 樊樹志 (1937–), argued that a landlord-intellectual could not transform himself into a farmer-revolutionary. Li Yan’s proposals would have ended expropriation of former Ming officials, while Liu Zongmin’s expropriations were a forceful attack on the authority of the landlord class. The effort to have Li Zicheng become the august lord would have turned him into a founding ruler in the manner of Zhu Yuanzhang 朱元璋 (1328–1398). Unlike the rebel Li Mi 李密 (582–618) who joined a rebellion against the Sui in good faith, Li Yan joined the rebellion against the Ming with the idea of molding it to his own liking. If Li Zicheng had become the new august lord, Li Yan would have become a “meritorious founding official” like Li Shanchang 李善長 (1314–1390). Li Shanchang had been so besieged by his critics that he ultimately felt compelled to commit suicide.118 In August, historians Liu Jingcheng 劉精誠 (1936–) and Zhao Keyao 趙克堯 (1939–2000) described Li Yan as a landlord-­reformer and Niu Jinxing as a 113. The resulting essays were later published in book form in Hong Kong. Yang et al. 1968. I use that edition here. 114. Ibid., 3. 115. Ibid., 4–6. 116. Ibid., 7–10. 117. Ibid., 11–14. 118. Ibid., 57–65. See Romeyn Taylor’s biography of Li in Goodrich and Fang 1976: 850–54.

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scheming opportunist. They argued that no one can change his or her class stand in one fell swoop, but, unlike a whole class, one could do so gradually and temporarily.119 Li Yan contributed to the effort of the farmers’ army to overthrow the Ming, but he also diluted the social impact of the movement. His opposition to sending a large army against Wu Sangui stopped the revolution in the middle. His “respect for the meritorious” and his “courtesy to scholars” brought landlords into the farmers’ army and helped insure its demise.120 In September, two more senior writers, Yuan Dingzhong 袁定中 (1923–1991) and Luo Ming 羅明 (1909–1987), reiterated that Li Yan’s slogan to “act humanely and justly to win the people’s hearts and minds” had been used by Li Shanchang in the early Ming, with mixed results. The late Ming rebel leaders used the slogan of tolerance to protect the interests of the landlord class, whereas the common people would have been tolerant only of commoners.121 In Beijing, Li Yan made no mention of equalizing landholding, signaling that he thought the revolution was coming to an end. Li Zicheng’s acceptance of Niu Jinxing’s interpretation of Li Yan’s proposal to go to Henan and his approval of the assassination of Li Yan and Li Mou were unfortunate, but they merely accelerated the decline of the Shun regime and did not cause it.122 In October 1965, Cao Guilin responded. He insisted that, under pressure from the people, Li Yan shifted from a policy of “reform” to one of “revolution,” and he wanted Li Zicheng to become a “master duke” 主公 who would “painfully change long established bad practices.” In Cao’s words, “Da Shun authority was established according to the ‘Li Tang system’ 李唐制度 and the ‘Canon of Shun’ 舜典 on the foundations of a ‘reformed’ Ming dynasty system.”123 In sum, during the four years in which Li Yan participated in the farmer’s revolution, he always followed Li Zicheng, upheld the revolutionary struggle against feudalism, and never betrayed the interests of the farming masses or inflicted damage on the farmers’ revolution.124 In stressing Li Yan’s loyalty to Li Zicheng, Cao may have been alluding to his understanding of the relationship between Liu Shaoqi and Mao Zedong, which soon burst into open conflict and resulted in Liu’s death in prison in Henan. Parallels between the late Ming and the People’s Republic during the Cultural Revolution 119. Ibid., 29–32. 120. Ibid., 33–37. 121. Ibid., 45–48. 122. Ibid., 49–55. 123. Ibid., 17–24. 124. Ibid., 25–28.

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were even clearer in another article Cao wrote with two of his associates a decade later.125 While historians wrestled with the authenticity and significance of the story of Li Yan and Hong Niangzi, a novelist approached the story from a different perspective. Yao Xueyin 姚雪垠 (1910–1999) was born in Yaoyingzhai 姚營寨, a village located in Deng County 鄧縣, in Nanyang Prefecture 南陽府, in south Henan. From 1929 to 1949, he studied at Henan University and in the Beiping library. He was expelled from the university and joined the Communist Party. He worked in the underground at a base in southeast Henan and wrote six novels. He planned to write a trilogy on rural life before, during, and after liberation. After publishing one volume and being labeled a “rightist,” however, he decided instead to write a novel about the rise and fall of Li Zicheng.126 Yao published the first fascicle in 1963 and it was well received, but he had trouble writing the second fascicle during the Cultural Revolution. Eventually, through some unknown arrangement, Mao Zedong instructed the party committee of Wuhan to enable Yao to continue to write his projected five-­fascicle novel. Yao completed the second fascicle, consisting of three volumes in 1973.127 In 1975 Yao continued to encounter local opposition in Hubei to the publication of the second fascicle. He appealed to Mao, who again extended his blessing to the project.128 Yao moved to Beijing and published the second fascicle (in three volumes) in 1976. A revised version of the first fascicle (in two volumes) was published in 1977.129 In his preface to the first volume of the first fascicle published in 1977, Yao described his general approach to the project. He stated that, in a historical novel, “one must go deeply into history” in pursuit of “historical science” and then “come out of history … to conform to the mandate of literature.” In the process one can use rumors and even nonexistent events if they are plausible, consistent with known phenomena, and in accord with the principles of “revolutionary realism” and “revolutionary romanticism.”130 Particular personalities must be seen in the context of their time. Thus “Li Zicheng was an out125. Cao, Shen, and He 1976. 126. Lü, Xu, and Li 1998: 3–28. 127. Ibid., 27–28; Guanyu changbian lishi xiaoshuo Li Zicheng benshe 1979: 41–42. 128. Lü, Xu, and Li 1998: 31. 129. Ibid., 32–33; Yao 1970–1990: juan 1, ce shang, 1–3; Yao 1977: 1–2. 130. Yao 1977: 1.7–9.

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standing hero who led a farmer’s uprising in a feudal society, but he was not a transcendent figure.”131 Regarding Li Yan, Yao wrote: There are still many unresolved questions about his origins and background. It is very possible that he was not a man of Qi and not the son of Li Jingbai. As for Hong Niangzi’s attacking Qi County and saving him from jail, we can say for sure that there was no such event. In fact, the Hong Niangzi who appears in the informal histories may never have existed. In this novel, I have based his background and Hong Niangzi’s rescuing him from jail on unreliable rumors and have placed the question of truth and falsity to one side. My goal is to mold Li Xin and Hong Niangzi into two representative novelistic characters, and the relevant questions are not whether Li Xin was a man of Qi County or whether he was saved from jail by Hong Niangzi, but, rather, there being this man Li Xin in the Da Shun army, how should we finally evaluate this kind of historical personality.132

Yao argued that literati observers had idealized the elite Li Yan to disparage the commoner Li Zicheng and had made fun of the swordswoman Hong Niangzi by having her kidnap Li Yan.133 Here we have the irony that it was a creative novelist, not a professional historian, who was the first twentieth-­ century observer to resurrect and publish doubts about Li Yan’s identity and Hong Niangzi’s existence. This may have been easier because Mao died in 1976, but Guo Moruo lived on until 1978. Yao Xueyin not only called into question Guo’s essay on Li Yan but sent him a note citing what he called a “Western aphorism,” “I love my teacher, but I love truth more.”134 Of course the irony was compounded because after raising big questions about Li Yan’s and Hong Niangzi’s historicity, Yao went on to make them central to his historical novel. And the “truth,” in this case, remained as elusive as ever. Meanwhile, in the third volume of the second fascicle published in 1976, Yao had provided his own account of the Li Yan–Hong Niangzi tale. He basically accepted the standard story, adding and subtracting details to enhance its verisimilitude. Like his predecessors, he also seemed at times to identify with the scholar advisor to the rebel leader. He depicted Li Xin’s family as wealthy and powerful, but he refrained from naming his father Li Jingbai, 131. Ibid., 1.20. 132. Ibid., 1.24. Emphasis added to Yao’s key assumption. 133. Ibid., 1.25–26. 134. Ibid., 1, in Guanyu changbian lishi xiaoshuo Li Zicheng benshe 1979: 45. See also Yao 1980: 214–39.

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Figure 1. Hong Niangzi rescuing Li Xin (Yao 1976: 2 xia between 950 and 951). Image courtesy of family of Yao Xueyin. Used with permission.

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probably for lack of evidence. Yao placed Li Yan’s residence in a generic Li Family Stockade 李家寨, a seeming echo of the name of the author’s own native village.135 Yao described Li as a provincial graduate and classmate of Niu Jinxing who got his degree in 1627.136 He mentioned Li Xin’s younger brother, Li Mou 牟; and, for the first time, he wrote the character Mou with the human radical 侔, perhaps to accord with the given names of his brothers Li Xin 信 and Li Jun 俊.137 Yao began the story with Li Xin in prison as a result of having provided relief to his famished neighbors but he was treated well because of his elite status. Yao located Hong Niangzi’s home in Changyuan 長垣 County in Jingshi (Beizhili) Province, and he wrote that she had worked as a servant in a wealthy household in Shangqiu County in Henan. There she was raped by her master. She retaliated by killing him, burning down his house, gathering supporters (including many women), and marching to Kaifeng. There she met Li Mou and together they attacked Qi County, rescued Li Xin from jail, and killed the (unnamed) magistrate.138 Li Xin disapproved of the murder of the magistrate and was reluctant to join Hong Niangzi in revolt, but he learned that other Henanese, including Song Xiance and Niu Jinxing, had already thrown in their lot with Li Zicheng who was entering Henan from the west. He also heard that Li Zicheng had adopted policies of “humaneness and justice” 仁義 in Nanyang (where Yao had grown up). Li Xin therefore ignored the pleas of his wife, Lady Tang, who committed suicide to express her opposition. Together with Hong Niangzi Li Xin traveled three hundred miles to join Li Zicheng in west Henan.139 At some point, Li Xin had changed his personal name to Boyan (伯言 noble words) and then, after a dream, to Boyan (伯岩 noble cliff). Li Zicheng thought those names too aristocratic and asked him to call himself simply Li Yan 李岩.140 Yao portrayed Li Yan as emphasizing the importance of the central plain in the rebel strategy and calling for the establishment of the rebel capital in Luoyang. That brought him into conflict with Liu Zongmin, who favored Xi’an in his native Shaanxi instead.141 Yao perpetuated the view that Li Yan wrote children’s songs. Familiar with Henanese dialects, Yao used his knowl135. Yao 1976: 943, 949, 965. 136. Ibid., 930, 1168. 137. Ibid., 940, 945–49. 138. Ibid., 921–23, 928–41, 951, 957, 963–64. 139. Ibid., 59, 977, 989, 1009–10. 140. Ibid., 1030–31, 1063–65. 141. Ibid., 1046–49, 1148–54, 1262, 1274–75, 1356.

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edge of Henan dialects to explain that the slogan “吃他娘，穿他娘” meant simply “nothing to eat, nothing to wear” (and had no incestual undertones).142 Yao agreed with previous writers that Li Yan proposed a policy of “equalizing landholding and taxes” 均田均賦. He reminded readers that the system had been first put into effect in the Northern Wei (386–534) and Tang (618– 907).143 Indeed, Yao wrote that “Niu and Song already regarded Dashing Prince Li 李闖王 as a founding ruler comparable to Tang Taizong 唐太宗.”144 In 1977, Yao Xueyin began work on the third fascicle of his magnum opus but confronted two problems. The first was unsuitable housing due to a lack of legal residence in Beijing. He again appealed to the highest authority, now Deng Xiaoping 鄧小平 (1904–1997), who was making his second comeback. Soon after Deng consolidated his authority in 1979, Yao and his family moved to more comfortable quarters in the capital.145 The second problem was Yao’s increasing age and declining health. To address these issues, he engaged an assistant named Yu Rujie 俞汝捷 (1943–) to help by conducting research and transcribing Yao’s oral narrative. The result, in 1981, was the publication of the third fascicle of the novel, consisting of three volumes, now divided into clearly titled sections.146 In the third fascicle, Yao drew on his knowledge as a Henanese and his imagination as a novelist to fill in some of the large gaps in previous accounts of Li Yan’s activities in 1642 and early 1643. Now with the title Master Li 李 公子, Li Yan emerges as a prescient, albeit modest and often taciturn, scholar advisor to Li Zicheng.147 He ranked below Niu, Song, and sometimes even Liu, who often discussed issues with Li Zicheng without his participation.148 Li Zicheng nonetheless respected Li Yan, frequently sought his advice, and sometimes met with him alone and in secret to discuss sensitive issues.149 Li Yan had the support of his family members, including Li Mou, who provided information on Kaifeng, where he had lived for several years. An elder brother, Li Jun 李俊 (Li the strong) was active in the rebel assaults on Kaifeng. A more distant relative, Li You 李右 tracked down rumors and meted

142. Ibid., 1245, 1254, 1259, 1268, 1270–71, 1301. 143. Ibid., 1075; 1076ff., 1090–93. 144. Ibid., 1137. 145. Lü, Xu, and Li 1998: 38–39. 146. Yao 1981: 1.muci (目次). 147. Ibid., 2, 299, 798, 983, 1198. 148. Ibid., 219–20 289–98, 338, 629–31, 832, 873, 945, 978–79, 987. 149. Ibid., 1085, 1107.

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out justice to corrupt members of the elite.150 Li Yan’s wife, Hong Niangzi, had her own troops, consisting largely of women. She also had a child by Li Yan and patronized other swordswomen, including Hui Mei 慧梅, who had her own children and commanded her own female band.151 Li Yan’s relations with other members of Li Zicheng’s “kitchen cabinet” were complex. He shared the status of provincial graduate with Niu Jinxing but often adopted different positions. He opposed the third rebel siege of Kaifeng, which proved to be even more disastrous than the first two, while Niu favored it. Li Yan advocated establishing a base in Xiangyang 襄陽, in Hubei, before giving up on Kaifeng, but Niu disagreed and won Li Zicheng over to his point of view. Li Yan wanted to make Henan the center of the new regime and Song Xiance agreed with him. When Li Zicheng vetoed the idea, however, Song did not dare to support it. Many writers depicted Li Yan as looking down on the plebian Liu Zongmin, but Yao wrote that Li actually respected Liu for his practical knowledge.152 Li Yan was active in political diplomacy but often played ambivalent roles. He and his brother Li Mou maintained the neutrality of a local Henanese militarist, Li Jiyu 李際遇, during the rebellion.153 Li Yan agreed to the alliance with the rebel Luo Rucai 羅汝才 (d. 1643), who hailed from Li Zicheng’s hometown, but he expressed doubt about how long the cooperation would last.154 Similarly, Li Yan accepted cooperation with the local rebel Yuan Shizhong 袁時中, but he declined to become involved in efforts to arrange a marriage between Hui Mei and Yuan to bind Yuan more tightly to Li Zicheng.155 When Li Zicheng lost confidence in Yuan and Luo, Li Yan expressed his own reservations about them. He did not join other rebel leaders in condemning them as secretly loyal to the Ming, but he also did not come to their defense as he might have done given his prescience and his own ultimate 150. Ibid., 2, 64–67,227–34, 556, 558, 632, 838, 951, 1082, 1426–37. 151. Ibid., 5, ,8–9, 28, 47, 71, 555, 776–82, 821, 937. Hong Niangzi thus was a woman warrior in the tradition going back to Hua Mulan 花木蘭 in the fifth century ce and flourishing in the Ming. Judge 2008: 151–62; Cass 1999: ch. 4. But she also appeared to bridge the gap between Ming women, who were often celebrated for their active public lives, including swordswomanship, in the Ming History, and Qing women, who were honored for their achievements in motherhood, in the Qing History. For more on this contrast see Chapter 11 by Yi Jo-­Lan in this volume. 152. Yao 1981: 814–15, 937, 987, 1184–96, 1378–79. 153. Ibid., 225–34. 154. Ibid., 241–312. 155. Ibid., 778–843.

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fate.156 In sum, Yao’s novel departed from previous accounts that portrayed Li Zicheng and Niu Jinxing as suspicious villains and Li Yan and Song Xiance as trusting heroes. It provided a more nuanced and balanced narrative that was not so much a morality play as a historical tragedy. Yao’s Li Yan tried to avoid the tragedy by drawing on historical models in giving advice to Li Zicheng. In one case, he invoked the example of the commoner rebel Liu Bang, who had ordered his general Han Xin 韓信 (d. 196) to “deploy his troops widely to control territory,” in an effort to overcome his more aristocratic rival Xiang Yu.157 In another case, Li Yan cited the example of the original Cao Cao 曹操 (155–220), who had spared the Han royal scion Liu Bei in the Three Kingdoms period (220–265). Li Yan advised Li Zicheng to follow that model so as to win over Luo Rucai (who styled himself Cao Cao) rather than to confront him militarily (let alone assassinate him).158 As it happened, neither Cao Cao nor Liu Bei was able to unify the realm and the same would prove to be true of Luo Rucai and Li Zicheng. A much more promising model was Li Shimin, the aristocratic cofounder (with his father) of the Tang dynasty. Li Shimin, whose temple name was Tang Taizong, was famous for respecting his scholar-­advisors, especially Wei Zheng 魏徵 (580–643 ce).159 After Li Zicheng vetoed Li Yan’s plan to establish a rebel base in Henan, he had second thoughts, and he encouraged Li Yan to be more outspoken in the future.160 Song Xiance, in turn, urged Li Zicheng to treat Li Yan as an autonomous official the same way Tang Taizong had treated Wei Zheng. At Li Zicheng’s request, Niu Jinxing lectured on “Important Policies of the Zhenguan Reign” 貞觀政要 in which Taizong had treated Wei Zheng as a near equal.161 Meanwhile, Li Yan continued his signature activity of disbursing grain to the populace afflicted by drought, floods, locusts, plague, and famine. He now managed to collect two hundred tons of grain and to distribute it among the rebel forces.162 The efforts of Ming officials and Li Zicheng’s rebels to use the Yellow River to defeat their adversaries, combined with unusually heavy precipitation, resulted in a massive flood that destroyed much of Kaifeng and 156. Ibid., 1031–34; 1038, 1045–46, 1050, 1058–59, 1389, 1396; Yao and Yu 2008: 357–95. 157. Yao 1981: 1376–78. 158. Ibid., 356–57. 159. Twitchett 1996: 1–103. 160. Yao 1981: 988. 161. Ibid., 1189–92. For Wei, see Wechsler 1974. 162. Yao 1981: 1375.

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drowned most of its inhabitants. Li Yan called for the provision of boats to save the survivors and he went to the city to assist in the administration of relief. He also called for the assignment of two thousand workers to reassert control over the river.163 After the third fascicle of Li Zicheng was published in 1981, editors suggested that Yao prepare an abridged edition of the entire work. Yao agreed on the need for one, but he wanted to wait until he completed writing the long version. He therefore focused on producing the fourth fascicle while his assistant Yu Rujie began to draft the fifth. In fact, Yao was now suffering from dementia and he found it increasingly difficult to write. He therefore provided an oral narrative, which Yu transcribed as a basis for the fourth fascicle. In 1986, as Yao reached age seventy-­six, he was far from finishing the fourth fascicle, while Yu had already completed writing the fifth. In 1997 Yao suffered a stroke and two years later he died. At that point, Yao’s family decided to divide Yu’s fifth fascicle into two parts, making them fascicles four and five, each consisting of two volumes. Thus was reached the original goal of writing a five-­fascicle historical novel about Li Zicheng, but at the cost of leaving out nearly an entire year (spring 1643 to winter 1644) in the story. (Skeptics, of course, would note that there was little evidence of Li Yan’s role in that period in any case, so the problem lay in the story more than in Yao’s account of it.) Yu Rujie subsequently made some modest cuts and improvements to the text, but it was this large gap that facilitated the publication of an abridged edition of the text under the same title. In 2008, the abridged edition of two million characters (as opposed to the originally projected three million characters) was published in four Western-­style volumes. Each volume was appropriately headed by a line written by Yao’s favorite poet, Du Fu 杜甫 (712–770 ce) of the Tang period.164 Beginning with the story of the swordswoman Hui Mei, in fascicle three of the long version and in volume three of the abridged edition, the text of the novel was written mainly by Yu Rujie. Gender continued to be an important issue. As relations between Li Zicheng and Yuan Shizhong deteriorated, Li Zicheng’s wife, Lady Gao 高 asked Li Yan to assist in rescuing Hui Mei from Yuan Shizhong’s headquarters in Qi County. Li Yan professed himself unable to help, perhaps because he placed the interests of Li Zicheng’s rebellion over

163. Ibid., 1470, 1491, 1493, 1546–47, 1554. 164. Feng Tianyu’s 馮天瑜 preface in Yao and Yu 2008: 1.001–4; Yu Rujie’s postface in Ibid., 4.473–76.

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those of the woman warrior.165 At the same time, Li Yan told Hong Niangzi that he was frustrated because his recommendations were being ignored by Li Zicheng. He raised the possibility of withdrawing from the rebellion. Hong, however, encouraged him to stay the course, despite the death of her friend Hui Mei. Apparently she too placed the interests of Li Zicheng and Li Yan ahead of those of her female friends.166 In Beijing, Li Yan tried to dissuade Empress Yi’an from committing suicide. He seems to have acted more out of sympathy for the daughter of a fellow native of Qi County than out of a genuine concern for women.167 Li Yan refused the female companions offered to him by Li Zicheng, but he acknowledged that in times of disorder rebels could choose their mates from among palace women.168 Li Zicheng also manifested contradictory attitudes toward women. According to Yao, he had two concubines, one of whom was educated enough to be familiar with Sima Guang’s 司馬光 Comprehensive Mirror for Aid in Governance 資治通鑒, the Song-­period chronicle of the preceding millennium and a half of history. Li Zicheng had nonetheless callously turned the beautiful palace woman Fei Zhen’e over to Tiger Luo with the comment that he preferred farm girls.169 When the rebels were forced to withdraw from Beijing, Li Zicheng left his educated concubine behind. He later expressed regret upon hearing of her demise.170 Li Zicheng nonetheless had sufficient respect for Hong Niangzi to order Li Yan to assist her in defending Gu Pass 固關 from advancing Qing forces.171 Li Yan continued to be a major spokesman for Li Zicheng and for the people. He issued a proclamation about “suppressing troops and bringing peace to the people,” which was written in simple and clear prose “so the common people could understand it.” Li Zicheng followed up, claiming to be the author of the sentence in the proclamation promising to punish any rebel troops who abused the people.172 Li Yan was responsible for confiscating the lands of Ming nobles, officials, and large landlords and for redistributing

165. Ibid., 3.357. 166. Ibid., 3.382. 167. Ibid., 4.99. 168. Ibid., 4.153. 169. Ibid., 4.202–4. 170. Ibid., 4.156–57, 328, 332–33, 342. For more on concubines at the end of the Ming, see Chapter 4 by Jun Fang in this volume. 171. Yao and Yu 2008: 4.317, 331. 172. Ibid., 3.418.

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them to rebel military colonies and later to the poor people in Beijing.173 But he opposed excessive expropriations that would be inimical to the quest for broad support.174 He argued against a major expedition against Wu Sangui that might only drive him into the arms of the Manchus. When the rebel leader ignored his advice and suffered a major military setback, in true Tang Taizong fashion he blamed Li Yan for failing to oppose the expedition more forcefully.175 Li Yan promised the Ming princes that they and their descendants would receive better treatment than the descendants of the Xia and Shang royal lineages had received.176 In scenes reminiscent of early Qing versions of the Li Yan story, Li Yan met with a Buddhist monk named Bukong 不空 (lit. not empty) who refused to give up his quest for spiritual salvation and provide service to the Shun state.177 If volume four of the abridged novel provided very little on Li Yan’s and Hong Niangzi’s roles in Beijing, it offered copious information on Li Zicheng’s loss of confidence in Li Yan. Unlike in previous accounts, Li Zicheng was the first in the rebel leadership to hear about the overthrow of Shun local officials in northeast Henan by local militarists supporting the Ming rump regime in Nanjing. He called his officials together and asked them how to respond to Li Yan’s offer to lead troops to his native province. Li Yan pointed out that “it will be easy for me to call on the scholars and people to support the Great Shun and resist the foreigners 夷狄.” For the first time in any account, Li Zicheng explicitly asked Li Yan how he would deal with the Ming Prince Fu 福王 in Nanjing. Li Yan replied that he would “harmonize relations between the Shun and Nanjing so as to unite against the “northerners” 胡人.178 When Li Zicheng expressed worry about another defeat like that at Shanhaiguan, Li Yan promised the alternative of “relying on the people’s hearts and minds” and, more pragmatically, mobilizing local militarists in their mountain fortresses. When Li Zicheng used brute force to suppress an anti-­Shun rising in Shanxi, Li Yan advocated sending someone to Henan to “demonstrate justice” and to use force only as a last resort.179 When Li Yan asked for the third time to lead troops to Henan, Li Zicheng began to think that his advisor was making plans in his own interest. Unlike 173. Ibid., 3.424, 4.19, 293. 174. Ibid., 4.96. 175. Ibid., 4.198, 212–13, 264, 290. 176. Ibid., 4.135–36. 177. Ibid., 4. 20–25. 178. Ibid., 4.339. 179. Ibid., 4. 341.

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in previous accounts, Niu Jinxing calmly opposed sending Li Yan to Henan on the grounds that he was needed at the Shun headquarters. Niu also insisted that the decision was Li Zicheng’s to make. Li Zicheng remembered that Li Yan, known as Master Li, had received all the credit when he had distributed grain to the starving people in Luoyang. Li Zicheng then asked Li Yan if he planned to take Hong Niangzi with him to Henan. Li Yan replied that he would because “she had good relations with the people of the rivers and lakes of eastern Yu (Henan).” Li Zicheng worried that Li Yan might claim that he was the eighteenth child said by Song Xiance to be destined to take the throne. When Li Yan asked yet again to take troops to Henan, Li Zicheng told him to consult with Niu Jinxing and draw up a formal proposal. After conferring with Li Mou, Hong Niangzi, and Li Jun, Li Yan decided to ask for twenty thousand troops. When Hong Niangzi noted that Li Zicheng seemed troubled by the plan, Li Yan told her that it was too late to turn back. She agreed that it would be better to die on the battlefield in Henan than at the hands of fellow rebels in Shaanxi.180 Ten days after Li Yan first asked to take troops to Henan, he submitted a formal request through Niu Jinxing to Li Zicheng. It included the following pledge: After your official and others rush back to Henan, we will proclaim the ruler’s virtuous intent, comfort those forced into exile, restore agriculture and sericulture, strictly forbid factionalism, reorganize the administration, and make a new beginning for the people.181

Li Zicheng asked Niu Jinxing what he made of the two characters “new beginning” 更始. Niu replied that they simply meant a “recommencement.” Li Zicheng reminded Niu that they had been used by a Han loyalist as a reign name after overturning Wang Mang’s 王莽 (r. 9–23 ce) brief interregnum and restoring the Han. Niu broke into a cold sweat and replied that he did not think that Li Yan was that bold but he could not be sure what was in his mind. Li then asked Niu if he had heard the rumor that Song Xiance had shared his prophecy about the eighteenth child with Li Yan before he had shared it with him (Li Zicheng). Niu said that he had not heard that rumor and he had no opinion about whether Li Yan should be sent to Henan.182 Li Zicheng then decided and instructed Niu: “Do not allow Li Yan to go … I think it will be 180. Ibid., 4.346. 181. Ibid., 4.349. 182. Ibid., 4.350.

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better to get rid of him soon to prevent a catastrophe later.”183 Li then called in Li Yan and Li Mou and asked them again which big commander they wished to take with them. They replied they would take none so as not to deprive the rebel headquarters of his services. They also expressed willingness to leave Hong Niangzi and her son behind. Li Zicheng, realizing that his plan required no hostages, said that would not be necessary. Li Zicheng then called in Niu Jinxing. He instructed him “to prepare an ambush of armed soldiers, announce a secret rescript at a send-­off party, and behead the two brothers without any regrets.”184 Niu protested that the brothers disagreed with the leadership but their crimes were not great enough to justify execution. Li Zicheng replied that conspirators should be punished before they could act. He asked Niu whether or not he was willing to carry out the order. Niu in turn asked for a hand­written rescript and warned drily that Hong Niangzi would not be in accord with the decision. Li Zicheng wrote out the order on the spot and promised that Hong Niangzi and her son would be given protection at court.185 In the most dramatic rendition of Li Yan’s and Li Mou’s execution to date, Yao described how they rode their horses to the banquet hall and left them and their attendants in an outer courtyard. Niu welcomed them in an inner courtyard and wished them well in their enterprise. After pouring the third cup of wine, however, Niu suddenly dropped his cup. With shaking hands, he read the rescript: The brothers Li Yan and Li Mou secretly harbored alternative plans, there is clear proof of their crimes, and they are condemned to death to avoid the sprouts of chaos and to minimize the chances of imitation.186

In response, Li Yan shouted: “Heaven what … , heaven what … , I am Li Yan, a loyal heart and mind … .” Li Mou cried: “Injustice … ! Injustice … !” Niu Jinxing harshly called out: “Unbind them and behead them immediately!” The brothers’ attendants were also rounded up and hacked to death. One of Li Jun’s attendants happened to be passing by and reported the incident to Li Jun who informed Hong Niangzi of the disaster. Hong blamed Niu Jinxing and asked to see Li Zicheng, but Li Jun persuaded her to flee with her son to avoid being killed. Niu Jinxing, fearing trouble, sent two thousand 183. Ibid., 4.351. 184. Ibid., 4.352. 185. Ibid., 4.352. 186. Ibid., 4.353.

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troops to arrest Hong Niangzi. By the time they arrived, however, she had fled south with Li Jun and her closest female companions.187 According to Yao Xueyin, Hong Niangzi’s ultimate fate was unknown, but there were rumors that she was later involved in a White Lotus uprising in Henan and may have committed suicide to avoid capture.188 In Yao’s view, she was a link, however fictive, between the historical female rebel leader Tang Sai’er 唐賽兒 (fl. 1420) in the early mid-­Ming and the equally historical White Lotus uprisings in the late mid-­Qing.189 Song Xiance survived the transition and surrendered to the Qing.190 Niu Jinxing survived and lived out his life in obscurity in the home of his son Niu Quan, who served the Qing as a county magistrate.191 Liu Zongmin seems to have died along with many other rebels at the hands of Ming and Qing forces.192 Li Zicheng was said to have regretted executing the Li brothers. The spirits of Li Yan and Hong Niangzi, who were said to have haunted Li Zicheng during the rest of his life, however, insisted that it was Niu Jinxing who was primarily responsible for their deaths.193 As we have seen, this view was widely accepted, but Yao seemed to take issue with it and to suggest that there was enough blame to go around. Even Li Yan in the end appeared to have done little to reassure Li Zicheng of his commitment to their common enterprise. As for Li Zicheng, he was ultimately tracked down and killed, but his corpse was never found, leading to much debate over when, where, and how he died.194 Yao Xueyin’s and Yu Rujie’s version of the story of Li Yan and Hong Niangzi was notable for several reasons. It accorded Li Yan and Hong Niangzi, and, more broadly, other members of the elite and masses, nearly equal significance. It added new details placing the story securely in Henan in the last years of the Ming. It privileged the central plain and Beijing as political centers, and the Han and the Tang as historical models. The evolution of the writing of the novel over decades also reflected the shift in politics from the era of Mao Zedong to that of Deng Xiaoping and beyond. The novel surpassed Guo 187. Ibid., 4.354. 188. Ibid., 4.387. 189. Ibid., 4.460–62. See Lien-­che Tu Fang’s biography of Tang Saier in Hummel 1943: 1251–52; for the Qing, see Naquin 1981. 190. Yao and Yu 2008: 4.393, Tan early Qing: jiwen xia. 386; Li Xun 1796: 131, renwuzhi 11.2214. 191. Yao and Yu 2008: 4.404–5. 192. Li Xun 1796: 131, renwuzhi 11.2215. 193. Yao and Yu 2008: 4.430–31, 446, 461. 194. Ibid., 4.448; Zhongguo shehui kexueyuan 1998.

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Moruo’s essay as the most important matrix for subsequent historical and literary accounts.

CONCLUSION We began this chapter by asking why the Li Yan story inherited from the Ming–Qing period persisted in the Republic and flourished in the early People’s Republic despite calls for a “new history” and for “doubting antiquity.” A full answer to this question requires a comprehensive study of the origins and development of the Li Yan story from the late Ming to the present in light of the recently discovered genealogy of the Li family of Tang village in Henei County, Huaiqing Prefecture, northwest Henan.195 In that study we shall find the origins of Li Yan’s personal names (Li Xin and Li Yan) and the likely oral and written sources of his biography as they appeared gradually over more than three and a half centuries. Here we can supply only a preliminary answer to the question based on the history and literature regarding Li Yan as his story reached its apogee in the few decades of the mid-twentieth century. The Li Yan–Hong Niangzi story endured and grew in the twentieth century because it was a useful site for the exploration of various pasts and their meanings for the present and the future. Zhao Zongfu knew there were problems with the Li Yan biography dating from the seventeenth century, but he thought (correctly) that they were much less serious than problems with Hong Daquan, a wholly fabricated leader of the Taiping rebellion in the nineteenth century. As Guo Moruo became disillusioned with elite reform and attracted to mass revolution, he shifted his attention from the aristocratic patriot Qu Yuan in the Warring States period to the plebian rebels Chen Sheng and Wu Guang in the late Qin period and then on to Li Yan and Li Zicheng in the late Ming. Mao Zedong thought the lesson of Li Zicheng’s uprising was to avoid conceit in the aftermath of victory while Guo Moruo emphasized the need to listen to advisors in establishing a new polity. Historians Li Wenzhi and Xie Guozhen thought that Hong Niangzi might have been involved with the eighteenth-­son White Lotus jacquerie in Qi in 1638. Their fellow historian Cao Guilin doubted that but found other evidence for some connections among Hong Niangzi, the White Lotus religion, and Li Yan. Fan Shuzhi, Yuan Dingzhong, and Luo Ming thought that Li Yan was following the course Li Shanchang had laid out in the early Ming and that he would suffer a fate 195. For a preliminary glimpse, see Dai 2012. See also my forthcoming book on Li Yan. In process.

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(suicide) similar to that of his predecessor. The historian Xie Guozhen thought that Hong Niangzi was probably an actual person with literary value whereas the novelist Yao Xueyin concluded that she was a fictional character who nonetheless provided a link between the fully historical female rebel Tang Sai’er in the mid-­Ming and equally historical White Lotus rebels in the mid-­ Qing. Most historians treated Li Yan as the hero and Niu Jinxing as the villain, but the novelist Yao Xueyin offered a more balanced account. Not just the narrators of the Li Yan–Hong Niangzi story but also its leading characters used historical models to express their hopes and advance their agendas. Li Zicheng observed the rituals of Qi and Song that he hoped would facilitate the transition from the Ming to the Shun, and Li Yan assured the Ming royal descendants that they would be treated even more generously than the descendants of the Xia and Shang had been. Niu Jinxing invoked the example of the Sima family’s takeover of the Wei state to warn Li Zicheng about Li Yan’s supposed designs on the Shun, and Li Zicheng reminded Niu Jinxing of the Liu family’s adoption of the “New Beginning” reign name in its restoration of the Han dynasty that could become a precedent for Li Yan’s revival of the Ming. Li Yan urged his fellow rebel leaders to learn from the example of their predecessors in the Han and he specifically counseled Li Zicheng to follow the example of the Han founder’s use of Han Xin in securing territory in the civil war with Xiang Yu. One of Li Zicheng’s concubines was familiar with Sima Guang’s account of a millennium and a half of Chinese history before the Song. Yao’s Li Zicheng asked Niu Jinxing to lecture him on the famous essay titled “Good Government of the Zhenguan Era” under Tang Taizong. Some afficionados and critics of the Li Yan–Hong Niangzi story looked back to periods of disunion for models to follow in a time of division. Some Nationalists admired Xie An in the Eastern Jin, Yue Fei in the Southern Song, and Shi Kefa in the Southern Ming for opposing both internal rebels and external invaders even at the cost of not being able to unify the realm. Li Yan urged Li Zicheng to study Cao Cao’s generosity toward his rival, Liu Bei, as a model for his (Li Zicheng’s) handling of Luo Rucai (who styled himself Cao Cao). Guo Moruo and Cao Guilin thought that Li Yan would have been able to help lead the Ming loyalists to victory if he had been allowed to take troops south to secure his home province of Henan. Given most Chinese long­standing preference for cultural unity and political longevity, it is not surprising that Yao Xueyin found the Han and the Tang to be the most fecund sources of models. Zhao Zongfu went further to see a parallel between the Han and the Ming as polities founded by commoners. This helped to promote their unity and durability and made them obvious

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models for commoner rebels like Li Zicheng. During the Cultural Revolution, Fan Shuzhi speculated that, if Li Zicheng had been successful, he would have ruled in the manner of Zhu Yuanzhang, i.e., effectively, though not always humanely. While the Han and Ming had deep roots in society and were in that sense initially populist polities, their founders were famous for being harsh on their subordinates, especially outspoken scholar-officials. Guo Moruo was aware of that pattern and stated outright that Li Yan would probably have died later at the hand of Li Zicheng even if he had not been assassinated as the result of intrigue by Niu Jinxing. Yao’s Li Yan himself was familiar with this history in the Han and Ming, but he was surprised that it happened so quickly in Li Zicheng’s Da Shun regime, which was not yet even established over part of the realm. For elites such as Niu Jinxing and Li Yan, therefore, the Tang was a more promising model than the Han. After reading Guo Moruo’s essays on Li Zicheng and Li Yan in 1644, Mao Zedong invited Guo to write more such historical works. Mao seemed to suggest that Guo could speak frankly about the achievements and mistakes of Mao’s budding New Democratic state. During the Cultural Revolution, Fan Shuzhi wrote that the early Tang rebel Li Mi was a better model than Li Yan because he operated out of good faith whereas Li Yan had joined Li Zicheng’s rebellion with the goal of turning it to his own ends. According to Yao Xueyin, however, Li Zicheng respected Li Yan and asked him to speak out freely on the model of Wei Zheng, who advised Tang Taizong. Yao even depicted Li Zicheng as practicing what he preached. Li Yan opposed Li Zicheng’s plan to lead forces east from Beijing to force Wu Sangui into an alliance against the Manchus. When Li Zicheng ignored his advice and suffered a major defeat at Shanhaiguan, he scolded Li Yan. In the manner of Tang Taizong, he complained that Li Yan had not been forceful enough in opposing his plans and was therefore partly responsible for the poor consequences. As a result, Niu Jinxing and Song Xiance compared Li Zicheng favorably with Tang Taizong. The Tang model also helped to make sense out of Hong Niangzi’s role in the Li Yan story reminiscent of Hong Fuji’s role in the Li Jing story celebrated in the “Tale of the Curly-­Bearded Stranger.” Zhao Zongfu had already remarked on the equal-­field policy associated with Li Yan. He noted that the rebels were unable to carry it out, but it nonetheless had a beneficial effect on the Qing. Yao Xueyin reminded readers that the equal-­field system had been instituted by the Northern Wei and especially by the Tang. It also so happened that the Tang had produced Yao’s favorite poet Du Fu. Taken together these fragments seem to hint at recognition of a parallel between the Tang and the Qing polities.

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While the producers and consumers of the Li Yan–Hong Niangzi story contested many issues, they generally agreed on some similarities between conditions in the seventeenth century and those in the twentieth. The Communists Guo Moruo and Mao Zedong, and the Nationalists Tao Xisheng and Chiang Kai-­shek all tended to identify the Ming with the Nationalists, the Shun with the Communists, and the Manchus with the Japanese. They naturally differed over who should prevail in the tripartite struggle for the mandate to rule China, but they agreed that the Nationalists and the Communists would have to reform their behavior if they were to succeed in preventing the Japanese from following the Qing in governing all of China. After the victory over Japan in 1945, the question arose of the relationship between China (lit. the central states) and the known world (lit. all under heaven). In addressing such questions in the absence of any clear distinction between myth and history, it is possible to “regard all textual references as equally valid manifestations of the same structure.”196 One may look at “ideas that suffuse the entire culture and may not be found in formalized, systematic statements.” In the words of Laurence Schneider, “Myth” is central to this process of investigation, not as the antithesis of “truth” or historical “fact,” but rather as a medium through which a culture expresses, with a variety of symbols, its most pressing dilemmas, its perception of life’s most vexing contradictions.197

As historians become more comfortable with dealing with myths and with practicing what William McNeill has called “mythistory,” they are no longer so driven to distinguish between fact and fiction or history and literature but rather to see how these modes of thought interact and to analyze the meaning of the results.198 Some have gone so far as to postulate the existence of forms of cultural knowledge available only to “insiders” and subject to little or no outside monitoring and universal understanding.199 In some cases there may be no clear distinction between history and literature or between fact and fiction. In those cases we may be limited to describing the common set of materials drawn on by narrators and to relating their understandings of that data in their particular times and places.200 In 196. Allan 1981: 12. 197. Schneider 1980: 11. 198. Levi-­Strauss 1979; McNeill 1982. 199. Cohen and Gillis 2010. 200. Croizier 1977. See also Chapter 8 by Leo Shin on Yue Fei in this volume.

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other cases, however, distinguishing between historical facts and literary fictions may be more possible, thus enhancing the significance and potentially the impact of the narrative.201 This may be particularly true in the case of discovery of new materials pertaining to core issues of authenticity and reliability such as the 1716 genealogy of the Li family of Tang village that became public only in 2004.202 As we shall see, that genealogy will not only solve most of the remaining problems with the Li Yan matter but will also enable us to infer with some degree of confidence the oral as well as the (additional) written sources of the Li Yan story.

201. Chan 1968, 1975; Johnson 1980, 1981; Stapleton 2016. 202. Dai 2012; Dai 2018; Des Forges 2018; Des Forges forthcoming.

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4

Between Collaboration and Resistance The Third Way of Mao Xiang (1611–1693) Jun Fang

This chapter reconstructs the life of Mao Xiang, a prominent poet, essayist, and calligrapher during the late Ming and early Qing, by making use of the relevant Ming–Qing sources and contemporary historical studies. I first introduce Mao’s family background and then examine his political and social activities, literary accomplishments, social connections, and personal life. I argue that Mao’s position between loyalty to remnant Ming princes and collaboration with early Qing rulers was a third way embraced by many members of the Chinese elite during the dynastic transition. Neither loyalists nor collaborators, they were the inheritors and transmitters of China’s longstanding and yet ever-­changing traditions of prose, poetry, and calligraphy. The county of Rugao 如皋 in Jiangsu Province was relatively obscure in seventeenth-­century China, but it produced two renowned men of letters: Li Yu 李漁 (1611–1680) and Mao Xiang 冒襄 (1611–1693). Li is better known among Western scholars of Chinese history and literature because two of his novels, The Carnal Prayer Mat (Rou pu tuan 肉蒲團) and The Twelve Towers (Shi’er lou 十二樓), have been translated into English and his writings have drawn the attention of influential specialists in Chinese literature and dra115

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ma.1 Mao Xiang is less well known in the West but is famous among Chinese students of Chinese history and literature owing mainly to his popular memoir, Reminiscences of the Plum-­Shaded Convent (Yingmeian yiyu 影梅 庵憶語), an account of his relationship with the courtesan Dong Bai 董白 (1624–1651), who eventually became his concubine. While Western books and articles on Li Yu are numerous,2 studies of Mao Xiang are scanty. Aside from a brief biography in Eminent Chinese of the Ch’ing Period, 1644–1912,3 there are only a few articles on him. One, by Yasushi Ōki 大木康, discusses his life and literary achievements as well as his friendship with the writer Yu Huai 余懷 (1616–1696).4 Another, by Ju-­hsi Chou (Zhou Rushi 周汝式), deals with his calligraphy and his relationship with the master painter Dong Qichang 董其昌 (1555–1636).5 Mao is also discussed by Wai-­yee Li and Sophie Volpp in their recent studies of women and national trauma during the Ming–Qing transition and the literary circulation of actors in the seventeenth century.6 As a result, many aspects of Mao’s life remain little known to Western scholars. This chapter attempts to remedy that by providing a more detailed portrait of Mao’s political, social, cultural, and personal lives. Consisting of five sections, it begins with an introduction to Mao’s family background. It then examines his political and social activities, his literary accomplishments, his social connections, and his personal life. It argues that Mao Xiang’s position between resisting and collaborating with the Manchus was neither disgraceful nor heroic. This is important because his stance was probably shared by the majority of the Chinese population during the Ming–Qing transition.

1 Mao Xiang, courtesy name Pijiang 辟疆, nicknames Chaomin 巢民 and Pu’an 樸庵, was born on April 27, 1611, and died on December 31, 1693.7 In the late Ming, he was a well-­k nown poet, essayist, calligrapher, and social 1. Mao 1979; Li Yu 1996. 2. Hanan 1988; Mao and Liu 1977; Chang and Chang 1992. 3. Hummel 1943: 566–67. 4. Ōki 2006. 5. Chou, 1978–1979. 6. See Li 2012, 2014; Volpp 2002. 7. Mao, 1999: 4b, 67a. For some unknown reason, Sophie Volpp gives the years of 1609 and 1692 as Mao’s dates of birth and death. See Volpp 2002: 949.

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activist; in the early Qing he became a so-­called remnant subject (yimin 遺民). Dubbed one of the “Four Masters of the Late Ming” (Mingmo sigongzi 明末四公子), he was born into a prominent scholar-official family that may have had Mongol origins.8 One of his distinguished ancestors, Mao Zheng 冒 政 (1443–1519), courtesy name Youheng 有恆, nickname Lüzhen 履貞, obtained his provincial degree in 1474 and his metropolitan degree in 1475. He served successively as secretary, deputy director, and director at the Nanjing Ministry of Revenue and assumed the post of prefect of Wuchang 武昌 in 1490. In recognition of his meritorious service, the Ming government promoted him in 1506 to the post of provincial governor of Jiangxi. In his later years he was assigned to Ningxia as grand coordinator and vice censor-­in-­ chief. He suffered a major political setback in the Zhengde era (1506–1521) when he offended the powerful chief eunuch Liu Jin 劉瑾 (1451–1510) by refusing to bribe him. Mao Zheng was subsequently punished by having three thousand piculs of his official salary rice confiscated. After the eunuch Liu lost favor and was punished by the extraordinary method of death by a thousand cuts (lingchi 凌遲),9 Mao Zheng was allowed to retire with the benefits stemming from his former position.10 His son Mao Luan 冒鸞, a jinshi of 1493, served as secretary at the Nanjing Ministry of Justice and as assistant administrative commissioner in Fujian prior to retirement.11 Mao Xiang’s grandfather Mao Mengling 冒夢齡 (1565–1635), courtesy name Rujiu 汝久, nickname Yuantong 元同, was recommended by his local school as a tribute student qualified to study in the capital. In 1612 he was appointed magistrate of Huichang County 會昌 in Jiangxi Province.12 Later on during the early Tianqi era (1621–1627) he assumed the positions of magistrate of Fengdu County 酆都 in Sichuan and subprefect of Nanning 南寧 before retiring to his hometown in 1623.13 Mengling was said to be an honest and upright official who did not enlarge even slightly the family’s land holdings during his official career.14 With a keen interest in literary pursuits, he is said to have published three books titled War-­Surviving Collection (Bingxian yuji 兵餘集), Drafts from the Dequan Hall (Dequantang gao 得全堂稿), and

8. Wang, Ding, and Gu 2004: 1–3. For doubts, see Shao and Yang 2005: 92–95. 9. Brook, Bourgon, and Blue 2008: 11. 10. Zhang 1974: 4943; Mao 1999: 3a. 11. Mao, Mao Chaomin, 3a–4a; Ma and Jiang, Rugao xianzhi, 16.7a. 12. Mao 2010: 7.25a. Tributary students could hold minor office in the Ming. 13. Ibid.; Chen 2010: 6.18b. 14. Mao 2010: 3.12b–13a; Chen 1919: 5.24b.

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Chantings from Yiyuan Garden (Yiyuan yin 逸園吟).15 Apparently the books were no longer extant by the early twentieth century as they were not included in the Collectanea of Works by Members of the Mao Family of Rugao (Rugao Maoshi congshu 如皋冒氏叢書) printed in the years 1903–1923. Mao Xiang’s father Mao Qizong 冒起宗 (1590–1654), courtesy name Zongqi 宗起, nicknames Songshao 嵩少 and Zongying 琮應, was more successful than his father in the civil service examinations. He passed the metropolitan examination in 1628, together with Shi Kefa 史可法 (1601–1645), who served as Nanjing minister of war in the closing years of the Ming dynasty and who would famously die resisting the Manchus in Yangzhou. Mao Qizong held a string of posts as court messenger, secretary of the Bureau of Evaluation at the Nanjing Ministry of Personnel, director of the Bureau of Evaluation of the Beijing Ministry of Personnel, and assistant surveillance commissioner, before assuming the position of chief military inspector ( jianjun 監軍) to the troops commanded by General Zuo Liangyu 左良玉 (1599– 1645). The highest position he held was that of vice commissioner of surveillance in Shandong 山東按察司副使 supervising the shipment of tribute grain along the Grand Canal.16 Mao Qizong was also a prolific writer whose Inherited Drafts from the Zhuocun Hall (Zhuocuntang yigao 拙存堂逸稿) has survived.17 As the eldest son of Mao Qizong, Mao Xiang began his studies of one of the Confucian “four books,” the Great Learning, at age four and subsequently showed a great aptitude for learning the classics and literature.18 At the age of thirteen, he sent some of his poems to Dong Qichang, a celebrated man of letters who was then the vice minister of rites in Beijing, and invited his critique. Dong was impressed by Mao’s poetic talents and referred to him as the Wang Bo 王勃 (649–676), a Tang poetic prodigy, of his times.19 Dong wrote: “Although the poems were composed by Pijiang at the tender age of fourteen sui, his literary talents and writing sophistication were already those of a famous master” 此辟疆十四歲時作，才情筆力，已是名家上乘.20 With the approval of the senior master Dong and of the erudite Chen Jiru (to be discussed below), the Mao family had the poems printed in the same year under the title of Surviving Poems from the Fragrant Garden (Xiangliyuan oucun 15. Wang, Ding, and Gu 2004: 10. 16. Chen 1919: 5.24a–30a; 2010: 6.18a–24b. 17. Ma and Jiang 1970: 16.13b. Zhuocuntang yigao was published in the Shunzhi era and was reprinted by Shanghai guji chubanshe in 2010. 18. Mao 2010: 6.9b. 19. Wang Bo was considered one of the “Four Eminences of the Early Tang.” 20. Dong Qichang’s preface to Xiangliyuan oucun, in Mao 1997: 1.1b.

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香儷園偶存). This was the first of Mao’s many books. It was published in a single fascicle in 1625 and was reprinted many times.21 Mao Xiang’s path to success and fame was alternately smooth and bumpy. On the one hand, he passed the examinations at the county and prefectural levels and the yuan examination 院試 with distinction,22 thus obtaining government student (shengyuan 生員) status at age sixteen.23 His literary talents were widely acknowledged by his peers, and he was eventually identified as one of the privileged and talented “Four Masters of the Late Ming” together with Chen Zhenhui 陳貞慧 (1604–1656), Fang Yizhi 方以智 (1611–1671), and Hou Fangyu 侯方域 (1618–1654).24 On the other hand, his attempts to become a provincial graduate were frustratingly unsuccessful. From 1630 until the end of the Ming, he took the triannual provincial examinations held in Nanjing four times, failing every time. He finally passed on his fifth attempt in 1642 but was placed on the supplementary list ( fubang 副榜), eligible only to retake the provincial examination or to hold minor posts. As a result, Mao never became part of the Ming bureaucracy, even though he was recommended for a position of junior army inspector in 1642 by the grand coordinator of Huaiyang 淮揚, Shi Kefa, and was offered a minor post of prefectural judge (sili 司李) in Taizhou 台州 in the following year. He turned down both offers, probably due to his confidence in his ability to ultimately pass the coveted metropolitan examination and to secure a more respectable post.25 Having never served the Ming, Mao might have worked for the Qing without too many qualms. But in the early Qing, although he was recommended multiple times by high-­ranking officials, some of whom were his close friends, he resolutely declined all offers of posts. During the half century from 1644 to his death in 1693, Mao kept his distance from Qing officialdom.

2 Mao Xiang never held office in the Ming or Qing, but he was nonetheless quite political. In the late Ming he was a devoted member of the Restoration Society (Fushe), a literary organization with some three thousand members 21. The original edition of the Rugao Maoshi congshu is still widely available. 22. For more on the county, prefectural, and yuan examinations, see Miyazaki 1976: 18–32. 23. Mao 1999: 9b. 24. For more on Chen, Fang, and Hou, see Peterson 1979; Des Forges 2003: 129– 37; Luo 1997; Gao 2004: 11–62, 81–122; Wang Zhonghe 2010: 45–74, 121–90. 25. Mao 1999: 30a–31a.

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and overt political concerns.26 He enthusiastically participated in Fushe activities, including the targeting of the scholar-official Ruan Dacheng 阮大鋮 (1587–1646). He was involved in the promulgation of a manifesto entitled “A Public Notice to Warding off Disturbances in the Auxiliary Capital” (Liudu fangluan gongjie 留都防亂公揭) in 1639. Three years later he participated in the uproarious condemnation of the “treacherous official” while watching the performance of Ruan’s drama Swallow’s Letter in Nanjing. Ruan was widely regarded as an ally of the hated chief eunuch Wei Zhongxian 魏忠賢 (1568–1627), who dominated a weak ruler during the Tianqi era (1621–1627). Exiled to his hometown Huaining 懷寧 in Nan Zhili after the collapse of the Wei clique in late 1627, Ruan later moved quietly to Nanjing, the secondary capital of the Ming dynasty.27 In the late Chongzhen reign (1628–1644) it was rumored that Ruan would be rehabilitated and given a new official appointment. This possibility caused fear and loathing among the activists of the Restoration Society, who decided to take action to prevent Ruan from resurrecting his political fortunes. They composed a manifesto accusing him of a series of crimes. They included spreading rumors of his imminent rehabilitation; citing omens of his bright political future; slandering the imperial house; bribing powerful ministers; accumulating ill-­gotten wealth; and collaborating with the rural rebels led by the commander Li Zicheng 李自成 (1606–1645). While the accusations were inflated, they were readily shared by many members of the Restoration Society convening in Nanjing for the provincial examination. The public denunciation of Ruan tarnished his image and forced him into hiding in a suburb of Nanjing.28 “A Public Notice to Warding Off Disturbances in the Auxiliary Capital” was drafted in 1639 by three activists of the Restoration Society: Gu Gao 顧杲, Chen Zhenhui, and Wu Weiye 吳偉業 (1609–1671).29 As a bosom friend of the three and as a leading member of the society, Mao Xiang passionately endorsed the manifesto together with more than 130 other Fushe activists.30 Some researchers overstate his role and assert that Mao was the chief organizer of the public notice campaign.31 The content of the notice and Ming– 26. Jiang 1982: 62–129; Atwell 1975: 333–67; Miller 2009: 139–63. Mao was not a politywide leader, pace Ding, Wang, and Gu 2003: 65–70, although he may have provided liaison with the society’s Jiangbei 江北 members. 27. On the functions of the secondary capital, see Fang, 2014: 44–141. 28. Han 1997; 16.1a. 29. On Wu, see Chang 1988; Li 2006; Tschanz 2006. 30. For a complete list of these signatories, see Mao 1999: 24b–26a. 31. Xu and Zhao 1988: 121; Gu 1993: 15.

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Qing sources recording the event clearly indicate that Gu, Chen, and Wu were its chief authors.32 According to the Ming History, the major participants of the anti-­Ruan campaign were Gu Gao, Yang Tingshu 楊廷樞 (1595–1647), Shen Shizhu 沈士柱 (1606–1659), Huang Zongxi 黃宗羲 (1610–1695), and Wan Tai 萬泰 (1598–1657).33 Mao Xiang and his comrades nonetheless demonstrated courage because Ruan was a well-­connected former official who could cause them great trouble if and when he made a political comeback. As late Ming politics unfolded, many of the signatories of the manifesto were indeed persecuted and Mao barely managed to escape arrest when Ruan Dacheng and Ma Shiying 馬士英 (1591–1646) came to dominate the short-­ lived Hongguang regime (1644–1645). Mao owed his rescue to the intervention of Liu Kongzhao 劉孔昭 (b. 1604), another major official of the Hongguang administration and a personal friend of Mao Xiang’s father.34 In 1642 Mao participated in a second anti-­Ruan gathering in Nanjing, when many aspiring candidates came to the city for the provincial examination. While waiting for the examination to commence, many of them gathered in the residence of Liu Lüding 劉履丁 to watch the family troupe of Ruan Dacheng perform his newly written drama Swallow’s Letter (Yanzi jian 燕子箋).35 During the performance, they took turns deriding Ruan continuously until dawn. Mao Xiang was among those who made scathing indictments of Ruan.36 Some writers attempt to find evidence in scattered lines of poetry by Mao Xiang and his friends to suggest that Mao participated in efforts to resist the Qing and restore the Ming. Gu Qi 顧啟 goes further to assert that Mao secretly participated in the military campaigns staged by the various Southern Ming regimes against the Qing government, although without providing concrete textual evidence for his claims.37 It was certainly possible that Mao Xiang was anti-­Qing and pro-­Ming from the bottom of his heart, but a number of considerations prevented him from taking part in anti-­Manchu activities. First and foremost, Mao Xiang was a filial son, who viewed the guarantee of his parents’ safety as his priority. His father Mao Qizong retired to 32. Wu 1985: 15.10a; Xu and Zhao 1988: 121. 33. Zhang 1974: 7938. 34. Han 1997: 16.1b. 35. The play is included in Xu and Hu 1993. Although Ruan was widely condemned as a “treacherous official,” he was nevertheless a successful poet and dramatist. On his life, career, and literary output, see Hardie 2013: 57–85; Hu 2004: 1–217. 36. Xu Zi 1963: 191. 37. Gu 1993; 7, 45–46; Wu 2001: 94–95. Li Xiaoti also considers the evidence for claim of Mao’s anti-­Qing resistance as inconclusive. See Li Xiaoti 2007: 55.

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Rugao at the end of the Ming and did not encounter any political trouble for the rest of his life. Mao took meticulous care of his parents before they died of old age in 1654 and 1676, respectively. Second, as the de facto head of his large, four-­generation family that totaled more than one hundred members and servants, Mao did not want to endanger their lives by his own actions.38 Third, Mao’s loyalty toward the Ming regime was perhaps less strong than that of many Ming scholar-official loyalists, who committed suicide or staged military resistance, because he had repeatedly failed the higher-­level examinations and had never served the Ming government.39 After all, according to his contemporary Gu Yanwu 顧炎武 (1613–1682), it was the sole responsibility of the ruler and his ministers to prevent their dynasty from falling (baoguozhe, qujun qichen 保國者, 其君其臣).40 After the Qing was established, Mao Xiang refused to participate in civil service examinations organized by the new dynasty despite the repeated urgings of the Qing rulers. In 1673 when the Kangxi court decided to recruit “hermits hiding in the forests and mountains” to serve the new government, his close friend Gong Dingzi 龔鼎孳 (1615–1673), then minister of rites, sent several letters inviting him to Beijing. Mao, however, refused and cited his need to take care of his aging mother to avoid service in the Qing. In 1679 the Qing authorities raised the ante by formally holding the Erudite Scholars Examination (boxue hongci ke 博學鴻詞科), an extraordinary measure that allowed even commoners to compete for the highest metropolitan degree and for significant government posts. The then editor-­in-­chief of the Ming history project and left censor-­in-­chief Xu Yuanwen 徐元文 (1634–1691) pressured Mao to participate in the examination. Mao’s pretext for not serving the state this time was an acute foot ailment, a fairly standard affliction of those who did not want to serve in office.41 In 1683 he was invited for the third time to serve in the modest post of compiler of the Jiangsu provincial gazetteer. Once again, he begged off citing his old age and illness as justification.42 Mao’s consistent refusal to serve the Qing despite his qualifications and repeated offers of appointment earned him plaudits from later observers, including the

38. Mao 2009: 108; Pan 1931: 120. 39. A link between anti-­Qing loyalist actions and earlier Ming recognition of those loyalists in examinations and government services could be seen clearly in the Ming– Qing transition. Fang 2012: 102. 40. Gu, 1994: 471. 41. Mao 1997: 10.58b; Han 1997: 16.4b. 42. Mao 1999: 62b.

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founder of the People’s Republic of China Mao Zedong 毛澤東 (1893–1976).43 Although Mao Xiang firmly declined the Qing government’s offers of service, he did not expect his sons to follow suit. In fact he encouraged Mao Heshu 冒禾書 (courtesy names Guliang 穀梁, Jiasui 嘉穗, b. 1635) and Mao Danshu 冒丹書 (courtesy name Qingruo 青若 1639–1695) to take part in the Qing civil service examinations. Both of them passed the shengyuan degree examination at age fifteen. Mao Danshu eventually became vice prefect through the recommendation of local authorities, as had also been the case in the career of his great-­grandfather Menglin.44 Moreover, Mao continued his friendship with those who took the Qing examinations (e.g., Hou Fangyu, who nonetheless failed them, perhaps on purpose), as well as the former Ming officials who accepted the Qing government appointments (e.g., the well-­ known “double-­serving minister” Qian Qianyi 錢謙益, 1582–1664). Mao Xiang also carried on a family tradition by making efforts to provide relief in times of famine in the late Ming and early Qing. In 1641, when Rugao was struck by a severe drought, Mao sold his family’s jewelry to help raise relief funds managed by the magistrate.45 In 1652, crop failures caused by drought in Rugao resulted in an even more devastating disaster. The county magistrate Chen Bingyi 陳秉彝 set up soup kitchens (zhouchang 粥廠) at the four gates of the county seat, Rucheng 如城, for one hundred days. Mao Xiang and his father promptly responded to the relief efforts. The senior Mao was assigned the duty of distributing rice at the Eastern Gate, while Mao Xiang was put in charge of the soup kitchen at the Western Gate, the most challenging among the four, as it bordered the disaster-­stricken county of Taixing 泰興, where thousands of refugees came to receive their share of relief grain on a daily basis. The Mao family, as in the past, supplemented the county coffer with their own money and food and also made their servants available to assist with distributing relief grain. Due to the outbreak of plagues during this famine, Mao and all of his sixteen servants who handled the redistribution of food and other relief supplies fell seriously ill.46 43. Dong, Tan, and Zeng 1989: 319. 44. Ma and Jiang 1970: 16.62b; Mao 1999: 39a, 42a. Mao Danshu’s Hanbitang shiji and Furen ji bu as well as Mao Heshu’s Zhenyantang shiji were included in Rugao Maoshi congshu. Furen ji bu was reprinted in 1996 by Hebei jiaoyu chubanshe together with Chen Weisong’s Furen ji. 45. Han 1997: 16.3a; Ruan 2005: 31. 46. Han 1997: 16.3a; Li 2005: 107–11. The provision of relief during famine is also celebrated in the Li Yan story and history by Roger des Forges, Chapter 3 in this volume.

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3 Compared with his political and social activities, Mao Xiang’s literary achievements earned him even greater renown. During his lifetime, Mao published close to twenty collections of literary and miscellaneous writings.47 Eleven of them are included in the Collectanea of Works by Members of the Mao Family. They are of two categories. The first was poems and prose,48 and the second contains Mao’s writings on various special topics, such as orchids, incense burners, and tea.49 Besides these Collectanea of Works volumes, Mao also edited or coedited at least seven books. Among them were three collected works of Mao Xiang and his friends. The first two include selected poems composed by Mao and his friends at his famous Painted-­in-­Water Garden (Shuihui yuan 水繪園) over an extended time,50 and the third and most famous one, Collected Writings of Kindred Spirits (Liushi nian shiyou shiwen tongren ji 六十年師友詩文同人集, hereafter Kindred Spirits), is a twelve-­ fascicle collection of the writings of Mao and his hundreds of friends over a span of six decades. Additionally Mao compiled poems and prose written by other eminent literary figures such as Xie Lingyun 謝靈運 (385–433), Du Fu (杜甫 712–770), and Liu Zongyuan 柳宗元 (773–819), with his critical notes.51 47. Mao Guangsheng, Puchao shixuan xu 樸巢詩選序 (Preface to Puchao shixuan). 48. They include Xiangliyuan oucun (one fascicle), Hanbi guyin 寒碧孤吟 (Lone chantings from the Hanbi Tower), Poems on Beauties (Jimeiren mingshi 集美人名 詩), Snowy Grass (Fanxue xiaocao 泛雪小草), Selected Prose from the Puchao Treehouse (Puchao wenxuan 朴巢文選), Collected works of Mao Xiang (Chaomin wenji 巢民文集), Collected Poems from the Puchao Treehouse (Puchao shixuan 詩選), Collected Poems of Mao Xiang (Chaomin shiji 巢民詩集), and Reminiscences of the Plum-­shaded Convent. 49. They are Notes on Orchid (Lan yan 蘭言), On the Incense Burners from the Xuande Era (Xuanlu gezhu 宣爐歌註), and Selected Writings on the Jie Tea (Jiecha huichao 岕茶匯鈔). All of the works listed in notes 47 and 48 are included in the collated Mao Pijiang quanji 冒辟疆全集 (Complete works of Mao Xiang). See Mao, Wan, and Ding 2014. 50. They are Selected Poems from the Shuihui Convent (Shuihuian shixuan 水繪 庵詩集) and Sequel to the Poems from the Shuihui Convent (erji 二集). 51. Gu 1993: 11. These works include Selected Writings from the Past (Xianshi qianzheng lu 先世前徵錄 ), Du Fu’s Kuizhou Poems (Du Shaoling Kuizhou shixuan 杜少陵夔州詩選 ), Xie Lingyun’s Mountain Tour Poems with Critical Remarks (Xie

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Among all of his published works, the best known was undoubtedly a booklet in memory of his concubine Dong Bai, who died at age twenty-­six,52 the Reminiscences of Plum-­ Shaded Convent (hereafter Reminiscences), named after the site of Dong’s burial. Elegantly written, skillfully presented, and full of self-­reproach, this short memoir narrates the couple’s early encounters, the twists and turns of their courtship, and details of Dong’s exceptional talents and feminine virtues. In addition to recounting a notable scholar-concubine romance, the book revealed official abuses in the late Ming. Examples include subordinates of Tian Hongyu 田弘遇 (d. 1643), the father of the Chongzhen emperor’s favored consort Tian Xiuying 秀英 (d. 1642), who forcibly kidnapped the famed courtesan Chen Yuanyuan 陳圓圓 (1623–1695) from Suzhou.53 Mao also described atrocities committed by the invading Qing forces during their conquest of the Jiangnan region and the brutal pillaging by the roaming bandits who were said to have “slaughtered their victims as if mowing grass” 殺人如草. The most fascinating feature of the memoir is its masterful portrayal of Dong Bai and her daring feminine pursuit of love and freedom. Additionally, the memoir celebrates her many talents in doing needlework, cooking delicacies, composing poems, arranging flowers, growing plants, appreciating the moon, enjoying tea, practicing Kangle youshan shiping 謝康樂遊山詩評), Liu Zongyuan’s Mountain and Water Prose with Remarks (Liu Liuzhou shanshui wenping 柳柳州山水文評), and Collection of Poems and Prose of Tan Yuanchun and Zhong Xing with Handwritten Comments (Shoupi Tan Youxia Zhong Xing shiwenji 手批譚友夏鐘惺詩文集). 52. In his chapter on Mao Xiang and Yu Huai, Ōki writes that Dong died at age 29 without providing textual evidence. See Ōki 2006: 238. Dong, who was born in 1624 and passed away on the second day of the first month of the eighth year of the Shunzhi reign (1651), was at most twenty-­seven and most possibly twenty-­six years old by the Western reckoning. 53. Chen Yuanyuan was one of the so-­called Eight Beauties of the Qinhuai Pleasure Quarters in the late Ming. She had a brief romantic encounter with Mao Xiang in 1641 before she was kidnapped to Beijing by the men of Tian Hongyu. After Tian’s death in late 1643, she was brought to the house of the powerful general Wu Sangui 吳三桂 (1612–1678) as his concubine. When the Ming was overthrown by the Li Zicheng rebel forces, it was rumored that she was taken by Li’s right-­hand man Liu Zongmin 劉宗敏 (d. 1645), and the kidnapping is considered by some historians as one of the factors contributing to Wu’s defection to the Qing. See Chen Shengxi 2006: 120–37. Angela Hsi argues that the torturing of Wu Sangui’s father by Liu Zongmin was the major reason behind Wu’s decision to fight the Li Zicheng rebels and the story of Chen Yuanyuan was a creation of the Kangxi period. See Hsi 1975: 449–50.

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calligraphy, and assisting Mao in his literary pursuits, as well as devotedly taking care of him and his family. The first of the Qing yiyu 憶語 (Reminiscences) genre,54 which culminated with Shen Fu’s 沈復 (b. 1763) Six Chapters of a Floating Life (Fusheng liuji 浮生六記),55 Mao’s memoir no doubt is largely responsible for the enduring fame of Dong Bai. Among the eight most revered courtesans of the late Ming, Dong Bai, Chen Yuanyuan, and Liu Rushi 柳如是 (1618–1664) stand out in part because they were celebrated by famous men of letters, Mao Xiang, Wu Weiye, and much later, Chen Yinke 陳寅恪 (1890–1969).56 The Reminiscences is an artistic work of high taste. Its description of courtesans including Chen Yuanyuan, Sha Jiuwan 沙九畹, and Dong Xiao­ sheng 曉生 avoids vulgarity. By comparison, the depiction of women by other celebrated literary personalities of the time, such as Zhang Dai 張岱 (1597–1689) and Li Yu, are full of feminine and erotic clichés, such as willow waist (liuyao 柳腰), cherry lips (yinchun 櫻唇), and golden lotus ( jinlian 金 蓮). Another appeal of the Reminiscences is the author’s honesty and candor as he made no effort to conceal his own flaws including his frequent indecisiveness and procrastination. For instance, readers of the memoir are likely to be intrigued by his admission of his refusal to allow Dong Bai to join him and they will probably be annoyed by his persistent unwillingness to take immediate action to eliminate her financial debts.57 Along with such personal and all-­too-­human details, the elegant and beautiful language of the memoir appealed to readers. Many noted twentieth-­century writers and critics in China speak highly of the work.58 Its appearance in approximately twenty editions 54. For more on the yiyu writings of the Qing period, see Li 2012; Kang 2008. 55. Shen’s memoir was translated into English as Six Chapters of a Floating Life (1935) by Lin, Chapters from a Floating Life (1960) by Black, Six Records of a Floating Life (1983) by Pratt and Chiang, and Six Records of a Life Adrift (2011) by Sanders. For a thorough discussion of the Qing reminiscence works, see Li 2012. 56. For example, Chen Yuanyuan was known by Wu Weiye’s popular Song of (Chen) Yuanyuan, Dong Xiaowan by Mao Xiang’s Reminiscences, and Liu Rushi by Chen Yinke’s Liu Rushi biezhaun. For more on the eight courtesans, see Brook 1998: 230; Idema and Grant 2004: 364–368; Chang 1991: 19–37; Li 2014: 307–90; Hou Fangyu 2010: 3.2a–3b; Xu and Zhao 1988: 121–26; Zhao 2004; Niu 2001: 3.2a–3b; Meng, 2002: 123–63; Liu 1996: 225–55. 57. According to Pei-­yi Wu, self-­reproach or self-­blaming was one of the methods used by writers of autobiographical works in traditional China. See Wu 1990: 222–34. 58. Zhu Jianmang 朱劍芒 (1890–1972) views the memoir as the most moving masterpiece. Zhu 1959: 1. Other critics who sing their praises include Zhou Shoujuan

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since the 1650s59 and its translation into several foreign languages both attest to its popularity.60

4 Mao Xiang had wide social contacts and was never short of friends. On trips, he visited men of letters and befriended them. He also enjoyed receiving guests at his family’s renowned Painted-­in-­Water Garden. The Mao family treated visitors generously and entertained them with dramatic performances.61 Kindred Spirits, a collection of writings edited by Mao and printed in 1673, contains poems, prose, and letters of more than 450 friends produced over decades. The oldest author was Dong Qichang, who was nearly sixty years older than Mao; the youngest was Zhang Chao 張潮 (1650–1707), who was almost forty years younger than Mao. Although Dong Qichang was older than Mao Xiang’s grandfather, he appreciated Mao Xiang’s first writings in 1624, as we have seen, and became friend with the much younger man. It appears that Mao Xiang visited Dong numerous times and showed the older man his art collections. Dong wrote colophons on many of Mao’s collected art works, including the Classics of Virtues (Dejing 德經)62 and the Rhapsody to the Goddess of Luo River (Luoshen fu 洛神賦), which had been copied in small-­character script by the Yuan painter and calligrapher Zhao Mengfu 趙孟頫 (1254–1322) and the Ming painting master Zhu Zhishan 祝枝山 (1460–1526), respectively. The elderly master Dong also wrote down some of Du Fu’s poems in the calligraphic style of Yan Zhenqing 顏真卿 (709–785) and copied Mao’s distant ancestor Mao Zheng’s Brief Record of the Zhengde Reign (Zhengde shilu xiaozhuan 正德實錄小傳).63 In the Reminiscences we learn that Dong Qichang’s handwritten copy of Xie Zhuang’s 謝莊 (421–466) masterpiece Rhapsody on the Moon (Yuefu 月賦) specially prepared for Mao later became 周瘦鵑 (1895–1968), Yu Pingbo 俞平伯 (1900–1990), Yao Xueyin 姚雪垠 (1910– 1999), and Huang Shang 黃裳 (1919–2012). 59. For more information on the various editions of the Yingmeian yiyu, see Wei 2003. 60. Pan 1931; Vallette-­Hémery 1998; Ōki 2010: 209–318; Schwarz 2009. 61. For scale and performance of Mao’s family troupe, see Wang Ranye 2010. 62. Dejing is the last forty-­four chapters of Lao Zi’s 老子 eighty-­one-­chapter Dao de jing. 63. Wang, Ding, and Gu 2004: 7.

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the model for Dong Bai’s calligraphic practice.64 Admiring Dong Qichang’s extraordinary skills in painting and calligraphy, in 1635 Mao hired the veteran stonemason Gu Gongyan 顧公彥 to carve the balustrades and walls of the Hanbi Tower 寒碧樓 in the Painted-­in-­Water Garden with all the calligraphic works Dong sent to him, including prefaces and postscripts, remarks and annotations, letters and poems, as well as the calligraphic works of Yan Zhenqing and Mi Fu 米芾 (1051–1107) copied by the old master. Dong likewise spoke highly of Mao Xiang’s calligraphy, commenting that he had mastered the essence of the penmanship of Yan Zhenqing, the Tang master who was widely considered one of the greatest calligraphers in Chinese history.65 The following poem, which was “presented” to Mao by Dong who addresses his protégé as “my elder brother in poetry” and has been translated in The Century of Tung Ch’i-­ch’ang, testifies vividly to the “friendship in spite of age difference” (wangnian jiao 忘年交) between the two: In the realm of arts and letters, the great divisions were made By [Sima] Xiangru in rhyme-­prose, and Qiu [Zuo Qiuming] in history; So with the theoretical and profound, one can forget mundane responsibilities, Whatever has come or gone, one waits for the empty boat (with a sage’s equanimity). Lately at the Golden Horse (Gate of the Hanlin Academy), we have rarely seen each other; For a thousand years the Dragon in Clouds will continue his memorable journey. In the snow the official’s plum tree blossoms along the path of the Eastern Hall, One by one, like heavenly flowers scattering, we sadly depart.66

Chen Jiru 陳繼儒 (1558–1639) was another friend of Mao Xiang from an older generation. Chen knew Mao by 1627 at the latest when Mao sought his opinion of his first poetic collection Surviving Poems from the Fragrant Garden. Chen obviously appreciated Mao’s talents and was even more admiring of his young friend’s poetic skills in his preface to Mao’s Lone Chantings

64. Mao 2009: 8. For the English translation of the rhapsody, see Xiao 1996: v. 3, 31–40. 65. Mao 1997: 3.73b; Mao 1979: 73. 66. Ho 1992: v. 2, 83–84. The Romanization of the personal names in the poem has been changed from Wade-­Giles to Pinyin.

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from the Hanbi Tower (Hanbi guyin 寒碧孤吟).67 When he heard that the teenaged Mao was spending a considerable amount of time with like-­minded young friends writing poetry, Chen wrote him two letters admonishing him not to spend too much time in literary pursuits and advising him to focus on preparing for the civil service examinations. Mao took Chen’s counsel and refrained from composing poems for five years.68 It appears that the two men were rather close as Chen once jokingly pointed out that Mao was a man who took pleasure in being surrounded by beautiful women.69 Chen, like Dong Qichang, also wrote colophons on many of Mao’s art collections.70 For example, he once commented on Zhao Mengfu’s painting A Lofty Recluse Reciting Poetry Dedicatedly (Gaoshi kuyin tu 高士苦吟圖) in Mao’s possession, remarking that “it was better painted than his famous paintings of A Recluse under an Ancient Tree (Gumu gaoshi tu 古木高士圖) and Playing the Qin-­ and-­Ruan Zither (Tanqin boruan tu 彈琴撥阮圖).”71 Chen went further to claim that the Yuan painting was better than all the paintings from the Tang and Song dynasties.72 Qian Qianyi was perhaps the closest of Mao Xiang’s older friends. Their relationship was strengthened by the “sisterly” bond between Liu Rushi and Dong Bai, developed during their times together in the Qinhuai Pleasure Quarters.73 Qian admired Mao’s literary talents and physical appearance, calling him “a handsome man from the Huaihai-Yangzhou region” 淮海維揚 一俊人.74 Mao in turn proudly regarded Qian as his mentor. In 1640, he and Zheng Yuanxun 鄭元勳 (1604–1645) organized a poem-­composing competition at the latter’s Shadowy Garden (Yingyuan 影園) on the theme of the yellow peony that were then blossoming. He sent all the poems without revealing the names of the authors to Qian asking him to be the adjudicator.75 67. Mao 1997: 1.2a. 68. For more on Mao’s calligraphy and his relationship with Dong Qichang, see Ju-­hsi Chou 1978–79. 69. Mao 2009: 8; Mao 1997: 1.2a. 70. Wang, Ding, and Gu 2004: 57. Pace Barnhart 1997/98: 7. There is no evidence that Chen was mentor to the older Dong. 71. Ruanqin is a three-­or four-­stringed musical instrument said to be invented by Ruan Xian 阮咸 of the Jin dynasty (265–420), one of the Seven Worthies of the Bamboo Grove. 72. Mao 1997: 3.73b. 73. For more on Liu, see Chang 1991: 19–37; Chen 1980. 74. Zhou 1936: 114. 75. Mao 1997: 1.47a; Mao 1999: 26a.

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At the end of 1642, Qian came to the rescue of Dong Bai, who was in dire financial straits, by paying the bills of creditors exceeding three thousand taels of silver,76 a colossal amount that theoretically approximated twenty years of Qian’s official salary as a vice minister of grade 3a77 or two-­month dining expenses of the Chongzhen emperor (r. 1628–1644).78 After holding a banquet celebrating her freedom, Qian hired a boat to send her to join Mao in Rugao.79 Qian apparently took this action for several reasons. First, he genuinely appreciated Mao’s talents and cherished their intergenerational friendship. Second, his favorite concubine Liu Rushi was an intimate friend of Dong Bai. Although textual evidence is lacking, Liu may have played a role in redeeming Dong’s debt and her singing girl’s bondage. Third, in 1639–1641, Dong Bai had accompanied Qian and Liu touring the Huangshan 黃山–Xin’an 新安 region of Anhui and Zhejiang. It is plausible that Qian 76. Ōki writes in “Mao Xiang and Yu Huai” that Dong’s “’employer’ (the courtesan house) raised her ‘ransom.’” In fact Dong was working alone at her house in Suzhou managed by her “parents” (who were probably not her biological parents but her managers). The debts she owed were not the ransom demanded by her employer, but those she and her “parents” borrowed from various debtors as she ceased working after making up her mind to become Mao’s concubine in the spring of 1642 and her “father” was notoriously extravagant with his numerous hobbies and reckless with money. Ōki 2006: 237. See Mao Yingmeian yiyu: 42; Zhang 1959: 3. 77. Huang, 1974: 276. 78. Sun 1992: 425. 79. Mao 2009: 44. Wai-­yee Li misinterprets the meaning of a passage in Yingmeian yiyu that (Qian Qianyi) “xuan mai zhou song (Xiaowan) zhi wu Gao” (錢謙益)旋 買舟送(小宛)至吾皋 as “personally escorted Dong Bai to Mao Xiang’s home at Rugao.” See “The Late Ming Courtesan,” in Widmer and Chang 1997: 66; “Romantic Recollections of Women,” in Yi 2012: 351. Qian did not escort Dong Bai to Rugao in person; he hired a boat and sent his servants to escort her to join Mao. Obviously Li fails to notice the following sentence in the same paragraph: “Jie Zongbo shu, weiwei sasa, shi xi qizhuang 接宗伯書，娓娓灑灑，始悉其狀” (Upon reading the long and detailed letter from the honorable Minister Qian, I began to be aware of the whole situation). Moreover, when Mao Xiang was informed of Dong Bai’s arrival at Rugao, he was drinking with his father. Intending to conceal Dong’s arrival, he continued to accompany his father until the fourth drum was beaten (while his wife Su Yuanfang was making accommodation arrangement for Dong). Mao 2009: 44, 56. Had Qian himself escorted Dong to Rugao, both Mao Xiang and his father (who was not only younger than Qian in age, but also lower in official rank) would rush to the Rugao pier to greet the generous older man.

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had hired Dong to be an additional sexual companion.80 Regardless of the exact cause of his generosity, Qian obviously liked Dong and came to her rescue on behalf of his friend Mao.81 Most of Mao Xiang’s friends were his peers of whom there were too many to list comprehensively. As an avid member and possibly the Rugao convener of Fushe, Mao had frequent contact with other elite members of the society. The other three members of the four late Ming masters, Chen, Fang, and Hou, as well as Mao’s sworn brothers, Zhang Mingbi 張明弼 (1584–1653),82 Lü Zhaolong 呂兆龍, Chen Liang 陳梁, and Liu Lüding, were among Mao’s closest friends. Noted men of letters who visited Mao and composed poems with him at the Painted-­in-­Water Garden included Gong Dingzhi, Wang Shizhen 王士禛 (1634–1711),83 and a dozen others.84 Their compositions at the Painted-­ in-­Water Garden are collected in the Kindred Spirits. Although, as we have seen, Mao Xiang and Li Yu were born in the same year in the same county,85 they do not mention each other in any of their extant writings. One possible explanation is that Mao came from a well-­regarded scholar-­official family and focused his activities on elite political, social, and cultural pursuits, while Li was from a commoner’s background and earned his living and supported his family by writing, printing, selling books, designing and building gardens, and organizing private dramatic performances. It is possible that Mao looked down on Li and excluded him from his own social circle. But there is no certainty about this because Mao and Li shared 80. Meng 2006: 209. 81. Qian was widely admired and followed by many talented young men in the late Ming. The chief reason obviously was his scholarly and artistic accomplishments, but his generosity toward others was certainly another factor. For more on Qian and his literary and historical achievements, see Yim 2009; Chang 2006; Wang, “Loyalty, History, and Empire,” Chapter 10 in this volume. 82. Zhang was six years older than Mao Xiang’s father, but he treated the younger Mao as a same-­generation friend. His biography of Dong Bai was translated and included in Pan 1931: 133–56. 83. On the friendship between Wang and Mao, see Gu 2000: 53–57. 84. They included Li Qing 李清 (1602–1683), Yu Huai, Deng Hanyi 鄧漢儀 (1617–1689), Shao Qian 邵潛 (1581–1665), Song Shiying 宋實穎 (1625–1705), Du Jun 杜濬 (1611–1687), Wu Qi 吳綺 (1619–1694), Ji Yinzhong 紀映鐘 (1609–1701), Qian Zeng (錢曾 1629–1701), Huang Zhouxing 黃周興 (1611–1680), Zong Yuanding 宗元鼎 (1620–1698), and You Tong 尤侗 (1618–1704). 85. Mao and Liu 1977: 11, state that Li was born in Hubei. Most scholars agree that he was born and grew up in Rugao. Xu 2011: 10–25; Shen 1997: 17–30.

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the company of many mutual friends who enjoyed high social status, including Qian Qianyi, Wu Weiye, Gong Dingzi, Wang Shizhen, and others.86 If these distinguished scholars and officials could befriend Li Yu, there was no strong reason why Mao would not have done the same. Moreover, it seems that Mao never had the reputation of being snobbish and jealous.87 This is a puzzle yet to be solved. Mao Xiang also had many friends among the younger generation. He was protective of and warm toward the posterity of the Donglin activists and his Fushe friends, especially the children of the “Six Early Donglin Gentlemen” 東林前六君子 and the “Seven Later Donglin Gentlemen” 後七君子.88 In 1639 he held an expensive banquet at Nanjing’s Peach-­Leaf Ferry (Taoyedu 桃葉 渡) for the offspring of the Donglin martyrs, and he continued to be hospitable to them and other literary talents of the younger generation. His most celebrated younger friend was perhaps Chen Weisong 陳維崧 (1625–1682), son of Chen Zhenhui, who was considered Mao’s dearest friend.89 A towering figure in the Qing poetic world in his later years, the younger Chen lived in Mao’s elegant Painted-­in-­Water Garden under his financial care and literary tutorship for much of the 1658–1666 period.90 During his residence in Rugao, Chen studied with Mao’s two sons and stepbrother Mao Bao 冒褒 (1645– 1726), joined Mao’s meetings with his friends from across the country, and took part in most, if not all the cultural events Mao organized. Mao even 86. The mutual friends of Mao and Li also included Du Jun, Fang Gongqian 方拱 乾 (1596–1667), Yu Huai, and You Tong. 87. For more on the possible relationship between Mao and Li, see Shen 2003. 88. The Early Six Gentlemen and the Later Seven Gentlemen were those Donglin scholars who were persecuted to death by eunuch chief Wei Zhongxian during the Tianqi era. The six, who all died in prison in 1625, were Yang Lian 楊漣 (b. 1571), Zuo Guangdou 左光鬥 (b. 1571), Wei Dazhong 魏大中 (b. 1575), Gu Dazhang 顧大 章 (b. 1567), Zhou Chaorui 周朝瑞, and Yuan Huazhong 袁化中. The seven, who died in 1626–1627, were Gao Panlong 高攀龍 (1562–1626), Zhou Shunchang 周順 昌 (1584–1626), Zhou Qiyuan 周起元 (1571–1626), Miao Changqi 繆昌期 (1562– 1626), Li Yingsheng 李應升 (1593–1626), Huang Zunsu 黃尊素 (1584–1626), and Zhou Zongjian 周宗建 (1582–1627). The year of death of Zhou Zongjian is disputable. For more on the politics of that era, see Dardess 2002: 72–125. 89. Kong Shangren 孔尚任 (1648–1718), a sixty-­fourth-­generation descendant of Confucius (551–479 bce) and the author of the acclaimed Peach Blossom Fan (Taohua shan 桃花扇), was another younger friend of Mao’s. On the two’s amicable relations, see Strassberg 1983: 136–37. 90. Lu 2006: 131–248.

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provided him with Xu Ziyun 徐紫雲 (sobriquet Yunlang 雲郎, 1644–1675), an artistically talented family servant who was “handsome and gifted at singing,” to accompany him in his studies. Xu’s company made Chen’s sojourn in Rugao both productive and enjoyable. It is widely speculated that a homosexual relationship existed between the two and Chen’s congratulatory poem composed on the occasion of Xu’s marriage in 1664 was indeed an explicit expression of homosexual love.91 Mao’s hundreds of friends could be broadly classified into two groups in terms of their political attitudes toward the fallen Ming and the ruling Qing. The first included the literati who were anti-eunuch and anti-­Ruan Dacheng in the late Ming and anti-­Manchu in the early Qing. Mao maintained a lifelong, loyal relationship with them. In the process of editing the Kindred Spirits, Mao was advised not to incorporate the writings of the anti-­Qing loyalists such as Gu Gao and Wu Yingji 吳應箕 (1594–1645),92 which risked his becoming a target of a literary inquisition. Mao refused to take that advice, claiming that “these talented people are what I once appreciated and befriended, and I will not forget them for the rest of my life.”93 Noticeably he also continued his friendship with those who decided to join the Qing government, including his older friend and mentor Qian Qianyi, who accepted the Qing post of minister of rites; Gong Dingzi, who first surrendered to the rebel forces of Li Zicheng and later joined the Qing government and served successively as the ministers of justice, of war, and of rites; Wu Weiye, who stayed away from Qing officialdom for a while but eventually assumed the presidency of the State University (Guozijian 國子監) under the new regime; and Hou Fangyu, who reluctantly took part in the civil service examination of the Qing.94 It appears that Mao Xiang himself was determined not to serve the Qing, but he did not demand the same from others. Put differently, he cared 91. Zhang 2010: 395; Chen 1995: 26.3; Li Xiaoti 2009: 145–46. For a detailed analysis of the Chen-­Xu relations, see Volpp 2002. 92. Other loyalists included Xia Yunyi 夏允彝 (1596–1645), Yang Youlong 楊龍友 (1596–1646), and Huang Daozhou 黃道周 (1585–1646). 93. Li, preface to Tongren ji. 94. Hou failed the provincial examination in 1651 and was placed on a supplementary list (fubang). Des Forges writes in his article “Toward Another Tang or Zhou?” that Hou failed the Qing examinations on purpose. Des Forges 2005: 88. Xu Zhinong and Zhao Yuxia, collators of Hou Chaozong wenxuan, claims that Hou was initially recommended for first place in the 1651 examination but was eventually given a fubang status due to objections from some other examiners. See Xu and Zhao 1988: 5.

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about his own reputation for “preserving his own purity,” but appeared to be understanding of those who chose and acted differently. He clearly placed great value on his relationship with mentors, peers, and protégés, and his friendship was not politically based. His realistic assessment of the Qing rule, shared by many others, certainly assisted the Qing in steadily strengthening and improving its governance over the central plain.

5 Mao Xiang’s personal life, including one wife and multiple concubines, was the object of envy for many of his friends. His engagement to Su Yuanfang 蘇元芳 (1611–1672), the third daughter of the secretarial drafter Su Wenhan 蘇文韓95 from the same county, was decided by Su’s father and Mao’s grandfather Mao Mengling while the latter was serving in Huichang as county magistrate in 1613, and the children were but two years of age. Married at age eighteen in 1629, Mao and Su produced three sons and one daughter, of whom the eldest son (Mao Yan 冒兗 1634–1638) and the daughter both died young. Su was recorded in the Reminiscences of the Plum-­Shaded Convent and other early Qing sources as a kind, loving, and understanding spouse, who readily agreed to Mao’s taking of Dong Bai as concubine in 1642. After Dong’s passing in 1651, Su Yuanfang personally chose future concubines for her husband. Mao was grateful for her magnanimity and never remarried after Su’s death at age sixty-­one.96 Dong Bai, courtesy names Xiaowan 小宛 and Qinglian 青蓮, was Mao Xiang’s most famous concubine. Mao first heard of the fifteen-­year-­old courtesan in the spring of 1639 from Fang Yizhi and he first met her in the fall of that year. She was in a slightly drunken state and he parted without exchanging a word with her. He was nonetheless impressed by her stunning beauty. As Dong soon moved to Suzhou and was away from her house on a lengthy trip with Qian Qianyi and Liu Rushi to the Huangshan-­Xin’an region in 1639– 1641, Mao did not see her again until the spring of 1642.97 On her second encounter with Mao, the eighteen-­year-­old Dong quickly decided to end her 95. One of Su Wenhan’s published works, Jinshu zuan 晉書纂, was reprinted by Beijing chubanshe in 2000. 96. Mao 2010: 7.25a–36b; Mao 9999: 5b, 11b, 14b, 56b. 97. Misreading a line in the Yingmeian yiyu, Wai-­yee Li writes in one of her recent articles that in 1640 “when Dong expressed her wish to marry him (Mao Xiang), he declined.” Li 2012: 350.

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courtesan career by becoming a concubine of the refined thirty-­one-­year-­old man. Uncertain about the possible reaction from his wife (for taking another marital partner) and from his father (for doing so prior to passing the provincial examination), and hesitant about the financial cost of redeeming her from government bondage, Mao procrastinated, repeatedly finding excuses to delay any action. Determined and persistent, Dong eventually was able to move Mao’s many friends, including Qian Qianyi to come to her rescue in the winter of 1642. Mao and Dong were together for the next eight years to early 1651, during which they experienced ups and downs associated with the Ming–Qing transition.98 As we have seen, in the Reminiscences, Dong was unrestrainedly praised and sorely missed by Mao for her remarkable talents and feminine virtues as well as her untimely death.99 As soulmate of Mao Xiang, Dong Bai spent a considerable amount of time assisting him in his literary pursuits, especially his eventually unrealized project of compiling a complete compendium of Tang poems. The two oftentimes sat in their study reading and annotating literary works for a whole day without exchanging a single word. In the process of searching, copying, and editing relevant material for Mao, Dong also compiled her own collection of works related to feminine affairs from antiquity to late Ming. The collection was highly appreciated by Gong Dingzi and Gu Mei 顧眉 (1619–1664), another husband-concubine couple who were dear friends of Mao and Dong during their visit to Rugao.100 At the urging of Gong and Gu, Mao had the three-­fascicle collection published after the passing of Dong, possibly in the 1650s. Entitled Toiletries of Past Beauties (Lianyan 奩豔), the work apparently earned Dong a semihonorific title of nüjiaoshu 女校書 98. Zhang 1959: 1–4; Ruan 2005: 129–30. For more on their lives during the 1642–1651 period, see Mao 2009: 4–63; Pan 1931: 7–95; Van Gulik 2005: 291–94. 99. Mao was not alone in his high praise of Dong. See Wu 2001: 47–77. Dong’s life, especially her brave pursuit of love, has been a focus of several twentieth-­century plays, movies, and novels. Examples include a stage play written in 1940s by Mao Shuyin 冒舒諲 (1914–1999), who was a descendant of Mao Xiang; the Hong Kong movie Dong Xiaowan, which was directed by Zhu Shilin 朱石麟 (1899–1967) and starred Xia Meng (Hsia Moon) 夏夢 in 1963; a variety of Chinese regional operas that were mostly entitled Dong Xiaowan; as well as novels and narrative poems such as Dong Xiaowan by Dong Qianli 董千里, A Beauty Who Died Young (Boming hongyan 薄命紅顏) by Du Hong 杜紅, A Complete Biography of Dong Xiaowan (Dong Xiaowan quanzhuan 全傳) by Li Bao 利寶, and A Fairy Couple from the Painted-­in-­ Water Garden (Shuihui xianlü 水繪仙侶) by Bo Hua 柏樺. 100. Mao 2009: 68.

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(female col­la­tor).101 It was later included in the 230-­fascicle Works Written by Female Writers in Chinese History (Ranzhi ji 然脂集) compiled by Wang Shilu 王士祿 (1626–1673) in 1665.102 Unfortunately, Wang had no financial resources to print it for a wider circulation, and only forty fascicles of Wang’s self-­copied collection are preserved in Shanghai and Shandong libraries. It appears that Toiletries of Past Beauties is not among the surviving volumes.103 Some of Dong Bai’s calligraphic works, paintings, and poems are preserved both within and outside China.104 One of her poems, “Casual Composition by the Green Window” (Lüchuang oucheng 綠窗偶成), has been translated by Daria Berg as follows: I gaze at the flowers with my sick eyes, steeped in melancholy thoughts, Sitting alone by the secluded window I play the jade-­decorated zither. The yellow orioles also seem to understand people’s mind, From beyond the window they send out beautiful sound time and again.105

During the four decades from Dong’s death in 1651 until Mao’s passing in 1693, Mao took at least four more concubines. The first was Wu Meilan 吳湄 蘭 (1643–1661), courtesy names Xiangyi 湘逸 and Koukou 扣扣. Originally a maid of Dong Bai, she was recommended by her mistress to Mao as his future concubine when Wu was about ten years old. From around the age of thirteen or fourteen, Wu began to accompany Mao in his study. According to the sources available, Wu was an eager learner who enjoyed reading the Selections of Refined Literature (Wenxuan 文選) and Du Fu’s poems, and was able to compose poems by herself. She was lauded for being similar to Dong Bai in terms of possessing the qualities of understanding, unselfishness, and lack of interest in jewelry and fine clothing. In 1661, when the eighteen-­year-­ old was about to become Mao’s formal concubine, she fell ill and soon died.106 101. Jin 2006: 165; Berg 2013a: 180. 102. Berg identifies Ranzhi ji as a poetry collection in her article “Courtesan Editor,” ibid., 185. This is not the case, as the collection contains a variety of works written or edited by Chinese women before Wang’s times. For the contents of Ranzhi ji, see Wang 1989: 1a–15a; He 2012: 62. 103. Ibid.; Hu: 688. 104. Ruan 2005: 131. For the eleven poems written by Dong on a fan, see Shanghai shuhua chubanshe bian 1997: 37. For a painting of Dong’s, see Weidner et al. 1988: 98; For her poems, see Xu 1990: 8128; Wu 2001: 18–20. 105. Berg 2013: 155. 106. Chen 1919: 5.21a; Mao 1997: 3.45a–47b.

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In the spring of 1665, Mao took a new concubine named Cai Han 蔡含 (1647–1686), courtesy name Nüluo 女蘿, the daughter of Mao’s butler Cai Mengzhao 蔡孟昭 (1607–1686) from Wuxian 吳縣 (in present-­day Jiangsu).107 After entering the Mao household, Cai became a Buddhist and devoted her energy and time to studying Chinese painting by taking on the noted Suzhou painter Wu Qi 吳琪 (b. 1644) as her tutor. She was a talented painter and was good at depicting natural scenes, especially excelling at painting pine trees.108 From the poems contained in the Kindred Spirits, many of Mao’s friends sought fervently to obtain her paintings. For example, Wu Qi 吳綺 (1619– 1694) brought in person a large quantity of refined Suzhou silk to Rugao to “barter” for her painting,109 and Dai Xun 戴洵 asked for Cai’s painting as a birthday present for his mother.110 Cai oftentimes painted together with yet another of Mao’s concubines, Jin Yue 金玥, and the charm of their paintings was enhanced by the colophons of Mao and his artistic associates. The painting Cai and Jin collaborated on in 1675, which bore Mao’s calligraphic remarks and was entitled “Auspicious Double Fifth Festival” (Wurui tu 午瑞圖), has been preserved in the Nanjing Museum 南京博物院. Her painting “Roof-­ Thatched Pavilion in Autumn” (Maoting qiuse tu 茅亭秋色圖) finished in 1681 was another highly regarded work, which is now housed at the Suzhou Municipal Museum.111 Jin Yue, courtesy named Xiaozhu 曉珠, nickname Yuanyu 圓玉, a native of Kunshan 昆山, was taken as Mao’s concubine in 1667. She became a major figure in his life and assumed the responsibility of taking care of Mao’s health after Cai’s passing at age thirty-­nine. When Mao fell ill at the age of seventy-­ seven, it was said that Jin Yue cut off a slice of flesh from her thigh and cooked it with medicine to cure Mao’s illness,112 as some chaste women and filial men did in China beginning in the Song period.113 Jin Yue excelled in painting as well, especially at depicting flowers and plants. In his colophon on Jin’s Autumn Sunflower, Mao wrote that “I am no good at drinking, but have drunk fragrant wine profusely in this flower painting.”114 Her skill is 107. Chen 2010: 4.13; Mao 1997: 3.48a–49b. 108. Mao 1999: 52b–53a. 109. Mao 1997: 12.70a. 110. Wang, Ding, and Gu 2014: 196. 111. For more on Cai Han’s paintings, see Xie 1986: 43–44. 112. Mao 1997: 12.75b; Ruan 2005: 130. 113. For the practice, see Elvin 1984: 118–123; T’ien 1988: 149–61; Yu Genzhe 2006; Fang 2007: 210–12. 114. Li 1992: 7.3b.

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also reflected in the poem composed by Wang Maolin 汪懋麟 (1640–1688) in 1676 after meeting Mao Xiang and viewing the painting jointly made by Cai and Jin entitled Two Birds Perching on a Tree Branch. Jin and Cai were oftentimes addressed as “Er nüshi” 二女史 (two female erudites) or “Er huashi” 二畫史 (two master painters).115 According to Ōki Yasushi, Jin Yue’s painting, Melon and Flowers, is now held at the Chokaido 澄懷堂 Art Museum in Yokkaichi City 四日市 in Japan.116 Another of Jin’s painting with Mao Xiang’s colophon, The Hundred Flowers, is included in Views from Jade Terrace: Chinese Women Artists.117 In addition, in 1668 Mao Xiang took one more concubine, née Zhang 張氏 whose full name is not recorded in the sources. As in the cases of Wu, Cai, and Jin, she was also raised as a maid in Mao’s house and her concubinage to him was arranged by Mao’s wife, Su Yuanfang. It is worth mentioning that none of concubines, except for Zhang (who gave birth to one daughter in 1671), bore Mao any children even though they all became part of his household before the age of twenty.118 It is also noteworthy that available sources do not reveal any animosity between Mao and his multiple partners, between his wife and concubines, or among the concubines. Mao’s openness to people, evident in his political relations, seems to have been reflected as well in his private life. In the dynastic transition from the Ming to the Qing, there were thousands of loyalist heroes like Shi Kefa, Chen Zilong, and Xia Yunyi who gave up their lives in the anti-­Qing resistance movements.119 There were also numerous scholar-officials such as Qian Qianyi, Gong Dingzi, and Wu Weiye who accepted the new government and served in the Manchu-Han bureaucracy. They were similar to the many elites who collaborated with the Mongol–Yuan dynasty in the thirteenth century and with the Japanese occupation in the twentieth century as argued by Jennifer Jay and shown by Timothy Brook.120 Mao Xiang chose neither of the two. The proceeding pages, which summarize the family background of Mao Xiang as well as his political, social, literary, and personal life, offer answers to the question as why he made the 115. Mao 1997: 7.79b–80b; Zhang 1995: 2.16a. 116. Ōki 2006: 242, n. 24. 117. Weidner 1988: 114–15. 118. Han 1997: 16.bb; Mao 1999: 54a–b, 56a. 119. The Qinding shengchao xunjie zhuchen lu compiled in the Qianlong era (1736–1795) lists close to four thousand officials and commoners who died for the Ming cause during the Ming–Qing transition. 120. Jay 1991: 6; Brook 2005: 1–31, 90–158, 240.

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choice of neither collaborating with the Qing masters nor resisting the Manchu conquest and rule during the Ming–Qing transition. On the one hand, the Mao family’s long history of serving the Ming government and the favorable treatment of their sons by the court since the late fifteenth century undoubtedly had a direct impact on his allegiance to the Ming house. His own antieunuch and anti–­Ruan Dacheng actions in the closing years of the Ming displayed unequivocally that he was concerned about the decline of the dynasty and wanted to help save it from falling. On the other hand, although he was nationally recognized for his literary talents and accomplishments by his contemporaries, he was repeatedly frustrated by the imperial examiners in his attempts to pass the provincial examinations. This lack of appreciation of his literary talent and political insight certainly eroded his commitment to the fallen Ming. His gratification derived from his frequent socializing with highly acclaimed men of letters across the empire; his familial responsibilities as a pillar of the multigeneration Mao family to guarantee its survival and continuation, especially the safety of his retired father who avoided any public exposure in the last ten years of his life (1644–1654); and his affluent and comfortable personal life, accompanied by a pliant wife and a host of gifted concubines and served by dozens of servants, all affected his political choice in the Ming–Qing transition. It has also been argued that the Qing dynasty was a kind of “elite reform polity” in some ways analogous to the Zhou and Tang orders in earlier times.121 If so, that might have made it easier for Mao Xiang and many other members of the elite to accept Qing authority even though they shunned helping exercise it and simply benefited from it to live their lives as venerable literati. Neither loyalists nor collaborators, they were the inheritors and transmitters of China’s highly continuous and yet ever-­changing traditions of prose, poetry, and calligraphy.

121. Des Forges 2005.

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PART TWO

UNDERSTANDING THE AUTHORS Portraying Lives in Various Media

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CHAPTER 5

Wang Shizhen as Biographer Genres and Agendas Kenneth J. Hammond

Biography has held a central place in historical writing in China for more than two thousand years. Since Sima Qian 司馬遷 completed the Shiji 史記 early in the first century bce, the recording of the lives of prominent or interesting individuals has been a constant concern of historians and chroniclers across the succession of dynasties.1 Biographies of statesmen, of exemplary women, of foreigners, and of many other types of historical figures have been incorporated into the official dynastic histories, and have filled the pages of private writings in abundance. Biography has often been a genre of choice for the exercise of “praise and blame” in apportioning responsibility for the perceived good or bad deeds done in the course of great events or daily life. And the writing of multiple biographies relating to the various and divergent roles of individuals in specific historical episodes has been a way of producing nuanced and multiperspectival accounts of complex events, for which conflicting evidence is often difficult to reconcile into a singular narrative. The didactic nature of biographical writing formed a part of what Arthur F. Wright has referred to as the tendency within the “Confucian curriculum” to “teach by parable and example, and, in this process, to make use of mina1. Sima Qian 1982.

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tory and exemplary figures of the past.”2 This was true of both official and private biographical writings, though as David S. Nivison noted of the work of the Qing scholar Zhang Xuecheng, “historical biography and ‘social’ biography (such as epitaphs) have different standards in this respect.”3 More recently Harriet Zurndorfer has observed that “life writing was intended to reveal the character of the person, because the entire purpose of biography in traditional historiography was didactic: the subject’s success (or failure) was an illustration for future generations to follow, or, as the case may be, to avoid.”4 The use of biographical texts to promote a particular set of values or ideas, whether in the service of official, state-­sanctioned objectives or as part of the agenda of an individual or group, generated an immense volume of literary production. Life writing formed an important arena within which authors performed roles of moral and political significance, using the raw materials of information about the lives they both recorded and constructed to fulfill personal, social and political obligations, and commitments. Writing biographies could be a matter of friendship or close family connections; it could be done on commission, perhaps in exchange for some kind of compensation; or it could be undertaken to make a point of ideological or intellectual concern. The agendas embedded in specific works of life writing no doubt varied with differing sets of circumstances, but the didactic or exhortative function of biography was a persistent feature of Chinese literary production. This chapter explores the production and use of biographical writing by the Ming dynasty literatus Wang Shizhen 王世貞. Wang was one of the most prolific and influential writers and theorists of the sixteenth century, and played important roles in several of the most significant intellectual and political events of the middle Ming. Born into a prosperous family in the Jiangnan town Taicang 太倉 in 1526, he grew up in an environment of literary culture and with a heritage of public service. The family traced its origins to Shandong Province in the Han dynasty, having moved to Jiangnan in the Song. Wang’s grandfather and father were both examination degree holders and pursued careers in the imperial civil bureaucracy. Wang Shizhen passed the jinshi examination in 1547 and embarked upon a sometimes stormy life of official service, interrupted by periods of enforced retirement at home in Taicang when he came into conflict successively with the powerful Grand Sec-

2. Wright 1964: 9. 3. Nivison 1966: 28. 4. Zurndorfer 2013: 86.

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retaries Yan Song 嚴嵩 and Zhang Juzheng 張居正.5 We will consider some of the details of these episodes in the context of Wang’s biographical oeuvre below.6 Wang was best known as the principal figure in the Later Seven Masters 後七子 literary movement, which advocated an ideal of gu wenci 古文辭, often translated as Archaism or Old Phraseology, the core of which was the advocacy of prose from the Qin and early Han, and poetry from the Tang as models for emulation. Wang’s own literary theory and practice ranged well beyond these parameters, and he called for the appreciation of good writing wherever or in whatever period it might be found. As we will see, he embraced the legacy of the Song literatus Su Shi 蘇軾 in a unique biographical work, which will be discussed below.7 He was at the center of circles of literary colleagues and protégés from the late 1540s through his death in December 1590. His literary networks overlapped with his political engagements, and each provided him with both allies and adversaries, many of whom appear in his biographical works. Wang also became involved with Daoist mysticism and studied Buddhist texts. These activities, too, found expression in his life writings.8 Biography, in a wide variety of forms and genres, played a very large role in Wang Shizhen’s overall literary production. Within his two major literary collections, the Yanzhou shanren sibu gao 弇州山人四部稿 and the Yanzhou xugao 弇州續稿, which total some 381 juan 卷, biographical works account for fully 110, or 29 percent.9 These 110 juan include some 756 individual texts 5. For Yan Song see Goodrich and Fang 1976: 1586–1591 (hereafter DMB); for Zhang Juzheng see DMB 53–61. 6. The basic sources on Wang Shizhen in Chinese are his biography in the Mingshi: 287/7379-­81, and the modern scholarship of Zheng Lihua 鄭利華: 王世貞年譜, 上海, 復旦大學出版社, 1993; 王世贞研究，上海，学林出版社, 2002. In English see DMB:1399–1405; Hammond 1994. 7. For a discussion of Wang’s literary views, see Hammond 1996. 8. Western scholarship on biographical or life writing in imperial China has tended to focus on what is conventionally referred to as Confucian culture or discourse. See for example Wright and Twitchett 1962; David Nivison’s discussion of the biographical writings of Zhang Xuecheng; or Pei-­Yi Wu 1990.There was, however, also a significant corpus of biographical writings with specifically spiritual or religious characteristics, such as 大士传 dashi zhuan, 高士传 gaoshi zhuan, or 圣传 shengzhuan, which have been used extensively by scholars such as Ann Waltner in her work on Tanyangzi. 9. I use the 1993 reprint edition of Wang’s literary collections included in the Siku

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of widely varying length in some twelve different genres, a summary of which is given below.10 In addition to these texts in the two collections there are also two important biographical works that are not included in either. One is a study of the Song writer and official Su Shi, and the other is a set of seventeen biographies of the chief grand secretaries from the Jiajing era through the early 1560s.11 The deployment of such a wide range of forms and genres was not atypical for scholars and gentlemen, or indeed for women writers such as Grace Fong discusses in her chapter. The use of various types of texts gave writers flexibility in expressing particular interests or agendas, as well as addressing the specific needs of family, friends or clients for whom such works were being produced. I briefly consider these various types of writings in the aggregate, in terms of their basic characteristics and production. I then examine a number of specific works to highlight certain aspects of Wang Shizhen’s use of biographical writing within the context of his literary and political engagements. While the quantity of literary production involved in Wang’s biographical oeuvre is exceptional, in many ways his uses of life writing are fairly representative of the importance of these genres within literati elite culture. It is possible that some of the texts published under Wang’s name may have been drafted by one or another of his literary protégés, as he often was a patron of aspiring young scholars, but even in these instances the substance of the writings would have been reflective of Wang’s own concerns and agendas.

STYLES AND GENRES Of the many genres of biographical writing noted above, three stand out for their sheer volume. Grave inscriptions, muzhiming 墓誌銘, are the most numerous, with some 237 items across both collections. These were texts quanshu. 王世貞, 弇州四部稿 (外六種), 上海, 上海古籍出版社, 1993 (reprint), v. 1279–85. This includes both the 四部稿 (hereafter SBG) and the 續稿 (hereafter XG). 10. There are a bewildering variety of genres that can be categorized as biographical with no comprehensive agreement on their terminology or translation. One standard listing (see Judge and Hu 2011: 287–89) includes forty-­one different genres, but several that occur in Wang Shizhen’s writings do not appear among them. 11. 王世貞, 蘇長公外記 (preface 1596). I use the edition held in the Harvard University Yenching Library Rare Book Collection. For the Grand Secretaries prosopography, see Sun Weiguo 2006.

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Table 1. Wang Shizhen Biographical Texts Genre



Biographies 傳 Historical biographies 史傳 Grave inscriptions 墓誌銘 Grave records 墓表 Spirit path stelae 神道碑 Grave stelae 墓碑 Life accounts 行狀 Odes 頌 Eulogies 贊 Portrait eulogies 像贊 Laments 誄 Memorial Texts 祭文 Burial Accounts 葬誌 SUBTOTAL Other works Biography of Su Shi 蘇長公外記 Biographies of the chief grand 嘉靖以來內閣 secretaries from the Jiajing era on 首輔傳 GRAND TOTAL

四部稿 Sibugao

續稿 Xugao

31 12 61 20  3  1  6  2 55

  60 176   26  18   6   4

137  6 44

  87   1

Total   91   12 237  46   21    7   10    2  55 137   6 131   1 756   1   17

774

carved in stone that were placed in the tomb of the subject. Eulogies, either titled simply as zan 贊 in the Sibugao or as xiangzan 像贊 in the Xugao, total 192 pieces. These were rhymed prose texts. Xiangzan were written on a portrait of the subject individual, and it may be that the texts simply labeled as zan in the Sibugao were also of this type. Memorial texts, jiwen 祭文, account for another 131 works. These were read out at the burial sacrificial rites, then placed in the tomb. Both of these genres were texts produced to commemorate a recently deceased person or persons, as were the less numerous grave records 墓表, spirit path stelae 神道碑, and grave stelae 墓碑. These were generally written within a short time after the individual(s) died and were inscribed on stone slabs erected at or near the burial site. In many instances a particular individual might be the subject of works in several of these, and other, genres, produced at different times in the months or even years after someone’s death.

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Other forms of biography appear in smaller numbers, but may be of somewhat greater significance, at least in several instances. The genre called biography zhuan 傳, includes some ninety-one examples in the two literary collections, plus the seventeen texts gathered in the Jiajing yilai neige shoufu zhuan 嘉靖以來內閣首輔傳. Many of these were written at the request of friends, acquaintances, or family members, and often begin with a mention of who commissioned the work. Colleagues or literary associates often requested biographies to commemorate their parents or sometimes their spouse. But Wang Shizhen also produced biographies of individuals who were of importance to him personally, such as his close friend Li Panlong 李攀龍 or his literary protégé Hu Yinglin 胡應麟.12 One special example of this form is his biography of the Daoist mystic Wang Daozhen 王纛貞, also known as Tan Yangzi 曇陽子.13 While most zhuan were written after a person’s death, others, such as that of Hu Yinglin, were written about individuals who were still alive. The biographies gathered into the collection on the chief grand secretaries will be considered separately below. A related form is the historical biography shizhuan 史傳. Twelve of these appear in the Xugao, and as their title suggests they deal with people from the historical past. A biography of Wang Shouren 王守仁 (1472–1529) can serve as a good example of this type.14 The last genre of significance is perhaps the most interesting, at least in terms of the individuals who were chosen for inclusion in this group. This is the account of conduct, xingzhuang 行狀. Only ten of these are included in the two collections, six in the Sibugao and four in the Xugao. Those included were of Wang Shizhen’s father, Wang Yu 王忬, his close friend the political martyr Yang Jisheng 楊繼盛, Chief Grand Secretary Xu Jie 徐階, Pan En 潘恩 who had fought in the antipirate campaigns on the coast along with Wang’s father and Wang’s younger brother Shimou 世懋, as well as Wang Mengxiang 王夢祥 who was the father of Wang’s close friend, and fellow townsman Wang Xijue 王錫爵. These works were often of greater length than other texts, with the account of conduct of Xu Jie filling three juan, and those of Yang Jisheng, Wang Yu and Wang Shimou consisting of one juan each. Also included in Wang’s literary collections are a scattering of short texts, including two odes song 頌, six laments lei 誄, and one burial account zangzhi 葬誌. These are all forms written in commemoration of the recently de12. For Li Panlong see DMB: 845–47; for Hu Yinglin see DMB 645–47. 13. On Wang Daozhen/Tan Yangzi see DMB 1425–27 and Waltner 1987. 14. For Wang Shouren see DMB 1408–16. Wang Shizhen’s biography of Wang Shouren fills an entire juan of the Xugao: XG 1283: 252–60.

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ceased, but their slim numbers indicate that they did not constitute major styles in Wang’s overall works. The final genre is somewhat sui generis within the corpus of Wang’s work. In January 1582 Wang Shizhen completed a study of the life and works of the Song scholar-official and writer Su Shi 蘇軾. This was not included in his literary collections, though a preface was. The work does survive as a separate publication, and I will discuss it more fully below. It is labeled as a waiji 外記, an informal record, and is the only work by Wang Shizhen with this kind of title. I will now turn to more specific considerations of particular texts to illustrate their features and to situate them within the broader field of Wang Shizhen’s life and works.

SUBJECTS AND WORKS Wang Shizhen produced many biographical texts to fulfill social obligations and to maintain his network of literary and political relationships. The production and exchange of such works both deployed and enhanced the cultural capital of a figure such as Wang Shizhen, and served to facilitate and consolidate established connections and new contacts. Many hundreds of the texts in his literary collections are generic in form and content, reflecting the mundane circumstances of their production. Muzhiming 墓誌銘, mubiao 墓表, mubei 墓碑, and shendaobei 神道碑 in particular were often written in response to requests from friends or relatives of the deceased. These were often close associates of Wang himself, but many also came from people who were not part of Wang’s literary or political circles, but who knew him by reputation and sought to have a work by a famous and respected writer bring honor to their family. Some of this production was done on commission. As Harriet Zurndorfer notes, “Life writing in imperial China was also integrated into commerce. In the materialistic world of late Ming China (1550–1644), it was possible for a merchant to ‘enter polite society’ by commissioning a literatus to write his biography and that of his family members.”15 It was not only merchants who followed this practice; requests from established literati families not within Wang’s circle of personal connections might well have been accompanied by gifts or other forms of inducement or compensation, however politely disguised. This is not to suggest that Wang did not take these writing tasks seriously or was less than diligent in his efforts in creating 15. Zurndorfer 2013: 87.

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them. But they were part of a regular pattern of literary activity that went on throughout Wang’s career, and that did not constitute a particular passion or intense commitment on his part. On the other hand, Wang Shizhen did use biographical writing for particular purposes: to promote his literary and political agendas, to express his strong personal feelings, and to record information about people and events that he hoped to pass on to future generations. On occasion some of the works that may have been produced in his more workaday efforts also provide important insights and information for the modern historian of Ming culture and society. I first take up some of the examples of major biographical works Wang wrote on contemporary and historical figures who were clearly of special importance to him. Then I will consider two pieces on his closest family members, and finally several lesser items that shed light on the particular uses of different genres.

ACCOUNTS OF CONDUCT The form of biography chosen by Wang Shizhen to commemorate some of the people most important to him was the life account or account of conduct xingzhuang 行狀. This was a form that had often been used as the basis for official biographies. Denis Twitchett writes that, among traditional biographical genres as developed by the Tang, The most significant of these records were the “accounts of conduct”… submitted to the authorities as drafts for an eventual biography, or as justification for the granting of posthumous titles, or for the erection of memorial stelae and the commemorative writings composed for the use of the ancestral cult.16

However, Joan Judge and Hu Ying, in their listing of biographical genres, assert that the xingzhuang was a “biography composed by family members or close friends that can range from records of virtuous behavior to intimate anecdotes that would not be recorded in more public biographies.”17 Wang Shizhen’s use of the genre seems to range from the public sphere into the private realm, perhaps suggesting that the form had become more malleable by the late Ming, and could be deployed for a variety of particular purposes. 16. Twitchett 1962: 27. 17. Judge and Hu 2011: 289.

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I want first to examine three of Wang’s xingzhuang that deal with political or intellectual figures, then with two others he wrote for his father and younger brother. The longest biographical work included in Wang’s literary collection is his account of conduct for Xu Jie, which forms juan 136–38 of the Xugao.18 This is three times longer than any other biographical text in the wenji, and reflects the importance Wang gave to Xu Jie’s life. Xu died in April 1583, and Wang Shizhen wrote a jiwen memorial text for his burial. Wang became acquainted with Xu early in his official career, and their lives in the 1550s and 60s were often intertwined in the political conflicts at the court of the Jiajing Emperor. Wang became a jinshi 進士 in 1547, at which time Xu was already a high-­ranking official in the capital. As Wang’s career advanced, Xu became aware of this rising talent, and their paths crossed in the daily affairs of Beijing. One of Wang’s tongnian 同年, a graduate of the same year in the jinshi examination of 1547, Yang Jisheng (about whom we will have more to say below), became something of a protégé of Xu’s as well. In 1552 Xu became a grand secretary, entering into a leading position at the Jiajing court. The court was already dominated by Chief Grand Secretary Yan Song, and over the next decade both Xu Jie and Wang Shizhen were repeatedly embroiled in conflicts with this most powerful figure. Xu managed to survive these factional rivalries, and when Yan Song finally fell from power in 1562 Xu replaced him as the leading political figure at court. Along the way Wang Shizhen had been involved in the case of Yang Jisheng, who was executed in 1555 for challenging Yan Song’s power and policies, and again in the case of his own father Wang Yu, who was executed in 1560 for having failed to adequately defend the northern frontier during the Mongol raids of Altan Khan. Wang and Xu found themselves consistently allied against the power of Yan Song. After Yan’s fall, and especially after the succession of the Longqing emperor in 1567, Xu Jie aided in the posthumous rehabilitation of both Yang Jisheng and Wang Yu, causes to which Wang Shizhen was passionately devoted. Wang’s account of Xu’s life is a tribute to this powerful figure, who played such an important role in the political infighting of the 1550s and 60s. Wang also wrote an account of conduct for Yang Jisheng.19 Yang had been an outspoken critic of Yan Song. In 1551 he had submitted a memorial opposing the policy of opening horse markets to deal with the Mongol threat along the northern border. He was impeached for this and exiled to the far western frontier for a year. At the end of that time Yan Song attempted to recruit Yang 18. XG 1284: 1–34. 19. SBG 1280: 583–94.

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to his own faction, offering him a series of promotions and bringing him back to the capital at the beginning of 1553. But Yang once again submitted a memorial, this time an all-­out attack on Yan for corruption and abuse of power. He was arrested and imprisoned, enduring harsh conditions and severe beatings. After languishing for two years he was finally executed in November 1555. Wang Shizhen had been a consistent, though discreet, supporter of Yang, having attempted to warn him in a letter at the end of 1552 not to further antagonize Yan Song. When Yang was executed by beheading, Wang organized the retrieval of his body from the execution ground, paid for his burial, and provided funds for the maintenance of his wife and the education of his two sons. At the end of 1568, after the Longqing emperor had reversed the verdicts on victims of Yan Song, Yang’s son Yingwei 應尾 traveled some eight hundred li 里 to visit Wang Shizhen in Taicang, bringing with him a copy of his father’s autobiographical zizhu nianpu 自著年譜. They read this together, and Wang then wrote the life account of Yang Jisheng. Along with his xingzhuang for his father, to be discussed below, this is the earliest example of this genre in Wang’s writings. Yang Yingwei also visited Xu Jie, and Xu wrote a grave inscription for Yang Jisheng as well. In 1582 Wang wrote a life account for Pan En.20 Pan was a jinshi of 1523, and served in a variety of official postings through a long career. In the 1550s he had been involved in the fighting against coastal raiders, often referred to as Japanese pirates 倭寇, where Wang’s father had also been engaged. Pan successfully defended several towns that had been besieged by raiders and won promotion to posts in Zhejiang and Henan, where he also served with distinction. Wang’s biography of Pan praised his actions in coastal defense, and reinforced Wang’s promotion of his father’s posthumous reputation by association with Pan’s accomplishments. Wang Shizhen’s father, Wang Yu, was a jinshi of 1544. His official career had been largely concerned with military affairs. As noted above, in the early 1550s he was assigned to the coastal defense campaigns in the Jiangnan and Zhejiang areas, where he served with distinction. He later was transferred to the northern border, where he at first had some success. In 1559, however, troops under Altan Khan penetrated the line of defense to the northeast of Beijing and raided for several days. Wang Yu was held responsible for this, impeached, and eventually executed in 1560. Officials tied to the faction of Yan Song were responsible for impeaching Wang Yu, and to some extent his fate was part of the ongoing conflicts between Yan and his political opponents in and around the court. Wang Shizhen had already become identified with 20. XG 1284: 40–46.

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the anti-­Yan forces through his association with Yang Jisheng, and later through an effort on Wang’s part to impeach a Yan Song loyalist, Lu Bing 陸 炳. When Wang Yu was arrested and imprisoned Wang Shizhen and his younger brother Shimou knelt in the road outside Yan Song’s home to plead for mercy for their father. Given the already established antagonism between Wang and Yan it is not surprising that these pleas fell on deaf ears. In February or March 1567, the first year of the Longqing emperor’s reign, the brothers Wang made their way to Beijing to petition for the posthumous restoration of their father’s honor. The new emperor was dealing with many such appeals, and in September an edict was issued clearing Wang Yu’s name and restoring him to his former official rank and honors. Wang and his brother returned to Taicang, and in January 1568 Wang wrote the life account of his father, the first of his xingzhuang. This text presents Wang’s father in the best possible light, and clearly attributes his death to the machinations of Yan Song, and this view has become the predominant one since the late sixteenth century. As John Langlois has noted, however, some contemporaries of Wang Shizhen, not part of the Yan Song faction, disagreed, and placed at least some of the blame on Wang Yu’s actions and character.21 It seems evident that for Wang Shizhen his father’s story, as those of Yang Jisheng and Xu Jie, was seen as part of the struggle to shape the historical record and attribute praise and blame for events in the turbulent years of the 1550s and 60s. The use of xingzhuang to tell these stories was a choice on Wang’s part to use this particular genre to advance his political agenda. This is not to diminish the sincerity or the power of his feelings and views. But the cluster of these accounts of conduct among the overall small number of such texts produced by Wang highlights their special role in his work. While Wang would surely have written biographical texts for these close relations and friends, his deployment of them as part of his political agenda seems clear. One final example of this genre that I want to mention before moving on is the life account of Wang’s younger brother Shimou.22 The brothers were ten years apart in age, and Shimou had been ill in his youth, so that they had not been particularly close until Shimou joined his father and brother as jinshi, passing that exam in the spring of 1559. Just months later Wang Yu was arrested, and what had been a happy time was transformed into nearly a decade of fear and shame, during much of which the brothers lived at home in Taicang, withdrawn from official life. After their father’s rehabilitation both returned to government service, although Wang Shizhen endured another 21. Langlois 2006: 89. 22. XG 1284: 47–59.

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period of enforced retirement after clashing with Zhang Juzheng early in the 1570s. Shizhen and Shimou served in different parts of the empire, but visited each other when they could and maintained an ongoing correspondence. They shared in their devotion to the Daoist mystical figure Tan Yangzi (to be discussed further below) and were impeached together in 1580. This controversy passed, and both served in office again in the ensuing decade, until Shimou’s death in the summer of 1588. The death of his younger brother affected Shizhen strongly. He wrote poems lamenting his loss, and in 1589 he wrote the final example of a life account about his brother. Unlike the xingzhuang on Xu Jie, Yang Jisheng, or Wang Yu, there was at this point no political score to be settled, and Wang’s biography of his brother is a more straightforward recollection, recounting his life and lamenting his passing. It is a heartfelt recording of the experiences they shared, and an appreciation of the talents and achievement of his younger sibling. Written just over a year before his own death, it has a valedictory quality appropriate to this late phase in Wang’s career.

ZHUAN BIOGRAPHIES If several of the xingzhuang share a strong political focus, this is even more true of another set of texts written by Wang in the 1580s, though not included in his literary collections and not published until 1617. This is the Biographies of Chief Grand Secretaries since the Jiajing Era 嘉靖以來內閣 首輔傳. This is a set of seventeen items covering all the men who served as chief grand secretary 首輔 from the beginning of the Jiajing era in 1522 through 1590, the year of Wang Shizhen’s death. Wang apparently worked on this project from around 1582 until the summer of 1590, just a few months before he died. The subjects are presented in chronological order, with the main events of their time in office and the relationships between them and other grand secretaries and their roles in the political controversies of the period as the main focus. Wang Shizhen includes his own assessment and evaluation of each of the chief grand secretaries, and these are in many ways the most interesting aspect of this work. Not surprisingly the chief grand secretaries from the late Jiajing era, including Xia Yan 夏言, Yan Song, and Xu Jie, are evaluated in terms shaped by Wang’s own experience of the tribulations of this period, praising Xia Yan’s talents and accomplishments, exposing Yan Song’s greed and self-­seeking [營私], and commending Xu Jie in glowing terms.23 He was also critical of other chief grand secretaries, charac23. For Xia Yan, see DMB 527–31.

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terizing Li Chunfang 李春芳 as a “yes-­man” 唯唯而已, and, while admiring his accomplishments, rebuking Zhang Juzheng for his overreach and excessive haste in attempting reforms.24 Wang also made comparisons between chief grand secretaries, for example, writing that Yan Song used softness to manage the emperor, manipulating the emperor’s approval or disapproval to consolidate his own gains, while Zhang Juzheng used a forceful approach, grasping the power of the emperor to impose his own judgments [嚴嵩] 以柔 用, 竊人主之善努爾為威福. [張居正] 以剛用, 操人主之威福而成善努.25 The Jiajing yilai neige shoufu zhuan has been praised by Sun Weiguo 孙卫国 of Nankai University as one of the best sources for the institutional history of the Grand Secretariat.26 The position of chief grand secretary was somewhat quasi-­official, designating the individual grand secretary who at a given period was either most senior or effectively in charge of overseeing the work of the Grand Secretariat. Wang Shizhen’s prosopography of these seventeen men provides an account not just of their particular actions and accomplishments, but also of the ongoing relationships and rivalries among them, and how this affected the course of policy formulation and implementation. The life accounts written by Wang Shizhen, along with the biographies of the chief grand secretaries, provide a wealth of information about important political and cultural figures in the middle and late sixteenth century, and form a more or less coherent body of work allocating praise and blame for a number of critical events through this period. These works, in the aggregate, may be characterized as political biographies, or at least as biographies that include political dimensions. Even when writing about his father and brother, the political implications are always clear.

OTHER WORKS I want to turn now to a few other examples of biographical writing that do not concern the political arena of the Ming, but that highlight other aspects of Wang Shizhen’s life or of Ming society. These range from his engagement with Daoist mysticism and Buddhist devotions to a short biography of a merchant, and finally to his major work on the Song writer Su Shi. 24. For Li Chunfang ,see DMB 818–19. 25. Wang Shizhen, Biographies of Chief Grand Secretaries since the Jiajing Era 嘉靖以來內閣首輔傳, cited in Sun Weiguo, 王世贞史学研究.Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 2006, 189. 26. Ibid., 185–95.

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In the spring of 1580 Wang Shizhen became a devotee of the Daoist mystic Wang Daozhen, known as Tan Yangzi. Daozhen was the teenage daughter of Wang’s close friend and fellow townsman Wang Xijue. Xijue was a well-­ established imperial official, and would eventually rise to the Grand Secretariat. Daozhen had renounced secular life and established herself in a spiritual retreat within the compound of Xijue’s family in Taicang, where she meditated, gave teachings, and communed with a white snake, which was her companion. On October 17, 1580, she shed her physical being and ascended to the immortal realm. Her teachings on simplicity and tranquility became the spiritual focus of Wang Shizhen’s life for much of the next six years. Shizhen was joined in his enthusiasm for Tan Yangzi by her father Wang Xijue, and by his own younger brother Wang Shimou. In the wake of these dramatic spiritual events Wang Shizhen wrote a biography of Wang Daozhen/Tan Yangzi, the Tanyang dashi zhuan 曇陽大師 專.27 This text was reproduced and circulated among Wang’s friends, and copies made their way as far as the capital, where they came into the hands of officials who did not share Shizhen’s metaphysical enthusiasm. Supervising Secretary 給事中 Niu Weibing 牛惟炳, and Censor 御史 Sun Chengnan 孫承南 submitted impeachments of Wang Shizhen and his brother, along with Wang Xijue in 1581. Fortunately at this point Xu Xuemo 徐學謨, the minister of rites 禮部尚書 who had overall authority over such matters, was a close associate of Shizhen. In addition Xu was also a fellow townsman from Taicang. Xu managed to have the case suppressed, though Wang Shimou, who had recently been appointed to a post in Shanxi, had to resign and return to Taicang for a while. The biography of Tan Yangzi, like the political biographies discussed above, was an effort by Wang Shizhen to use life writing to advance a particular agenda. In this instance it was a spiritual one, but as the resulting impeachment indicates, this, too, could have political repercussions.28 Daoist mysticism was not Wang Shizhen’s only spiritual engagement, nor the only religious arena within which he produced biographical texts. Throughout his adult life Wang was interested in Buddhism, and in his later years he frequently took part in study groups reading Buddhist sutras. At the end of 1586 he wrote a muzhiming for the monk Yuetan 月潭, who had been a friend and spiritual advisor since at least 1571, and who had died on December 6.29 Originally surnamed Yang 楊, Yuetan had become a monk at the great Buddhist center at Wutaishan in Shanxi. He had been a frequent visitor to the 27. XG 1283: 139–57. 28. This incident is discussed in Waltner 1987; for Xu Xuemo see DMB 585–87. 29. XG 1283: 563.

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Wang family home in Taicang and had shared spiritual retreats, studying texts there with both Wang Shizhen and Shimou. Wang Shizhen recounts the claim that Yuetan had lived to be 113 years old but seems somewhat less than fully convinced of the reality of this. Wang Shizhen’s interest in and involvement with spiritual matters was not unusual for Ming literati. The presence of biographical writings about Daoist and Buddhist figures within the large corpus of Wang’s works is revealing and important, but not entirely surprising. At least one other biographical text shows the broader range of Wang’s social and literary connections, which went beyond the ranks of the literati/gentry class to which he belonged. This is the biography 傳 that he wrote in 1574 for the merchant Xu Fu 許鈇.30 The sixteenth century was a period of great economic and social dynamism in Ming China, with a rapidly expanding commercial economy and rising mercantile elites. The traditional hegemonic social position of the literati was being challenged and to some extent eroded by the cultural competition of nouveau riches businessmen, especially in the Jiangnan region, which was Wang Shizhen’s home. Craig Clunas and others have written about the cultural angst and efforts to reassert literati preeminence that developed by the middle and later fifteen hundreds.31 Wang Shizhen’s biography of Xu Fu is of particular interest in this context, because in it he is at great pains to portray Xu as a merchant who was nonetheless a good Confucian. He begins by writing about how tradition has it that there are those who can be wealthy and yet still manifest benevolence and righteousness 仁義, but that there are also those who challenge this claim. He goes on to discuss the category of merchant, gu 賈, and whether one who makes money through commerce can ever be one who practices benevolence and righteousness. Xu Fu, Wang asserts, is such a man. Though from a merchant family, Xu from a young age had studied the Confucian texts and the works of the various classical masters, as well as histories. In his adult life, though he carried on his family’s commercial affairs, he sought to put into practice the values of the Confucian teachings 習儒. The message of this text is clearly that it is Confucianism, the literary cultural heritage that was the hegemonic ideology of the shidafu 士大夫 ruling elite, which must be the touchstone for evaluating the character of any individual, but that if one truly embraces the teachings and seeks to implement the values of the Confucian tradition, it does not matter even if one is from a commercial family. 30. SBG 1280: 362–63. 31. See, for example, Clunas 1991; Brook 1998.

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The last biographical text I want to discuss is Wang’s study of the Song intellectual and official Su Shi. Wang Shizhen was, as noted above, one of the leading figures in the literary movement known as gu wenci, Archaism or Old Phraseology. This movement is sometimes criticized as having espoused a narrow and rigid imitation of prose from the Qin and Han periods and poetry from the High Tang, and having been blind to the virtues of literature from other periods or to the more creative works of contemporary Ming writers. I have argued elsewhere that this is a misreading of Wang’s literary views, and the biographical work he did on Su Shi is a clear example of this. Wang completed his study of Su Shi in 1581, though it was not published until 1596, six years after his death, when Wang Tingna 王珽捺 produced the first known printed edition.32 The work as a whole is entitled Su Changgong waiji 蘇長公 外記, and consists of ten juan. It is principally the first juan that can be considered a truly biographical work, in the form of a nianpu 年譜, a year-­by-­ year record of Su’s life and work. The rest of the waiji is a compilation of writings about Su from the Song period, Wang’s critical essays on Su’s poetry and prose, a discussion of Su’s interest in Chan 禪 Buddhism, and miscellaneous notes on calligraphy, examples of Su’s poetry, and other works. A preface to this work by Wang is included in the Yanzhou xugao, dated 1581. Wang’s strong interest in and appreciation for the work of Su Shi shows that his literary views were not as hidebound as later critics would claim, and that he saw at least one Song writer as worthy of study and emulation. Again we see Wang making use of a genre of biographical writing to advance his own views and agenda, here in the literary arena, with the same kind of didactic thrust that characterized his more political engagements and was at the heart of Chinese life writing.

CONCLUSION Wang Shizhen was one of the most prolific writers of sixteenth-­century China, ranging over a broad field of cultural production, from poetry and essays to historical analysis and literary theory. Within his large corpus of work, biographical writing occupied a significant place, constituting approximately a quarter of his overall oeuvre. Biographical texts served many purposes in later imperial China, documenting the lives of individuals, commemorating the achievements of some and criticizing the weaknesses and faults of others. Many types of biographical writings performed ritual func32. Wang’s preface is in XG 1282: 557–58.

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tions, largely in the context of death and burial, but also in the articulation and actualization of social relationships among the living. Wang Shizhen produced large volumes of grave inscriptions, stelae texts, and other kinds of commemorative works for friends, relatives, or people who sought to enhance the posthumous reputation of a loved one by having their story recorded in the words of a famous literary figure. Wang was apparently happy, or at least willing, to compose these pieces in abundance, perhaps from a sense of obligation given his place in the social and political community of his home town, and of the empire, or, more mundanely, on commission or in exchange for considerations of one type or another. These practices are in many ways typical of the deployment of literary production by scholars and gentlemen in later imperial China, though the sheer quantity of Wang’s opus is rather exceptional. Biographical writing also played more personally particular roles for Wang, especially relating to his engagements in political, spiritual, and intellectual life. In these spheres we can clearly see Wang using life writing to advance his political and cultural agendas. The clutch of xingzhuang concerning individuals involved in the factional conflicts of the late Jiajing era and the prosopography of chief grand secretaries completed in the final years of his life constitute a fairly comprehensive history of the middle years of the sixteenth century, and serve to apportion praise and blame as Wang Shizhen saw them. Biographical texts about his Daoist teacher Tan Yangzi or his Buddhist companion the monk Yuetan reveal a dimension of this prominent Ming scholar-official somewhat at odds with orthodox Confucianism, and illuminate the complex spiritual world of the middle Ming, as does his short biography of the merchant Xu Fu. Wang’s major study of the Song poet and official Su Shi also highlights his intellectual breadth, and the nuances of his literary thinking. Wang Shizhen as a biographer was a lively and engaging writer. He made use of the full range of genres available to him to fulfill both social and ritual obligations, and to pursue the political and cultural agendas that defined his personal passions and commitments. As one of the most prominent literati of his time, his activities in this arena are representative of the cultural practices of the scholarly elite, and illuminate the role of life writing in later imperial China.

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6

Painting a Dual Biography Elizabeth Kindall

INTRODUCTION [The people of Ming-­dynasty Suzhou] have had only a dozen or so cases of low-­ranking scholars who fulfilled their obligations to ruler and father … We have had nobody like Huang Hanmei [Kongzhao] and Duanmu [Xiangjian], where the father was a loyal official and the son a filial son, both in the same household.1

Historians of Chinese art have identified two broad categories of painting as representative of the “selfhood” of individuals. The first consists of renderings of the exterior, physical characteristics of a specific person in the form of portraits and figural representations. The second utilizes metaphorical imagery such as landscapes, fauna, and flora to communicate the intangible aspects of the individuated self. Both types of renderings of personhood might depict the unique character, personal outlook, level of refinement, political position, or societal role of an individual. Most were intended to illustrate several of these dimensions, to convey the multifaceted nature of the subject. Certain paintings, however, may be read as unique combinations and reor­ gan­izations of the established physical and metaphorical imagery of the self to portray the progression of an individual life. In this chapter I argue that 1. Yugu Daoren 1921: 1a–1b. Yugu Daoren’s celebration of Huang Xiangjian’s unique achievement was written for his travel diaries.

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evidence from the eleventh to seventeenth centuries suggests artists utilized the visual lexicon of selfhood to create pictorial biographies. The term “biography” here is used to imply the life course of an individual according to Chinese constructs of personhood. Pictorial biographies were probably common throughout Chinese history. They are difficult to identify, however, because they divide the personality and life of an individual into culturally resonant pictorial components, many of which are discernable only to those familiar with the person. I also introduce the concept of pictorial biography through a brief review of cultural conceptions of the “self,” particularly those current in seventeenth-­century China and provide an introduction to the painting format of pictorial biography with a survey of an album of scenes depicting a period of a few years in the life of one official. On this foundation, I engage in a close reading of one seventeenth-­century dual-­biography painting of a father and son. After a brief examination of two other paintings, I conclude that similar dual-­biography paintings were produced as early as the Song dynasty (960–1279) and continued to be made in Ming times (1368– 1644).

CULTURAL CONCEPTIONS OF SELFHOOD IN THE “LATE IMPERIAL” PERIOD Two cultural constructs encourage us to view certain paintings as dual biographies. The first revolves around the philosophical, historical, and literary tendency to divide the dimensions of the self into discrete units. This idea may be found in early, foundational philosophical and religious divisions of the composite elements of a single identity into separate parts, such as yin-yang dualism or the division of the soul at death into the hun 魂 and the po 魄. As discussed by Robert Hegel, early ideas such as these “represent a deeper level of understanding about the nature of self, that it is visible in, even created by, one’s social function,” among other things, in Chinese society.2 Historical treatises focused on individual people illustrate a similar tendency. As established by the editors in the introduction to this volume, there is no fully equivalent concept for “biography” in the Chinese literary tradition. Instead, as William Nienhauser explains, specific writings focused on individual persons and characterized them through a discussion of one or more events to demonstrate the important personality traits that made up their personae.3 2. Hegel 1985: 30. 3. Mair 2001: 513.

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Sima Qian’s 司馬遷 (ca. 145–ca. 86 bce) aligned biographies liezhuan 列傅 in Records of the Historian (Shiji 史記) served not only as one of the earliest examples of this type of writing, but also as the foremost model for the countless scholar-historians who followed him. C.T. Hsia has suggested the presence of this same idea in popular Chinese novels written between the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries in which a single personality is characterized by simple paired characters or groups of characters. Hsia cites Li Kui 李逵 and Song Jiang 宋江 of Water Margin (Shuihu zhuan 水滸傳), the three pilgrims in Journey to the West (Xiyouji 西遊記), and the three “brothers” of Romance of the Three Kingdoms (Sanguo yanyi 三國演義) as representing but parts of single individual personalities.4 Conceptions of self-­cultivation also encourage reading certain landscape paintings as biographies. Tu Wei-­ming has identified the continual process of self-­realization or “becoming a person” (chengren 成人) as a common goal among the educated elite. This concept of personal growth, in which an individual matured as part of a lifelong process, was present in some of the earliest Confucian writings, such as those of Zeng Shen 曾參 (505–436 bce), one of Confucius’s most respected disciples, who described the task of “becoming a person” as an endless journey encumbered by a heavy load.5 Scholars such as Rodney Taylor argue that the lifelong process of becoming a person underpins what they term “Confucian religiousness.”6 The “ultimate self-­ transformation” of Confucian religiousness was believed to consist of both critical moments of enlightenment in people’s lives and their continuous progress in the spiritual cultivation of this wisdom.7 Successful models in this lifelong journey were labeled “sages.” Zhu Xi 朱熹 (1130–1200) and Lü Zu­ qian 呂祖謙 (1137–1181) recorded the lives of sages in their texts Reflections on Things at Hand (Jinsi lu 近思錄).8 William Theodore de Bary explains that for writers such as Zhu and Lü, it was the life of the sage that was of primary importance. That life was usually examined through a discussion of the subject’s personality traits.9 The final chapter of Reflections on Things at Hand, entitled “On the Dispositions of Sages and Worthies,” for example, records the lives of the sages under discussion as personal models for future 4. Hsia 1968: 107–10. 5. Tu 1976: 109. 6. Taylor 1990; Tu 1989. 7. Taylor 1990: 116. 8. de Bary 1975: 153–160 for a discussion of the Jinsi lu. For a translation, see Chan 1967. 9. de Bary 1975: 157.

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seekers of sagehood.10 Rodney Taylor explains that “The Confucian sage … serves as a model or exemplar and his life itself is the measure of his understanding.”11 By the late Ming period, some writers actively examined and recorded their own maturation in the popular format of the travel record (youji 遊記). In Gao Panlong’s 高攀龍 (1562–1626) and Hu Zhi’s 胡直 (1517–1585) writings, both titled Recollections of the Toils of Learning (Kunxue ji 困學記), the authors/travelers wrote in the first-­person and dealt with factual events.12 The travel in space became a metaphor for the travel in time. As Chen Jiamou 陳 嘉謀 (1520–1603) wrote, “One must keep on pursuing and searching until one arrives at a spot completely roadless and blocked from all four directions; only in such a place can one gradually find the true beginning of the road. This road has to be found by oneself.”13 Writers such as Gao Panlong documented their spiritual journeys toward sagehood by recording specific incidents in their physical journeys, often during a certain period in their lives.14 Wu Pei-­yi has found these journey narratives to include a significant initial experience, visits to sites associated with sages and worthies, periods of physical danger and extreme hardship, ascents to great heights, and breakthroughs to unsurpassed views. Most importantly, each writer “reports his quest for absolute truth as a double journey: strenuous upward locomotion accompanying spiritual progress. The hazardous ascent brought each to a salient point, where a sudden illumination struck the seeker.”15 The general cultural inclination to divide the dimensions of the self into discrete units and the “late-­imperial” (Ming–Qing) propensity to equate self­maturation with a topographical journey inform the pictorialization of the selfhood of Prefect Kou Shen in an album prepared to honor him on his retirement from office.

A PICTORIAL PRESENTATION OF SELFHOOD IN THE “LATE IMPERIAL” PERIOD Paintings for Suzhou Prefect Kou Shen’s Resignation from Office (Suzhou Taishou Kou Shen quren tu 蘇州太守寇慎去任圖) was produced in 1626 for 10. Taylor 1990: 46. 11. Ibid., 49. 12. Ibid., 66–71. 13. These basic characteristics are identified by Wu 1990: xii and 97. 14. Ibid., 95. 15. Wu 1992: 86 n. 5.

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the official Kou Shen ( jinshi 1616) on the occasion of his retirement as Prefect of Suzhou to return to Shaanxi after the death of his mother (figs. 1–4).16 Eight accomplished painters, Zhang Hong 張宏 (1577–ca. 1652), Yuan Shangtong 袁尚統 (1570–after 1661), Wang Jun 王峻, Feng Yan 馮儼, Chen Si 陳 思, Zhu Zhi 朱質, Zhang Fengyi 張鳳儀 (1527–1613), and Mingxu 明旭, created ten album leaves in ink and color on paper for the project. Each painting was paired with a companion leaf of poetry composed by the local scholars Wen Zhenmeng 文震孟 (1574–1636), Fan Yunlin 范允臨 (1558–1641), Mao Wenwei 毛文煒, Mao Kan 毛堪, Chen Maode 陳懋德, Shen Yongmao 申用 懋 (1560–1638), Wu Mo 吳默, and Wang Zhijian 王志堅. The 32.7 × 64.5 cm album leaves are bracketed by a frontispiece and colophon. The frontispiece composed by Wen Zhenmeng reads, “Gratefully Acknowledging Cherished Virtue” (Ganzhi huaide 感知懷德). The colophon by their contemporary Mao Wenwei 毛文煒 recounts the character and distinguished official career of Kou Shen in Suzhou, and explains the circumstances of the album’s production. Mao asked his son Mao Yuanqi 毛垣圻 to compile the album by engaging the painters and requesting the poetry. The many scholars who created the paintings, poetry, and paratexts of the Kou Shen album honored the recipient by elucidating a discrete segment of his life journey as Suzhou prefect. This artistic representation of the subject’s self corresponds with writings in which individuals were classified by their defining social roles, such as righteous official, filial son, or virtuous woman, of a specific place. The personality and life of the individual were then described and narrated within the flexible guidelines of the communal role. Ihor Pidhainy, in his study for this volume, discusses this phenomenon and its larger implications in relation to the presentation of fathers and sons in the Ming History (Mingshi 明史). The pictorial representation of Kou Shen’s selfhood as prefect of Suzhou exhibits a similar tendency. Yet it also embodies a distinct pictorial tradition quite separate from the official historical tradition of the Ming History and gazetteers. The written works focus on the seminal political moment of Kou Shen’s career, his participation in the Suzhou demonstrations against the persecution of the Donglin movement, which occurred the same year the painting was done, whereas the pictorialized biography reflects the interior self and life journey of the prefect.17 The Kou Shen album communicates the honoree’s selfhood as Suzhou 16. The album is in the collection of the Suzhou Museum. See Zhongguo gudai shuhua tumu 1986–2001: v. 6, 1–180. The title is translated as Resignation and Leave of Kou Shen and four of its leaves are reproduced in color in Suzhou Bowuguan cang Ming Qing shuhua 2006: 74–75. 17. Suzhou fuzhi 1883: 4, ch. 70, 21.

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prefect by integrating various dimensions of his personality into discrete journeys throughout the Suzhou area. Kou Shen is depicted in five of the album leaves clothed in the red robes of a degree holder. This figure engages in Kou Shen’s gentlemanly pursuits as an elite official. Sometimes alone, but often accompanied by friends, he travels by palanquin or horse throughout his district, admiring structures such as Chang 長 Bridge, historical sites such as Mount Tianping 天平, and views from the banks of Lake Tai (fig. 1). He also appears aboard a boat, wearing a blue robe and bowing to those on shore, at Jinchang 金閶 Gate as he takes his leave of Suzhou (fig. 2). This suggests that other figures garbed in the less formal attire of white or blue robes in the remaining album leaves may have been interpreted as depictions of Kou Shen as well. The activities of these figures confirm Kou Shen’s gentlemanly persona. His particular position, distinctive preferences, personality traits, and personal life in Suzhou, however, are reflected in the identifiable cityscapes and surrounding countryside. The painted landscapes of the Kou Shen album illustrate the official position, cultural refinement, personal traits, and internal development of the honoree through their elevated perspectives, topographic specificity, unique views, and personal experiences. The powerful, enlightened position of Kou Shen as prefect is reflected in the bird’s-­eye perspective. Each leaf of the album presents an elevated, expansive view of Suzhou landscape through the use of a high horizon line and detailed description of a large topographical region (fig. 3). These lofty views may be seen to reflect the authority Kou Shen wielded over this geographical area during his tenure there. Kou Shen’s cultural responsibility as an erudite gentleman official is illustrated by the inclusion of specific historical sites. Eight of the ten leaves of the Kou Shen album depict the renowned scenery of Suzhou captured in many other contemporaneous albums.18 Each of these eight sites possessed an extensive religious, literary, political, and pictorial history accumulated over the centuries through the paintings and writings of famous visitors. As the principal government administrator of the region, Kou Shen not only surveyed and represented but also protected and promoted the cultural and historical heritage associated with these sites. The inclusion of these sites in the album suggests his success in executing this trust and internalizing and continuing their legacies. Most paintings of famous Suzhou sites illustrate a standardized group of recognizable landscape markers from a conventional perspective. By the sixteenth century, a consistent set of Suzhou sites was painted together in both 18. Kindall 2009: 137–77.

Figure 1. Ming Xu, In the Shade of the Birch-Leaf Pear at Maoyuan. Leaf from Paintings for Suzhou Prefect Kou Shen’s Resignation from Office. Dated 1626. Ten-leaf album. Ink and color on paper. 32.7 × 64.5 cm. Courtesy of the Suzhou Museum.

Figure 2. Chen Si, Departing at Daybreak at Jinchang, detail. Leaf from Paintings for Suzhou Prefect Kou Shen’s Resignation from Office. Dated 1626. Ten-leaf album. Ink and color on paper. 32.7 × 64.5 cm. Courtesy of the Suzhou Museum.

Figure 3. Yuan Shangtong, Fair Clouds of Autumn at Dongting. Leaf from Paintings for Suzhou Prefect Kou Shen’s Resignation from Office. Dated 1626. Ten-leaf album. Ink and color on paper. 32.7 × 64.5 cm. Courtesy of the Suzhou Museum.

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album and scroll formats. The goal of these paintings was to present the most recognizable topography and architecture of a famous site, not to differentiate an individual through a personalized rendering of the lesser-­k nown landscape of the locale. To this end, painters replicated historically sanctioned views of the most famous sites, which included the easily identifiable, carefully regulated elements for which each site was known. The Kou Shen album goes beyond this standardized iconography to communicate the personal experience and personality traits of Kou Shen through distinctive renderings of several landscape scenes. For example, we are shown his privileged entrance to Mount Tianping 天平 and his autumnal outing to the Dongting 洞庭 Islands in Lake Tai (fig. 3).19 Both paintings present unique renderings of famous Suzhou sites that do not align with the codified imagery utilized in many paintings. These and other leaves of the Kou Shen album intimate the personal—even unique— persona of the honoree. Some album leaves would seem to allude to Kou Shen’s internal growth during his time as Suzhou prefect. Two scenes depict moments of focused contemplation. In one, a figure in red robes observes a large body of water, which is probably Lake Tai (fig. 1); in another, he and a companion watch an impressive sunrise over the sea, which was still visible at that time from Suzhou. A third scene features a red-­robed figure traveling by palanquin to visit the famous cypress trees of Mount Yu 虞 (fig. 4). It is important to note that these three leaves do not depict subject matter commonly included in sets of Suzhou sites paintings. They appear to have been specifically prepared for this album. Water, sun, and trees were all common signifiers of internal traits that could be Confucian, Daoist, or Buddhist. The poetry composed as companion leaves for each painting further elaborated and associated the imagery with specific attributes appropriate to Kou Shen. For example, the ancient cypress is related to the virtuous strength of character that endures difficult times, a trait already attributed to Kou Shen in the frontispiece. This specific virtue is further elucidated and celebrated in the accompanying leaf. His love of the grove of trees at this particular site might also have been meant or read by Kou Shen and his contemporaries as a veiled reference to his support of the Donglin (i.e., “Eastern Grove”) Academy, a satellite academy of which had been located at Mount Yu. In 1626, the year in which this poem was written,

19. In his discussion of an earlier painting of a specific place, The Bian Mountains by Wang Meng, Richard Vinograd has called paintings of personalized topographical sites “landscape of property.” See Vinograd 1982: 11.

Figure 4. Yuan Shangtong, Ancient Cypress on Yushan. Leaf from Paintings for Suzhou Prefect Kou Shen’s Resignation from Office. Dated 1626. Ten-leaf album. Ink and color on paper. 32.7 × 64.5 cm. Courtesy of the Suzhou Museum.

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the Donglin reform party was under siege by its opponents at court.20 The placement of these three contemplative leaves amidst the topographical journeys depicted in the other paintings of the album weaves the internal maturation process of Kou Shen into his tenure in Suzhou. His great external, political success is physically evinced by what may have been the final leaf of the album (fig. 2), which depicts a large crowd at the bustling market near the Jinchang 金閶 gate, assembled to send off the popular prefect. Many landscape paintings honoring the selfhood of an individual were produced in seventeenth-­century China. Extant paintings similar to the Kou Shen album suggest site-­specific paintings were a popular choice to perform this honorific function.21 Early research in this area suggests the prevalence of this type of painting may have been stimulated by the sophisticated nature of Chinese farewell culture, already well established by the eighth century, and by the abundance of traveling officials, scholars, merchants, and monks in the Ming–Qing period who desired to acquire such artwork.22 The Kou Shen album was but one of many that were organized by one person or one family and included the art of many contributors.23 The coordination of such a large, disparate group of people to celebrate the life and work of one individual naturally heightened the honorific value of the works. Moreover, the impressive display of famous personalities, cultured sites, and refined artistic styles displayed in the paintings was also highly appropriate for public figures such as Kou Shen. A more personal, nuanced tradition of painting to depict the life journeys of two related individuals was also practiced at this time. As in the Kou Shen album, these works communicate the selfhood of specific people by illustrating various dimensions of their personalities in discrete topographical journeys. In the case of what we may call dual biographical paintings, however, the relationship between the artist and honoree was often familial.

PICTURING THE LIFE OF A FATHER AND SON At first glance, an untitled, eight-­leaf album in the Nanjing Museum created by Huang Xiangjian 黃向堅 (1609–1673) appears to be an impressive group of landscapes depicting a journey through southwest China (figs. 20. For the Dongling Party, see Dardess 2002. 21. Kindall 2016: 24–36; Clapp 2012. 22. Zhang 2011: 111–22. 23. Kindall 2009: 141–48.

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5–8).24 A detailed examination of its basic elements, however, reveals that it may also be read as a dual pictorial biography. Huang Xiangjian utilized components from biographical painting such as representative figures and site-­specific topography to relate the lives of his father, Huang Kongzhao 黃 孔昭 (1589–1678), and of himself. He illustrates his own life by the representation of himself journeying through the subtropical topography of southwest China. He illustrates the life of his father by representing him in the pictures and alluding to him through carefully chosen symbolic motifs and landscape elements integrated into the southwest topography. Huang then weaves the individual representative elements of his father and himself together, through style, composition, and written notation, to relate the interconnected nature of their lives.

THE LIFE OF A FILIAL SON Huang Xiangjian created the album in 1658. The Suzhou native He Zhuo 何焯 (1661–1722) added a frontispiece that reads “Scenic Frontier of Yunnan” (Diannan shengjing 滇南勝境), which invokes the classical name of a region now located on the Yunnan-Guizhou border. In fact, the painting does not illustrate this area, but rather six topographically distinctive regions of Yunnan, with one leaf dedicated to Guizhou and another to the Guizhou-Huguang border. The inscribed frontispiece does, however, imply the southwest generally by employing the classical name for Yunnan, Dian 滇, so I will refer to it here as the Diannan album. A circa 1696 transcription titled A Rec­ord of the Journey in Search of my Parents, by Shilin Zhenji 獅林震濟 follows the leaves in the form of a colophon.25 Shilin Zhenji was a Chan monk in Suzhou who collated and edited the poetry of his master, the Suzhou monk Xiaoqing 曉青 (1629–1690).26 There is evidence that two later collectors once owned the album. The seals of Liu Shu 劉恕 (1759–1816) of Suzhou appear in several places on the album. The late distinguished collector Wu Hufan 吳湖帆 (1894–1968) inscribed the album between the frontispiece and the first album leaf. Four colophons follow the inscription by Shilin Zhenji. The first is by Zhang Zongzhen 張宗禎 (Qing dynasty); the second by Jia Fuchen 賈孚宸 24. I examine The Scenic Frontier of Diannan as a geo-­narrative painting in Kindall 2016: 257–340. 25. The colophon is signed, “Huang Xiangjian, (style name) Duanmu 端木, of ancient Wu recorded this. Transcribed by Shilin Zhenji.” 26. Xiaoqing 2000: 237–400.

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(active late seventeenth century). The last two are by Wu Hufan. The album is done in ink and color on paper and the leaves measure 30.3 cm high × 69 cm wide.27 The written inscriptions, colophons, and pictorial imagery of the Diannan album refer to the arduous journey Huang Xiangjian took from Suzhou to Dayao 大姚, in Yunnan Province, in search of his parents. He made this trip after the collapse of the Ming dynasty, between 1652 and 1653, to rescue his father, Huang Kongzhao, who had been posted in Yunnan as a Ming-­dynasty official. Huang successfully brought his parents back home to Suzhou. Most readers would have been aware of this momentous journey prior to examining the painting because it had been publicized after the family’s return to Suzhou. Huang recorded the family’s odyssey in two written texts: A Record of the [Journey in] Search of my Parents (Xunqin jicheng 尋親紀程), which relates his journey out to Yunnan, and Diary of the Return from Yunnan (Dian­ huan riji 滇還日記), which narrates the family’s journey home to Suzhou.28 The two records were then printed and publicized together in 1655 as The Travel Records of Filial Son Huang (Huang Xiaozi jicheng 黃孝子紀程).29 Huang also painted the majority of his extant dated works in the five years after his return to Suzhou. I have argued elsewhere that these paintings and Huang’s printed travel records were part of a local elite campaign organized by the Huang family and their friends to enhance the Huangs’ moral standing, the financial and social benefits of which enabled the impoverished family to survive upon their return.30 The Huang family may have been enjoying some of the initial effects of this campaign in 1658 when Huang Xiangjian painted the Diannan album. Two such results would have been local elites’ familiarity with the Huang family odyssey and their social acknowledgment of Huang Xiangjian as a filial son.31 It was necessary that viewers of the Diannan album have this knowledge to read it as a dual biography. 27. The Nanjing Museum has entitled the work, A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Xunqin jicheng tu 尋親紀程圖). For a reproduction, see Zhongguo gudai shuhua tumu 1986–2001: v. 7, 24–0473. 28. Bao Tingbo 1921: 1–31; Huang Xiangjian 1939: v. 2686; Wang 1887–1894; Biji xiaoshuo daguan 1962: 5211–17. 29. Lynn A. Struve translates sections of A Record of the Journey in Search of my Parents. See Struve 1993: 162–78. For a full translation of both travel records, see Kindall 2016: 343–83. 30. For the meaning of the term “local elite,” see Des Forges 2003: ch. 2; Spence 1966: 43–46. For the Huang family campaign, see Kindall 2007. 31. Huang was indeed remembered for his Filial Son status, which was later for-

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Huang does not relate the itinerary, goal, or outcome of his personal and familial southwest odyssey in the Diannan album. Viewers could turn to his printed story, other paintings, or the Diannan colophon for that information. Rather, Huang used the Diannan album to illustrate his life journey toward filiality. Huang communicated his life journey textually and pictorially by describing and illustrating particular physical experiences along eight discrete, yet interconnected, routes in the southwest. Huang Xiangjian’s inscriptions assume viewers’ knowledge of the odyssey and of himself. They do not relate the journey or expound on his filiality, but rather present the process of his life transformation through discrete moments of topographical experience. Each leaf contains one inscription. The content of each inscription intimates the general location of the pictured landscape and describes in amazement its unique landforms, scenic sites, or subtropical climate. Several inscriptions contextualize his experience of the exotic landscape and further clarify his character through historic or religious allusions to such figures as the Chinese statesman Zhuge Liang 諸葛亮 (181–234 ce), active in the southwest at the end of the Han, and the poet Tao Qian 陶潛 (365–427), who wrote in the Jin period and envisioned a paradise in his “Peach Blossom Spring.”32 The first album leaf serves as a good example (fig. 5). The inscription reads: Huadian on the Li River. Below the Diancang Mountains there is countryside along the river for about a thousand li. All kinds of flowers and fruits grow. Not only in spring and summer is it luxuriant and flourishing, but even in the fall and winter, red and purple flowers mingle there. Most people live in thatched cottages with bamboo fences, and they all plow, fish, weave and herd animals. It is indeed a country villa in paradise! Who says we cannot search for the Peach Blossom Spring [here]? Xiangjian 麗江花甸。點蒼山之下，原野沿江幾千里。俱產花果。不特春夏時 繁華穠郁，即秋冬亦紅紫交加。民居多茆舍竹籬而耕漁織牧靡不有 之。洵是別墅洞天！孰謂桃源不可尋耶？向堅

The factual content and travel narrative style of the inscriptions associated with each site also evoke the maturation journeys of writers such as the late Ming Donglin scholar Gao Panlong.33 mally acknowledged by his inclusion in the “Filial and Righteous” (Xiaoyi 孝義) section of Zhao Erxun 1977: ch. 498, p. 13770. 32. For the significance of these allusions, see Morton 2001; Des Forges 2003. 33. Taylor 1990: 66–71.

Figure 5. Huang Xiangjian, Huadian on the Li River. Leaf from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Diannan album). Dated 1658. Eight-leaf album. Ink and color on paper. 30.3 × 69 cm. Courtesy of the Nanjing Museum.

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Huang drew viewers into eight distinctive yet interrelated landscapes through his use of strong diagonal compositions, bright blue-­and-­green colors, colossal mountains, distant vistas, and human focalizers, who point out important sites and experiences. For example, in “Huadian on the Li River” (fig. 5), the inscription balances a diagonal that moves from the top right to the lower left of the composition and serves as a counterpoint to the flat precipice on the left side of the main summit. Dizzying peaks that overlook an impressive river and distant town further heighten the dynamic action of the diagonal. Each of the major elements of the leaf—peak, river, and town—is highlighted by surrounding pink flowers. Finally, the small figure of Huang Xiangjian makes its way along the riverbank in the lower right. The elements of the journey to the southwest captured in each leaf of the Diannan album may be read as physical signifiers of Huang’s lifelong journey toward filiality. Huang appears in each leaf wearing a blue robe and carrying an umbrella. He walks along a low riverbank, makes his way toward a temple, crosses a perilous cliff bridge, climbs into the clouds toward a cave, follows a steep shoreline path, edges around two needle-­sharp peaks, watches his footing above a soaring waterfall, and, in the final leaf, sits contemplating a distant vista (fig. 6). The colophonists who contributed to The Travel Records of Filial Son Huang saw themselves eliciting details of the story of his southwest journey. For example, Hu Zhouzi in his preface describes the role of the contributors to the publication: They grasped the Filial Son’s hand and asked, “Since you went, how many li of mountains did you cross? How many li of water did you cross? How did you go forward through slippery shores and precipices, wide ridges and cliffs and dangerous mountain bends, and how did you cross the strange streams and rivers, foul winds and great billows and dashing waves? … in how many places had city suburbs returned to wild fields of hemp and pulse? And in how many places were villages, old burial mounds, and human habitations all suddenly deserted? … Moreover, when the mountain apes cried in the morning and nursed their young, like people, did you grieve? [Seeing] putrid corpses swarming with insects … were you afraid?” [Through] the smoke from the Man [minority habitations], poisonous vapors, freezing rain and moaning wind, with exhausted hands, he held an umbrella to cover himself. [With] chapped feet, blistered and rough, and severe muscle pains, he suffered bitterly. We who just live at home do not know anything about the road you traveled.34 34. Hu Zhouzi 1921.

Figure 6. Huang Xiangjian, The Ancient Buddhist Monastery of the Brahman, detail. Leaf from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Diannan album). Dated 1658. Eight-leaf album. Ink and color on paper. 30.3 × 69 cm. Courtesy of the Nanjing Museum.

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Despite such hardship, Huang Xiangjian’s general trajectory throughout this album journey is upward.35 He is seen in the first Diannan album leaf in the far right at the lowest geographical elevation represented in the album (fig. 5). His journey ends at the far left on a high precipice in the last leaf of the album (fig. 6). This is the only scene in which he sits down and quietly admires a distant view. This concluding state of repose seems to suggest the successful completion of his lifelong journey toward filiality.

THE LIFE OF A SAGELY FATHER Huang Xiangjian selected a variety of multifaceted motifs common to contemporary representations of self and embedded them in the southwest topography of the Diannan album. These motifs symbolize various dimensions of selfhood associated with Huang Kongzhao and occur along the ascending path traveled by the painted version of Huang Xiangjian. Whereas the filial life journey of the son could be represented by and equated to his physical movement through the southwest, illustrating the internal life journey of the father was more complex. By necessity then, this second pictorial biography required viewers to have an intimate knowledge of Huang Kongzhao’s life, which would permit a more informed reading of the Diannan album. Some of this information could be achieved through careful analysis of the printed travel diaries, and this is what I attempt here. Other aspects of Huang Kongzhao alluded to in the album remain inaccessible to us today. This suggests that the album was best enjoyed by those close to the Huang family who were already quite familiar with Huang Kongzhao and this type of viewing experience. Indeed, I believe the primary audience for this album was Huang Kongzhao himself.36 The Travel Records of Filial Son Huang provides the only body of information we have concerning Huang Kongzhao. This text outlines the component parts of Huang Kongzhao’s life pictorialized in the Diannan album. Unsurprisingly, Huang Kongzhao is portrayed through incidents, conversations, and asides as an ideal seventeenth-­century gentleman. At the start of the Rec­ ords we first meet him as a Ming-­dynasty official traveling with his wife and nephew to take up his post in Yunnan. Soon after his arrival, the dynasty is 35. This reading assumes the present order of the album leaves follows the painter’s original conception. However, this sequence could have been altered somewhat and the “dual biography” reading suggested here would not be affected. 36. Kindall 2016: 257–340.

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overthrown. We do not learn of Huang Kongzhao’s fate after 1644 until near the end of the first travel diary, when a friend of his tells Huang Xiangjian the rest of his father’s story. In the interim, Huang Kongzhao has participated in a militant defense of the Ming in the southwest, but he has finally been forced into reclusion. From this point onward, Huang Kongzhao is presented as a wistful remnant subject (yimin 遺民) of the Ming, loyal to the memory of that past dynasty. This is manifest most clearly on the return journey when the family sails past Mount Liang 梁山 to reach Caishi Jetty 采石磯 on the Yangzi River. Here Huang Kongzhao is overcome with nostalgia as he gazes at Mount Zhong 鍾山, where the Hongwu 洪武 emperor (1368–1398), the founder of the Ming dynasty, was buried.37 In addition to stressing his father’s Ming loyalism, Huang Xiangjian uses small details and fleeting images to portray him as a Buddhist intellectual, teacher of philosophy, and erudite observer of landscape. He establishes his father’s interest in Buddhism by describing his parents’ residence in Yunnan as holding nothing of value and being as bare as a monk’s cell. In his words, “A scroll of Guanyin hung on the wall and only Fuxi’s 伏羲 Book of Changes (Yijing 易經) and some Buddhist texts lay on the table.”38 Prior to finding his father, Xiangjian is informed by a circuit intendant named Gu Xin 古心 that he (Kongzhao) had “put his heart into [the study of] the Buddhist scriptures. Peaceful at leisure and untroubled, he was revered as a true immortal and true Buddha.”39 Mr. Gao, another family friend, reported that he and Huang Kongzhao had formed a “Lotus Society at the Buddhist temples on Miaofeng 妙峰 [Mountain] and Long 龍 [Mountain] to prepare for the next life.”40 Later, on the journey home, the Huang family shares a boat with a group of eighteen monks from Mount Heng 衡山 (Nanyue 南岳), and Huang Kongzhao is reported to have “discussed various Chan concepts with one of them.”41 Huang Xiangjian also establishes his father’s more general philosophical interests during his time in Yunnan. According to Xiangjian, his father continued to study and teach the Book of Changes, meeting every day with students at the Wuye [Buddhist] Chapel (Wuye an 五葉菴).42 Xiangjian also strongly implies that his father was interested in the Ming philosophers Wang 37. Huang 1921: Dianhuan riji 30b. 38. Huang 1921: Xunqin jicheng 13b. 39. Ibid., 9b. 40. Ibid., 15a. The identities and activities of the other members of this Lotus Society are discussed in Chen 1880–1971: 244. 41. Huang 1921: Dianhuan riji 28b–29a. 42. Huang 1921: Xunqin jicheng 14b.

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Shouren 王守仁 (Wang Yangming 王陽明 1472–1529) and Li Zhi 李贄 (Li Zhuowu 李卓吾 1527–1602) who were particularly relevant because they, like himself, had served as officials in Yao’an 姚安, Yunnan. A variety of incidents illustrate the importance of these mentors to Huang Kongzhao. As the family passes the ruined city walls around Longchang Post Station 龍場驛, Huang reports that his father composed an elegy for Wang Shouren. Wang had been banished to this post station from 1506 to 1507.43 It was while serving as the head of the Longchang Post Station from 1508 to 1510 that Wang had developed several major theses that became the core of his interpretation of Confucianism. In the travel diaries Huang Kongzhao remembers how, prior to his son’s arrival in the southwest, he perused a compilation of historical notes by Li Zhi.44 Later, while delayed in Yao’an, Huang father and son hired sedan chairs to pay a special visit to the Shrine of Master Zhuowu (Li Zhi; Zhuowu xiansheng ci 卓吾先生祠).45 Finally, Huang Kongzhao’s appreciation of the local landscape is highlighted in several sections of the travel diaries. For example, while delayed in Yao’an, father and son search for inscriptions at Fotuoshan 佛陀山.46 He then memorializes the local scenery in writing of his own. At Anning, a Mr. Chen 陳 presents the family with a poem on the famous Yunnanese Mount Jizu 鷄足山, and Huang Kongzhao composes a poem in response.47 From Huang Xiangjian’s travel diaries, his father appears to be an ideal seventeenth-­century gentleman. He was a dedicated civil servant, active loyalist, devout Buddhist, and long-­suffering teacher of the Book of Changes. He contemplated the works and lives of great statesmen-­philosophers who had also served in Yunnan. Finally, he searched out the remarkable landscapes of his remote posting. Huang was able to present these manifold dimensions of his father’s selfhood through a variety of incidents, conversations, and asides in the travel diaries. He uses a similar technique to relate them pictorially. In the Diannan album, Huang presents elements of his father’s identity in separate pictorial motifs along a journey path. These signifiers of persona consist of physical representations of Huang Kongzhao in human form and in nature. These components of Huang Kongzhao’s self exist amidst the identifiable topography of the southwest through which his son travels. The landscape elements and figures that compose and inhabit the Dian43. Huang 1921: Dianhuan riji 23a. 44. Huang 1921: Xunqin jicheng 14a. 45. Huang 1921: Dianhuan riji 19a. 46. Ibid., 18b. 47. Ibid., 19b.

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nan album represent a multitude of themes and subthemes regarding the self. Many represent standardized elements of the ideal seventeenth-­century gent­ leman found in paintings of this period. Each may be read, however, as embodying a facet of the personality of one seventeenth-­century gentleman, Huang Kongzhao, as sketched in the travel diaries: official, philosopher, loyalist, Buddhist, landscape observer, traveler, and recluse. Figures engaged in classical gentlemanly activities imbued with the conventional symbolism of intellect, principle, and cultivated awareness are a focal point in each leaf. Some admire and enjoy a hot spring, just as Confucius (551–479 bce) had prescribed in The Book of Rites (Liji 禮記) and The Ceremonies and Rites (Yili 儀禮). In one leaf, a figure sits contemplatively in a small hut inside a cave, perhaps practicing a Buddhist or Daoist meditation technique or the Confucian “quiet sitting” popular among seventeenth-­century gentlemen (fig. 7).48 Figures engaged in other activities evocative of specific personality traits may be found in each leaf. They chat beneath pine trees, examine nature, read inscriptions, and hike to Buddhist temples.49 The imagery Huang Xiangjian integrated into the Diannan album also communicates the specific experiences, beliefs, and memories of his father. The quiet, meditative figure within a cave (fig. 7), for example, may be seen to connect the life-­experiences of Huang Kongzhao with those of Wang Yangming.50 The painted inscription of the leaf identifies the area as Tianzhu County (Tianzhu xian 天柱縣), Guizhou. The Huang family passed through this area on April 18, 1653, on their way home. A personalized reading of the seated figure would have it allude to the life and teachings of Wang, particularly his legendary sudden enlightenment in a cave in Guizhou. It was in Guizhou that Wang wrote, As I have not been able to bring books with me [to Longchang] I have been sitting daily in the mountain cave, noting down what I remember by heart of the books which I studied in the past. I have given explanations on those points which have impressed me. After seven months I have virtually covered the ideas of the Five Classics. I call [this work] “Personal Explanations” because [the ideas I offer] are not necessarily in accordance with those of the worthy [scholars] of the past.51 48. Meditational techniques of this sort were painted by a variety of artists in this period. See, for example, Liscomb 1995: fig. 1. 49. I discuss these elements of the painting in more detail in Kindall 2015. 50. Tu 1976b: 95. 51. Translation from Ching 1976: 54–55. Romanization changed to pinyin.

Figure 7. Huang Xiangjian, Stone Cave and Indented Peak, detail. Leaf from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Diannan album). Dated 1658. Eight-leaf album. Ink and color on paper. 30.3 × 69 cm. Courtesy of the Nanjing Museum.

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In this reading, the seated figure pictured in this Guizhou cave signifies Wang Yangming the man, his thought, his moment of enlightenment, even the works he composed. It then maps them onto the path taken by Huang Kongzhao. Other personalized elements may be read throughout the album. For example, Huang Kongzhao’s reclusion in Dayao, Yunnan, is referred to through pictorial allusions to the Peach Blossom Spring. His study of Buddhism in a southwestern Lotus Society is portrayed in the form of a lotus-­ shaped mountain capped with a small Buddhist hut (fig. 8). There is even a subtle allusion to his loyalty to the fallen Ming dynasty through a visual pun on the Ming family surname, Zhu 朱, in his depiction of an impressive crimson (zhu 朱) sunrise (fig. 8).52 Each of these elements offers a plethora of symbolic content from which viewers might choose. I would suggest, however, that viewers familiar with the Huang family story would have found a personalized reading of the content readily accessible. The abundance of such content, and its focal role, in each leaf lends further credibility to this reading. In the Diannan Album, Huang Xiangjian recorded his physical journey to the southwest as a metaphor for his moral journey to filiality and his father’s physical tenure in the southwest as representative of his spiritual journey to sagehood. Their travels were typical of the “strenuous upward locomotion accompanying spiritual progress” described by other writers in the same period.53 Furthermore, six of the eight leaves depict the view available from a great height indicative of the significant moment following a dangerous ascent in which a sudden illumination strikes the seeker.54 These unsurpassed topographical views and impressive vistas of the southwest reinforced the internal growth of both men (fig. 6).55 The figure of Huang Xiangjian serves as the connecting thread through the eight leaves. It is Huang Xiangjian who travels through each leaf, observing the distinctive character elements of his father’s southwest journey toward sagehood. He approaches two gentlemen chatting beneath a grove of pine trees, passes a gentleman admiring a spring, and observes several gent­ lemen bathing in a hot spring. He emerges from the cliffs of Jianchuan 劍川 to look at distant travelers making their way toward a city. He passes above two gentlemen admiring some aspect of the cliffs of Heqing 鶴慶. I would suggest that the figure who often wears a red robe in these interactions represents Huang Kongzhao. 52. Kindall 2016: 293. 53. Wu 1992: 86 n. 5. 54. Wu 1990: 95. 55. I discuss this idea in more detail in Kindall 2012.

Figure 8. Huang Xiangjian, Dawn on Lotus Peak. Leaf from A Record of the Journey in Search of My Parents (Diannan album). Dated 1658. Eight-leaf album. Ink and color on paper. 30.3 × 69 cm. Courtesy of the Nanjing Museum.

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The lives of the two men merge most completely in the final leaf (fig. 6). Here, the painted figure of Huang sits on a high precipice admiring an endless chain of mountains stretching to the horizon as a red-­robed figure enters a monastery just below. The visual expanse Huang admires may be read as symbolic of his successful life journey toward filiality. It may also be seen, however, as indicative of the expansive internal understanding he observes his father to have obtained in the southwest. Similarly, the secluded retreat his father enters may denote his successful life journey toward sagehood. It may also refer to Huang Xiangjian’s filial rescue of his father, who had withdrawn into Buddhism in the furthest reaches of Ming territory but remained loyal to the dynasty. In this final leaf, father and son merge to become two sides of a tally. They are presented as discrete but complementary units of a whole, not only defining themselves but also joining one another in the larger entity that was the Huang family. And this, as is suggested by the opening quotation, is how many of their friends and contemporaries chose to view them.

DUAL BIOGRAPHY AS A GENRE Two other extant works suggest dual-­biography paintings may have become an established genre by the seventeenth century. The earliest extant example I have found was produced for the Zhang family of Wuxing 吳興 in the Song dynasty (960–1279). Zhang Wei 張維 (955–1046) was an educated farmer-­poet who attempted and failed the civil service examination. His son, Zhang Xian 張先 (990–1078), pursued his father’s passions for poetry and office more successfully, receiving his metropolitan ( jinshi) degree in 1030. Both men were recognized for their fine poetry. Zhang Wei was among six worthy gentlemen invited by the prefect of Wuxing, Ma Xun 馬尋 (active 1040s), to the Southern Garden in Nanjing to compose poetry. Zhang Xian, too, kept the company of great poets and is reported to have been an acquaint­ ance of the pre­eminent Song-­dynasty litterateur, Su Shi 蘇軾 (1037–1101). The handscroll Illustrations to Ten Poems (Shi yong tu 十詠圖), created by an unidentified artist for the Zhang family (fig. 9), may be seen as an early pred­ ecessor to the Diannan album.56 It also suggests the dual biography painting 56. The painting is done in ink and red color on silk and measures 52 × 178.7 cm. It is part of the collection of the Palace Museum, Beijing. The Palace Museum has entitled it Illustration of Ten Poems by Mr. Zhang (Zhanggong shi yong tu 張公十詠 圖). For a reproduction, see Jin et al. 2004: 94–97. Clapp proposes the painting was planned and perhaps painted by Zhang Xian in 1064, Clapp 2012: 33, 35.

Figure 9. Zhang Xian, Illustrations to Ten Poems, ca. 1064. Handscroll; ink and color on silk, 52 × 178.7 cm. Courtesy of the Palace Museum, Beijing.

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theme had been developed and utilized by some members of the local elite for a long period of time. Anne de Coursey Clapp introduced and discussed Illustrations to Ten Poems as an early “commemorative landscape painting” organized by Zhang Xian to honor his father and to relate the family’s ascent from farming to officialdom.57 Based on Clapp’s research, I would suggest that the composition, motifs, and textual material of this painting also convey and combine the lives of Zhang Wei and Zhang Xian. A landscape of sandy riverbanks and craggy mountains surrounds an expansive waterway that runs through the center of the handscroll. Figures are engaged in a variety of activities, from playing chess (weiqi) to fishing. Ten poems composed by Zhang Wei are transcribed by Zhang Xian at various points throughout the painting. A short heading or title introduces each poem.58 The fairly uniform spacing between the poems, and the careful positioning of each poem along the open space provided by the river, suggest they were conceived as part of the original composition. The dual biographical intent of the commemorative landscape scroll is outlined in a preface that was added to the painting in 1072 by Sun Jue 孫覺 (1028–1090), the prefect of Wuxing, on the eighty-­second birthday of Zhang Xian. The preface relates the life trajectory of Zhang Wei, followed by an abbreviated version of the life of Zhang Xian. In so doing, it also highlights the finest accomplishments and character traits of both men. It records that Zhang Wei received the posthumous title of vice minister of the Justice Department. It describes him as a talented poet who did not bother with mannered speech, but rather “conceived elegant ideas naturally,” as he roamed the valleys, mountains, and lakes of his native district.59 Zhang Xian is cited as the retired director of the Criminal Administration Bureau. His life story is more abbreviated and related to that of his father. The official salary he provided for his family is mentioned and his filial nature confirmed. Sun Jue then explains that the painting was produced so that it might be “passed down to his [Zhang Xian’s] sons and grandsons.” Sun Jue concludes his preface in this way, “Admiring both the vice minister’s [Zhang Wei] longevity and the bureau director’s [Zhang Xian] filial piety, I have willingly composed this preface for him [Zhang Xian].”60 Here, as in Tao Hongzuo’s statement about the Huangs that serves as the epigraph to this chapter, the lives of father and son represent 57. Clapp 2012: 32–38. 58. Wang Jie et al. 1971: v. 3, 1510–11; Clapp 2012: 112, n. 25. 59. Clapp 2012: 35. 60. Ibid.

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distinctive admirable traits, but the trajectory of each individual life merges and complements the other to form a complete family unit. This same concept is related visually and poetically in the painting. Illustrations to Ten Poems begins by picturing one of the most climactic moments of Zhang Wei’s life, when he was one of six gentlemen invited to a literary gathering by the prefect of Wuxing (fig. 10).61 It concludes with one of the most important moments in Zhang Xian’s life, when he bade farewell to his father, after receiving a first in the imperial examinations, to take up a bureaucratic post (fig. 11). I believe that further research will reveal that each of the illustrated and poetically explicated scenes between these two life moments may be seen to follow the trajectory of the lives of Zhang Wei, Zhang Xian, or both. As with the Huangs in the Diannan album, the figures of Zhang Wei and Zhang Xian inhabit a particular topography, Wuxing. Zhang Wei wandered its mountains, valleys, and rivers composing and chanting poetry. Zhang Xian studied, grew to adulthood, and retired here. Painted versions of both men are represented in the painting proper. Zhang Wei may be counted as one of the men attending the pavilion gathering (fig. 10). I would also suggest that the father and son are signified by the two gentlemen bidding one another goodbye at the mountain pass near the end of the composition (fig. 11). Against this backdrop, one might read the lives of these men arranged in journey fashion between these two momentous events. The poetry entries above each episode further explicate the symbolism of the moments. The fact that each poem was composed by Zhang Wei and inscribed by Zhang Xian quite literally merged the life stories of father and son. A second work entitled Journey Beyond the Zi[jing] Pass (Zisai chuyou tu 紫塞出遊圖) may represent another dual-­biography painting (fig. 12). Ju-­ hsi Chou and Hua Ming have studied the work extensively, and I rely on their analysis here.62 Journey Beyond the Zi[jing] Pass consists of seventeen paintings of varying sizes mounted as a handscroll. Each painted scene illustrates a select group of topographical and/or architectural features between Zijing Pass 紫荊關 in Hebei Province and the military town of Xuanzhen 宣鎮 in Shanxi Province. The painter wrote short inscriptions identifying, and sometimes discussing, the region illustrated in each section. The work was produced by Xu Xilie 許希烈 (act. ca. 1572–1606) after he and his father Xu Bao 許寶 (ca. sixteenth c.) had traveled through this northern frontier 61. This group would later become known as “The Six Gentlemen of Wuxing.” Ibid., 38. 62. Chou 1998: 40–47; Hua 2010.

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Figure 10. Zhang Xian, Illustrations to Ten Poems, detail, ca. 1064. Handscroll; ink and color on silk. 52 × 178.7 cm. Courtesy of the Palace Museum, Beijing.

area, which they did in both 1572 and 1575. The final painting of the set is dated 1586. Xu Xilie also wrote a lengthy frontispiece for the work that is dated 1606. Determining whether Journey Beyond the Zi[jing] Pass could have been read as a dual biography is complicated by the lack of extant information concerning the father and son. Furthermore, the little information that does survive appears to confuse or conflate Xu Xilie with his father.63 Despite these challenging sources, Hua Ming concludes Xu Bao to have been a painter 63. Hua 2010: 10.

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Figure 11. Zhang Xian, Illustrations to Ten Poems, detail, ca. 1064. Handscroll; ink and color on silk, 52 × 178.7 cm. Courtesy of the Palace Museum, Beijing.

of Shexian 歙縣 in southern Anhui Province who passed on his artistic talents to his son. Hua Ming also suggests the Xus belonged to one of the wealthy, influential Anhui merchant families for which this area was famous.64 Although the incomplete biographical information for Xu Xilie and Xu Bao eliminates the possibility of a close personal reading of specific elements of Journey Beyond the Zi[jing] Pass, the more general topographical and figural signifiers of the texts and paintings may still be interpreted as representative of the lives of an Anhui merchant father and son.65 Xu Xilie begins the colophon to Journey Beyond the Zi[jing] Pass as though the trip were a pleasure excursion of his father and himself, albeit a challenging one. Yet, he integrates the interests and values of practiced and practical travelers. In this way, Xu merges the real-­world livelihood and 64. Ibid. 8–9. 65. For Anhui Province merchants and the arts, see Cahill 1981.

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bureaucratic ambitions of the Anhui merchants of this period. Families like the Xus had become rich through the hard work of trading goods, primarily salt, but they typically educated their sons in the texts and refined tastes of the official class they desired to join through the government service examinations. Xu Xilie establishes this contrast between merchant father and literatus son in the opening lines of the frontispiece. He first expresses his erudite ambition to view the unique northern landscapes illustrated in the album. He then explains his father’s practical interest in examining the fortifications of the area. In his words: I heard that among the mountain passes in the frontier, the Zi[jing] Pass promised to be the most treacherous of all. I longed to know the reason. However, I regretted very much that I did not have the opportunity to make a heart-­stirring journey to visit it and view its full splendor. It so happened that in the years of renshen (1572) and yihai (1575), my father and I twice visited the frontier regions. [Afterward] my father, Bao, asked me to depict our journey. When I requested the reason … he replied, “This mountain pass is by itself a natural barrier, which has prevented enemies from crossing over. Truly we could rely on it as the key to the security of the north.”66

The interests and the identities of each man suggested in the above passage are reinforced throughout the frontispiece, inscriptions, and pictorial motifs. The texts and pictures highlight the beautiful and strange landscapes, and flora and fauna of the region. They also provide practical information, such as the locations of sites, the distances between them, the regulations of local administrators, the habits of local regiments, native customs, and regional produce. For example, Xu captures pictorially both the beauty and strategic position of Stupa Valley (Futu gu 浮圖峪) through his use of intricate light and dark green pigment for the forests and mountains, and his careful delineation of the public square and private homes of the town, all secure behind a substantial gate and wall (fig. 12). He balances these refined visuals with a very practical inscription: “Inhabitants are governed by authorities from Shanxi Province. The military [stationed here] is under the jurisdiction of the town of Ji. To enter or exit, one must pass inspection. There is an iron chain. Horses cannot cross over it.”67 As in the Huang family and Zhang family paintings discussed above, depictions of the father and son occur several times throughout the seventeen-­ 66. Chou 1998: 41. 67. Ibid., 45.

Figure 12. Xu Xilie, Stupa Valley. Section from Journey Beyond Zi[jing] Pass. Last scene dated 1586. Handscroll; ink and color on paper, all 31.8 cm in height, width from 21.4 to 91.5 cm. Formerly of the Roy and Marilyn Papp Collection of Chinese Painting.

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Figure 13. Xu Xilie, untitled section. Section from Journey Beyond Zi[jing] Pass. Last scene dated 1586. Handscroll; ink and color on paper, all 31.8 cm in height, width from 21.4 to 91.5 cm. Formerly of the Roy and Marilyn Papp Collection of Chinese Painting.

picture set (fig. 13). Xu presents them mid-journey, and they actively engage with the landscape. They travel together astride donkeys in all but the last painting. Their experience of the various regions through which they travel is also emphasized in the frontispiece and inscriptions. Of the perilous approach to Stupa Valley, Xu writes, “With the lone and only path available, one confronts terrain that is as treacherous as it comes … The path was [so narrow] that it could only allow one rider to go through, for the terrain was so uneven that it prevented the horse’s advance.”68 The paintings, inscriptions, and frontispiece of Journey Beyond the Zi[jing] Pass record the quasi-­elite leisure, erudite interests, and practical fortitude of a merchant–would-­be-­scholar family father and son. The particular resonance of the sites along the route in relation to each man’s life is not clear. Indeed, they may never have been fully expressed even to the cognoscenti. Large, blank spaces have been left between each painted scene, which 68. Ibid., 41.

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suggests the original conception of the work may not have been completely achieved. Hua Ming proposes the first sixteen painted sections were done after the first trip, and the last section depicting Xuanzhen was completed many years later in 1586. Hua Ming believes this is because Xu Bao died on the second northern expedition, as is reported in his biography, and concludes that Xu Xilie had not the heart to complete the work. If this is the case, the painting does not represent a fully realized dual-­biographical journey.69 Yet, the initial intent to outline and promote the composite values and lives of the Xu family seems likely.

CONCLUSION Artists created dual-­biography paintings, which I have proposed as a possible genre, by dividing the dimensions of two individuals into discrete signifiers and incorporating them into one topographical journey landscape. The pictures and texts of dual-­biography painting present a sophisticated, multilayered vision of self and place on the part of local elites active between the eleventh and seventeenth centuries. The simultaneous pictorial presentations of the life of an individuated personality and its position within the familial unit found in these paintings also represent a unique pictorial category exceptionally fitted to traditional Chinese conceptions of identity. Recognizing such a genre allows us to reconstruct the active promotion, and hence importance, of both the individuated self and its familial place in Chinese painting and history.

69. Hua 2010: 11–12.

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7

Engendering Lives Women as Self-­Appointed and Sought-­After Biographers in the Qing Dynasty Grace S. Fong

In her “Family Biography of Madam Huang” (Huang yiren jiazhuan 黃宜 人家傳), the woman painter and poet Cao Zhenxiu 曹貞秀 (1762–1822) explains that she wrote it at the request of Madam Huang’s son, Huang Duiyang 黃對揚.1 Cao followed the conventional format of a biography (zhuan 傳): it gave an account of Madam Huang’s life that exemplified her virtues in her various family roles while also emphasizing her Buddhist-­inflected charity toward poor lineage members and others. What stands out in Cao’s account is the voice of the woman historian that she asserts at the end. In his Shi ji (Records of the Historian) the early master historian Sima Qian (ca. 145–ca. 86 bce) had introduced evaluative summaries of his biographical subjects with the phrase “The Grand Historian says” 太史公曰. In her similar evaluations, Cao changed the phrase to “The Female Historian says” 女史氏曰.2 Cao noted 1. Cao 1815: 2.25a–26b. Madam Huang’s maiden name is Lin Zheng 林正. “Madam” translates the honorific title yiren 宜人, conferred on a woman whose husband or son had an official position of rank five in the Ming and Qing. Hucker translates it as “Lady of Suitability.” Hucker 1985: 267. 2. See biographies beginning with the second one in the “Liezhuan” 列傳 section,

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in her biography of Madam Huang the difficulties women had to have faced to become subjects of biographies: only women who lived through unthinkable trials and tribulations and demonstrated exceptional moral integrity could gain this honor. In her words: The Female Historian says: “According to the rules observed by historians, unless a woman demonstrates extraordinary virtue, she will not get a special biography. Alas! It is a woman’s misfortune when she does have a special biography. As madam [Huang] simply lived according to the standard rules and regulations [with no extraordinary suffering], one should not compose her biography. Although this may be true, Madam Huang worked hard to conduct herself according to the model for women in the ‘Lesser Odes’ of ‘neither to do wrong nor to do good,’3 I compose a family biography of her so that the descendants of the Huang family will not forget [her correct behavior] in the generations to come. This is also Duiyang’s intention.”4

Here we see Cao Zhenxiu following Sima Qian in commenting on her biographical subject, but she does so from an explicitly female perspective. Cao’s contemporaries—men or women—would not have missed the intended irony in her pronouncement that “it is a woman’s misfortune when she does have a special biography.” To write a biography of an ordinary, not extraordinary woman, Cao Zhenxiu cites the canonical model for women expressed in the Book of Odes. By alluding to Ode #189 “Si gan” 斯干, in particular to the lines, “It will be [women’s role] neither to do wrong nor to do good / Only about the spirits and the food will they have to think / And to cause no sorrow to their parents,” she valorizes the model of an ordinary woman who exerts Shi ji (Sima Qian 1982: 7/62/2131). “Grand Historian” is the office title that Sima Qian inherited from his father Sima Tan. Later male writers of biographies sometimes mark their summary comments with the phrase: “The Historian says” 史氏曰. 3. Cao Zhenxiu quotes the phrase “neither doing wrong nor good” 無非無儀 in the passage from the poem “Si gan” 斯干 (#189) in the Lesser Odes section in the Book of Poetry, which describes women’s lower gender status and social role: “Daughters will be born to him / They will be put to sleep on the ground / They will be clothed with wrappers / They will have tiles to play with / It will be theirs neither to do wrong nor to do good / Only about the spirits and the food will they have to think / And to cause no sorrow to their parents.” Legge 1960: 307. 4. Cao 1815: 2.26b.

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herself in quotidian life to fulfill the responsibilities associated with her roles within the domestic sphere.5 In doing so, Cao implicitly defies the long codified tradition of producing biographies only of women of extreme virtue (lienü 烈女), namely (and mainly), that of the chastity of lifelong widows and of women who committed suicide to resist rape or to follow the deaths of their husbands. In other words, Cao argues that what qualifies a woman to be the subject of a biography is not only martyrdom or extreme virtue, but her correct conduct in everyday life also deserves to be recognized and recorded for posterity.

BIOGRAPHIES: GENDER AND GENRE In Chinese historiography, it is well known that the term zhuan 傳, often translated as “biography,” was first used in the Shi ji by Sima Qian to denote an account of the life and deeds of a person transmitted to posterity collected in the section of arranged biographies (liezhuan).6 On the one hand, sanctified by its place in the Shi ji and its adoption as an essential component in the standard (or dynastic) history since the Later Han period, the zhuan biographical genre served important historiographical and commemorative functions throughout Chinese history. In later dynasties, the zhuan biographical genre was incorporated as a subdivision in local histories (or gazetteers) as well as in genealogies (or family histories). On the other, the use of the zhuan biographical form persisted and spread in later periods because it worked well and was amenable to adaptation even in privately commissioned productions.7 It thus became a ubiquitous feature in historiographical and commemorative works on ever widening social and geographical levels. In this broad biographical tradition, the zhuan both communicated knowledge about the deceased, who was the subject of the biography, and showed, implicitly or explicitly, the authority and judgment of the biographer. The typical zhuan biographer was the literatus or scholar-­official. As women were barred from 5. See n. 3. 6. There have been many discussions on what Sima Qian meant by his creation and use of the term liezhuan, and as many translations suggested for it. See Nienhauser 1994–: Volume VII, v–vii; and a succinct summary by Anne Kinney in the context of her translation of the Lienü zhuan. Kinney 2014: xxxvi–xxxvii. See also Schneewind 2009 on liezhuan as “cases.” 7. See Nivison’s 1962 seminal essay.

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public life, the authorial role of the biographer was generally beyond the purview of women writers in Chinese history.8 With regard to the gender of the biographical subjects, the vast majority of those who were included in historical works commissioned and produced by the state, local society, or family were male. However, even in two early works, some women became significant biographical subjects. The first was Liu Xiang’s 劉向 (77?–6? bce) influential collection, Arrayed Biographies of Women (Lienü zhuan 列女傳),9 compiled in the first century bce in the last years of the Former Han. The second was the History of the Later Han (Hou Hanshu 後漢書), written by Fan Ye 范曄 (398–445) during the Liu–Song dynasty in the Northern and Southern Dynasties period. While Fan Ye was not the first to adopt the practice of including a section of biographies of women (lienü zhuan) in a dynastic history, his version of the history of the Later Han soon eclipsed earlier ones, which were subsequently lost.10 Thus we can say that it was largely due to Fan Ye’s influence that biographies of women came to be a standard feature of dynastic, and later, local histories. With the abundance of women’s biographies in historical sources and further discovery of new ones, recent inquiries into the lives of women and how they were constructed and represented by male biographers have resulted in significant advances in Chinese and English-­language scholarship on traditions of women’s biographies in Chinese history, such as new insights on how to interpret and contextualize different genres of women’s biographies and autobiographies and exposing the stakes involved in their production.11 Given this historical context and the cultural and historiographical tradition, it was long assumed that extraordinary women might be subjects of biography but were not themselves biographers.12 Now we have begun to recognize that many women in China’s past were not only prolific poets and writers, but some were also biographers. This recognition results from re8. On the varied subject positions women assumed in their writings, see Fong 2008a. 9. On this translation of lienü, see Kinney 2014: xxxvi–xxxvii. 10. They survive today only in fragments. It was Xie Cheng 謝承 (182–254) in his Hou Han shu who initiated this practice and Fan Ye copied him. See Wang 1974. 11. For recent studies of women’s biographies see Judge and Hu 2011; Mann 2007; Fong 2012; Yi 2011. 12. The Han woman scholar Ban Zhao contributed to the completion of the Han shu begun by her father Ban Biao and brother Ban Gu. Although it is not known which part of the Han shu she completed, it is generally thought that she did the tables but almost certainly not the biographies. On Ban Zhao’s life and writing, see Swann 1932.

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search done in the last two to three decades on the remarkable phenomenon of the emergence and flourishing of a critical mass of women writers from literati families in the Ming and Qing dynasties.13 Facilitated by a thriving print industry, greater availability and relative affordability of books, and the concurrent expansion of reading and educational materials from the sixteenth century on, gentry women created a vibrant literary culture—supported by family and kin, social networks, and literary communities—that lasted till the end of the Qing dynasty. Until the late twentieth century, this rich corpus of writing had been overlooked in standard narratives of Chinese literature.14 In the last decade, the rediscovery of individual women’s collected works and their enhanced accessibility have significantly expanded our knowledge of the temporal, regional, and generic scope of women’s writings.15 While revealing common practices, these sources also contain variations and unexpected features in women’s textual production. They call into question previous assumptions regarding self-­representations of women writers and, in particular, their alleged constraints, self-­imposed or otherwise, in engaging in writing, particularly of prose. The rich tapestry of materials affords new paths of inquiry, including one into women as biographers. In this study, I work with a sample of biographies written by educated elite women in the Qing to explore general questions of gender and biographical writing: When and why did women appoint or position themselves as biographers? What were the motivations behind this self-­appointment? How did gender figure in their identity as biographers? Who were their biographical subjects? What generic norms and conventions did women appropriate or depart from when representing the lives of their subjects? How did men perceive and evaluate women’s writings? What conclusions can we draw from these examples? To begin to answer some of these questions, I discuss patterns of biographical production discerned in this sample and analyze closely one woman’s biographical project. These examples exemplify the widening scope of women’s writing and the challenges and innovations women brought to biographical writing. 13. For pioneering works, see Widmer 1989; Ko 1994; Mann 1997; Widmer and Chang 1997. 14. See the illuminating discussion of this issue in relation to the twentieth-­century canonization of the Song woman poet Li Qingzhao in, “Modernism, Nationalism, Feminism,” in Egan 2013. 15. These come in both online and print resources, e.g., Ming Qing Women’s Writings (MQWW), Hu and Peng 2008, Qingdai shiwenji huibian 2009, and Xiao 2014. Citations in this chapter are mainly from the first two resources.

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Before addressing these questions, I want to foreground the fact that poetry, both shi and ci, was unquestionably the primary genre in which women wrote. Poetry was theorized and conceptualized in ways that easily lent itself to negotiation by women as an appropriate genre for their writing. From the Confucian “classics” instituted in the Han to the self-expressive poetic theory of the renowned poet and advocate of women’s poetry Yuan Mei (袁枚 1716–1798) of the Qing period, poetry was long and continuously understood as the supreme medium for expressing a person’s moral intent or resolve (yanzhi 言志) as well as one’s nature and feeling (xingqing 性情).16 Furthermore, the Book of Poetry has been cited to legitimize women’s poetic practice first by male scholars in the Song/Yuan period and later by both men and women in the Ming and Qing,17 because it contained many poems articulated in a female voice, some of which had long been regarded by commentators and readers as having actually been authored by women.18 Therefore, women’s versification, if not on inviolable ground, could at least claim canonical endorsement. Finally, for members of the educated class in the Ming and Qing, including elite women, the functions of poetry had expanded exponentially. Poetic composition became a widespread quotidian practice serving many purposes, including communication, social exchange, chronicling events and feelings, mnemonic tool, and commemoration, in addition to the fundamental function of self-­expression. Chinese poetry’s potential for recording one’s own life history has been well studied,19 and its function of recording another person’s life history has been examined in subgenres such as poems of mourning.20 At first glance, in contrast to the relative ease with which women could engage in poetic composition, more obstacles ostensibly stood in the way of their engagement in writing prose. First, neither canonical authority nor practical functionality could be readily claimed to justify an elite woman spending time to learn and write in formal prose genres such as biographies and examination essays, although many no doubt acquired functional literacy in reading and writing practical everyday prose such as letters, didactic texts for women, household management manuals, and encyclopedias of practical everyday knowledge while some even developed skills in belles16. Xingqing used in poetic theory emphasizes one’s inborn nature and emotions. It has been variously rendered in English, e.g., native sensitivity, natural sentiments. 17. See Sufeng Xu 2006. 18. We now know this was not the case. 19. See Owen 1986: 71–102; Fong 2008a: 9–53. 20. For a striking example, see Idema 2011: 230–45. See also Fong 2008b: 19–30.

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lettres composition. For male scholars, mastery of the classics and essay composition were essential to their repertory of knowledge and skills for passing the civil service examinations and carrying out the duties of their public roles. In other words, the ability to write prose, in a wide range of genres, was indispensable for their economic survival and social performance.21 Unlike their male counterparts, women were generally expected to be active only in the domestic realm, “preparing wine and food for sacrificial rituals”—as the Shi jing poem put it.22 Thus, for a talented woman writer, excluded as she was from the examination system and public life, scholarly prose had no career function, whereas poetry could serve her affective and communicative needs. However, virtuous conduct was understood to be the primary aim in women’s life. Even as he was writing a preface (dated 1785) for a unique prose collection, Small Gleanings from Reading [Records of] the Historian (Du Shi guanjian 讀史管見), by the woman writer Li Wanfang 李晚芳 (1691–1767), scholar Liang Jingzhang 梁景璋 (eighteenth century) began by making this point: “What women should value is virtue; fundamentally they need not be seen as accomplished because of their literary talent.”23 However, many daughters were educated at home by their parents and older siblings to read and write poetry, and some indeed even to read and write prose. Women’s education was cultural capital and a social asset in marriage. In other words, as future wives, educated women could be perceived as a social asset in her husband’s family as competent wives and mothers who could assist in educating their small sons and daughters. But, as there was not necessarily any compelling reason to expend time and resources to train daughters in prose composition, the learning and writing of prose depended on the individual interest and motivation of the young woman and her parents’ attitude toward her education. Given this social and cultural frame of mind, it was more unusual for a woman to master prose composition, for her to take up the brush to write prose and have it preserved and/or published. This explains the relative paucity of prose compositions by women in comparison to the more widespread practice and publication of their poetry. When we take a closer look at the greater number of women’s individual works we now have, however, we find that it was not so uncommon for women to write prose, especially in certain genres. To provide a comparative frame21. For example, histories, memorials, commentaries on the classics, religious and technical writings, to biji “notebooks,” prefaces, and letters, to name only the most common. 22. See n. 3. 23. Liang, “Liang Jingzhang zhi” 梁景璋識 1a–2b, in Li Wanfang 1787.

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work in which to explore the import of women’s biographical writing, we need to identify what these prose genres were and show how they came to be written by women. By the Qing period, for example, prefaces 序 clearly stand out as the foremost prose genre taken up by women. Literary women increasingly wrote prefaces to their own poetry collections and to those of other women. The Ming Qing Women’s Writings database now contains prefaces written by sixty-­one women, most of whom are from the late Ming and Qing periods.24 Women with established literary reputations in their own time, such as Pan Suxin 潘素心 (fl. mid-eighteenth–early nineteenth century), Zhang Xiying 張䌌英 (also pronounced Qieying, 1792–after 1863), Guan Ying 關鍈 (d. ca. 1858), and Wu Zao 吳藻 (ca. 1799–ca. 1862), were sought after as preface writers in regional and transregional literary communities. Their essays lent a certain cachet to the collections they graced. As well, there are also instances of prefaces written by women who were not known as poets or writers and did not seem to belong to literary networks. For example, in 1848 Luo Benzhou 羅本周 (nineteenth century) wrote a preface to the poetry collection of Yuan Jingrong 袁鏡蓉 (1787–after 1852), a woman writer whose extraordinary practice of “genealogy writing” is masterfully analyzed by Binbin Yang in her recent book, Heroines of the Qing (I discuss Yuan’s biographical project below). Some of these prefaces were written for literary collections that were published and have survived to the present. Others have been preserved because they were included in the writer’s own collected works that survived the collections for which they were written. Although the preface writer normally did not style herself or himself as a biographer, prefaces written for the literary collections of individual women commonly contain biographical information, especially concerning the person’s formation and growth as a poet.25 Another kind of prose that many literate women had the occasion, motivation, or even the necessity to write was letters.26 Epistolary writing offers rich potentials for studies of everyday life and autobiographical representation. Indeed, although only a limited number have been preserved, we can surmise that many literate women wrote family letters 家書, and female friends and relatives also wrote letters to each other. Women’s family letters served practical and personal purposes and were not intended to be refined writing. Thus, 24. Data from the December 2017 Microsoft Access file of the MQWW database, downloadable from http://digital.library.mcgill.ca/mingqing/english/download.php). 25. See Widmer’s discussion of biographical content in prefaces written by women, in Widmer 2011: 246–61. 26. On a recent study of letters by Ming Qing women, see Widmer 2015: 744–74.

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they would often not be considered worthy of preservation, much less publication. Interestingly, some collections by women poets do include examples of letters, such as letters written to their sons and daughters, siblings, and women friends, and even to male mentors. These letters may be treasured for their didactic or sentimental content (e.g., a mother’s instructions, a sibling’s affection), rather than stylistic or other values.27 An unusual example is the sequence of twenty-­seven “family letters” that Chen Ershi 陳爾士 (1785– 1821) wrote to her husband Qian Yiji 錢儀吉 (1783–1850) over one year from 1817 to 1818 when he accompanied his mother’s coffin back to Zhejiang for burial while Chen Ershi stayed with the children in Beijing.28 Chen Ershi also wrote several biographical pieces, which are discussed below. In sum, within their purview of literary production, social network, and kinship relations, a significant number of women did engage in a limited range of prose genres, biographical writing being one of them.

WOMEN BIOGRAPHERS AND THEIR BIOGRAPHIES In addition to formal biographies designated by the term zhuan discussed earlier, there were other forms or subgenres of biographical writing, such as accounts of conduct (xingzhuang 行狀), which were more detailed, and personal records. There were also more abbreviated accounts of conduct (xinglue 行略) and events (shilue 事略).29 These accounts were often drafted by a close kin or close friend of the deceased, a person with intimate knowledge of his/ her life and conduct. These drafts regularly served as the blueprint for the writer of the formal zhuan biography and/or the epitaph, muzhi ming 墓誌銘. The latter was a special biographical record written for burial that was typically carved on stone or ceramic and entombed with the deceased. By the Ming and Qing, we find increasing numbers of such commemorative records authored by women.30 In these cases, we can infer that when a woman author’s collected works were prepared for printing, these biographi27. For example, Gan Lirou’s letters to her sons and daughters in Gan 1843: 4.54a– 62a; Fan Shu’s letters to her brother Fan Yuanheng in Fan 范元亨 (19th c.) 1891: 1a–2b. 28. Chen 1821. 29. For a convenient list of common genres of biographical records, see Judge and Hu 2011: Appendix A. 30. Kenneth Hammond’s study on the prolific number of biographical accounts in different genres written by Wang Shizhen offers a useful comparative case of a famous male scholar’s motivation as well as obligation behind his abundant production. It

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cal writings were selected along with other genres of prose (see Table 1), to display her multifaceted talent and reputation. With the burgeoning of commercial printing in the late Ming, anthologies of women’s prose writings also appeared, probably catering to more popular interest in women’s literary production, which was driven by a range of factors, including the new cultural phenomenon of women’s versification and the male readership’s voyeuristic curiosity in the feminine sentiments and inner world embodied in women’s poetry.31 Beginning in the late eighteenth century, prose writing was increasingly included in individual women’s literary collections, as can be seen in the seven collections that are listed in Table 1, almost all of which were printed in the nineteenth century.32 Noticeably, the contents of several of these collections are exclusively prose writings (nos. 1, 2, 3, 5). In addition to demonstrating the variety of prose genres in which women wrote, they also contain biographical accounts significant for the present inquiry.33 It can be seen at a glance that these women writers engaged with an ample range of prose genres commonly found in the literary collections of male scholars.34 Each one also wrote in one or more biographical genres. Examining these collections, I identify three ways in which women came to write biographical texts: first, responses to requests from others; second, self-­

demonstrates gender difference in the writing of biographical accounts (see Chapter 5). 31. Examples in MQWW are Zhao Shijie 趙世杰 comp., Gujin nüshi 古今女史 (early–mid-­seventeenth century); Zhou Shouchang 周壽昌 (1804–1884), comp., Gonggui wenxuan 宮閨文選 (1884); Jingji Dongxuan 靜寄東軒, comp., Mingyuan chidu 名媛尺牘 (eighteenth century). In her study, Ellen Widmer examined a series of three anthologies of letters by male writers published in the late Ming in which some letters by gentry women and courtesans were also included. Widmer 1989: 1–43. 32. Collections Nos. 1–4 and 8 can be found in MQWW; nos. 5 and 7 are in Hu and Peng 2008; no. 6 is in Zhao 1858: vol. 134. 33. Other women’s individual collections that are rich in prose writings but contain one or two (or no) biographical accounts are not considered in this study, e.g., the collections of Ji Xian 季嫺 (1614–1683), Wang Zhenyi 王貞儀 (1768–1797), Wang Zhaoyuan 王照圓 (1763–1851), Wang Ying 汪嫈 (1781–1842), and others. For Shen Shanbao’s unusual practice of turning the shihua (remarks on poetry) genre into a biographical and autobiographical project, see Fong 2000: 259–303. 34. To be sure, official documents such as memorials and examination essays are not in the purview of women. See the list of prose genres with definitions in the two Ming works by Wu and Xu 1982.

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Table 1. Women’s Literary Collections with Prose Writings (Arranged According to the Author’s Dates)

Author

Collection

Edition

1. Xu Yezhao 徐葉昭 (1729–after 1794)1

Zhisiju xuewen gao 職思居學文稿

17942

2. Yun Zhu 惲珠 (1771–1833)

Langui baolu 蘭閨寶錄

1831

3. Chen Ershi 陳爾士 (1785–1821)

Tingsonglou yigao 聽松樓遺稿

1821

4. Yuan Jingrong 袁鏡蓉 (1774–after 1852)3

Yuequxuan zhuan shu lue 月蕖軒傳述略

1848

5. Zhao Fen 趙棻 (1788-1856)4

Lüyuexuan ji 濾月軒集

1858

6. Zhang Wanying 張紈英 Canfengguan wenji (1800–1881)5 餐楓館文集

1850

7. Zuo Xijia 左錫嘉 (1831–1896)

1891

Lengyinxianguan shigao shiyu wencun 冷吟仙館詩稿詩餘文存

Prose Genres included (number of biographical writings in parentheses) 自序,序, 傳 (2), 事 略 (2), 事序 (1), 述 (2), 事 (1), 記 (1), 書 論, 辯 略傳 (518)

序, 述訓 (1), 述略 (1), 傳 (1), 記, 贊, 題, 跋, 家書 記, 序, 傳 (13), 紀略 (1), 自序, 論 記, 銘, 雜說, 喻, 書, 序, 跋, 傳 (5), 誄 (1), 墓誌銘 (1), 哀辭 (2), 頌 序, 跋, 傳 (7), 墓碣 (2), 墓表 (1), 紀程, 哀 辭 (1), 詩傳 (47) 序, 像贊, 墓誌銘 (1)

1. See Xiao (2014): 66.317. 2. Preface dated 1794. See Ming Qing Women’s Writings http://digital.library.mcgill.ca/mingqing/search/details-poet.php?poetID=4125&showbio=&showanth=&showshihuaon=&language =eng; reprint in 清代詩文集彙編 355.261–296. 3. See Jiang (2005), 608. 4. See Xiao (2014): 66.396. 5. See Xiao (2014): 66.383.

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motivated initiatives in writing individual biographies; and third, projects of writing multiple biographies. As we have seen in Cao Zhenxiu’s biography of Madam Huang quoted at the beginning of this chapter, it was common practice for a writer to indicate the circumstances in which s/he undertook the writing of a biography. Zhao Fen and Zhang Wanying are examples of women who received requests to write biographies. Zhao Fen begins the “Biography of Madam Gu” 顧孺人傳 with the clear statement: “Mr. Mao Qingshan of Wu County provided an account of conduct of his second wife and entreated me to write her biography.”35 Zhao Fen goes on to quote the classics on the propriety of confining women’s words to the inner quarters 內言不出于梱, but, like Cao in writing Huang’s biography as we saw above, Zhao does so only to refute the instruction. She argues that whether words should be disseminated or not depends on their moral function. She states: If one only admires elegant diction even though it is of no benefit to the Way, though be they words uttered by nobles and ministers, they are not worth keeping. If they can benefit the way of the world and people’s hearts, then even if they are the words of farmers and cowherds, they should not be discarded. How much more so when they are the words of worthy women? A person such as Madam can be said to have had the ability to establish herself in words (liyan 立言). Therefore, I agreed to write this biography.”36

In Zhao Fen’s judgment, Madam Gu’s words and conduct met the standard of moral suasion, and that was why she accepted her son Mao Shanqing’s request. Zhao probably wrote this biography of Gu Hui 顧蕙 (1792–1842), who appears to have been an accomplished painter, when she died in 1842, aged fifty-­one sui.37 With a long discursive opening on the importance of women’s words, Zhao exudes authority in paying tribute to Gu’s achievements—her talent as a painter and her compilation of didactic texts for family instruction. The second example of a woman writing biographies upon request shows an interesting variation, for the request was both unusual—to write biogra35. Zhao 1858: 696–97. “Second wife” translates the term jishi 繼室, literally “successor wife,” and refers to the woman whom a man marries as principal wife after the death of his first wife. 36. Ibid. 37. On Gu Hui’s skill and reputation as a painter, see Yu 1981: 1548. On examples of Gu Hui’s poems and of poems other women inscribed on her paintings, see MQWW.

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phies for an anthology of women’s poetry—and came from within the family. Zhang Wanying was the youngest of the four talented daughters of Zhang Qi 張琦 (1764–1833) and Tang Yaoqing 湯瑤卿 (1763–1831). The eventful lives of the members of this extended scholarly family in the nineteenth century have been imaginatively re-created by Susan Mann in her award-­winning book, The Talented Women of the Zhang Family.38 According to the preface written by her younger brother, Zhang Yuesun 張曜孫 (1807–1863), for her prose collection Canfengguan wenji, Wanying was actually the sister who did not begin to write any prose until the age of forty, but, once she started, she showed tremendous ease and talent in the prose genres.39 Wanying’s husband Wang Xi 王曦 had married uxorilocally.40 Thus, the couple and their children lived with Wanying’s parents and, after their death, with her younger brother Zhang Yuesun and his family. When Yuesun had his sister’s poetry and prose collections printed in 1850 in Wuchang where he was magistrate, Wanying’s husband was already dead, having passed away three years earlier. Of the seven zhuan-­style biographies in juan one of Zhang Wanying’s prose collection, five are requests made through her brother or mediated in some way by him. Often he was friends with the husband or sons or brothers of the deceased. In one case, when he was asked by the deceased woman’s brother to write something, he wrote a poem himself and asked Wanying to write the biography. He may have felt that Wanying’s prose was better than his and he may have been too busy with his duties as magistrate to write.41 Fascicle Two of Zhang Wanying’s prose collection is titled “Poetry Biographies of Exemplary Women in Our Dynasty” (Guochao lienü shizhuan 國 朝列女詩傳) and contains forty-­seven mostly brief biographies of women. I note two terms used in this title: one, the term lienü 列女, as in Liu Xiang’s model text Lienüzhuan and in subsequent dynastic and local histories, for an anthology of women’s poetry rather than the typical mingyuan 名媛 (notable women) or guixiu 閨秀 (boudoir talents); second, the unusual term shizhuan (poetry biographies). Whereas lienüzhuan denotes women of exemplary con38. Mann 2007. It won the 2008 John Fairbank Prize of the American Historical Association. 39. The preface she wrote for her sister Zhang Xiying’s poetry collection was the catalyst. Zhang Yuesun, “Preface to Canfengguan wenji,” in Hu and Peng 2012: 2, 1375. Her poetry collection was also printed in 1849 with a preface by Zhang Yuesun. See Linyun youyue zhi ju shi chugao, ibid., vol. 2, 1307–71. 40. Wang did not change his surname and their children had the surname Wang. Cf. Chapter 2 by Joseph Dennis on surname changes. 41. See “Pan zhennü zhuan” 潘貞女傳 in Hu and Peng 2012: 2, 1390.

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duct whose biographies are arranged in order, Zhang Xiying’s biographies emphasize intense, fanatical self-­sacrifice, e.g., widows making multiple attempts to commit suicide or enduring a lifetime of widowhood in extreme hardship.42 It is such severe (self-­)punishing requirements made on women’s virtue that the woman biographer Cao Zhenxiu, quoted at the beginning of this chapter, objected to. By using the term lienü and compiling an anthology of their poems contextualized by their biographies, Zhang Wanying and her eldest sister Xiying represent the normative attitude of eulogizing women of extreme virtue. At the end of each biography is indicated the number of poems selected—usually just one or two, occasionally half a dozen to a dozen. In his preface, Zhang Yuesun mentions that their eldest sister Xiying had asked Wanying to write biographies for an anthology of women’s poetry she was compiling. Wanying finished writing the biographies quickly but Xiying never completed the anthology. As a result, these women’s biographies are included in Zhang Wanying’s collection of prose and given the novel category “poetry biographies” because Zhang Xiying was going to name the anthology Records of Poems by Exemplary Women in Our Dynasty 國朝列女詩錄. The biographical sketches written by Zhang Wanying, most of which were likely adapted from existing sources, confirm the meaning of the term lienü here, which refers to women who acted out their roles to the logical extreme of womanly virtue. Fully two-thirds of the women (thirty-­one) were wives who, after their husbands died, committed suicide or lived as lifelong widows; five were chaste maidens who remained faithful to their deceased fiancés by committing suicide or, as widows, by going to their intended parents-­in-­law’s homes to serve them. Only a handful of the women can be said to have been selected on the basis of their poetic and artistic accomplishments.43 Since this women’s poetry anthology was Zhang Xiying’s project, as compiler and editor she would have made the selection of the women and poems to be included. There is irony about the preponderant initial emphasis on lienü in Zhang Xiying’s selection because she purportedly intended her anthology to offer a correction to the faults in two earlier well-­k nown anthologies of women’s poetry: on the one hand, indiscriminate and trivial in42. Such extreme behavior is the mark of the lienü, written 烈女, “female martyrs.” I thank Sarah Schneewind for calling my attention to the discussion of these two terms by Oh 2013: 76–77. 43. Zhang fascicle 2, in Hu and Peng 2012: 2, 1401–25. Huang Yuanjie, Qian Fenglun, and Liao Yunjin were well-known women poets who were not widows or who had not committed suicide. Liao Yunjin was famous for her painting.

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clusion in the vast anthology Xiefang ji 擷芳集 (eighty juan) compiled by Wang Qishu 汪啟淑 (1728–1799), and, on the other hand, the overemphasis on morality in the selections in the smaller anthology Guochao guixiu zhengshi ji and its sequel (thirty juan) compiled by Yun Zhu (see below). It appears that Zhang Wanying’s poetry biographies may only reflect a small and particular section of the planned anthology, which Xiying said would contain more than three thousand poets.44 Since Wanying was regarded by her siblings as the prose stylist among them, she was asked to compose the biographical texts. Her example, along with Cao Zhenxiu and others, illustrate that literary women were recognized for their accomplishments in writing prose and regarded as appropriate and even sought-­after biographers, both inside and outside their families. When they accepted the requests, they wrote with confidence and authority. From “commissioned” biographies, we turn to examine individual biographies undertaken at the writer’s own initiative. We ask how a woman writer’s personal sentiments and her critical judgment could motivate the production of both discrete biographies and projects consisting of multiple biographies. In the affective realm, commemorating the dead was also a way for the living to manage their grieving. Maternal love and deep friendship coupled with close kinship ties moved the late-­Ming woman Shen Yixiu 沈宜修 (1590–1635) to write the poignant biographies of her young deceased daughter Ye Xiaoluan 葉小鸞 (1616–1632) and her cousin Zhang Qianqian 張倩倩 (1594–1627), who was also her brother’s wife and Xiaoluan’s aunt and adoptive mother.45 We hear Zhao Fen’s voice change from the authoritative tone of the formal biographer to a sad and affectionate one commemorating the short life of her younger sister Zhao Rou 趙葇 (1805–1822). In Biography of Sister Youqing 幼卿妹傳, she begins by recalling her little sis-

44. Zhang Xiying makes this statement in a note she appended to a couplet in her undated poem quoted by her friend, the poet and critic Shen Shanbao (1808–1862): “My work Guochao lienü shilu will contain more than three thousand poets, but I have not yet been able to arrange the compilation.” See Shen 1879: xuji, shang 6a. 45. The biographies “Jinü Qiongzhang zhuan” 季女瓊章傳 and “Biaomei Zhang Qianqian zhuan” 表妹張倩倩傳 are in Shen Yixiu’s collection Lichui 鸝吹 in Ye 1998: 1,201–7, the large compendium compiled by her husband Ye Shaoyuan 葉紹袁 (1589–1648), which includes his writings and those by his wife and children, among which are many commemorative and auto/biographical writings. On Shen Yixiu and her “domestic community,” see Ko 1994: 187–218. See translation and discussion of Shen Yixiu and her daughters’ work in Idema and Grant 2004, 400–6.

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ter’s precociousness as a child and describing her scholarly disposition during adolescence: She was born with an unusual disposition. At three sui, she knew the four tones; at five, she read the Four Books. By the time she was ten, she had completely memorized the Five Classics. Although she had no teacher in the inner quarters … [male kin were too busy to tutor her], she was able to use her deep thinking to understand the meaning in various books. She was especially fond of the Spring and Autumn Annals (Chunqiu) and tried to compare its three commentaries to seek out their similarities and differences and where they were right or wrong in order to reconcile them to the purport of the sages. She also evaluated the significance of the historical works Conversations of the States (Guoyu) and Records of the Warring States (Zhanguo ce).46

Zhao Fen suggests that her sister may have wanted to emulate serious women scholars like the daughter of Fu Sheng 伏生, who interpreted for her aged father when he was summoned to court by Emperor Wen in the early Han to lecture on the Book of Documents, and Ban Zhao 班昭 (ca. 49–ca. 120), who completed the Han shu begun by her father and brother. Contrary to fashion, this young sister considered women who made a name in the world because of their poetic talent insignificant. Zhao Fen recorded only one incident in the biography, which emphatically illustrates her young sister’s understanding of ritual propriety: Zhao Rou was betrothed to the son of a Chen family in the capital when their father was serving in office there. When their father died, the Zhao family was going to return south to their native place, Shanghai. Fearing that it would be inconvenient to carry out the wedding after the Zhaos left the capital, the Chen family sent a message through a matchmaker expressing their wish to have the marriage take place immediately. Zhao Rou, who was only an adolescent at the time, adamantly refused, saying that it would be a grave transgression of ritual propriety to marry when she was in mourning for her father. But soon she became ill and died at the age of eighteen sui. Zhao Fen mentions that her sister was only four sui when she herself got married. With the age difference, the two sisters could barely have lived together and did not know each other as adults. Zhao Fen expresses regret that all her sister’s youthful writings on the classics and history had long been scattered and lost. With their two brothers having passed away, Zhao Fen was the only sibling left. She said she wrote the biography because she did not 46. Zhao 1858: 23b–24a.

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want her sister to vanish into oblivion, which, she did not need to add, was the usual fate of an unmarried woman. Not surprisingly, elite women’s affection often extended to their maids and servants, who served them loyally in their daily life. It was not uncommon for such personnel to follow their young mistresses to their married home and to continue to serve them there. Under these circumstances, the two socially differentiated classes of women often developed deep attachments to each other. The eighteenth-­century novel Dream of the Red Chamber (Honglou meng) contains prototypical if idealized representations of the relationships between kind mistresses and devoted maids. In real life, women’s poetry also provides historical evidence of such relationships as the writers addressed poems to their young maids and adopted a maternal attitude in instructing them, treating them like their own children or siblings if they were close in age. Some even taught their maids to read and write. Others wrote accounts of their servants’ lives, in which they expressed their gratitude to them. Such is the case with Chen Ershi, who wrote a short biography of her wet nurse entitled “Biography of Old Nanny Hu” 保母胡嫗傳. Chen hailed from a family of scholar-officials. Her father was vice director of the Ministry of Justice. She was married to Qian Yiji 錢儀吉 ( jinshi 1808, 1783– 1850) of Beizhuan ji 碑傳集 fame.47 Chen Ershi herself was well versed in the classics and history. To teach her young sons, she wrote a series of thirty-­ some explications of passages from the classics and histories (Yi jing, Shi jing, Li ji, Guoyu, and Lunyu), which were compiled into one fascicle titled Occasional Essays When Instructing the Classics 授經偶筆. As shown in Table 1, her prose writings include prefaces to her own and others’ collected writings, a narrative of instructions by female ancestors in her husband’s family 述訓, and two biographical pieces. The biographies were of her mother-­in-­law, titled “Brief Account of My Deceased Mother-­in-­Law” 先姑述略, and of Nanny Hu, the only zhuan biography in her collected works. I believe Chen Ershi’s adoption of the generic term zhuan here is deliberate—it inscribes the respect and affection that Chen holds for her deceased wet nurse. From it, we learn that Nanny Hu was brought in to take care of Chen Ershi from the time she was an infant a few months old until she got married at seventeen sui, and she died the year after Chen was married. The biography narrates several pivotal incidents revealing Nanny Hu’s diligence and her dedication to Chen Ershi and her mother:

47. A large collection of biographies of Qing figures from the mid-seventeenth to the early nineteenth century are transcribed from steles.

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When I was eleven, my father passed away. Nanny Hu felt very sorry for me and did not want to leave me during the day or at night. But my mother’s room could not accommodate more than two beds. Nanny then slept on the floor in order to wait on me at night. She did this for six years. Even though mother forbade her, she would not leave. Because of this she got rheumatism and in the end died of this illness.48

Chen also recounted how Nanny Hu meticulously prepared medical recipes to treat an eye ailment that she had had for three years until it healed. She praised Hu for her “compassionate, yielding, gentle, and good-­natured” 慈讓溫良 character but also her selflessness, always putting her charge first before her own welfare, as illustrated in her insistence on sleeping on the floor to be at hand to care for Chen; she lived up to the ancient ideal of a nanny, which Chen believed could not be found anymore. Chen felt that she had not been able to repay Nanny Hu’s kindness and writing the biography, transmitting her mark or “traces” 傳其跡 was Chen’s way of expressing her gratitude. Perhaps predictably, these examples show that the subjects of biographies motivated by sentiment are usually about women who were known to or close to the woman biographer through kinship or everyday life. In other words, women were most likely inspired to write about the lives of women they knew personally. Although they seem to seldom cross the gender boundary to act as biographers of male subjects, exceptions can be found of women who were motivated by reasons other than sentiment and entreaty by others to write biographies and their biographical subjects included men. The very act of writing such biographies challenged gender and other boundaries. The woman scholar, poet, and anthologist Wang Duanshu 王端淑 (1621–ca. 1685) wrote six biographies of male Ming loyalists/martyrs as an expression of her loyalism to the fallen Ming dynasty during the first three or four years of Qing rule.49 In her position as the biographer of male subjects who were Ming loyalists, Wang Duanshu consciously challenged both gender and political boundaries during the traumatic political and cultural transition from the Ming to the Qing.50 48. Chen 1821: 2.15a. 49. I have not had access to Wang Duanshu’s collection Yinhong ji 吟紅集 (1651), in which these biographies are found. Ellen Widmer translated two of them, “Guan Shaoning” and “The Beggar of Nanking,” along with Wang’s “Postface to the Biographies” in Mann and Cheng 2001: 185–87. 50. On Wang Duanshu’s loyalist activism and its interpretation in later periods, see

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In the current sample, a short biography by Zhang Wanying, “Biography of Virtuous Mother Zhang” 張節母傳, serves to illustrate a unique motivation for writing, or more precisely, rewriting a biography. In this piece, Zhang Wanying, fully confident of her talent in prose composition discovered late in life, assumes the full stance of a critic and makes this judgment at the end of the biography: Zhang Wanying says: I was reading the Prose Collection of Gui Zhenchuan and came across the “Epitaph to Madame Zhang” 張太孺人墓誌 銘. Zhenchuan’s prose is most careful and precise, but this piece is exceptionally full of trivial and superfluous details. It is also marred by using current expressions. I regretted that the beauty of her [Madame Zhang’s] conduct was not matched by the style of the writing in her biography. I therefore abridged it to produce this piece.51

Zhenchuan 震川 was the cognomen of the renowned Ming prose writer Gui Youguang 歸有光 (1506–1571), long revered by Zhang Wanying’s time as a master essayist. He was well known for his biographical writings in many genres, but was especially in demand as a writer of epitaphs, Madame Zhang’s being one of them (note that Zhang Wanying has changed the genre to a zhuan biography, since an epitaph [muzhi ming], by virtue of its ritual function, could not be rewritten).52 Gui’s original piece does indeed contain many more details and is much longer than Zhang’s version. It should be noted that Zhang was reading Gui’s prose compositions in the biographical genres with extreme care. My purpose here, however, is not to compare the two pieces to evaluate the validity of Zhang Wanying’s judgment, but to highlight the degree of self-­confidence demonstrated by a woman biographer. The last category of biographical writing to be discussed includes that undertaken in projects to record the lives of several subjects. We have seen different motivations behind the writing of a number of individual biographical essays by different women authors. Biographical projects, too, are most often self-­motivated. Here I will briefly discuss two: the Precious Records from Orchid Chambers 蘭閨寶錄, compiled and edited by Yun Zhu, and Biographies from Moon Lotus Studio 月蕖軒傳述略 by Yuan Jingrong. Each constitutes an entire collection of biographical writings with a conscious design. A third example, Xu Yezhao’s collection of prose Drafts of Learning Widmer, “Ming Loyalism,” in Widmer and Chang 1997. 51. In Hu and Peng 2012: 2, 1393. 52. See Gui 1936: 21 270–71.

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Prose from Reflections on Duties Studio 職思齋學文稿, which contains a corpus of biographical writings, will be examined in greater depth as a case study because her collection exemplifies how a woman created a set of biographical writings to commemorate close family members and to raise questions about social issues and historical judgments. Precious Records from Orchid Chambers is a large collection of 518 brief biographies of women compiled and edited by the woman scholar and poet Yun Zhu, a Han woman who was married to the Manchu official Wanyan Tinglu 完顏廷鏴 (1772–1820). This work has been described by Susan Mann as “one of the first histories of women by a woman” in her landmark book on the history of women and gender relations in the High Qing.53 Yun Zhu was (and is) also well known for the large anthology of women’s poetry, Correct Beginnings: Women’s Poetry of Our Dynasty 國朝閨秀正始集, that she compiled, edited, and printed in the same year as Precious Records from Orchid Chambers. Both works were conceived as “civilizing projects” that demonstrated how the moral and cultural influence of the Qing state extended to the farthest margins of the realm. In addition to Han (the majority) and noble Manchu women, the anthology includes poems by women of talent and virtue from minority ethnic groups, lower social classes, and remote regions beyond the heartland. The biographical records in the Precious Records from Orchid Chambers extends the temporal scope from the Han to the Qing; the subjects of the biographies are categorized into six fascicles titled, respectively: filial conduct 孝行, wifely virtue 賢德, maternal models 慈範, chaste martyrs 節 烈, intelligence 智略, and talent 才華. The subjects of these biographies are model daughters, wives, and mothers, each category coupled with the appropriate ideal virtue associated with that role. The fourth category, chaste martyrs, speaks for the value placed on female chastity and the extreme measures of suicide and lifelong widowhood associated with its expression and enactment. Scholar that she was, Yun Zhu recognized in the last two fascicles women whose lives demonstrated exceptional knowledge, intelligence, and literary talent. The collection was meant to have a didactic function, offering women models for all stages of life. However, it appears not to have had the intended impact; it is referred to far less frequently than Yun Zhu’s anthology of women’s poetry.54 Indeed, the collection falls short both as a biographical and as a historical work. The information in most of the brief records comes 53. See Mann’s discussion 1997: 208–14. Mann translates Langui baolu somewhat differently as Precious Records from the Maidens’ Chambers. 54. I surmise that readers would still go to Liu Xiang’s canonical collection Lienü zhuan if they want to read biographies of model women.

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from existing gazetteers. Yun Zhu indicated in her editorial guide that she based the records on two main gazetteers: Comprehensive Gazetteer of the Eight Banners 八旗通志 for Manchu women, and the Unified Gazetteer 一統 志 and other provincial gazetteers for Han women.55 The collection shows a lack of concern for either textual integrity in quoting sources (by changing them) or historical reliability for the women selected. Included are women more legendary than historical, such as the filial martial heroine Mulan, who cross-­dressed to go into battle in place of her father, and who had been transformed into a chaste suicide in two gazetteer accounts from which Yun Zhu quoted liberally for her version. In these accounts, Mulan is given the surname Wei 魏 and is said to have lived in the Sui dynasty. When her gender identity was finally discovered, the Sui ruler 隋恭帝 wanted her to be brought into his harem. She resisted and committed suicide by slitting her throat with her sword.56 The conscious design of the second biographical project by Yuan Jingrong is apparent in the title she gave to her collection, Biographies from Moon Lotus Studio, which contains the terms for three genres of biographical writing—zhuan, shu, and lue that appear in it.57 The biographies are of Yuan Jingrong’s husband Wu Jie 吳傑 (1783–1836) and of deceased members of his patriline from his father to his sons. It also contains Yuan Jingrong’s own autobiographical account (Zishu 自述). Yuan’s purpose in writing this collection was complex. Besides biographies, the collection contains essays on accounts and records that establish property inheritance and ritual observances for members of her husband’s family and lineage. The preface writer of her collection Zhuang Zhongfang 莊仲方 (1780–1857), her son-­in-­law’s father, states emphatically that Yuan resolutely carried out what her husband had intended to do: to write his father’s biography and set up land for the lineage to offer sacrifices 為先德補傳立祭田.58 In her book, Binbin Yang analyzes Yuan Jingrong’s collection as genealogy writing, a complex process through which Yuan negotiated and secured ritual, social, and economic rights and privileges for herself and her offspring after her husband’s death.59 The four55. Yun 1831: “Liyan” 例言, 1b. 56. Ibid., 1.7a–b. The two gazetteers are Bozhou zhi 亳州誌 and Shangqiu xianzhi 商邱縣志. For a textual comparison, see Cully 2008: Appendix 2, 117. See also Edwards 2016: Chapter 2 on the transformations of the Mulan story in relation to changing gender norms. 57. In Hu and Peng 2012: 2.951–80. 58. “Preface,” in Ibid., 2.951. 59. Yang 2016: Chapter 3.

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teen biographies (all zhuan with one exception) represent a family’s history, hierarchically structured according to the family tree beginning with the patriarch, Yuan Jingrong’s father-­in-­law:   1. Biography of Deceased Father-­in-­Law Mr. Meibei 先舅渼陂公傳 (father-­ in-­law)   2. Biography of Deceased Mother-­in-­Law Madam Qian 先姑錢太夫人傳 (mother-­in-­law)   3. Biography of Madam Xu 徐宜人傳 (concubine of father-­in-­law)   4. Biography of Madam Wang 王孺人傳 (concubine of father-­in-­law)   5. Biography of My Deceased Husband Mr. Meiliang 先夫子梅梁公傳 (husband)   6. Biography of Madam Yuan, Deceased Wife [of my husband] 前配袁夫人 傳 (deceased first wife of husband)   7. Biography of Fourth Aunt 四姑傳 (Fourth Aunt—fourth daughter of father-­in-­law by concubine Madame Xu [3])   8. Joint biography of Third Aunt, Fifth Aunt, and Eleventh Aunt 三姑五姑 十一姑合傳 (Third Aunt, Fifth Aunt, and Eleventh Aunt—daughters of father-­in-­law: Third Aunt by principal wife Madame Qian, Fifth Aunt and Eleventh Aunt by Concubine Xu)   9. Biography of Scholar Xingliang 杏梁儒士傳 (fourth son of father-­in-­ law by Concubine Chen, whom Yuan Jingrong criticized in the biography of her father-­in-­law; Yuan did not write a biography of Concubine Chen) 10. Biography of Child Wenxi 文熙童子傳 (Yuan Jingrong’s eldest son, died when eight months old, buried at the family grave of her natal home; joined to it is a longer biography of her second son Huisheng 慧生童子傳, who died at eight sui) 11. Biography of Elder Brother of Father-­in-­Law Mr. Lizhai 先伯舅禮齋公傳 (elder brother of father-­in-­law) 12. Biography of Affinal Kin Madam Jiang 外姻姜孺人傳 (mother of Madam Yuan, deceased wife of Yuan Jingrong’s husband) 13. Brief Record of Servants 奴僕紀略 14. Biography of Old Nanny Gan, née Sun 媼甘孫氏傳 If these biographies were intended for a family genealogy or meant as blueprints, Yuan Jingrong’s strong first-­person voice indicated by the recurring pronoun “I” 余 that dominates the narratives and her ubiquitous presence in her husband’s chronologically ordered biography must have struck an odd note. Yuan also models her accounts on the historian’s use of biographical

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representation to effect praise and blame. This supposedly concealed method is particularly apparent in the first biography, that of her father-­in-­law, where she begins conventionally enough with the vital statistics—his dates of birth and death—followed by an obligatory portrayal of his good character— obligatory in the conventions of biography, but ends with property issues and condemnation of one of his concubines (née Chen) whom Yuan accused of stealing and selling the belongings of the family. Behind her reference to the concubine’s misconduct is a veiled critique of her father-­in-­law’s inability to put the family in order. While she composed biographies for two other concubines of her father-­in-­law, she left concubine Chen without a biography and thus excised her from the lineage except as a flaw in her father-­in-­law’s biography and by extension in his character. This is an atypical praise-­and-­blame technique in the sense that it was employed by a daughter-­in-­law to criticize her father-­in-­law publicly in print, however obliquely. The biographies examined above, although limited in number, represent the variety of biographical genres women engaged in writing when the occasion arises or when their dispositions and sentiments guide their decision to write, in which act they position themselves as authors of life histories. An exceptional case such as Yuan Jingrong opens up the possibility of reading the woman biographer and her biographies as powerful appropriation of the genre for multiple functions that embody complex motives and negotiations with boundaries of gender and authority. This leads to the analysis of an exemplary case study.

VINDICATING MARGINALIZED LIVES: XU YEZHAO’S DRAFTS OF LEARNING PROSE FROM REFLECTIONS ON DUTIES STUDIO Xu Yezhao was a native of Wucheng 烏程 in northern Zhejiang. Her family background is rather obscure due to her male kin’s lack of success in the examination system and officialdom. She did mention, however, that her maternal great-­grandfather was the eminent early Qing scholar and poet Zhu Yizun 朱彝尊 (1629–1709). By her own description, Xu Yezhao was unlike most young women in her exclusive interest and persistence in learning how to compose prose from an early age. What we know about her comes solely from her collection, Drafts of Learning Prose from the Reflections on Duties Studio, which contains only prose essays. Xu wrote her own preface to her collection, in which she gave a detailed account of how she developed her abilities in prose composition. Beginning with the history of her learning how to write, she recalled how when she was a child, she would listen to her father

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and elder brother’s opinions, and then, on her own, would “presumptuously compose ancient prose.” She counted herself as fortunate in that her father and brother seemed quite open-­minded and supportive of her unusual predilection. She confessed that she developed early an interest in Buddhist and Daoist writings, but after twenty sui, she came to recognize their errors. From then on she would only read the canonical writings of the Song Confucians Cheng Yi 程頤 (1033–1107) and Zhu Xi 朱熹 (1130–1200), adopting their view that “writing is a vehicle for the way” 文以載道. She describes her own writing as having become “direct and dry, with little emotion” 徑直少情. Her father advised her to correct her style by modeling her writing on that of the Eight Masters of Prose of the Tang and Song dynasties. She persisted in her efforts, even after marriage, when she often lived in poverty and sickness. The contents of Xu Yezhao’s collection indeed show that she endeavored to follow the principle that “writing is a vehicle for the way,” for the collection begins with a series of ten essays on the various “ways” (dao 道) for women— the correct “way” for embodying each of the many hierarchical family roles that women assumed in their lives, ranging from daughter and mother to concubine and maidservant.60 It is in the biographies that she wrote, using the various biographical genres, that she shows a strong affective dimension in her relations to her close kin. Xu Yezhao was a self-­appointed “family historian,” writing the life histories of select members of her immediate kin from her parents to the lowest member of the household, including that of her own maid; most of them were people she knew personally and for whose life and deeds she felt deep attachment. The following is the arrangement of the biographies authored by Xu Yezhao, which follow directly after the ten essays on women’s dao in her collection: 1. Sketch of Events [in the Life of] My Deceased Father 先考事略 2. Sketch of Events [in the Life of] My Deceased Mother 先母事略 3. Biography of Chaste Woman Fifth Paternal Aunt 烈女五姑母傳 4. Sequence of Events [in the Life of] Elder Sister-­in-­Law Chaste Maiden Shen 大嫂沈貞女事序 5. Narrating [the Life of] My Husband Mr. Heting 夫子鶴汀先生述61 6. Narrating [the Life of] Virtuous and Filial Madam Huang 節孝黃孺人述 7. Writing the Events of Woman Martyr Xuegu 書烈婦雪姑事 60. In MQWW and Qingdai 2010: 355, 261–96. 61. Xu Yezhao wrote his biography in 1786 and mentioned that her husband died at sixty-­five sui. But it is not clear how long after Xu Yaozi died she wrote this biography.

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8. Record of the Affair of Lanxiang 蘭香事記 9. Brief Biography of Maidservant Wang Jingxiang 婢女王靜香小傳 The first six biographies are of family members. Except for the biographies of her husband and his maternal great-­grandmother Madam Huang, the first four are of Xu Yezhao’s natal family members—her parents and two female kin. This focus on natal kin may be related to the fact that her husband Xu Yaozi 許堯咨 married into her family uxorilocally.62 Xu Yezhao acknowledges two fundamental motivations for writing these biographies: to record and commemorate the person and his/her deeds; and to express her own feelings for them. In the case of the two men—her father and her husband—her biographical representation naturally emphasizes the many good qualities expected of them in their various family roles, qualities such as filiality, diligence, generosity, selflessness, all illustrated by specific incidents. However, nice as both men may have been, they both had lackluster careers like so many educated men of their time when population growth outstripped that of degrees and offices. Xu Yezhao recognized that their lives would not have been recorded or remembered had she not taken the initiative. She ends her father’s biographical sketch by stating that she has put examples of facts from his life in the essay in the hopes that gentlemen of the world would perhaps deign to gather it for inclusion in the local history. Xu Yezhao wrote the biographical sketch of her father, who had nurtured her interest in prose writing, only one month after he died. In the biography of her husband, she elaborated on his selflessness in helping others in all ways, even to the point of giving away his wife’s and daughter’s clothes and ornaments to do so. It seems that Yezhao did not mean this to be just a trope for her husband’s generosity. She could in fact be registering a note of discontent. A dialogue at the end of the biography between her and an imaginary interlocutor suggests that she saw both strength and weakness in her husband: Someone said, “If your husband was a correct person, why did he just go along [passively] when he himself encountered unexpected bad forces, but when someone else encountered unfairness he would turn around to help 62. She wrote in his biography: “My husband came to my father’s school office in Zhuji County (Shaoxing prefecture) in the spring of Guimao (1753) to become his son-­in-­law.” 君自癸卯孟春來先人諸暨學署為贅壻. Xu 1794: 27a. Her husband did not change his family name Xu 許, which is a different character from Yezhao’s family name 徐.

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resolve the difficulty and dispute?” I said, “One who looks after himself is weak and one who looks after others is courageous. It was his innate quality [to help others].” The person then spoke up in alarm, “Since in his entire life your husband’s strength of character and integrity consist in just this [assisting others], if a person who looks after others is also weak [in other respects], then even if he has other good qualities, he could not be considered a ‘correct’ person.’ ” I agreed, saying: “So it is.” I then made a record of both.63

However faulty and unsuccessful her husband might have been as a person, by crafting a biographical record of him, Xu Yezhao thought she was fulfilling part of her duty as his wife. She signed the biography with the term for a widow—weiwangren 未亡人, “the one who has yet not died.” Xu Yezhao’s motivations for writing the two biographies of female kin (#3 and #4) were distinctly personal. Both were “chaste maidens” who, according to Yezhao, already had biographies in the local history of the prefecture.64 Both women were betrothed but their fiancés died before they were married. Fifth Paternal Aunt attempted suicide several times but was eventually persuaded by her elder brother, Xu Yezhao’s father, to stay alive to serve their aged mother. She performed her filial duty for about ten years until her mother died, after which she observed three years of mourning. She then starved herself to death. Yezhao ends this biography stating the reason why she wrote it, “Since the light of my aunt’s hidden virtue already shines in the prefectural gazetteer, it will for sure be immortal. The reason why I record it again is that this heart of mine deeply admires this virtue and cannot forget it.”65 Similarly, her elder sister-­in-­law née Shen was betrothed to her elder brother, who died before the wedding. Xu Yezhao writes, “The substance of her chastity and filiality have been recorded [in her biography] in the prefectural gazetteer. But it does not include the details. Therefore, I narrate these events to supplement it.”66 Most of this “sequence of events” consists of a narrative beginning with a description of Shen’s childhood character, her age at her betrothal, her fiancée’s illness, her parents’ request to marry them quickly to prevent her from killing herself if he died, his death before this could take place, and her parents’ attempt to keep the news from her, her resulting illness, her nanny’s 63. Xu 1794: 29a. 64. Further research is necessary to find these. 65. “Lienü Wu gumu zhuan” 烈女五姑母傳, in Xu 1794: 24b. 66. “Dasao Shen zhennü shixu” 大嫂沈貞女事序, in Ibid., 25a

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inadvertent breach a year later, and then her parents’ efforts at persuading her not to kill herself, and finally her decision to live with the Xu family as a chaste widow, where she served the Xu family for more than thirty years. She brought up Yezhao’s younger brother Erjun 爾駿, born of a concubine née Zhang, who died soon after giving birth. She taught him to read the classics and histories. The father on his deathbed told Erjun that he would have died if not for his sister-­in-­law and ordered him to serve Shen as his mother. In this succinct biographical essay, Yezhao gives these and other details illustrating Shen’s virtuous conduct to commemorate her life. Of special interest are the last three biographies of women of the commoner class: one woman from the past, one woman from a neighboring county, and Yezhao’s own personal maid. As noted earlier, elite women often developed very close emotional ties to their servants. Xu Yezhao wrote a short biography of her maidservant Wang Jingxiang (#9) to express her sense of guilt for having caused Jingxiang’s blindness and early death at seventeen. Jingxiang was an orphan who came to serve her at eight sui. Xu describes her as a playful, chatty, and fun-­loving child who grew up to be serious and diligent as a preteen. Xu believes that Jingxiang lost her eyesight from sitting too close to the stove to blow on the fire to brew medicine for her during the several years when she was sick. When Yezhao realized the problem, it was too late: “Alas, it was my fault. Therefore I record it briefly from beginning to end, first to mourn her early death, and second to blame myself and serve as warning for the future.”67 The two biographical records on lower-­class women from the past—one of a village woman named Xuegu, the other of a maidservant named Lanxiang—carry unusual interest for they are not only not related to Yezhao’s family but they serve as vehicles for her to express her views on some contentious issues related to women’s chastity. Although she does not indicate how she came to know Xuegu’s story nor does she provide any geographic location (though it was likely a local tale), she recounts vividly the dramatic story of this village woman, sparing no gory detail: Xuegu of a certain county found herself in extreme difficulties but would not debase herself. She was roused to uprightness and self-­sacrifice and died tragically. Not only did she not get a good reputation, but in fact she met with vicious slander. The people of this county are indeed benighted and confused in the extreme about this. Xuegu was the wife of a certain 67. “Binü Wang Jingxiang xiaozhuan” 婢女王靜香小傳, in Ibid., 36b–37a.

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villager. At the end of the Ming, local bandits were rampant. A bandit entered Xuegu’s house and she could not escape. She took a knife to stab herself. Her blood splattered on the bandit’s clothes. He snatched her knife so she was not able to die, and was in the end raped by him. Xuegu saw that the knife was next to her; she stealthily took it to strike at the bandit. She got his thigh, which made the bandit really mad. He stripped her naked and pierced her lower body with the knife and she died. After Xuegu died, people in her family all felt ashamed because of her, and did not speak of her again. The villagers used the example of “The Li Family Who Wrote the Surrender” [to the Song dynasty]68 and called them “The Family Who had the Pierced Buttocks.” Now 340 years later, this epithet has not changed. Her family and kin are still afraid to touch on the subject and avoid it like a taboo.”69

After retelling the story, Xu Yezhao emphasized how difficult it was for women to protect themselves in times of disorder; she also pointed out the many men who lost their integrity and also women with imperially conferred titles who had not been able to avoid losing their chastity. She exalted Xuegu for trying to kill herself to maintain her integrity and for trying to take revenge, which resulted in her being killed in a most brutal and degrading manner. In the record, Yezhao exhorts people to recognize Xuegu as a liefu 烈婦, a woman martyr, a moral exemplar for both men and women. The affair of the maid Lanxiang appears to be a contemporary incident that took place in the nearby county Tongxiang 桐鄉, Zhejiang Province. Lanxiang was a beautiful and talented maidservant in the Zhuang household. She loved to learn, but in Xu Yezhao’s view, what she read were books that contained the wrong kind of materials—erotic palace style poetry, song lyrics, drama and fiction—and herein lies the heart of the problem and the moral of Lanxiang’s tragic love story: A talented and handsome young man from the Zhuang lineage named Wangsun and Lanxiang fell in love. They agreed to be husband and wife. Although they loved each other and made this vow, and although they frequently exchanged verse, their meetings and words were proper and pure. Later Wangsun came several times to seek her hand in marriage from her master, but her master thought highly of Lanxiang’s talent and beauty 68. Li Hao (ca. 893–ca. 965), minister of Hou Shu, gained an ignominious name for his family by writing the document for surrendering the state to the Song. 69. “Shu liefu Xuegu shi” 書烈婦雪姑事, in Xu 1794: 32a–32b.

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and did not want her to become a concubine. So he chose another husband for her, betrothing her to be the wife of a certain man in the same county. When the wedding date was fixed, Wangsun came three days before it to say farewell. He returned all the poems they had exchanged and left. Lanxiang took the poems and compiled them in a large portfolio and put it in a box. She washed and dressed, carried the box out and threw it into the river. She then hanged herself. Alas, she can be said to be loyal, faithful, chaste, and exemplary. Yet, the gentleman 君子 would not take her [as a model].70 How regrettable! This is because the ritual of marriage must be clear and correct. One should not act of one’s own accord 自專 … Learning probably misled her. In fiction and miscellaneous anecdotes, men and women secretly make vows to remain faithful to each other.71

Although Yezhao considers conduct such as Lanxiang’s to be improper, she does not think it is an offense, and she commends Lanxiang as “an extraordinary woman who was loyal, faithful, chaste, ardent, and determined” 忠信貞 烈有志之奇女子. Her conclusion is that “one must be cautious in what one learns.” Lanxiang is an example of reading and studying the wrong materials and thus being misled in her conduct. By recording the lives of these two women of low social status, Xu Yezhao challenges historical and prevailing judgment in the case of Xuegu, and expresses an ambivalent sympathy for individualistic romantic love in the case of Lanxiang. By narrating and reflecting on the tragic lives of these women, Xu Yezhao criticizes and to a certain degree subverts conservative and hypocritical views on women’s chastity.

CONCLUDING COMMENTS In this exploration of biographical writings by women in the Qing dynasty, I have attempted to identify the reasons for women to take up the position of biographer, engaging with prose genres normally outside their textual training, and family and social endorsement. The broadening of women’s education and literacy from the late Ming on provided opportunities and the foundation for women who had the interest, ambition, perseverance, and supportive family environment to engage with writing. The most common genre 70. The “gentleman” stands for a person of superior moral cultivation and integrity who is in a position to evaluate the conduct of others. 71. “Lanxiang shi ji” 蘭香事記, in Xu 1794: 34a–35a.

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for women to compose in was, of course, poetry. However, as we have seen in the above examples, some women had the personal inclination, family and social circumstances, and educational opportunities to learn how to write in the prose genres in which their male peers were trained from an early age as essential for their future social roles. The women who composed in prose, and specifically in the various genres of biography I have discussed above were often those with talent who first developed reputations as poets and writers in their family, social, and regional circles. They were sought after to write biographies of deceased women by friends and relatives. Indeed, I have identified at least one case of a woman—Xu Yezhao—who preferred prose-­ writing over poetry composition. This seems to have been rather unusual, but future research may reveal that there were others who favored prose writing as well. Women writers in the late Ming and Qing periods experienced important changes but also maintained certain continuities. They did not create new prose genres for themselves, but manipulated those genres with long histories to create their own visions and express their own opinions on contemporary literary and social issues. Most significantly, whether moved by affection or a sense of injustice, daughters, mothers, nieces, wives, and mistresses wrote from the peripheries of textual culture to stay the erosion of memory and to commemorate those equally (or even more) marginal to the cultural center and social hierarchy. Stepping into the historiographical tradition that began in the Han, they took on the role of biographers to make even ordinary women, as well as ordinary men, known in their own day and in the history to come.

PART THREE

FOLLOWING THE TEXTS Creation, Publication, Revision, and Transmission

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8

Re-­Collecting Yue Fei Yue Ke, Jintuo cui bian, and the Making of a Chinese Hero Leo K. Shin

Much of what is known about Yue Fei 岳飛 (1103–1142) comes from two collections of documents compiled by one of his grandsons, Yue Ke 岳珂 (1183–1242?). The collections, titled the Jintuo Compendium of the Prince of E (Eguo Jintuo cui bian 鄂國金佗稡編) and the Supplements to the Jintuo Compendium (Eguo Jintuo xu bian 鄂國金佗續編), were subsequently reengraved and reprinted numerous times before the end of the nineteenth century. While biographers and historians alike have long made use of the two collections as depositories of biographical information about the Song general, relatively little attention has been paid to the fact these texts have also been vehicles for the construction and transmission of the images of Yue Fei. My goal in this chapter is to trace the composition and transmission of the Jintuo Compendia as well as to demonstrate how the texts have, since the last decades of the Song dynasty (960–1279), intersected with other genres

The author would like to express his gratitude to Roger Des Forges, Ihor Pidhany, and the external reviewers for their many helpful suggestions as well as to his colleague Nam-­lin Hur and student Ma Zoudan for their assistance.

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of biographical materials that have been central to the imagination and reimagination of Yue Fei to this day. In his introductory essay for the collection Confucian Personalities published more than half a century ago, the late Denis Twitchett cited, with ­evident approval, advice offered by the prominent Chinese scholar Gu Yanwu 顧炎武 (1613–1682). In Twitchett’s view, Gu’s words of wisdom for aspiring biographers—that they should “read all the subject’s writings, understand his ideas, be thoroughly acquainted with the times in which he lived, and learn everything … [they] can about the state apparatus of which he formed a part”—remained just as relevant in the twentieth century as they had been in the seventeenth. To be sure, Twitchett’s assumption that such methods would result in something close to the “truth” might now seem dated; but his evocation of Gu’s advice remains a useful reminder of the fundamental duty of all who endeavor to write about past lives: to be attentive not only to the subject’s own words and deeds but also to the myriad circles, networks, and webs in which any individual was inevitably embedded.1 But how wide a net one should cast and what constitutes a source, of course, depend on one’s purpose. If the primary goal is to situate one’s subject in his or her own time, it might be sufficient to focus on just the records contemporaneous to the life story in question. But if the main objective is to locate and evaluate the historical and historiographical significance of one’s subject, one obviously needs to examine a wider range of sources. These would include, especially for individuals with prominent public profiles, biographies and other commemorative writings produced or compiled by writers of later times. These could also include, particularly for subjects with exceptionally compelling life stories, romanticized or didactic tales recounted or performed in a variety of formats and settings. The resulting study would thus be not simply about a particular life story but also about the historical web spun around one’s biographical subject. In other words, it would be about the processes through which the meanings of individual life stories are constructed, contested, and reconstructed. There is, however, another wrinkle. While one should maintain a conceptual distinction between a biographical study (situating a person in his or her own time and place) and a historiographical analysis (locating the significance of the biographical subject within a historical tradition), it is important to remember—and the case of Yue Fei 岳飛 (1103–1142) offers an excellent 1. Twitchett 1962: 39; Gu’s comments can be found in the entry “Zhi zhuang bu ke wang zuo” 志狀不可妄作 (Tomb inscriptions and accounts of conducts are not to be composed presumptuously) in Gu Yanwu 2006: 19.1107–8.

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reminder—that such a distinction is not always possible or most useful in making sense of the past. For our purpose here, the basic story of the Song-­ dynasty (960–1279) loyalist needs only the briefest of recounting. As most schoolchildren from any part of the Chinese-­speaking world would learn, the scholar-­official-­general Yue Fei led Southern Song armies in a heroic effort to recover the territories that had been lost to the rival Jin forces. In so doing, he has generally been regarded as having manifested exemplary courage and tenacity. But as every student would also learn, Yue Fei was also a tragically flawed minister who, on the brink of military victory, allowed himself to be recalled by the Southern Song emperor, imprisoned, and executed on the basis of trumped-­up charges. As such, Yue Fei has generally been thought to have exemplified a fundamental tension between the ideals of loyalty (zhong 忠) to the ruler and righteousness (yi 義) on behalf of just causes. While Yue Fei’s thoughts and actions have long been sources of fascination and debate among his biographers, the ways in which his life story has been framed and discussed, as well as the varying degrees of significance attached to it over the centuries, must ultimately be understood not as self-­evident but as products of historical processes.2 Much has been written about the transformation of Chinese historical or legendary figures into political, cultural, or spiritual icons. While I share the interest of many who are drawn to the multiplicity of representation and reception of such personages, I would echo the call (by David Johnson, among others) that we need to pay more attention to the transmission of such representations—whether they are in the form of texts, spoken stories, objects, images, architecture, performances, or other media. As anyone who has written about Yue Fei would readily testify, the body of relevant materials that has been produced since the general’s death is both substantial and diverse. Such sources include not only a variety of archival documents and “personal” writings but also a wide range of commemorative poems and essays, as well as an array of popular stories and plays. My objective here is not to survey this vast body of artifacts but to focus on the compilation, transmission, and, to some extent, influence of two particular collections compiled by Yue Ke 岳珂 (1183–1242?), one of Fei’s grandsons. The Jintuo Compendium of the Prince of E and the Supplements to the Jintuo Compendium have long been considered the most authoritative of Yue Fei–related sources, and they have been used as the basis for most of the scholarly biographies of the Song general. Yet, despite the importance of the Compendia (as I shall call the two collec2. For short lists of recent scholarship on Yue Fei, see Kaplan 1970; Liu 1987; Sun and Huang 2004; Wang 2007a; Matten 2011.

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tions hereafter), the processes of their compilation and transmission have seldom been closely examined. My goals in this chapter are thus to write the history of the compilations and to explain their role in spawning several genres of Yue Fei–related texts. In so doing, I hope to join my fellow contributors in drawing attention to the mechanics and historical processes by which life stories from what we now refer to as China have been promoted (see, for example, the chapters by Kenneth Hammond, Elizabeth Kindall, Grace Fong, Ihor Pidhainy, and Yi Jo-­Lan) or, in some cases (such as those discussed by George Zhao, Joseph Dennis, and Roger Des Forges), purposely hidden from view. This, then, is not a study of the Song general or even the transformations of his images per se; rather, it is an attempt to offer a relatively full account of how the life story of Yue Fei has been re-­collected in texts over the past eight centuries. In so doing, I hope to show that, while we may never fully explain why a particular life story would come to resonate with later generations, the acts or practices of revisiting certain ones time and again have in fact themselves contributed to what one may understand as the “Chineseness” of China.3

I. YUE KE AND THE COMPENDIA Since the mid-­thirteenth century, to tell the story of Yue Fei has been to view his life, at least partially, through the lens of Yue Ke. A son of Yue Lin 岳霖 (1130–1192), one of six documented children of Yue Fei, Yue Ke was in his own right a well-­k nown scholar, poet, connoisseur of calligraphy, and observer of current affairs. Over the course of an official career that lasted nearly four decades, Yue Ke had served in a range of positions at the local, regional, and capital levels. Though he was at one point a vice minister of revenue, he was never close to the center of power. In addition to the Compendia, Yue Ke has also left behind a number of other notable works: a study of Song-­dynasty institutions, Notes of the Humble Mind (Kui Tan lu 愧郯錄); a compilation dealing with contemporary affairs and personalities, Stories Recorded on a Small Table (Ting shi 桯史); a study of a family collection, Notes on the Collection of Calligraphy in the Precious and Genuine Studio (Baozhen 3. For studies of the “lives” of some notable Chinese historical and legendary figures, see Croizier 1977; Allan and Cohen 1979; Johnson 1980a, 1980b; Schneider 1980; Allan 1981; Des Forges 1982, 1984; Watson 1985; Duara 1988; Cohen 2009; Nylan and Wilson 2010; Sun 2013; and Chapter 3 on Li Yan by Des Forges in this volume.

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zhai fa shu zan 寶真齋法書贊); and two anthologies, Collected Poems of Lake Gantang (Tanghu shi gao 棠湖詩稿) and the Skillful-­but-­Impractical Collection of Poetry (Yu chu shi gao 玉楮詩稿). Also among Yue Ke’s writings were four works that are no longer extant: Collected Commentaries on Dai Sheng’s Book of Rites (Xiao Dai ji ji jie 小戴記集解); Essential Notes on History (Du shi bei wang jie lan 讀史備忘捷覽); Concise Accounts Concerning the Eastern Borders (Dong chui shi lüe 東陲事略); and Memorials Concerning the Western Borders (Xi chui zou gao 西陲奏稿).4 According to Yue Ke, efforts to preserve the memories and records of Yue Fei had already been underway during the time of his father, Yue Lin, who had once served in the Song court as a vice minister of war. In Yue Ke’s telling, it was his father who, after it was again possible for members of the Yue clan to be politically active, initiated the task of collecting surviving records and recording testimonies from Fei’s former officers and soldiers. It was also his father who first sought the help of a fellow scholar-official, Gu Qi 顧杞 (js. 1181?), to compile the first draft of what was hoped to be a faithful biography of Yue Fei. That all these activities were possible was no doubt due to the transformation of the political climate following the abdication of the emperor Gaozong 高宗 (r. 1127–1162). Under the succeeding ruler Xiaozong 孝宗 (r. 1163–1190), members of the Yue clan were fully rehabilitated. In 1178—the year Yue Fei was granted the posthumous title Wumu 武穆 (“Valiant and Solemn”)—Yue Lin was able to retrieve from the Imperial Archives copies of more than eighty letters addressed to the general by Gaozong in his own hand. But, as Yue Ke explained, all these efforts on the part of Yue Lin were merely the beginning of the story of the Compendia. On his deathbed in the last months of 1192, with the biography of Yue Fei still unfinished, Yue Lin had no choice but to bequeath the task to his nine-­year-­old son Yue Ke. In doing so, of course, he was perpetuating a long tradition of father-­and-­son historiography going back to Sima Qian 司馬遷 (d. 86 bce) and Ban Gu 班固 (32–92).5 That Yue Ke eventually took nearly four decades to complete the job was no doubt testimony to both the complexity of the task and his determination to be exhaustive. According to Yue Ke, though he had started to work on Gu 4. On Yue Ke, see, for example, Li An 1984: 206–28; Yu Shami 2008; Zhu Yin 2010. 5. For Yue Lin’s efforts, see Yue Ke 1989: 826–27. For Yue Lin’s memorial requesting copies of the imperial correspondence, see Ibid., 1328. For the compilation of the Jintuo Compendia, see the foreword (qian yan 前言) by Wang Zengyu 王曾瑜 in Ibid.; Li An 1984: 207–14; Yu Shami 2008: 14–18; Zhu Yin 2010: 64–66.

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Qi’s draft manuscript as soon as the mourning period for his father was over, it was not until he had a chance to visit the Song capital, Lin’an (present-­day Hangzhou), some time later (probably around 1198) that he was able to begin the work in earnest. In particular, Yue Ke explained, it was with the help of Prime Minister Jing Tang 京鏜 (1138–1200) that he was finally able to see many previously inaccessible documents and to browse a wide range of records that had been produced since the beginning of Gaozong’s reign. Partly because of his newfound access to documents and partly because of his resolve not to leave even “one phrase that has to do with [Yue Fei’s] affairs” out of his notebook, it took Yue Ke another five years to complete the first set of his compilations (in twenty-­five juan or fascicles) and to submit it to the court. Even then, Yue Ke was not done. In 1218, he decided to combine the original set of compilations with three fascicles of new materials and have them printed in the city of Jiaxing 嘉興, in present-­day Zhejiang Province, as the Jintuo Compendium of the Prince of E (Jintuo was the name of the neighborhood in Jiaxing where Yue Ke and his family were then living). Still not satisfied, by 1228, Yue Ke would compile another thirty fascicles of documents and have them printed in the prefecture of Zhenjiang 鎮江 (in present-­day Jiangsu Province, where he had been assigned an official post) as the Supplements to the Jintuo Compendium of the Prince of E. Finally, in 1234 (the very year that the Jin lost the central plain to the Mongols), Yue Ke decided to combine the two collections and have them printed in the prefecture of Jiangzhou 江州 (in present-­day Jiangxi Province), where members of the Yue clan had congregated. The combined text (which required a total of 622 woodblocks) was then stored in the family temple school (miao shu 廟塾), where it would—as Yue Ke liked to believe—be accessible to generations of Yue descendants.6 As we have noted, the Compendium and the Supplements are in fact themselves collections of collections. Although not at first apparent, there is a certain logic to the structure of the works. Of the twenty-­eight fascicles included in the original compendium, three (fascicles 1–3) are devoted to the reproduction of the imperial correspondence (chen han 宸翰) that Yue Lin had retrieved from the Imperial Archives, six (fascicles 4–9) are given over to an almost-­year-­by-­year biography (xing shi bian nian 行實編年) of the Song general, ten (fascicles 10–19) are set aside for the writings (mostly memorials and other official correspondence) attributed to Yue Fei, six (fascicles 20–25) 6. For Yue Ke’s accounts of his own efforts, see his preface to the cui bian in Yue Ke 1989 as well as his comments in Ibid., 827–28 (quotation is from 827), 1094–95, 1656.

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are devoted to Yue Ke’s detailed responses to the accusations (bian wu 辨誣) that had been brought against his grandfather, while the last three (fascicles 26–28) are set aside for records and documents concerning Yue Fei’s posthumous political rehabilitation. Of the thirty fascicles included in the Supplements, while fascicle 1 and fascicles 13–16 are explicitly supplements to the first and last sections of the main text, respectively, the bulk is made up of edicts and other official correspondence (fascicles 2–12) that had been issued to Yue Fei as well as an extensive selection of appraisals of the Song general (fascicles 17–30) written by his contemporaries and later commentators.7 As a result of Yue Ke’s efforts, even before the end of the Song period, the Compendia had already become the basis for much of subsequent recounting of the Yue Fei story. Consider, for example, the highly regarded notebook or “brush jottings” titled Record of Things Heard or Seen during the Four Reigns (Si chao wen jian lu 四朝聞見錄) compiled by Ye Shaoweng 葉紹翁 (fl. early thirteenth century). There, the noted poet and all-­round “man of letters” (wen ren 文人) quotes at length the 1204 imperial edict bestowing on Yue Fei the posthumous title of Prince of E (E wang 鄂王, a reference to E Zhou 鄂州, in present-­day Hubei Province, where Yue Fei and his troops were based). Ye also emphasizes that, because the edict could be found in the Compendium and because “the Jintuo Compendium was collected by the Prince’s grandson Yue Ke,” the particulars of the edict “would certainly not be mistaken” ( jue bu zhi wu 決不致誤). Consider, also, the case of the Veritable Record of the Events Concerning the Prince of Loyalty and Learning (Zhongwen wang ji shi shi lu 忠文王紀事實錄) compiled by Xie Qiyan 謝起巖 (fl. 1260s), who was a student in the State Academy (tai xue 太學) at the Song capital. According to Xie’s preface, he had learned of the Compendia from members of the Yue clan and decided to produce a shortened version because of the paucity of readily accessible information about Yue Fei at the time. The influence of the Compendia is evident too in the official biography of the Song-­dynasty general. As others have pointed out, the biography of Yue Fei that appears in the History of the Song (Song shi 宋史) compiled during the Yuan dynasty (1271–1368) is evidently based on one composed by Zhang Ying 章穎 (1141–1218), a one-­time vice minister of war, whose account, in turn, has been shown to have been heavily influenced by Yue Ke’s version.8 7. For the structure of the Jintuo Compendia, see the foreword by Wang Zengyu in Ibid., esp. pp. 5–9; Yu Shami 2008: 18–20; Zhu Yin 2010: 67–72. 8. Ye Shaoweng 1989: wu ji 戊集.161–62 (quotation is from 162). For the compilation of the Veritable Record, see the editor’s preface in Xie Qiyan 1987, esp. pp. 2b–3a; for discussions of the significance of Xie’s text, see Fu Zengxiang 1989: 185–

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II. TRANSMISSION OF THE COMPENDIA That works as unwieldy as the Compendia have survived requires explanations. Since the time of Yue Ke, certain parts of the Compendia—especially the year-­by-­year biography and the section on Yue Fei’s purported writings—have been circulated and transmitted as stand-­alone titles. This we can surmise from Chen Zhensun’s 陳振孫 (ca. 1190–after 1249) authoritative Annotated Catalog of the Collection of [Chen] Zhizhai (Zhizhai shu lu jie ti 直齋 書錄解題), in which the noted bibliophile lists, as separate titles under the authorship or editorship of Yue Ke, not only the Compendium (twenty-­eight fascicles) and the Supplements (thirty fascicles) but also Facts about Yue Fei (Yue Fei shi shi 岳飛事實, six fascicles), Disputing Slanders (Bian wu 辨誣, five fascicles), and one Collected Works of Yue Fei (Yue Wumu ji 岳武穆集, ten fascicles). This we can infer also from various Ming-­dynasty (1368–1644) catalogs—such as Chen Di’s 陳第 (1541–1617) Catalog of the Collection of the Hall of Worldly Finds (Shishan tang cang shu mu lu 世善堂藏書目錄)— in which such individual titles also appear from time to time. Especially noteworthy for our discussion was the periodic republication (from the Yuan dynasty to the twentieth century) of the Compendia themselves. To be sure, the need to recarve the woodblocks and/or reprint the work could be interpreted to mean that it was in danger of being forgotten and lost; but it could also be taken to show that there was a demand for its survival and transmission (whether in its existing or an altered form). As we shall see, efforts to republish the Compendia were often associated with members of the Yue clan or scholar-officials who had spent time in places where the Song-­dynasty general had left his mark. But it is important to note as well that the circulation and transmission of the Compendia were not limited to Chinese soil. In Japan during the Tokugawa period (1603–1868), at least one copy of Yue Ke’s Compendia would find its way to the family collection of the noted scholar Hayashi Tokkōsai 林讀耕齋 (1624–1661) and eventually to the bakufu (government) library.9 Despite the efforts of Yue Ke and others, the Compendia—including the 88; Ding Yu 1987. For the “official” biography of Yue Fei, see Tuo Tuo et al. 1977: fascicle 365; for comparisons, see the chronological biography in Yue Ke 1989: cui bian, fascicles 10–19, as well as the biographical account in Zhang Ying 1997: fascicle 2 (the latter is also collected in Yue Ke 1989: xu bian, fascicles 17– 21). For a study of Zhang’s works, see Chu Kwok-­yuen 2002. For the influence of Yue Ke’s biographical account, see Wang Zengyu 2002: 350–58. 9. Chen Zhensun 1987: 7.212, 223, 18.536; Chen Di 1964: shang 上. 32b.

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printed texts and the woodblocks—seem not to have fared very well by the end of the Yuan dynasty. On the one hand, as early as 1332, a certain Yue Zhu 岳柱 (1280–1333), a fifth-­generation descendant of Yue Ke and a mid-level official in the Yuan government, did make an effort to have a new set of woodblocks engraved and to have the texts by Yue Ke circulate more widely among the Yue descendants, many of whom had apparently long since moved away from the family base in Jiangzhou. On the other hand, despite Yue Zhu’s endeavor, one observer writing in the 1360s reported: “As time went by, none of the woodblocks [for the Compendia] was able to survive chipping and breaking. As for copies of the texts that were housed in private collections, either because they were lost or destroyed, none has remained intact.” A belated effort to preserve the Compendia was initiated by the well-­k nown scholar Chen Ji 陳基 (1314–1370) and carried out by a certain Zhu Yuanyou 朱元佑, who, in the early 1360s, was said to have had to search far and wide to locate remnants of Yue Ke’s texts. That Chen Ji was interested in the preservation of the Compendia should perhaps not come as a surprise. Chen was at the time serving the rebel leader Zhang Shicheng 張士誠 (1321–1367), who had by then taken control of Hangzhou, Suzhou, and a swath of coastal areas further north. But Chen Ji was at heart a man of letters, often showing more interest in preserving what we may refer to as the cultural tradition of China than in furthering Zhang’s military and political ambitions. In 1361, for example, Chen made a strong case for the renovation of the West Lake Academy (Xihu shu yuan 西湖書院), which had been the site of the State Academy of the Southern Song dynasty and, before that, had been Yue Fei’s family compound. And in addition to seeing to it, in 1363, that new printing blocks were carved for Yue Ke’s Compendia (in part due to the damages done to a large number of Song-­period woodblocks when the main library of the West Lake Academy suddenly collapsed in 1357), Chen Ji was particularly active in promoting the memory of the Song-­dynasty loyalist, at one point calling for the restoration of the temple named for Yue Fei in Hangzhou and at another point petitioning the Mongol Yuan court (whose authority had by then been under severe strain) to have the Song general included among the “loyal officials and ardent scholars” (zhong chen lie shi 忠臣烈士) worthy for sacrifices.10 10. For Yue Zhu’s efforts, see his preface in Yue Jian 2004: 5.37–38a and the postscript by Yue Shijing 岳士景 in Yue Ke 1744. For the quotation, see the postscript by Dai Zhu 戴洙 for the 1363 edition of the Jintuo Compendia in Yue Ke 1989: 1133–34. For Chen Ji, see Xu Shoumin 2006 and the foreword (qian yan) by Qiu Juli 邱居里 in Chen Ji 2009. For the book collection of the West Lake Academy, see Ibid., 21.194– 97; Jin Dasheng and Fang Jianxin 1995. For the publication of the 1363 edition of the

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During the Ming dynasty, efforts to reissue the Compendia were apparently taken up by the Salt Distribution Commission of Liang-­Zhe (Zhejiang). The circumstances surrounding the initiatives, first in 1542 and again in 1558, when a “corrected” (xiu bu 修補) version was deemed necessary, are not entirely clear. From the prefaces and postscripts that accompany extant Ming editions, we learn only that the idea of producing a new set of printing blocks for Yue Ke’s Compendia was first suggested to the Salt Distribution Commissioner by a certain Tang Chen 唐臣 (js. 1538), who was then serving as regional inspector of Zhejiang. To be sure, it was not uncommon in the Ming period for government agencies to issue their own imprints. Apart from the Compendia, the Salt Distribution Commission (headquartered at Hangzhou) produced titles ranging from Regulations Concerning the Administration of Salt in Zhejiang (Liang-­Zhe yan fa tiao li 兩浙鹽法條例) to Penal Codes of the Great Ming (Da Ming lü li 大明律例). Another agency, the Provincial Surveillance Commission of Zhejiang, published its own Collected Works of Yue Fei (Yue Wumu ji). Still, it remains unclear why Inspector Tang or the Salt Distribution Commission wished to reissue Yue Ke’s Compendia. Perhaps good copies of the Compendia were simply becoming increasingly difficult to find? Perhaps additional editions were needed in large number of state-managed schools? After all, Zhang Ao 張鏊 (js. 1526), who wrote the preface for one new edition, was at the time a provincial-­level education official. Unfortunately, we are unable to offer any definitive explanation except to say that the Ming editions, despite all of their missing passages and other imperfections, would become the most widely available editions of the Compendia, at least until the incorporation of a better compilation into the Complete Library of the Four Treasuries (Siku quanshu 四庫全書) in the latter half of the eighteenth century.11 Over the course of the Qing dynasty (1644–1912), as well, there were at least three attempts to reissue the Compendia. The first, and perhaps least well known, was by a certain Yue Shijing 岳士景, a self-­identified twenty-­ first-­generation descendant of Yue Fei. Little is known about the man. As far Jintuo Compendia and for Zhu Yuanyou’s efforts, see the postscript by Dai Zhu and the preface by Chen Ji in Yue Ke 1989. For Chen Ji’s promotion of the commemoration of Yue Fei see Chen Ji 2009: 11.105, 33.273–75. 11. For the republication of the Jintuo Compendia in the sixteenth century, see the prefaces by Zhang Ao and Huang Rijing 黃日敬 (jr. 1516), the postscript by Hong Fu 洪富 (1488–1560), and the “sacrificial speech” (ji wen 祭文) by Tang Chen—all collected in Yue Ke 1989. For lists of titles published by the government agencies in Hangzhou, see Ding Shen 1967: shang.19–20.

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as we know, Yue Shijing was, early in the Qianlong reign (1736–1795), head of the Confucian school in the county of Luxi 瀘溪, Jiangxi. Along with his elder brother Shiyao 士耀, Yue Shijing also commissioned the construction of an elaborate ancestral compound (some seven thousand square meters, according to present-­day estimates) in their home county of Fengxin 奉新, Jiangxi. The edition I have consulted, which is from the Shanghai Library, is composed of twenty-­eight fascicles (twenty for the Compendium and eight for the Supplements) and dated to no earlier than 1744. But according to the highly regarded bibliophile Zhou Zhongfu 周中孚 (1768–1831), the Yue Shijing edition he had examined was composed of thirty-­six fascicles (eighteen for the Compendium and eighteen for the Supplements) and was dated to 1719. In any case, based on Yue Shijing’s own postscript to his text, we know that he had initiated the project sometime around 1719 (perhaps Zhou Zhongfu saw an early manuscript?) but did not actually have the work carved and printed until much later. We also learn that, in producing a new edition of Yue Ke’s work, Yue Shijing was working from a poorly preserved, nearly four-­ hundred-­year-­old copy of the Yue Zhu edition and that, as a result, he had to “supplement what is missing, revise what is doubtful, and simplify what is repetitive.” Along the way, Yue Shijing explained in his postscript, he was particularly interested in expanding the section devoted to collecting (obviously positive) appraisals of the Song general by later commentators.12 The second of the Qing-­dynasty editions can be found—perhaps somewhat surprisingly, given how fiercely Yue Fei had fought the Jurchens, the purported ancestors of the Manchus—in the imperially sponsored Complete Library of the Four Treasuries. According to the “abstract” (ti yao 提要) that accompanies this edition, the version used by the Qing-­dynasty compilers was a Ming edition that had been submitted by the salt administrator of Liang-­Huai 兩淮 (it is unclear, however, whether the submitted version was that of 1542 or of 1558, and it is curious that the compilers in question do not seem to have been aware of the Yue Shijing edition). What is noteworthy about the Complete Library edition of the Compendia is that its inclusion in the imperial collection did come with a price: as in the case of many other titles that were chosen to be incorporated into the official collection, Yue Ke’s Compendia were subject to various levels of censorship. “Caitiffs” (lu ren 虜人), a term that was often used to refer, derogatorily, to the peoples of the north, became “enemies” (di ren 敵人); “northern caitiffs” (bei lu 北虜) be12. For the impetus of the compilation and publication of the 1744 edition, see the postscript by Yue Shijing in Yue Ke 1744 (quotation is from p. 2b). For a different version, see Zhou Zhongfu 1924: 22:11b–13a.

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came “formidable enemies” (qiang di 強敵); and other offending phrases that could not be easily dispensed with were completely rewritten.13 The third Qing-­dynasty edition was published in 1881 (and reprinted in 1883) by the Zhejiang Printing House (Zhejiang shu ju 浙江書局), one of the more well-­k nown regional publishers set up by the government in the second half of the nineteenth century. Even though the publishers were expected to print titles that bear a local dimension (such as the General Gazetteer of Zhejiang Province [Zhejiang tong zhi 浙江通志]), the decision to reissue Yue Ke’s Compendia seems to have been primarily driven by a certain Wu Tingkang 吳廷康 (1799–1873), who, as a long­time official in Zhejiang, was known to have been especially active in the promotion of the commemoration of Yue Fei. In addition to pushing for the republication of Yue Ke’s Compendia (as well as Feng Pei’s 馮培 [js. 1778] Essential Gazetteer of the Yue Temple [Yue miao zhi lüe 岳廟志略]), Wu was apparently also a scholar of Yue Fei, having himself written a short text concerning the original burial site of the Song general.14 Since the end of the Qing dynasty, there have been at least two attempts to collate and edit the Compendia, one by Fu Zengxiang 傅增湘 (1872–1949), the noted educator, collector, and bibliophile, and the other by Wang Zengyu 王曾瑜, a biographer of Yue Fei and an eminent specialist in the history of the Song period. As Fu Zengxiang explained in one of his notes, given the importance of the Compendia, it had been his desire to reconstruct the missing parts of the received texts by tracking down and collecting what Song-­or Yuan-­dynasty remnants he could find. But it was not until 1925 when he chanced upon a rare copy of Xie Qiyan’s Veritable Record of the Events Concerning the Prince of Loyalty and Learning in a bookstore in Beiping (now Beijing) that he was able to do so in earnest. Xie’s text had been completed in 1271, but the copy Fu acquired was not printed until about a century later. As Fu Zengxiang would learn, what is valuable about Xie’s Veritable Record is that it contains almost nothing new. Save for some alterations in how Yue Fei is addressed, the text is a verbatim copy of parts of the Compendia. As a result, using the Zhejiang Bookstore edition as a base, Fu was able to correct or 13. For the official abstract, see Yong Rong et al. 1965: 57.515–16. For examples of censorship, compare the passages with the character lu 虜 in Yue Ke 1983: 10.3b, 6a, 12b, with the same passages in Yue Ke 1989: 831, 835, 841. 14. On the Zhejiang Printing House, see, for example, Chen Juhong 2012. For Wu Tingkang’s involvement, see the postscript by Qin Xiangye 秦緗業 (1813–1883) in Yue Ke 1986. For Wu’s interests in the original burial site of Yue Fei, see Li Hanhun 1980: Yi ji kao 遺蹟考.113–16.

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restore thousands of erroneous or missing characters in Yue Ke’s work. In one chapter in the biographical section of the Compendia, according to Fu Zengxiang, a total of fourteen lines were missing. Since in the received text information for the first year of Shaoxing (1131) was followed immediately by that for the third year of Shaoxing (1133), Fu asked, rhetorically, “How could [the unsuspecting reader] know that a year’s worth of events have [in fact] been omitted!”15 The second and by far the most authoritative twentieth-­century reconstruction of the Compendia was published in 1989 (in two volumes consisting of 1,683 typeset pages) by the noted historian Wang Zengyu. For this edition, Wang not only built on Fu Zengxiang’s effort to correct and restore some of the texts, he also provided a range of supplementary materials (including many of the prefaces and postscripts of earlier editions and a catalog of writings by Yue Fei that were not incorporated in Yue Ke’s original work) as well as a wealth of annotations. The desire to rectify and preserve the records of Yue Fei, so it would appear, continues to our time.16 As it has been noted, the circulation of the Compendia was not limited to Chinese territories. In the summer of 1907, two copies—one listed as a Yuan-­ dynasty edition, the other from the Daoguang period (1821–1851)—were shipped, along with the entire library of the bibliophile Lu Xinyuan 陸心源 (1838–1894), to Tokyo, where they would become part of the core holdings of the Seikadō Bunko 靜嘉堂文庫, now one of the most highly regarded collections of early Chinese books in Japan. And long before that curious (but far from isolated) episode of cultural appropriation, other copies of Yue Ke’s work had apparently also found their way across the sea. For example, among the rare books now housed in the Archives of the Imperial Household Agency (Kūnaichō shoryōbu 宮内庁書陵部) in Japan is a copy of the 1542 edition of the Compendia. Though details are missing, based in part on the seals found on some of the volumes, the provenance of the work is relatively clear. This particular copy was inherited by the archives from the collection of the Meiji emperor (r. 1867–1912), which, most likely, had acquired it from the library of the Tokugawa bakufu, which, in turn, had apparently received the work through donation from Mōri Takanaka 毛利高翰 (1795–1852), the daimyo of the Saeki 佐伯 domain. According to the seals found on the copy in question, the original Compendium (cui bian) had been part of the collection of Mōri Takasue 毛利高標 (1755–1801), Takanaka’s grandfather, while the Supple15. For his efforts, see Fu Zengxiang 1989: 3.184–85 (quotation is from p. 185). For Xie Qiyan’s Veritable Record, see Ibid., 3.185–88; Ding Yu 1987. 16. Foreword by Wang Zengyu in Yue Ke 1989.

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ments (xu bian) had been part of the family collection of Hayashi Tokkōsai. Unfortunately, just how Mōri Takasue and Hayashi Tokkōsai came to possess the texts in the first place we are presently unable to say.17

III. COLLECTING AND RE-­COLLECTING The significance of the Compendia should of course not be gauged solely on the basis of the circulation and transmission of the texts themselves. Since the end of the Song dynasty, the Compendia have spawned a variety of works, some of which would, in time, reach a readership far wider than that which could be reached by Yue Ke’s own compilations. While some of these works were obviously directly inspired and influenced by the Compendia, others, especially the many romanticized tales that have been in circulation since at least the second half of the thirteenth century, were less clearly so. And while the compilers (or authors) of many of these works would praise Yue Ke for his pioneering efforts, they would often cite the desire to bring some order to his unwieldy texts or the need to incorporate a wider range of Yue Fei–related materials as reasons for initiating their undertakings. To be sure, it is not always easy to judge the extent to which a particular text is influenced by another. But it seems clear that, despite whatever shortcomings Yue Ke’s compilations might have, the Compendia provided a model of collection (and re-­collection) with which all subsequent imaginings of the Song-­dynasty loyalist would be compared. As mentioned above, one by-­product of the Compendia has been the collection and compilation of writings attributed to Yue Fei. According to Yue Ke, his grandfather was in fact also a man of learning, whose favorite texts were the Zuo Commentaries of the Spring and Autumn Annals (Chunqiu Zuoshi zhuan 春秋左氏傳) as well as the military works of Sun Wu 孫武 (ca. 545–470 bce) and Wu Qi 吳起 (440–381 bce). But because the Song general was ultimately not a man of words and was not particularly partial to florid 17. For information on the copies in Japan, see the relevant entries in the online union catalog Zen kuni kanseki dētabēsu 全國漢籍データベース [National database of Chinese texts]: http://kanji.zinbun.kyoto-­u.ac.jp/kanseki?record=data/FASEIKA DO/tagged/0268004.dat; http://kanji.zinbun.kyoto-­u.ac.jp/kanseki?record=data/FAS EIKADO/tagged/0268005.dat; http://kanji.zinbun.kyoto-­u.ac.jp/kanseki?record=data /FAKUNAICHO/tagged/0000188.dat. For import of Chinese books into Japan, see Ōba Osamu 1967, 1984; for synopses in English, see Kornicki 1998: 277–300; Boot 2013.

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prose, explained Yue Ke in his preface to the “Family Collection” ( jia ji 家集), both he and his father Yue Lin had to search far and wide to locate and collect Yue Fei’s various memorials, essays, and poems. What Yue Ke tactfully left unmentioned was the fact that most of Yue Fei’s writings did not survive the purge that followed the general’s demise. In time, Yue Fei’s “collected works,” which were organized by his grandson into ten fascicles (and incorporated into the Compendia), would be circulated and transmitted as a stand-­alone title. But even as early as Yue Ke’s own time, no less prominent a scholar than Chen Zhensun already cast doubt on whether Yue Fei—who was not known for his literary skills—could have himself composed the eloquent pieces attributed to him. Such reservations notwithstanding, scholars and officials from the Ming and Qing periods, among them Shan Xun 單恂 (1602–1671), Huang Bangning 黃邦寧 (fl. 1770), and Qian Ruwen 錢汝雯 (jr. 1893), would continue the practice of compiling and recompiling Yue Fei’s “collected works.” For our purpose, it is worth noting that it was not until the fifteenth century that the poem/song “All River Red” (Man jiang hong 滿江紅)—now firmly associated with the Song loyalist, especially after it was co-­ opted by the Nationalist government during the Second Sino-­ Japanese War—first appeared as part of the general’s oeuvre. This was consistent with the reprinting of Yue Ke’s Compendia in the sixteenth century, reflecting, perhaps, renewed admiration for the Song scholar-­general who had resisted the Jurchens much as his mid-­Ming counterparts tried to deal with the Mongols.18 Over time, in part to take into account the profusion of commemorative writings that had appeared since the original publication of Yue Ke’s Compendia, scholar-­officials from the Ming and Qing periods would also set out to produce what they sometimes referred to as “accounts of utmost loyalty” (Jing zhong lu 精忠錄). Many of these works—such as Yuan Chun’s 袁純 Accounts of Utmost Loyalty (Jing zhong lu, 1455), Zhang Yingdeng’s 張應登 (js. 1583) Gazetteer of the Temple of Utmost Loyalty of Tangyin (Tangyin jing zhong miao zhi 湯陰精忠廟志, 1587), and Feng Pei’s Essential Gazetteer of the Temple of Yue Fei (1803)—were compiled and published in conjunction with the building or renovation of individual temples dedicated to the Song-­ dynasty loyalist. Others were stand-­alone titles that aimed at, in the words of one compiler, “manifesting the just relationship between a ruler and a minister” ( fa ming jun chen zhi yi 發明君臣之義) and “paying tribute to the good 18. Yue Ke, “Jia ji xu” 家集序 [Preface to the “Family Collection”], in Yue Ke 1989: cui bian, 10.829–30. For reservations, see Chen Zhensun 1987: 18.536. On “All River Red,” see, for example, Wang Zengyu 2007b.

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intentions of a humane person and an ardent scholar” (biao ren ren lie shi zhi wei xin 表仁人烈士之為心). While some of these compilations were clearly intended to supplement (and improve on) Yue Ke’s Compendia, others—such as Li Lian’s 李濂 (1489–1566) Records of the Yue Temple in the Town of Zhuxian (Zhuxianzhen Yuemiao ji 朱僊鎮岳廟集, 1544)—were limited to collecting materials related to particular aspects of the Yue Fei narrative.19 As in the case with Yue Ke’s Compendia, circulation of such compilations of Yue Fei–related writings was not confined to Ming or Qing territories. In 1584, one version of such “accounts of utmost loyalty” was apparently presented by a returning interpreter (yi guan; Korean: yek kwan 譯官) to the ruler of the Chosŏn dynasty (1392–1897), Sŏnjo 宣祖 (r. 1567–1608). The text was evidently so well received that a new printing was immediately ordered by the Chosŏn king. While it is unclear how widely it was circulated, the Compilation of the Accounts of Utmost Loyalty of Prince of E [Yue] Wumu of the Song (Hoech’an Song Ak Ak-­mu Mokwang chŏngch’ungnok 會纂宋岳鄂 武穆王精忠錄), as the Chosŏn version was titled, was apparently referred to in a 1599 memorial as a reference for proper rituals to be followed on the occasion of the celebration of a Ming-­dynasty general who had fought on behalf of the Chosŏn dynasty in the Imjin War (1592–1598). The text was subsequently deemed worthy (but already rare) enough to be reprinted (under royal decrees) first in 1709 and again in 1769. In the case of Japan, a manuscript copy (dated to 1759) of a mid-­Ming edition of such “accounts of utmost loyalty” could apparently be found in the collection of the Cabinet Library (Naikaku Bunko 內閣文庫). Though I have not seen the text in question, based on the information from the catalog, it seems to have come from the family collection of the prominent Hayashi house (that is, the house of Hayashi Tokkōsai), whose descendants were the successive chief academicians (daigaku-­no-­kami 大學頭) of the Tokugawa shogunate from 1691 to the end of the Edo period.20 Still, of the myriad compilations spawned by Yue Ke’s Compendia, the 19. Zhang Yingdeng 1587; Feng Pei 2004; Li Lian 1544. Quotation is from Xu Jie 1997: preface, 2a. 20. For the transmission of the chŏngch’ungnok in Chosŏn Korea, see the prefaces and postscripts in Anon. 1769; note that the catalog entry at Harvard has mistakenly attributed the text to the Ming author Yao Mouliang 姚茂良 (d. 1475?). For the reference to the work in the 1599 memorial, see Kuwano Eiji 2015: 302–3. For discussions of the Chosŏn versions, see Shen Jin 2012; Tu Xiuhong 2014. For the copy in Japan, see the online catalog entry: http://kanji.zinbun.kyoto-­u.ac.jp/kanseki?record=data /FANAIKAKU/tagged/2096009.dat.

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most enduring genre, at least in the Ming and Qing periods, was no doubt that of the “chronological biography” (nian pu 年譜). As previously mentioned, a significant portion of the Compendia is in fact devoted to an almost year-­by-­ year account of Yue Fei’s life. That this was deemed an effective format is understandable. The chronological arrangement not only enabled Yue Ke, the compiler, to map onto a timeline a body of disparate materials, but it also allowed the reader to more readily follow the trajectory of the general’s life story. As previously mentioned as well, this section of the Compendia was in time also circulated as a stand-­alone work. But Yue Ke’s attempt to chart the chronology of Yue Fei’s heroic career was just the first of many similar efforts. Over time, one could not only find some versions of Yue Ke’s chronological account included in other Yue Fei–related compilations but also identify, especially during the Qing period, several other versions of the Yue Fei nian pu inspired by Yue Ke’s original one. For examples, consider two works by Huang Bangning and Qian Ruwen. Unfortunately, we know little about Huang Bangning except that, as a native of Fujian and as a student of the State Academy ( jian sheng 監生), he was appointed, in 1766, as prefect of Zhangde 彰德 (in present-­day Henan), which incorporated the hometown of Yue Fei. While at his post, Huang apparently became interested in the history of the region and of its favorite sons. In addition to revising the local gazetteer (a common practice for local magistrates), Huang Bangning also took time to edit the collected works of Yue Fei as well as those of Han Qi 韓琦 (1008–1075), another local son famous for his strong military stance. The Chronological Biography of Yue, the Prince of Loyalty and Valiance (Yue Zhongwu wang nian pu 岳忠武王年譜, 1770), which would in time circulate as a stand-­alone title, was originally published alongside Huang’s compilation of the writings by Yue Fei. In producing the chronological biography, Huang Bangning clearly had access to previous versions of Yue Fei’s nian pu (including the one in Yue Ke’s Compendia). As he explains in his “Notes on Conventions” (li yan 例言) included in his Collected Works of Yue the Prince of Loyalty and Valiance (Yue Zhongwu wang wen ji 岳忠武王文集), he found such versions generally not sufficiently “brief and to-­the-­point” ( jian he 簡核). What Huang chose to do instead was to provide only an outline (da gang 大綱) of Yue Fei’s life story; readers interested in learning more about individual military victories or other life events, Huang Bangning explains, would need only to consult the full biography included in the Collected Works.21 21. Huang Bangning 1999. For Huang’s “Notes on Conventions,” see Yue Fei 1840: li yan.1–3a (quotations are from p. 1a).

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In contrast to Huang Bangning’s outline, the Chronological Biography of Yue, the Prince E of Song (Song Yue E wang nian pu 宋岳鄂王年譜), completed by Qian Ruwen shortly before the fall of the Qing dynasty in 1912­and published posthumously in 1924, is obviously a much more ambitious work. As in the case of Huang, we know relatively little about the compiler Qian Ruwen apart from his having compiled two Yue Fei–related works. A native of Wuxing 吳興 (present-­day Huzhou 湖州, just north of Hangzhou), Qian was among the some thousand candidates who had gathered in the capital in the spring of 1895 for the triennial metropolitan examinations when news of the impending ratification of the Treaty of Shimonoseki broke. Though it is unclear how involved Qian Ruwen was in the ensuing protests, his name appeared as the lead author of a petition submitted by the examination candidates from the province of Zhejiang (in time, petitions would be submitted by candidates representing all eighteen provinces). As in the case of other opponents of the treaty, Qian and his fellow students seemed most exasperated about what they perceived to be the Qing state’s all-­too-­ready capitulation to Japanese demands: It is not the position of us provincial graduates (juren 舉人) that peace must never be negotiated. But the more ready we are to surrender, the more pressure they [the Japanese] will put on us. Rather than sue for peace by ceding territories, why not make a determined effort to be strong! Rather than exhaust our financial resources to meet the demands of the enemy, why not offer rich rewards to attract the service of the country’s talented scholars [guo shi 國士]!

While it is difficult to determine if these were Qian Ruwen’s words, the traumatic events surrounding the Sino-Japanese War must have influenced his decision to revisit the supposed words and deeds of Yue Fei, China’s quintessential guo shi.22 For Qian, there were two problems with the Compendia. On the one hand, since the primary objective of Yue Ke’s texts was to dispute the false accusations (bian wu) that had been made against his grandfather, “no words are too tedious to record, and no facts are too small to repeat.” On the other hand, because at the time of his compilation Yue Ke was constrained by what he could find, the biographical account in the Compendia “is actually not thorough or exhaustive.” In Qian Ruwen’s view, his newly compiled nian pu of 22. Taiwan yin hang jing ji yan jiu shi 1965: 326–28 (quotation is from p. 327).

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Yue Fei was a clear improvement over that compiled by Yue Ke: “[In putting together] this compilation, [I] dare not fail to search broadly, dare not fail to select with care, and dare not fail to verify thoroughly.” Not only did Qian take into account a wider range of sources, he also sought to collate them in a more conscious fashion: “If an event is recounted differently in different sources, all such accounts would be recorded [in the text] for future verification; if the accounts are different [just] in their degrees of completeness, they would be integrated [into a single narrative] for the sake of clarity; accounts that are plausible but not unimpeachable would be placed in the notes.” Qian Ruwen, of course, had his own prejudices. For example, he makes the point in his “Notes on Conventions” that he has chosen to leave out materials he deems “absurd” (guai dan 怪誕). And in his separate compilation of the writings by Yue Fei, Qian chose to follow the practice of the compilers of the Complete Library in altering some of the wordings (so that “caitiffs” [lu ren] again became “enemies” [di ren], and “Jin bandits” [Jin zei 金賊] became “Jin people” [Jin ren 金人]). In any case, even centuries after the demise of Yue Fei, and centuries after the original compilation of the Compendia, many scholars and officials—including the military governor of Zhejiang, Lu Rongxiang 盧永祥 (1867–1933), who not only funded a thousand copies of Qian Ruwen’s works but also wrote a preface for them—apparently still found such compilations essential in re-­collecting the life of the quintessential Song loyalist.23 It is perhaps not surprising that, even into the twentieth century, scholars and political leaders of various shades continued to draw on Yue Ke’s Compendia to produce their own biographical accounts of the Song-­dynasty general. Consider, for instance, the Chronological Biography of Yue Fei (Yue Wumu nian pu 岳武穆年譜) published in 1947 by Li Hanhun 李漢魂 (1895– 1987). A military-­man-­t urned-­governor of the southern province of Guangdong during the Second Sino–Japanese War, Li obviously saw much to praise in the life story of the Song general and found it desirable to produce another account of his life. In his preface, Li lamented that “for this most complete man of all ages, there is in fact not a single complete account.” Compared to Qian Ruwen’s compilation, Li’s is far more reliant on Yue Ke’s work; but what it lacks in terms of critical engagement with the Compendia it clearly makes up for by its inclusion of a wide variety of materials related to various monuments and sites associated with Yue Fei. To Li Hanhun, what was exemplary 23. Qian Ruwen 1999: fan li 凡例.2, 4b–5a. For the alterations of wordings, see the discussion in Yue Fei 1997: 582–83.

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about the Song general was no doubt his “utmost loyalty” ( jing zhong 精忠) to the existing state; but what distinguished Yue Fei from others was his “national spirit” (minzu jingshen 民族精神): Wumu [Yue Fei] the man was truly the ultimate embodiment of the principles of human relations; indeed, who if not he should be called a national hero [minzu yingxiong 民族英雄]! In his aspiration to restore [the Song] while perpetrating no aggression, as well as in his desire to relieve distress while giving no consideration to credit or fame, [one could see] the discovery [by Yue Fei] of the true essence of national self-­determination, [a discovery that] could not be easily attained by those who only yearn for glorification of their own deeds and achievements.

Whether these comments by Li Hanhun were meant to serve a particular political purpose or to elicit a certain political response, it is impossible to say. What we can observe is that the compilation of another high-­profile biographical account of Yue Fei, especially at a time when China was embroiled in yet another round of political turmoil, clearly testified to the continued relevance of the life-­story of the Song-­dynasty general.24

IV. PROCESSES OF BEING CHINESE In an essay included in the collection Confucian Personalities mentioned at the start of this chapter, the late Hellmut Wilhelm ventured to describe what he considered to be the remarkable self-­image of Yue Fei. While the Song-­dynasty general had been the subject of intense mythologization ever since his death, Wilhelm argued, over the course of his life, Yue Fei had “constantly and consciously worked toward producing an image of himself as a hero of mythological proportions, rigidly patterning himself after the myths of the past.” Wilhelm was, of course, acutely aware of the limitations of the available sources. Not only is contemporary information “scanty and un­ usually unreliable,” but even Yue Ke’s compilations, with their “avowed purposes of re-­establishing the prestige and stature of his grandfather,” are problematic “on account of this propagandistic purpose.” Yet, citing the well-­k nown “All River Red” 滿江紅 as one among other pieces of evidence of Yue Fei’s overt patriotism, even Wilhelm concluded that “no one who was 24. See Li Hanhun 1980: zi xu 自序 [Author’s preface]. 1–2.

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not genuinely committed to the point of obsession would have been able to produce as powerful a patriotic song as his Man-­chiang-­hung.”25 Wilhelm was of course not the first biographer to try to gain an interior view of the Song-­dynasty loyalist, but even if we set aside the debates concerning the authenticity of “All River Red,” his effort to reconstruct Yue Fei’s self-­image raises fundamental methodological and conceptual questions. In particular, given the limitations of the sources, to what extent can one separate Yue Fei the historical figure from Yue Fei the historiographical subject? In making the case that the Song general was consciously patterning himself after the great warrior Guan Yu of the Three Kingdoms period (220–280 ce), was Wilhelm ultimately guided by Yue Fei’s own words and deeds or by the artificiality of the available records? To be sure, problems with sources are not limited to the case of the Song loyalist; and the scarcity of unimpeachable records need not in all instances be a deterrent to the historian’s effort to reconstruct the life story of his or her chosen subject. But, given the circumstances surrounding Yue Fei’s death, as Wilhelm himself would have acknowledged, the sources that have survived are perhaps even more compromised than they usually are for well-­k nown figures in Chinese history (for comparisons and contrasts, see Chapter 3 on Li Yan by Roger Des Forges in this volume). In considering how the Song general might be seen as an archetype in the “Confucian tradition,” as Wilhelm and his collaborators in Confucian Personalities seemed to be inclined to do, is it not then incumbent upon the historian to treat the life story of Yue Fei not as a collection of clearly verifiable traits but as the constantly evolving product of a textual (and visual) tradition that can be traced—but not limited—to the Song-­dynasty records?26 But if the earlier urge to consider Yue Fei the historical figure as an archetype in the “Confucian tradition” raises important questions, the more recent scholarly impulse to cast the stories of well-­k nown historical icons as shared “cultural resources” also has its limits. In his relatively recent study of King Goujian 勾踐 of the Spring and Autumn period (770–476 bce), for example, Paul Cohen does not set up as his primary task the reconstruction of the life-­ story of the Yue king. Rather, Cohen is interested in how the contents of the 25. Wilhelm 1962: 146–47, 156. 26. For recent interventions on the debates concerning the authenticity of the song “Man jiang hong,” see Wang Zengyu 2007b; Li Baochu 2010. For Guan Yu and the consideration of Yue Fei as an archetype, see Wilhelm 1962: 154, 161; Wright 1962: 9, 12.

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Goujian narrative have, over the course of the long twentieth century, been adapted “to the requirements of different historical situations” as well as why such adaptations have been deemed “so critically important.” For Cohen, the case of Goujian is fascinating in part because it exemplifies the “natural” tendency on the part of the Chinese to “communicate through stories what they want their fellow Chinese to feel and think and how they want them to behave.” But more significant, the case of Goujian is instructive because it offers a prime example of what Cohen refers to as a “shared Chinese cultural resource” or “insider cultural knowledge.” In Cohen’s understanding, the story of Goujian is a form of “insider knowledge” not because it has been deliberately kept away from “outsiders” but because “the ways in which it is acquired—transmission within the family setting, early school lessons that are heavily story-­centered, popular operatic arias heard on the radio, and the like—are not generally available to people who have not had the experience of growing up in a Chinese cultural milieu.”27 While Cohen is no doubt correct that stories such as that of Goujian are important because they help us understand how cultural boundaries are defined and how national communities are bound together, given what we have seen in the case of Yue Fei, it is just as important that we not simply recast our frame of reference from one of “Confucian tradition” or “Chinese tradition” to one of equally imprecise “insider cultural knowledge.” To be sure, sentiments that may, with some justifications, be labeled “Confucian” could be found in various writings attributed to Yue Fei. And it is certainly the case that, by the fourteenth century if not earlier, the Song-­dynasty loyalist had already become an icon, whose story could be found in a variety of media. But if we are ever tempted to make any essentialist claim about Yue Fei, our discussion above has reminded us that the story of the Song-­dynasty general must, ultimately, be understood in the contexts of how he has been collected and re-­collected. This is not to say that it is impossible, as far as the life story of Yue Fei is concerned, to distinguish between fact and fiction.28 Nor does it mean that the notion of “shared cultural resources,“ “cultural knowledge,” or “the cultural common” is entirely unhelpful in locating the Chinese experiences in a broader, perhaps comparative, context. What needs to be emphasized, however, is that whether we choose to frame the biography of Yue Fei in terms of a “Confucian tradition,” a “shared cultural resource,” or some other tropes, we must recognize that the significance of the story of the Song-­ 27. Cohen 2009: xxi, 235, xix, 232–33. 28. See, for example, the biographies by Deng Guangming 1983 and Wang Zengyu 2007a.

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dynasty loyalist has been, from the moment of his death, intricately tied to the webs and layers of representation that have sprung up around the general’s persona. In telling our generation’s version of the story of Yue Fei, we need of course to be mindful of the evolution and transformations of the images of the Song loyalist. But we must remind ourselves that it is not Yue Fei the historical figure—or even Yue Fei the historiographical subject—who is inherently “Confucian” or “Chinese.” Rather, it is the historical processes of collecting and re-­collecting (not to mention reconstructing) his and other life stories that have produced what we imagine to be “China” or “Chinese.”

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9

Fathers and Sons in the Mingshi A Thematic Reading of a State History Ihor Pidhainy

[The dynastic histories] are no more than the family chronicles of emperors, kings, generals, and ministers. —Lu Xun, 19341 The Twenty-­Four Histories are not “history,” they are the genealogies of twenty-­four families. —Liang Qichao, 19022 In Reading history, you should examine the great moral principles, the great opportunities, and the periods of great order and disorder, success and failure. —Zhu Xi before 12003

INTRODUCTION Chinese historians generally thought through “Confucian” categories. They believed that states ruled legitimately when they could claim the manI would like to thank Jo-­Lan Yi, Roger Des Forges, Sarah Schneewind, and the external reviewers for their many helpful suggestions and corrections. 1. Lu Xun 1981: v. 6, 118, cited in Moloughney 1992: 16. 2. Liang Qichao, “Zhongguo shijie geming an” cited in Lu Xun 1981: v. 6, 119. 3. Gardner 1990: 161.

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date of heaven (tianming 天命). They emphasized the importance of family structure and the maintenance of the five key relationships (wulun 五倫) — ruler–minister, father–son, husband–wife, elder brother–younger brother, and friend–friend—in creating and maintaining political and social order. Beyond the importance of the royal inheritance they especially noted the important roles of ministers in advising, guiding, and reprimanding rulers and the practice of rulers in heeding, ignoring, dismissing, or punishing ministers who challenged their authority.4 However, less attention has been given to other father-­son relationships, such as nonroyal, official, elite and even commoner ones in establishing, supporting, restoring, undermining, and overthrowing the state. The Ming History (Mingshi 明史), the official state history of the Ming dynasty (1368–1644), compiled over the course of the first century of the following Qing dynasty (1644–1911), followed this tradition. Its authors made use of the father–son relationship as a central element. They chronicled the transfer of authority, normally from royal fathers to royal eldest sons, from the beginning of the dynasty to its end. They also paid close attention to the father and son relationships in the elite and commoner families that came within their purview. In this chapter, I examine the roles of fathers and sons in the royal lineage, as seen mainly through select examples from the basic annals (benji 本紀) of the Ming History, and in the bureaucracy, as viewed mainly in the aligned biographies (liezhuan 列傳).5 In addition to the royal house and other hereditary families (where sons inherited their father’s title or post) there are some 150 father and son biographies in the Ming History, with most of them treated as father-­son pairs and a few of them (seventeen) given discrete biographies in different fascicles.6 I will argue that these father-­and-­son’s stories emphasized the continuity of purpose between father and son in either supporting or opposing the dynasty. Further, I will suggest that the didactic purpose of the text can be read through the rhetorical features of the narrative, particularly in the representation of father-­son relationships.

4. For the Ming in general, see Hucker 1966; for the Hongwu reign, see Schneewind 2006; for the Jiajing reign, see Huang 1982; for the Wanli reign, see Dardess 2002. On political speech in the Ming, see Xiangming Zhang 2010. 5. See Nienhauser1994: 7: v–viii for a brief discussion of the term liezhuan. 6. See Tables 1 and 2 for lists of these two groups of fathers and sons.

  2. Chang Yuchun & Mao (125)   5. Liu Ji & Lian, Jian (128)   8. Kang Maocai & Duo (130) 11. Sun Xingzu & Ke (133) 14. Zhu Neng & Yong (145) 17. Li Jun & Long, Jin (146) 20. Yi Zhi & Ming (152) 23. Chen Yu & Rui (153)1 26. Zhang Fu & Nian (154) 29. Song Mao & Bo (155) 32. Xue Bin & Shou (156) 35. Liu Qiu & Yue, Yu (162) 38. Tao Cheng & Lu (165) 41. Liu Xu & Yun (168) 44. Yang Hong & Jun (173) 47. Zhou Xian & Zhou (174) 50. Jiang Han & Shi (174) 53. Shen Ying & Zhou (175)

  3. Li Wenzhong & Jinglong (126)   6. Zhang Yi & Cundao (128)   9. Chen De & Yong (131) 12. Chan Tong & Hui (136) 15. Li Yuan & An (145) 18. Chen Xian & Zhi (146) 21. Zou Qi & Gan (152) 24. Chen Rui & Xiong (153) 27. Li Bin & Xian (154) 30. Liu Rong & An (155) 33. Zhou Xuan & Hong (157) 36. Zhang Lun & Xuanying (162) 39. Wang Deren & Yikui (165) 42. Yu Qian & Mian (169) 45. Zhu Qian & Yong (173) 48. Lu Jian & Lin (174) 51. Jiang Shi & Yingxiong (174)3 54. Cao Xiong & Qian (175)

1. The biographies of Chen Yu, Chen Rui, and Xiong are all snippets appended to Yu’s grandfather Xuan’s biography. 2. The biographies of Lu Lin and Jing are snippets appended to Lin’s father Jian’s biography. 3. The biographies of Jiang Shi and Yingxiong are snippets appended to Shi’s father Han’s biography.

  1. Xu Da & Huizu (125)   4. Mu Ying & Chun, Ceng, Ang (126)   7. Wu Liang & Gao (130) 10. Geng Zaicheng & Tianbi (133) 13. Zhang Yu & Ni, Wan (145) 16. Chen Heng & Mao (145) 19. Wang Dun & Lun (151) 22. Liang Qian & Mu (152) 25. Chen Gui & Wangmo (153) 28. Liang Ming & Gang (154) 31. Wu Yuncheng & Kezhong (156) 34. Li Yi & Hou (159) 37. Li Han & Ting’ang (163) 40. Jiang Ang & Long (165) 43. Bai Gui & Yue (172) 46. Xu Gui & Ning (174) 49. (Lu Lin & Jing) (174)2 52. Wei Qing & Ying (175)

Table 1. Fathers and Sons in the Mingshi in the Same juan in the liezhuan Section (Excluding juan 113–121; 310–332; the Names as Indicated in Table of Contents)

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99. Fan Yuheng & Dingyu, Weicheng (233)

66. Hu Shining & Chun, Ji (199) 69. Tao Yan & Zi (201) 72. Liu Yu & Que (203) 75. Gu Ji & Zhangzhi (208) 78. Ma Fang & Lin (211) 81. Yang Bo & Junmin (214) 84. Liu Yingqiu & Tongsheng (216) 87. Zhang Siwei & Taizheng (219) 90. Yuan Hongyu & Yi’e (221) 93. Wang Qian & Zhizhen, Zhicai (222)5 96. Sun Long, Rufa (224)

57. Yang Shouchen & Maoyuan, Maoren (184) 60. Feng Xi & Fang (191) 63. Lin Jun & Da (194)

4. The biographies of Ma Lin, Jiong, Kuang, and Biao are all snippets appended to Lin’s father Fang’s biography. 5. The biographies of Wang Xian, Zhizhen, and Zhicai are all snippets appended to Xian’s father Chonggu’s biography. 6. The biographies of Wu Mengming and Bangfu are snippets appended to Mengming’s grandfather Dui’s biography.

97. Wu Zhongxing & Liang, Yuan (229)

59. Xu Jin & Gao, Zan, Lun (186) 62. Sun Wen & Yuan (194)

58. Li Jie & Ang (185) 61. Fei Hong & Maoxian (193) [note brother & nephew also included] 64. Huo Tao & Yuxia (197) 67. Wang Bangrui & Zhengguo (199) 70. Fang Liangyong & Chongjie (201) 73. Wang Yi & Jian (203) 76. Liu Hui & Huangchang (208) 79. Ma Lin & Jiong, Kuang, Biao (211)4 82. Lu Shusheng & Yanzhang (216) 85. Shen Shixing & Yongshu, Yongjia (218) 88. Ma Ziqiang & Yi, Zao (219) 91. Wang Qiao & Kentang (221) 94. Wu Mengming & Bangfu (222)6 65. Li Xian & Hui (199) 68. Yao Mo & Lai (200) 71. Tang Long & Ruji (202) 74. Tang Shunzhi & Hezheng (205) 77. Feng En & Hangke (209) 80. Xu Zhi & Fan (213) 83. Qu Jingchun & Ruji, Rushui (216) 86. Wang Xijue & Heng (218) 89. Zhu Geng & Jingxun (219) 92. Wang Chonggu & Qian (222) 95. Wang Zongmu & Shisong, Shiqi, Shi­ chang (223) 98. Qian Yiben & Chun (231)

56. Wang Shu & Chengyu (182)

55. Lu Yuan & Chang (176)

Table 1. Continued

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102. Li Chengliang & Rusong, Rubo, Ruzhen, Ruzhang, Rumei (238) 104. Zhang Chengyin & Yingchang, Quan- 105. Du Tong & Wenhuan (239) chang, Dechang (239)7 107. Chen Daoheng & Hongxu (241) 108. Wei Dazhong & Xueyi, Xuelian (244) 110. Sun Chengzong & Zhen, etc. (250 111. Meng Zhaoxiang & Zhangming (265) 113. Hou Shilu & Hongji (269) 114. He Huchen & Zan, Cheng (270) 116. Zhang Shenyan & Luuxuan (275) 117. Gao Dounan & Xun (281) 119. Zou Shouyi & Shan (283) 120. Zou Shan & Dehan, Depu (283)9 122. Kong Xixue & Na (284) 123. Tian Rucheng & Lugao (286) 125. Gui Youguang & Zimu (286) 126. Wang Gang & Yanda (289) 128. Huangfu Bin & Bi (289) 129. Zhou Xian & Han (289) 131. Xu Kui & Yang (289) 132. Zhang Quan & Daojun (291) 134. Hao Jingchun & Mingluan (292) 135. Xu Shichun & Zhaoliang (292) 137. Yuan Gong & Zhongche (299) 138. Zhang Qi & Chang, Sheng etc. (300) 140. Zhou Neng & Shou, Yu (300) 141. Wang Zhen & Yuan, etc. (300)

101. Sun Zhenji & Bixian (236)

7. The biographies of Zhang Chengyin, Yingchang, Quanchang, Dechang are appended to Chengyin’s father, Chen’s biography. 8. The biographies of Du Wenhuan and Hongyu are appended to Wenhuan’s father Tong’s biography. 9. The biographies of Zou Shan, Dehan Deyong are snippets appended to Shan’s father Shouyi’s biography. 10. The biographies of Zou Shan, Dehan, Depu, and Depu’s nephew Deyong, are snippets appended to Shan’s father Shouyi’s biography.

106. Du Wenhuan & Du Hongyu (239)8 109. Zhou Shunchang & Maolan (245) 112. Hou Liangzhu & Tianxi (269) 115. Lu Qian & Zongwen (270) 118. Wang Wen & Jian (282) 121. Wu Ti & Rendu (283) 124. Mao Ken & Wei (286) 127. Wang Yi & Shen (289) 130. Sun Sui & Kan Chi (289) 133. Long Yuanxiang & Bingheng (292) 136. Kong Jin & Liang (297) 139. Sun Zhong & Jizong (300) 142. Yan Song & Shifan (308)

103. Zhang Chen & Chengyin (239)

100. Cao Xuesheng & Zhengru (234)

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Table 2. Fathers and Sons with Biographies in Mingshi in Separate juan in liezhuan Section   1. Chen Yiqin (MS 193) & Yubi (MS 217)   2. Cui Sheng (MS 180) & Xian (MS 282)   3. Fang Keqin (MS 281) & Xiaoru (MS 141)   4. Geng Jiuchou (MS 158) & Yu (MS 183)   5. Li Sui (MS 205) & Cai (MS 227)   6. Liu Xian (MS 212) & Ting (MS 247)   7. Ma Sicong (MS 289) & Mingheng (MS 207).   8. Qu Rushuo (MS 216 appended to Qu Jingchun, father) & Shisi (MS 280)   9. Tang Xianzu (MS 230) & Kaiyuan (MS 258) 10. Wang Yu (MS 204) & Shizhen (MS 287), Shimou (MS 204) 11. Xu Gui (MS 174) & Ning (MS 174), Tai (MS 307) 12. Xu Jiusi (MS 281) & Zhenming (MS 223) 13. Yang Tinghe (MS 192) & Shen (MS192) 14. Zhang Bi (MS286) & Hongzhi (MS180) 15. Zhang Yu (MS 145) & Fu (MS 154), Ni, Yue (MS 145) 16.  Zheng Xiao (MS 199) Lüchun (MS 215) 17. Zhou Xuan (MS 157) & Jing (MS183) Note: Qu Jingchun, Xu Gui, Zhang Yu, & sons are included in both lists.

THE ZHU FAMILY The story of the Ming begins with the commoner founder Zhu Yuanzhang 朱元璋 (1328–1398), who was an orphan, and ends with the aristocratic Zhu Youjian 朱由檢 (1611–1644), who killed his offspring before committing suicide so as to avoid humiliation at the hands of roving rebels in the central plain. The continuing legitimacy of the polity depended heavily on the successful transfer of authority from the ruler to his heir apparent, normally the eldest son of the primary consort. Problems between royal fathers and sons therefore posed a potential threat to the stability of the polity. The transition from the founder to his successor was complicated by the early death of the heir apparent, the brief reign of the heir apparent’s son, Zhu Yunwen 朱允炆 (1377–1402), and a coup d’état by his uncle, Zhu Di 朱棣 (1360–1424), the founder’s fourth son. Later on, Zhu Houzhao’s 朱厚照 (1491–1521) failure to produce an heir led to the succession of his cousin, Zhu Houcong 朱厚聰 (1507–1567), who devoted himself to raising the status of his natal father to

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the neglect of other duties. In the late sixteenth century, Zhu Yijun (朱翊鈞 1563–1620) assumed authority as a minor and went on strike when his officials refused him permission to name the son of his favorite concubine as heir apparent. The Ming History, however, was hardly just a genealogy of the Zhu lineage as Liang Qichao 梁啟超 (1837–1929) argued, let alone simply a family chronicle as Lu Xun 魯迅 (1881–1936) suggested. Nonetheless, to the extent that the polity was headed by a hereditary son of heaven, the state history detailed these father-­and-­son relationships among others. The goal, as Zhu Xi 朱熹 (1130–1200) wrote, was to discover moral principles, or right and wrong, through an examination of the historical process, or the rise and fall of various polities. In this chapter, I look at how such father–son relationships framed some of the stories in the Ming History, an important polity wide source even if it revealed only the tip of the society wide iceberg.7 Such stories, like those in any history, often reflected the present ideas, perspectives, and interests of the writers, compilers, and editors as much as—or in some cases even more than—the actual facts of what happened in the past, some of which may never be known. The Ming History was heir to a long tradition of history writing going back to Sima Qian in which informal accounts (yeshi 野史) and even novels (xiaoshuo 小說) made their way into the standard histories.8 For example, the basic annals of the Hongwu reign (洪武; Zhu Yuanzhang r. 1368– 1398) were rewritten twice during the Yongle reign (永樂; Zhu Di r. 1402– 1424), so as to remove the Jianwen emperor (建文帝; Zhu Yunwen r. 1399–1401) from the story. Later historians attempted to rework this part of the story by making use of sources that were still extant, but they often hit dead-­ends in recovering the original sources and reconstituting or representing the original personalities and events of the period.9 A second set of problems with this text was that much of the original documentation was destroyed at the end of the Ming and some historical players who were active during the Ming–Qing transition influenced the compilation in ways consistent with their own views and experiences. Reconstruction of the transition went on later, but often without solid footing. Finally, the new masters of the realm, the rulers of the Qing dynasty, particularly Kangxi 康熙 (1654–1722), Yongzheng 雍正 7. My principal source is the Mingshi. See https://zh.wikisource.org/wiki/%E6% 98%8E%E5%8F%B2 or http://www.guoxue.com/shibu/24shi/mingshi/lianshu.htm. Many more details are available in the Ming Veritable records (Ming shilu) and other sources. See Wilkinson 2013: 790–91. 8. Chang 1990, esp. 57–58, 78–79, 162–63; Wu 2013:399–423. 9. H-­l Chan 1975, 1995, 2005; Chan and Dennis 2008.

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(1678–1735), and Qianlong 乾隆 (1711–1799), were quite interested in the story and were intent that it reflect well on themselves and not stir up unresolved matters.10

THE MING HISTORY: AUTHORSHIP AND EDITORSHIP The Ming History is a complex text, and to discuss it is to confront certain questions about the tradition of state histories, the sources they were based on, early drafts of the text, and various authors, compilers, and editors.11 The tradition of the standard history goes back to Records of the Grand Historian (Shiji 史記) of Sima Tan 司馬談 (c. 165–110 bce) and his son Sima Qian 司馬遷 145/135–88 bce), who emphasized state action in their universal history going back to early cultural founders. It was narrowed to a single dynasty (the Former Han) by Ban Biao 班彪 (3–54 ce), his son Ban Gu 班固 (32–92), and his daughter Ban Zhao 班昭 (45–116) who produced the Han History (Hanshu 漢書) from the perspective of the Latter Han polity.12 The standard history came to consist of four sections: the imperial annals, the essays, the tables, and the arrayed traditions or aligned biographies (liezhuan).13 Sima Qian’s history was semiprivate, but the Bans’ version, although also a family enterprise, came to be completed more fully under the auspices of the Latter Han state. Standard or state histories were thereafter sponsored and directed by polities to record and interpret the rise and fall of their immediate predecessors. It followed that the standard history would be compiled in line with the point of view of the successor regime though the participation of scholar-officials of the previous regime in the project, and concern for learning the right lessons from history led to a certain measure of balance even if not objectivity, an elusive and contested ideal in any case. The Ming History also followed the tradition of being compiled by a bureaucratic committee, a practice that dated from the Tang period. The Ming History was based on various kinds of sources—including documents from state archives but also from private collections. Records were kept of memorials presented by officials and decrees issued by the ruler (and his subordinates). Diary­keepers 10. Kahn 1971: 43–46. 11. Li 1933; Struve 1998; Kahn 1971; Zhu 2004; Mote 1999:865–67. 12. On Sima Qian see Durrant 1986; Nienhauser 1994; Hardy 1999. On Hanshu, see Clark 2006. 13. Sima Qian had a fifth category for various royal houses of the preimperial period, but this category became unnecessary with the unification of the realm.

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would record the words and deeds of the emperor. After an emperor died (and his reign was finished), officials would be appointed to sift these official documents to provide the Veritable Record (shilu 實錄), almost daily court annals, of that reign. The basic (or imperial) annals were for the most part based on the Veritable Records, and these are extant for most of the Ming period. However, some of the extant Veritable Records are extremely problematic, including those of the reigns of the founder, his grandson the Jianwen emperor, and his son Zhu Di. The problem with the drafting and redrafting of the Taizu shilu has been studied in great detail. The Veritable Records of the last, Chongzhen, reign was largely lost.14 The individual biographies that constitute large parts of the standard histories are based to a great extent on private sources—many of them being taken whole-­cloth or cut and edited from various biographical materials produced earlier.15 The use of private sources should not come as a surprise as the numbers of biographies are truly large, including far more information than would have been recorded in official sources. In the aligned biographies in the Ming History fascicles 122–309, which deal with nonroyal personages, there are over 3,500 entries, of which some 1,900 have their own biographies, which sometimes contain biographies of more minor, and related figures. The narratives, compiled over nearly a century after the fall of the polity, offer rich and sometimes intimate fare that often transports readers into the time and space of the Ming dynasty.16 The first task faced was the gathering of materials, which was particularly difficult for the last reign of the dynasty when the state became preoccupied with mere survival and had little time to protect records in a time of rebellion and invasion. The second task was the gathering of men to work on this project—for those most competent to do the work had also been closely tied to the Ming dynasty and often felt a loyalty to the Ming that made it difficult for them to work on the Qing project.17 These problems were resolved with time 14. See H-­l Chan 2005, 2007a; Struve 1998. For the problems associated with the Yingzong shilu, which covers three reigns of the two emperors, Zhengtong and Jingtai, see de Heer 1986: 137–50. 15. For examples of close readings of this see Bryant 2008 on Ho Ching-­ming [He Jingming]; Schneewind 2009 on Fang Keqin; Pidhainy 2011 on Yang Shen. 16. The Mingshi was often praised, from the Qing onward. See Wilkinson 2013: 791. Wu Han noted both the value and the problems of the text: Wu Han 2013: 393–98. 17. Jun Fang, Chapter 4 in this volume, notes that Mao Xiang avoided participating on the project.

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and the gradual fading of the immediate reminders of the transition, and with scholars who were as committed to identifying the mandate of heaven as were the new rulers. The next problem that arose was that the initial writing of the Ming state history fell afoul of the Kangxi emperor and had to be revised. This revision was not completed until his grandson, Qianlong, took the throne in 1736. There is therefore more than one version of the Ming History.18 The manuscript that formed the basis for the Mingshi was compiled by Wan Sitong (萬斯同, 1638–1702) and his nephew Wan Yan (萬言, 1637–­1705).19 A student of the Neo-­Confucian scholar and historian Huang Zongxi (黃宗羲, 1610– 1695), Wan Sitong came from a renowned family with deep ties to the Ming dynasty. His father, Wan Tai (萬泰, 1598–­1657), disillusioned and disappointed with having failed his ancestors by not saving the Ming, on his deathbed “told Sitong of his desire to assure their ancestors that in spite of this lapse the family’s spirit of determination would be maintained.” Sitong thereupon separated from wife and family and committed himself to the writing of the Ming history.20 Sitong was responsible for completing a manuscript titled “Ming History Manuscript” (Mingshi gao 明史稿) in some 416 chapters in 1702. On his own deathbed, he reportedly said: In the past, four generations of my ancestors died [carrying out] affairs of the realm. Now, is this not an affair of the realm? My ancestors did not hesitate to sacrifice themselves. If [I], their descendant, am unable to exert all my efforts in gathering [materials] to complete the remnant record, then how can I ever face them underground after my death?21

It was from this manuscript that Wang Hongxu 王鴻緒 (1645–1723), as chief editor, took the biographies and submitted them to the throne in 1714. He completed the Draft Ming History (Mingshi gao 明史稿) in 1723. This ver18. The earliest official attempt at a Ming History was by Chen Yubi in 1594. See Goodrich and Fang 1976 [hereafter DMB]: 1, 190–91. See Huang 1968, esp. 1–9, and Xiang, Zhang and Luo 2006 5:243–48 for history of Mingshi. 19. For biographies of figures connected to this see Hummel 1943 “Wan Ssu-­ t’ung,” 2:801–3; “Wan Yen,” 2:804; “Wang Hung-­hsü,” 2:826; Hsü Yuanwen,” 1:327. For Wan Sitong in relation to Huang Zongxi and those who followed, see Struve 1988: especially 90–100. For more in-­depth views of Wan, see Zhu 2004; Fang 1996. 20. Struve 1988: 97. 21. This is from the writing by his friend Liu Fang. Cited and translated in Struve 1988: 97.

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sion was presented at court, but not accepted, and was sent back for corrections.22 A revised version edited by Zhang Tingyu 張廷玉 (1672–1755) was accepted by Qianlong in 1739 and became the standard Ming History text. Even this version was later revised and printed in, the Complete Books of the Four Treasuries (Siku quanshu 四庫全書) completed in 1777.23 The final text was thus a product of several revisions, with several editors shaping it and up to three hundred persons involved in its compilation.24 One motivation behind the Wan Sitong’s ur-­text had been familial and even filial piety, as had been the case for Sima Qian and for Ban Gu and their fathers and sons in the Han period. It is possible that Wan’s own experience in this regard influenced his handling of father–son relations in the resulting “Ming History Manuscript.” Qing monarchs had a personal stake in presiding over more or less accurate accounts of their fathers, who were also their predecessors as sons of heaven.25 However, the Kangxi emperor, under whom much of the work was done, had himself a problematic relationship with his sons. In particular, his heir apparent and second son, Yinreng 胤礽 (1674–1725), ran afoul of his father through his problematic behavior, which Kangxi labeled as being unfilial, and for which reason Kangxi removed him as heir in 1708. Kangxi reconsidered his decision and reinstated him in 1709, but then removed him again, this time permanently, in 1712.26 This controversy possibly influenced the content of Wan’s composition and the timing of Wang’s presentation of the Ming History to the ruler.27

THE FATHER–SON DYAD Of the five relationships, the father–son relationship was originally the primary one. From a political perspective, it was secondary only to the ruler– minister relationship and it was seen as the familial parallel to it.28 From a 22. Xiang, Zhang and Luo 2006: 245. 23. Kahn 1971: 44–46. 24. Mittag 2013: 31. 25. On Kangxi’s concern, see Kiesler 1976: 165; Spence 1974: 88–89; Meng 1998: 207–8. 26. On Kangxi’s labeling of Yinreng as unfilial see Spence 1974: 136; Meng 1998: 292. 27. Kahn 1971: 12–46; Pei Huang 1974: 59–70; Silas Wu 1979; Meng 1998: 291–98. 28. One notes though that there was not universal agreement on this matter. In several of the Ming novels, such as Shuihu zhuan (Water Margin) and Sanguo yanyi

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family perspective, father–son relationship trumped the ruler–minister relationship. Ming rulers, like those before them, were very interested in this relationship. Zhu Yuanzhang set the template in this regard. His Ancestral Injunctions (Huang Ming zuxun 皇明族訓) attempted to define in specific terms the rights, obligations, and limitations on his sons, daughters, and their progeny. This document would influence his descendants as profoundly as any classical text.29 Zhu tells us that he created this document as [A] family law … All my progeny may adhere to my orders and not be crafty and confuse the laws which I have fixed forever. Not a single word may be changed. Not only will you not fail to live up to my intentions to pass on the law, but Heaven and Earth and the Ancestors will also bless and protect you without end.30

Several successors were also interested in reconsidering father–son relations, in particular, Zhu Di and Zhu Houcong made it a priority to define the relationship by issuing texts and (in Zhu Houcong’s case) revising rituals.31 Zhu Di compiled Real Events Demonstrating Filial Piety (Xiaoshun shishi 孝順事實), which consisted of ten chapters featuring 207 examples of filial piety.32 The book was issued by Zhu Di to support his claim to goodness as evidenced by his filial piety. It allowed him to push the line that filial piety was the prime basis of legitimate political succession. In its words: There are five human relationships, and those involving sovereigns and parents are the most important. Those who are filial to their parents will also be loyal to their ruler. Serving his parents with filial piety, his loyalty can be transferred to his sovereign.33

(Romance of the Three Kingdoms), friendship was posited as primary, while Li Zhi argued for the husband–wife relationship as primary. Literary scholars have often noted the microcosm parallel of the imperial family or court at the familial level in works such as Jin Ping Mei and Hongloumeng, though, which keeps closer to my argument. 29. Farmer 1995: 66–69. 30. Ibid., 117–18. On the law during the Ming dynasty, see Langlois in Twitchett 2008: 2: 172–220; Jiang 2011. 31. On Jiajing ritual changes, see Berling 1998. 32. For this argument, I am following Yin 2004. 33. Xiaoshun shishi, 7:, 24A, translated in Yin 2004: 151.

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There was a firm “classical” basis for this. For example, Confucius had stated simply: It is a rare thing for someone who has a sense of filial and fraternal responsibility to have a taste for defying authority. And it is unheard of for those who have no taste for defying authority to be keen on initiating rebellion. Exemplary persons concentrate their efforts on the root, for the root having taken hold, the way will grow therefrom. As for filial and fraternal responsibility, it is, I suspect, the root of authoritative conduct (ren 仁).34

This may be assumed to be the spirit that animated the authors of the Ming History.

FATHERS AND SONS IN THE MING HISTORY Good relations between rulers and their sons were considered to be essential to harmony at court and to smooth transmissions of authority, themselves essential to the welfare of the entire polity. Relations between all other fathers and sons were less important to the polity, but they were nonetheless much discussed in biographies of people from all walks of life if only because a polity was more than the people who ruled it. The line between hereditary rulers and aristocrats on one side and the rest of the society on the other was also sometimes quite porous. We can see this most clearly in the early years of the Ming.

THE ROYAL HOUSE In theory, authority in a Chinese polity was supposed to pass from the father to the eldest son of the principal consort. This was the basic form of legitimate succession (zhengtong 正統) that was supposed to occur; the other form was that from one dynasty or polity to the next. Historical actors, however, sometimes honored this ideal only in the breach. Historians, too, had some opportunities to modify the ideal. In the Han, for example, Sima Qian, compiled a set of annals for the heroic contender for the throne, Xiang Yu 項羽 (232–202 bce), that aristocratic rebel, even though he had failed to es34. Analects 1.2. Translated in Ames 1998: 71. Note that the attribution to Confucius is not unanimous, Haines argues that these are the words of Youzi, 2008, 474–77.

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tablish his own dynasty. (Xiang Yu had overthrown the Qin state but had finally been defeated by another contender, Liu Bang 劉邦 [256–195 bce], who established the Han). The historian Sima also accorded basic annals to Liu’s widow, Empress Lü 呂后 (241–180 bce), even though she did not belong to the Liu lineage and ruled only as an empress dowager through her male offspring. A Veritable Record was written for the Ming founder’s grandson, Yunwen, who succeeded to the throne when his father died prematurely, but was extirpated by his uncle Zhu Di after a coup d’état. In the Ming History, however, Yunwen was restored to legitimate succession. The Ming History also decided the ultimate status of Zhu Youyuan 朱祐杬 (1476–1519), the natural father of Jiajing, who had been considered the rightful son of heaven by his son. The Ming History reduced Youyuan to the status of a second-­ ranked prince. The Ming History basic annals ended with the Chongzhen reign in 1644, and the numerous Ming princes who claimed authority after that date were accorded only aligned biographies.35 Thus the compilers of the Mingshi established the official story of Ming history, an account that would be accepted not only in Qing China, but in Chosŏn Korea and Tokugawa Japan, and even to a lesser degree among our contemporary historians of the Ming.

Zhu Yuanzhang: Several Fathers and Many Sons As is well known, Zhu Yuanzhang started out as an orphan and mendicant monk.36 He ended up with a large harem and some twenty-­six sons and sixteen daughters.37 His offspring were also fecund, resulting in a ruling clan that became a burden on the polity’s finances by the seventeenth century.38 Reading the Ming History, one can argue that Zhu Yuanzhang actually had several fathers. His natural father, Zhu Shizhen 朱世珍 (1281–1344), with the assistance of a pill provided by a divine spirit, impregnated his wife with Yuanzhang, whose birth was signaled by a streaming red light. Yuanzhang’s father, mother, and an elder brother soon died in a famine and plague. 35. Zhu Yousong (1607–1646; r. 1644–1645), the first emperor of the Southern Ming, Zhu Yujian (b. 1602; r. 1645–1646), the second emperor, and Zhu Youlang (b. 1623; r. 1646–1662), the last of the Southern Ming emperors, have brief biographies in MS 120. On Zhu Di and Jianwen, see H-­l Chan 2007a and D Chan 1976. On the Southern Ming, see Struve 1988. 36. MS 1. See Wu Han, in Mote 1999: 541–48. 37. For the harem, see MS 113; for the sons: MS 116; for the daughters: MS 121. 38. Mote 1999: 781–82.

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Yuanzhang survived and eventually found a surrogate father, a rebel leader named Guo Zixing 郭子興 (1312–1355). Guo was sufficiently impressed by Yuanzhang that he married a foster daughter named Ma 馬皇后 (1332–1382) to him, thus becoming his father-­in-­law. Guo apparently continued to support Zhu thereafter, but the annals of the Ming founder provide no details. The biography of Guo Zixing is consistent with the annals but in comparison with the annals it depicts Guo as more apt to mistrust others and Zhu Yuanzhang as more respectful of his father-­in-­law. After Guo died, Zhu vied with a brother-­in-­law for succession and ended up killing him to secure his claim. Zhu then married another daughter of Guo and had three sons by her. He did pay great honor to his “dry father,”39 enfeoffing him as prince of Chu and establishing a tomb for him and providing an inscription to him in his own hand. The family actively defended the prerogative to sacrifice at the tomb— for the biography ends with an anecdote of a supposed descendant of Laoshe, a lost fourth son of Guo Zixing, coming to sacrifice at the site. An official from the Ministry of Ritual spoke at court: “The writings on the Sacrifices to the Prince of Chuyang [Guo Zixing] were established by Taizu. He clearly stated on the temple’s stele that there were no natural heirs to Guo Zixing. Laoshe was not a son of Prince of Chuyang.”40 禮官言：「滁陽王祀典，太祖所定，曰無後，廟碑昭然，老舍非滁 陽王子。」奪奉祀。(MS 12/122/3681)

In line with this judgment, the alleged imposter was prevented from carrying out rituals to Guo. A second surrogate father-­son relationship can be read between Zhu Yuanzhang and Han Lin’er 韓林兒 (1340–1366). Han, whose own father was the self-­proclaimed King of Light (Mingwang 明王), an accomplished religious figure who had convinced numerous persons that he was a legitimate pretender to the Song throne (despite his lack of the Song surname Zhao 趙). The Yuan took Han’s father seriously enough to capture and execute him. His mother, however, managed to escape with her son and soon he had taken the title the Lesser King of Light. Guo Zixing and others aligned themselves with his court. Zhu too was nominally under Han’s authority, and at one point was 39. Dry father/mother is used to describe someone of the generation of one’s parents who cares for one as if a parent, oftentimes when the young person is distant from home (or orphaned). It implies one in whom neither blood nor milk (in the case of a dry mother) flows. 40. MS 12/122/3681.

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talked out of enthroning Han as emperor.41 However, in Zhu’s annals, the editors argued that the King of Light had a weak hold over those beneath him: “Lin’er originally arose from robbers and thieves, and was without grand ambition, listening to the commands of [Liu] Futong [a general] 劉福通 [1321–1363], and possessing only an empty name” (然林兒本起盜賊，無大 志，又聽命福通，徒擁虛名。).42 Zhu’s original warmth and support of Han was soon dropped. The editors, indeed, implicate Zhu in Han’s death. In his annals, Han’s death is noted, and then followed in the next line by Zhu’s decision to proclaim his dynasty; while in Han’s and Liao Yongzhong’s 廖永忠 (1323–1375) biographies, the editors more directly suggest that Zhu had Liao arrange Han’s death, and later had Liao executed.43 It was perhaps with rich irony that Zhu also commemorated Han in death. The comments of appraisal praise Han Lin’er and Guo Zixing as each having contributed an element necessary for the successful rise of the Ming dynasty under Zhu. The appraisal reads: At the end of the Yuan, many heroes rose in swarms. Zixing occupied Haozhou, the land was remote and his power weak. However, the foundation of the Ming surely originated in the army of Chuyang [Guo Zixing]. Zixing’s enfeoffment as prince with sacrifices at the ancestral temple, was permanent repayment; there was good reason for it. Lin’er crossed and occupied the central plains, and he released his troops to ravage [the land], extending from the Jiang to Huai rivers for more than ten years. Taizu was able to calmly become the founder, by relying on their efforts. The rise of a lord king necessitates having a preliminary pioneer to help him complete his enterprise. How could this have been fortuitous?44 贊曰：元之末季，群雄蜂起。子興據有濠州，地偏勢弱。然有明基 業，實肇于滁陽一旅。子興之封王祀廟，食報久長，良有以也。林 兒橫據中原，縱兵蹂躪，蔽遮江、淮十有餘年。太祖得以從容締造 者，藉其力焉。帝王之興，必有先驅者資之以成其業，夫豈偶然哉！

Although both men had been his superiors and influenced his course in life, nevertheless their own status came to be determined by Zhu. Guo became a fondly remembered predecessor whose tomb was guarded, while Han was not quite scrubbed from history, but his role was definitely played down. 41. DMB 1:487. 42. MS 12/122/3683. 43. MS 1/1/14, 12/122/3684 and 12/129/3806. 44. MS 12/122/3685.

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However, upon becoming emperor, Zhu’s own commitment was to his own parents and ancestors. He posthumously invested his great-­great-­grandfather as First Emperor with the family temple name Virtuous Ancestor, his great-­grandfather as the Persevering Emperor with the family temple name Excellent Ancestor, his grandfather as the Prospering Emperor with the family temple name Glorious Ancestor, and his father as Pure Emperor with the family temple name Benevolent Ancestor. His mother and paternal grandmothers were all designated Empress.45

Zhu Yuanzhang was the ultimate father figure in the Ming History—he was first and foremost titled taizu or Great Ancestor, which is how the book begins. The unfolding of the story is that of his family. Further, Zhu also played the role of a father to numerous sons and sons-­in-­law. He apparently relied on his twenty-­six sons to assist him in ruling the realm, although the Ming History is reticent on that sensitive issue.46 However, from what we read, Zhu Yuanzhang’s plan was originally to construct a network that include his sons and sons-­in-­law under the aegis of his eldest son, Biao. If so, the early demise of Biao disrupted that plan. It has been argued that Taizu conducted his famous purges of officials in order to eliminate the network that he himself had begun and to dismantle the fiefs of his now too-­powerful sons. Whatever the truth of that matter, the Ming History had to decide on the historical status of the grandson, Yunwen, and the deceased eldest son, Biao. The editors accorded Yunwen annals, recognizing his legitimacy, and granted his father, the eldest son of the founder and the original heir apparent, Zhu Biao 朱彪 (1355– 1372) a special place at the head of Mingshi fascicle 115 following those on empress dowagers and before the one on imperial princes.47 As an informally adopted son and as a military man with few family connections, Zhu Yuanzhang also continued the time-­honored tradition of adopting sons. His own experience had been salutary: he had been promoted to lieutenant by Guo Zixing and had even been rescued from death by him at 45. Romeyn Taylor 1975: 57. MS 1/2/19. 46. H-­l Chan 2007; Pang 2016. 47. MS 115 contains the biographies of Zhu Biao and Zhu Youyuan and their wives, and should be considered a special category, for the editors of the Ming History thus made a compromise on two royal persons whose exact status was controversial. Both men were titled huangdi (皇帝) or august lord—a title usually applied to emperors.

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one point. Zhu eventually adopted at least seven sons who served him quite famously.48 The adopted sons were mostly orphans whose fathers had been killed in the war: Zhu took pity on them and, seeing some talent in them, adopted them.49 For the most part, they appear to have been very useful in leading his armies. The following passage sums up the situation: When Taizu had taken Chuzhou, he obtained [He] Wenhui, who was fourteen sui old. [Taizu therefore] adopted him, having him change his surname to Zhu. When Taizu was first starting out he accumulated many adopted sons. When they had grown up, he ordered them to lead the generals to separately guard various routes. Zhoushe guarded Zhenjiang; Daoshe guarded Ningguo; Ma’er guarded Wuzhou; Chaishe and Zhentong guarded Chuzhou; Jin’gangnu guarded Quzhou; these were all adopted sons.50 太祖下滁州，得文輝，年十四，撫為己子，賜姓硃氏。太祖初起， 多蓄義子。及長，命偕諸將分守諸路。周舍守鎮江，道舍守寧國， 馬兒守婺州，柴舍、真童守處州，金剛奴守衢州，皆義子也。

The appraisal in this fascicle indicated how the adopted sons were regarded. For example, it stated that “[He] Wenhui and [Xu] Sima were entrusted as right-­hand men [of Taizu].” (“文輝、司馬任寄股肱 …”)51 The life stories of the adopted sons all appear in the Ming History, though scattered among various chapters. A couple of them were relatives—Zhu Wenzheng (朱文正) was a nephew who became enfeoffed, so his biography appeared among those of the royal family. The successful establishment of the state and the growing number of progeny must have made Zhu Yuanzhang rethink his adoption policy, for he had those boys revert to their original surnames as they got older, which Joseph Dennis reads in light of filial piety in Chapter 2 of this volume.52 I would like to illustrate this blurring of father-son lines by taking a look 48. The six sons are Li Wenzhong (MS 126), Zhu Wengang (MS 289), Zhu Wenxun (MS 289), He Wenhui (134), Mu Ying (MS 126), and Zhu Wenzheng (MS 118). Appended to He Wenhui is the biography of Xu Sima, also an adopted son. Compare Dennis, Chapter 2 in this book. 49. Adopting orphans in war seems a common trope, Zhou Enlai also practiced this during the 1930s. 50. MS 13/134/3897. 51. MS 13/134/3911. 52. See Dennis in this book.

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at fascicle 126 of the Ming History, a chapter that includes the biographies of four important generals, including two of the adopted sons. The two adopted sons are Mu Ying 沐英 (1345–1392) and Li Wenzhong 李文忠 (1339–1384); the two other generals are Tang He 湯和 (1326–1395) and Deng Yu 鄧愈 (1337–1377), both close to Zhu and perhaps to be read as surrogate sons/ brothers. This chapter provides an insight into how Zhu served as “father” to some of his generals and made most use of them. It also shows some of the difficulties of working with such a father. Li was a nephew of Zhu, and he was a very successful military man. However, he also became a critic of Zhu’s harsher moves and came under Zhu’s suspicion. Li’s subsequent death was attributed to poisoning, and the sequence was narrated in his biography: On account of disobeying the emperor’s decree, he was not immune to [the emperor’s] condemnation. In the winter of the sixteenth year he [Li] fell ill. The emperor personally wanted to look over him, and so sent Marquis of Huai’an, Hua Zhong, to manage his treatment. In the third month, Li died, at the age of forty-­six. The emperor suspected that Zhong had poisoned him and so demoted him, and exiled his family to Jianchang, and [ordered that] all the doctors and their families be killed … He enfeoffed [Li] [posthumously] as Prince of Qiyang.53 以是積忤旨，不免譴責。十六年冬遂得疾。帝親臨視，使淮安侯華 中護醫藥。明年三月卒，年四十六。帝疑中毒之，貶中爵，放其家 屬于建昌衛，諸醫並妻子皆斬。… 追封岐陽王 …

Hua Zhong, who had inherited his title from his hero father, was connected to Hu Weiyong’s rebellion in his own brief snippet.54 The editors’ careful formulation of Li’s death is similar to that of Han Lin’er, leaving open the implication that Zhu was involved in the death.55 The family nevertheless did retain the title to the end of the dynasty, so whatever Zhu’s role in the fate of Li, it did not redound upon his descendants. The second and third biographies are those for Tang He and Deng Yu. Tang He was an old friend of Zhu Yuanzhang—indeed they were from the same village, and he enjoyed a familiarity with Zhu somewhat akin to that Zhu De had with Mao Zedong up to the early 1950s. Tang He retired to his home village where he spent the last years of his life in comfort. Deng Yu had been the son of an opponent of Guo Zixing, but had found himself at age 53. MS 12/126/3746. 54. MS 13/130/3825. 55. See DMB 1:886.

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fifteen in charge of his deceased father’s forces. He soon joined Guo and Zhu Yuanzhang. Zhu was responsible for giving him a new name. He died early (at forty-­one sui) in battle, and his son was a victim of one of Zhu’s later purges. The last biography—that of Mu Ying—is perhaps the most important. Here we see not only the son element brought to the fore, but also a close parallel between Zhu Yuanzhang’s family and Mu Ying’s family. Adopted as a young boy, Mu was unaware (according to the Ming History) that Zhu Yuanzhang and his wife Ma were not his natural parents. Because of his talent and loyalty he was rewarded by being given Yunnan to govern. This he did so well that his descendants retained virtual control over Yunnan until the end of the Ming dynasty. Mu’s intimate relations with the Zhu family are reflected in the Ming History’s record of his deep pain upon the passing of Empress Ma, for whom “he cried until he vomited blood,” and his grief at the death of his brother, the heir apparent Biao, soon followed by Mu’s own demise.56 Thereafter fairly thorough accounts are given of Mu’s descendants down to the end of the dynasty, allowing for a parallel with the greater account of the Zhu family. This should remind us that standard histories were not the records of a single family but of several families and in some ways all the families of the realm.

Zhu Houzhao and His Sons Other Ming rulers also adopted sons. One of the most notable cases was Zhu Houzhao, who came to the throne at age fourteen in 1505 and died young at age thirty-­one in 1521. Zhu was guilty of the most unfilial act of failing to produce a son, especially serious for a ruler because it resulted in no obviously legitimate heir to the throne.57 Zhu Houzhao, however, compensated by adopting many sons. In his seventh year alone he was reported to have adopted 127 men as his “sons.”58 This quantum leap in the royal household seemed quite unnecessary in a polity that relied on a skilled bureaucracy and powerful army to administer the realm. Zhu Houzhao used adoption as a means of bonding with rough-­and-­tumble characters whom he favored and who could serve as his personal fighting force when needed. Several of Zhu Houzhao’s adopted sons stand out as problematic, in particular: Qian Ning 錢寧 (d. 1521), Sayid Husain 寫亦虎仙 (d. 1521), and 56. MS 2/126/3759. 57. Mencius 4A. 58. MS 2/16/305.

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Jiang Bin 江彬 (d. 1521). Qian Ning was a eunuch who was also an actor. Sayid Husain was in line to become the prince of the oasis state of Hami. In addition to becoming adopted as Houzhao’s sons they were also reputed to be his favorites, even his lovers.59 Jiang Bin was the most dangerous. He had his own brothers and sons placed in high military positions, accompanied the ruler in his various hijinks, and joined with other military men to occupy important posts in the capital. At Houzhao’s death, Jiang Bin was so powerful that Grand Secretary Yang Tinghe 楊廷和 (1459–1529) worked secretly in concert with the empress dowager to remove him from office. Jiang, Qian Ning, and Sayyid Husain were all arrested and executed. Qian and Jiang were accorded substantial biographies in the Ming History as “Flatterers and Intimates,” winning more attention (albeit negative) than many other high officials did (MS 307). The Ming History criticized Zhu Houzhao for “indulging in pleasure, enjoying roaming, and becoming intimate with a flock of low life” (然耽樂嬉遊，暱近群小).60

Zhu Houcong and His Fathers As Zhu Houzhao died without a natural heir, the throne passed to a cousin, Zhu Houcong. The officials and empress dowager resolved to have Houcong adopted by his deceased uncle, but Houcong did not accept this. The struggle over the status of his parents and the rituals involving them was one of the main causes of the Great Rites Controversy (Dali yi 大禮議), and involved much of the energy and effort of the early part of the Jiajing reign.61 Zhu Houzhao eventually transformed his natural father into an emperor and his natural mother into an empress dowager. This decision, however, was later reversed. The Ming History editors’ responsibility, therefore, was to decide on Youyuan’s ritual position by inserting his biography into an appropriate place in the text. Zhu Youyuan’s case was somewhat different from that of Zhu Biao, the son of Zhu Yuanzhang and father of Zhu Yunwen, who had died young. Youyuan was not the son of a ruler even if he was the natural father of the Jiajing ruler, and for that reason he did not merit an extensive biography as ruler. However, the Dali yi was indeed about his son, himself, and his elder brother. This made his case similar to that of Zhu Biao. The compilers solved these problems, as we have seen, by placing his biography and that of Zhu 59. See for example reference to the Emperor and Jiang “entering the Leopard Room where they lay [slept] and rose” (… 出入豹房，同臥起) (MS 26/307/7886). 60. MS 2/16/213; Geiss 1987. 61. Fischer 1990; Mote 1999: 663–68; Brook 2010: 98–100.

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Biao in a unique chapter (MS 115), after empresses and dowagers and before princes. The Ming History also gave both of them the title august lord (huangdi). The relationship between the Jiajing ruler and his natural father was a matter of controversy across the bureaucracy, and we see it playing out among the various biographies in the aligned biography section of the Ming History.62 The text implies that the main protagonists in the protests were Yang Tinghe and his son Yang Shen 楊慎 (1488–1559). Tinghe’s status as senior grand secretary is central to the larger political events, while Shen plays an important (perhaps leading) role in mounting protests against Jiajing’s efforts to give his natural father the status of ruler. The editors give the two Yangs individual biographies at the head of their respective fascicles (MS 190 for Tinghe in a fascicle devoted to senior bureaucrats of the late Zhengde and early Jiajing periods; MS 192 for Shen as one of the protesting officials during the early Jiajing period). By placing the Yangs there, the editors of the Ming History demonstrated that Tinghe and Shen were virtuous in their conduct and maintained a proper father–son relationship. The editors contrasted the Yangs with those officials who followed them in the record, such as the “villains” Yan Song 嚴嵩 (1480–1567) and Yan Shifan 嚴世蕃 (1513–1565). The Yans did the Jiajing emperor’s bidding in all matters or made him do theirs; they will appear later in the Ming History fascicle 308, devoted to “treacherous officials.” Likewise, the general Wang Yu 王忬 (1507–1560; MS 204), who was executed by Jiajing for dereliction of duty, is paired with his culturally important sons Shizhen 王世貞 (1526–1590; MS 287) and Shimou 王世懋 (1536– 1588; MS 204). Shizhen and Shimou both went to Yan Song to beg for mercy for their father, but were rebuffed by Song as he held a personal grudge against Shizhen. He coolly allowed the elder Wang to be executed, gaining a small-­ minded vengeance that resonated with the pettiness of the Jiajing emperor’s earlier punishment of the Yangs.63

Replacing the Zhu Family—A Time of Change The fall of the dynasty also involved the father–son dyad, though here it was portrayed negatively, as one of rupture or nonexistence. The chief rebels, Li Zicheng 李自成 (1606–1645) and Zhang Xianzhong 張獻忠 (1606–1647), were given biographies in the Mingshi (MS 309); however, it is very clear that they were not considered great men capable of establishing a dynasty. In62. Pidhainy 2012; Dardess 2016. 63. On Wang Shizhen, see Hammond 2006 and Chapter 5 in this volume.

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stead, there could be no doubt that all under Heaven (tianxia) and the central state (zhongguo) would be struggled over by numerous heroes and villains— and that the outcome would be worth the struggle. Victory then could only be achieved by someone who was virtuous and whole, worthy of being parent to the people.64 The answer to the question of who would win the mandate had already been provided by history—it was Our Glorious Qing. In contrast, the rebels were treacherous and barely civilized (so they were placed in the ultimate chapter before the fascicles on local chieftains, foreign countries, and Western regions—all traditionally beyond the pale).65 The failure of Li Zicheng and Zhang Xianzhong was clear. The Ming History editors grouped the losers into their own special chapter and called them “bandits” or “roving robbers” (zei 賊 or liukou 流寇). This was also the very last of the biographical chapters. Fascicle 309 begins: “The disaster of thieves and bandits is a constant through the ages. At the end of the Ming, Li Zicheng and Zhang Xianzhong were extreme [i.e., the worst] cases” (盜賊之禍，歷代 恒有，至明末李自成、張獻忠極矣.).66 That said, the Ming History regarded Li as the lesser of the two evils. The editors proceeded to examine various rebellions through the Ming dynasty, and then turned to the internal problems of the ruling house. They concluded that Li and Zhang were not the ultimate agents of the fall of the Ming. To deny agency to the rebels, the authors introduced an inversion of Ming Taizu’s miracle birth: Li Zicheng was a Mizhi person. His family lived for many generations at Li Jiqian walled village in Huaiyuan Stockade. His father Shouzhong [i.e., maintaining loyalty] had had no sons so went to pray to Huashan Mountain, and in a dream the spirit said: “By the Pojun [Army Destroyer] Star I will make a son for you.” So it was, and thus was born Zicheng [self-­ created].67

64. Cf. The Shujing: “The sincere, intelligent and perspicacious among men becomes the great sovereign, and the great sovereign is the parent of the people.” Legge 1903: 3:283. 65. By the Tang dynasty, it became common to group biographies of non-­Han minorities (usually named by their ethnicity or tribe) and foreign states at the end of an official history, although this was not always the case. Manchu concerns about their own portrayal in Ming and early Qing historiography were behind purges and inquisitions that resulted in the destruction of several thousand books (of the offending parties). For a pioneering study, see Goodrich 1935. Also see Guy 1987; Spence 2002. 66. MS 26/309/7947. 67. MS 26/309/7928–7929.

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李自成，米脂人，世居懷遠堡李繼遷寨。父守忠，無子，禱于華 山，夢神告曰：「以破軍星為若子。」已，生自成。

The father was ironically named Maintaining Loyalty but real authority was exercised by a star that was known for its rebellious qualities.68 Thus was explained Li Zicheng’s personal name, which meant self-­created, or without a true father. The father Shouzhong makes a couple of further appearances when Zicheng warded off exploitation or participated in robberies, but he plays no significant role in the rise of the rebellion. Zicheng was also so unfortunate as to not have progeny (or at least not to have any reported in the Ming History). There are only mentions of a nephew and a brother-­in-­law. The nephew, Guo, upon the death of his uncle, changed his name to Jin, joined the Ming loyalist forces, and died a martyr. In the eyes of the editors of the Ming History, that loss of progeny and ultimate betrayal must have been a fitting end to Li Zicheng’s story of rebellion. Zhang Xianzhong, the second most important, but even more hated bandit, comes into the story with the caveat that he does not have a father who can be named or even mentioned.69 His story ends with his being killed following his barbarous destruction of Chengdu. Zhang’s brutality and lack of culture are clearly spelled out and are obviously the abject opposite of what is necessary to rule all under heaven according to Confucian values. To summarize: father–son relationships were key to the construction and continuity of the polity. The writers of the Ming History emphasized them and were aware of their various forms and changing nature. Zhu Yuanzhang’s story hints at some displeasure with his sons, even as the official sources were crafted to emphasize harmony. The writers made important decisions concerning controversial relations among fathers and sons. The annals were provided for all of the effective rulers, even those at one time “erased” from history—that is, the Jianwen emperor and the Jingtai emperor.70 However, the authors also decided to create a special chapter that placed Zhu Biao and Zhu Youyuan below empresses and dowagers but above other princes, perhaps to accommodate their special liminal status between emperors and princes. This meant similar demotions for the sons and wives of these two men. In 68. His father went to pray to the spirit of Hua mountain where he was directed to an Army Destroyer star, the seventh of nine constellatiions that make up the Northern Dipper (Bei dou). Worship of this constellation was an aspect of Daoist and also Buddhist popular religion. Mollier 2008: 134–73. 69. MS 26/309/7969. 70. Chan 2007a: 118–25.

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addition to placing natural fathers and sons in the Ming History, the authors also recorded the raft of adopted sons throughout the text. These sons were problematic, and so the elimination of some of them in life as in the text was not always seen as altogether negative. Nevertheless, this also introduces the all-­men-­are-­brothers trope that simmered throughout Chinese historical fiction even more than in historical writing.

THE ROYAL FAMILY AND IN-­LAWS Aligned biographies were normally organized into several sections. They include the royal family, important individuals (usually by type of position in government, classes, or status groups—such as Confucian scholars), and “ethnic” groups (such as chieftains and foreign persons). In the Ming History, as in other state histories, the royal family was at the head of the aligned biographies, thus forming an intermediary division between the rulers and their officials. The empresses and imperial consorts were next, followed by a special section for exceptional princes (Zhu Biao and Youyuan), and then by the rest of the princes and princesses. These groups were intermediaries between the ruler and his officials. In a couple of cases, members of the royal lineage by birth or marriage had parents or siblings whose biographies were included in later sections of the Ming History. Let us look at the case of Xu Da. Xu Da 徐達 (1332–1385) was one of Zhu Yuanzhang’s key generals, who assisted him in the conquest of the realm. The editors of the Ming History placed his biography at the head of fascicle 125, in which he was paired with Chang Yuchun 常遇春 (1330–1369). In addition to his personal merit, he was also quite successful in marrying his progeny into the royal family.71 His relatively early death likely spared him from being purged, but his family was extremely strained by the Prince of Yan’s (Zhu Di) rebellion—Xu’s daughter was the prince’s wife, and his sons ended up on both sides of the conflict, reminding readers that civil wars involved ruptures not only in the state, but also within families. The Xu family, nevertheless, survived and maintained their fiefdom until the end of the dynasty and the Ming History appraised the family highly: The Prince of Zhongshan [Xu Da] was sophisticated and had many schemes, he did not boast about his high merit, from ancient times 71. Ibid.

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Table 3. Estimate of Various Biographies in the Mingshi Section

Subsection

Imperial annals Zhi (essays) Biao (tables) Liezhuan [Royal persons] Empresses, etc. Prince-Emperor Princes1 Princesses2 [Nonroyal] [Individuals] [Groups] Upright officials Confucian scholars Literary figures Loyal & righteous Filial & righteous Hermits Shamans & healers Imperial male relatives by marriage Virtuous women Eunuchs Eunuch cliques Flatterers & intimates Treacherous ministers Rebels Tusi (local chieftains) Foreign countries Western regions TOTAL

Juan #

Major

1–24 25–99 100–112

15 NA NA

113–121 113–114 115 116–120 121 122–309 122–280 281–309 281 282–284 285–288 289–295 296–297 298 299 300 301–303 304–305 306 307 308 309 310–319 320–328 329–332

109 16 2 91 0 1,312 598 30 45 61 142 46 11 19 27 171 27 11 10 6 2

Minor Subtotal 0 NA NA

15 NA NA

285 45 5 136 99 3,565 1,089+ 2,401+ 566+ 1,164+ 13+ 68+ 106+ 180+ 35 1 6 7+ 70 26 33 10 6 5 176 29 3 45 95+4

3,865

282–284: 25–23; 19–29; 1–16: Total 45 major bios; 68+etc. minor bios 285–288: 16–33; 19–25; 13–27; 13–21. Total: 61 major; 106 minor+etc. 289–295: 20–37; 20–26; 20–29; 22–25; 17–18; 26–28; 17–17. Total 142 major; 180 minor+etc. 296–297: 16–13; 30–22 Total: 46 major & 35 minor 301–303: 48–25; 50–25; 73–20: Total: 171 major; 70 minor. 304–305: 13–19; 14–7: Total 27 major; 26 minor 1. This count is of the table of contents listings and does not include the various princes named in the fascicles. 2. The ninety-five princesses are listed by name, but have very brief biographies. There are four additional biographies—of the husbands of four of the princesses.

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renowned assistants [to rulers] never surpassed him … As Zhongshan’s enfeoffment was passed down, his descendants were honored as favorites.” (MS 12/125/3738) 中山持重有謀，功高不伐，自古名世之佐無以過之 … 顧中山賞延後 裔，世叨榮寵.

We can see here that despite the conflicting choices made by his offspring during the civil war, the family was recognized as remaining faithful to the dynasty, which was both the Zhu family and the polity that ruled China. Mu Ying, as noted above, was also extraordinarily close to the Zhu family. He was an adopted son of Zhu Yuanzhang and regarded the empress as his own mother as well as the mother of the entire polity, of the people. The editors of the Ming History treated him very favorably: Prince Ninghe [Deng Yu] and Prince Qianning [Mu Ying] in the prime of their lives received complete trust … Only Qianning’s might resounded in far-­off lands, [the emperor] enfeoffing him and his family into posterity, [and his] merit was famous from beginning of the Ming to the end. (MS 12/126/3766) 而寧河、黔甯皆以英年膺腹心之寄…獨黔寧威震遐荒，剖符弈世， 勳名與明相始終。

Thus the Ming and Qing states considered both Mu Ying and Xu Da to be loyal and rewarded them by making their families part of the hereditary nobility. This was an example of loyalty to the family translating into loyalty to the state celebrated by Confucius in the Analects.

FATHERS AND SONS IN THE ALIGNED BIOGRAPHIES The total number of aligned biographies of people who were members of the elite (but not aristocrats) and commoners (but not foreigners) was about 3,500.72 Of these, about 240 were women, leaving 3,260 men.73 Of these 3,260 men, over half were given major biographies. Many of them, including officials, officers, and eunuchs, served the state. Others, including philosophers, 72. MS 122–309.This discussion excludes royal family in MS 112–121, and foreigners and foreign lands in MS 310–332. 73. The only woman who had a biography outside of the aligned biographies of women was Qin Liangyu, a female general who remained loyal to the Ming after 1644, MS 270.

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hermits, and filial sons, served the tradition or culture.74 The heaviest concentration of father–son pairings occur in fascicle 289, which is focused on loyal persons (zhongyi 忠義). Among the 3,260 men were some 314 cases of fathers and sons having biographies in the same fascicles and 34 cases of fathers and sons having biographies in different fascicles. In the former group we may surmise that either the father or the son was honored at least in part for the achievements of the other; in the latter case we may assume that both father and son were deemed worthy of a biography and they just happened to be fathers and sons. The situation was not always so simple, however, as we can see from two particular cases. The first involves the separate biographies of Fang Keqin 方克勤 (1326–1376) and his son Fang Xiaoru 方孝孺 (1357–1402).75 Xiaoru was famous for his high position at Yunwen’s court and his stand against the “usurpation” of the prince of Yan, Zhu Di, was deemed principled by the authors. The editors considered that he definitely merited a biography on these two counts. His father, Keqin, on the other hand, was not a central political figure, and was only one of many scholar-officials who were purged during Ming Taizu’s reign. His inclusion in a separate biography of his own almost certainly resulted largely from his son’s more outstanding political heroism. A second case, however, is consistent with that idea. This involved the father Wang Yu and the sons Wang Shizhen and Wang Shimou.76 Both men were granted individual biographies in the Mingshi. Wang père was famous as a general and as the scapegoat for the Mongol raid of 1559, for which he was executed.77 The elder Wang fils was quite important as both a scholar74. The numbers are roughly as follows: from fascicles 122–280 there were about 2,400 biographies, of which 1,300 were major and 1,100 minor. In fascicles 281–309, there were an additional 1,150 biographies, with 600 major and 500 minor ones. Altogether, these made up some 3,500 biographies, of which 345 persons (142 pairs in same fascicles for 314 persons; 17 pairs in separate juan for 34 persons, with three persons on both lists) were father-son combinations. These numbers includes variables such as the 240 (approx.) women in the lienü chapters. See Tables 1 and 2. Please note that multiple sons are sometimes indicated. Whenever the character 等 (“etc.”) appears to indicate particularly short snippets of additional persons, I have not counted those that included sons. 75. MS 141, 281. See Schneewind 2009; Ditmanson 2002. 76. See Hammond 2006. 77. See Hammond 2007: 102.

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official and an arbiter of taste. The editors therefore decided that his position called for his inclusion with other literary figures, rather than with the politicians of the day, such as his father.

The Heroic, the Mixed, and the Villainous: Evaluating Father and Son Biographies in the Liezhuan The Ming History evaluated many people to provide clear models, positive or minatory, to be followed or avoided. Judgments ranged from explicit categorization (for example, of officials as treasonous) to subtle suggestion (such as recording a revealing comment in a fascicle separate from that of the biography). The evaluations could range from heroic to villainous, with many variations in between and nuances in the nature of the extremes.78 The treatment of father-­and-­son relationships depended in part on whether their biographies were in the same category and fascicle or in separate ones. When fathers and sons were placed together, they tended to reinforce each other. When they were in different fascicles the editors were typically making a claim for the greater importance of them as individuals, and creating an opportunity to discuss more fully their different roles in history. Taking both types of biographies into account, we may distinguish among three general possibilities: positive (both figures heroic), mixed (one positive, one negative), and negative (both villainous).79

Heroic Figures One prominent kind of heroic figure contributed much to the state but ended up dying out of loyalty to higher principles. Their biographies of these exemplars were usually detailed and precise enough to provide obvious lessons for readers. The example noted above of Fang Keqin and Fang Xiaoru serves well here. Both were depicted as martyrs, while Keqin died in one of Zhu Yuanzhang’s large purges and his son, Xiaoru, was put to death by Zhu Di for Xiaoru’s refusal to accept the legitimacy of Zhu Di’s coup d’état. Wang Yu and his sons also serve as an example, with the father’s rehabilitation

78. See Rolston et al. 1990: 124–45, on Jin Shengtan’s application of judging characters in the Shuihuzhuan. Of course this kind of evaluation had a long history in China. 79. I have adopted this for the purposes for the current paper. The Ming History often allows for gray in its shadings, making a simple scheme problematic.

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under the Longqing emperor (隆慶; Zhu Zaiji 朱載坖 1537–1572) being grounds for his serving the nation well.80 The Ming History editors sometimes highlighted those who were maligned by the state even if their position at court had never been high. For example, both Yang Xuan (楊瑄, 1425–1478; MS 162) and his son Yuan (楊 源, d. 1506?) appeared in a chapter devoted to frank speakers at court.81 Yang Xuan memorialized against a greedy eunuch and a corrupt official, which resulted in Yang’s being tortured, convicted of conspiracy, and sentenced to death. Due to a fortuitous lightning storm, which undoubtedly enhanced his charisma, his death sentence was converted to exile. Later his son Yuan complained about Liu Jin 劉瑾 (1451–1510), the eunuch favorite of the Zhengde emperor. For this, he was arrested and beaten, and died on his way to exile. The editors concluded the Yangs’ biographies with the following passage: The Yang father and son were famous throughout the known world for their loyalty and frank advice and were respected by scholars. Yuan’s holding on to his integrity as a low-­level official was particularly difficult. At the start of the Tianqi reign, he was recognized for “cherishing loyalty.” (MS 14/162/4419) 楊氏父子以忠諫名天下，為士論重。而源小臣抗節，尤人所難。天 啟初，賜謚忠懷 。

In their appraisal, the authors noted, Those officials daring to use frank language in their remonstrations get excited over affairs [at court], dash ahead bravely without worrying about the consequences, and are convicted but do not regret what they have done … Ni Jing and others forthrightly talked about important affairs, all this led to disasters at court. How lamentable that the ambition of loyal ministers was suppressed and [the injustice] was not redressed. (MS 14/162/4420) 直言敢諫之士，激於事變，奮不顧身，獲罪固其所甘心耳 … 倪敬等 直言時事，皆用賈禍。忠臣之誌抑而不伸，亦可悲夫。

Yang Tinghe (MS 190) and his son Yang Shen (MS 192) both attempted to limit the damage that the Zhengde ruler was inflicting on the state. They managed to survive that hectic reign, but they succumbed during the follow80. DMB 2:1399. 81. DMB 2:1510–13.

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ing Jiajing reign. Yang Tinghe’s prominent role in the early fifteenth century insured that he would be treated seriously in the Ming History, but Yang Shen was not nearly as famous as a political figure. To be sure, he was one of eight ringleaders who protested the move to change ritual in the Dayi li controversy and for that he was beaten and exiled. But his true importance, in fact, was as a scholar and poet. However, by placing him in a political context, the editors argued for him and—more importantly—for his father, regarding the proper governance of the polity. In addition to Mu Ying and Tang He discussed above, another outstanding military man was Li Chengliang 李成梁 (1526–1618) of Korean descent, who in MS 238 was paired with Ma Gui 麻貴 (1543–1607).82 Both of these men and their families helped defend the northern border. Li’s five sons, Rusong 李如松 (1549–1598), Rubo 李如柏 (1553–1621), Ruzhen 李如楨 (d. 1631), Ruzhang 李如樟, and Rumei 李如梅 were all accorded their own biographies in this fascicle, giving it the feel of a family chronicle.83 At the same time, one of Ma Gui’s brothers, Ma Jin 麻錦, was given his own biography. The appraisal appended to the biographies speaks of the two families, Li and Ma, as being renowned throughout the realm, and echoes the praise for Mu Ying’s family protection of the southwest noted above. This once more reinforces the multiple familial aspect of the Ming History. In another case, Chen Yiqin 陳以勤 (1511–1586; MS 193) and his son Yubi 陳于陛 (1544–1597; MS 217)84 were both grand secretaries. As the Mingshi states: “Through to the end of the Ming dynasty, there was only one father and son pair who both served as senior grand secretary, the Chens from Nanchong [Sichuan]” (終明世，父子為宰輔者，惟南充陳氏。).85 They were both praised in the appraisal sections of their respective biographies. The first stated: Chen Yiqin assisted the ruler in utter sincerity, advising him greatly. The next generation continued his good works, and subsequently became prime minister [xiangwei 相位, here referring to grand secretary]. At the end of the Ming, Chen Yiqin and his son were compared favorably with the father-­and-­son pairs Wei [Xian and Xuancheng] and Ping [Dang and

82. DMB 1:830–35. 83. For Li Chengliang see Hummel 1943: 1: 450–52. 84. See DMB 1:190–92, “Ch’en Yu-­pi.” 85. MS 19/217/5733.

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Yan], prime ministers of the Han dynasty. Heaven’s beneficence upon them, how generous in this indeed! 而陳以勤誠心輔導，獻納良多。後賢濟美，繼登相位。終明之世， 稱韋、平者，數以勤父子。天之報之，何其厚哉。86

Here we may also glimpse the idea of a parallel between the Han and Ming that was commonly accepted at the end of the Ming.87 In the above cases, fathers and sons were praised for achievements in civil administration, for victory on the battlefield, and for criticism of corrupt or oppressive rulers, eunuchs, and officials. Many of the cases were in line with earlier reversal of judgments; they may also be seen as parallel to similar reversals of judgments that occurred throughout the 1980s in regard to various figures criticized, punished, or killed from the 1950s through the 1970s. The editors had a choice regarding whom to choose as subjects and what details to include and exclude in their biographies. Their highlighting of fathers and sons was meant to show the general positive role of filial piety in ruling the state. Fathers and sons who lived up to their names could be expected to advance the cause of good government in their own day. But historical models could be invoked to show that their achievements were not unprecedented but might also surpass those of earlier periods.

Mixed Figures Some cases of fathers and sons in the Mingshi are more ambiguous, being a mixture of positive and minatory models. This might have reflected a general breakdown in a reputed Confucian tradition of family solidarity. It was also understandable as a subtle critique of particular families’ departures from the Confucian ideal.88 Xu Gui 許貴 (d. 1461; MS 174) was a heroic figure: courageous in war and killed in battle. He was honored at court, with the emperor canceling all activities for a day in his memory. His elder son, Xu Ning 許寧, whose biography was appended to the same fascicle, exceeded the father in honor and length of service, for he went through more than a hundred battles and suf86. Wei Xian is in Hanshu 73; Ping Dang is in Hanshu 71. The position was grand secretary, but the author used an ancient term (xiangwei) that referred to the position of prime minister in earlier dynasties. MS 17/193/5128. 87. Des Forges 2003: 118–19 and introduction. 88. I offer this as a preliminary suggestion, but am still working out the ramifications.

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fered some twenty injuries. Xu Gui’s younger son, Xu Tai 許泰 (MS 307), however, ended up in a fascicle focused on intimate favorites of the emperors. His biography appeared in between that of the infamous Jiang Bin and that of the equally notorious Qian Ning. Xu Tai’s fate was also similar to that of other corrupt favorites: he was arrested upon the death of Zhengde and executed at the start of the Jiajing reign. While the father and elder son were models of filial piety, the younger son became a model of official corruption. Other fathers and sons provided less extreme contrasts. For example, Feng Xi 豐熙 (1468–1537; MS 191) was clearly a heroic figure: he was flogged and banished as one of the principal instigators of the protest in the 1524 Rites Controversy and he died in exile.89 His case thus paralleling that of Yang Shen noted above. His son Feng Fang 豐坊 (js 1523; MS 191) also suffered at the hands of the Jiajing emperor by being dismissed from his post. However, in 1538, only a year after his father’s death and thus still within the mourning period, Fang offered his services to the very same ruler. The Mingshi explained this compromise on the grounds of Fang’s poverty, without justifying it. Whatever his motives, his attempts at ingratiation failed. Having violated both loyalty to principle and piety toward his father, Fang was ostracized by fellow officials and scholars who considered his surrender after resistance to Jiajing more vile than the open and consistent collaboration of others with the ruler.

Minatory Figures (Villains) Some father and son pairs recorded in the Mingshi were considered to be uniformly villainous. In this, filiality could be seen as placing loyalty of family over that of the state (or ruler). Once again, Confucius provided moral cover in his response to a local ruler praising a son for turning his father in for theft of a sheep: In our village those who are straight are quite different. Fathers cover up for their sons, and sons cover up for their fathers. Straightness is to be found in such behavior.90

The harsh punishments that Zhu Yuanzhang emphasized in the Ming Code might have been seen as a corollary to this: These harsh punishments were to

89. DMB 1:449–50. 90. Lau 1979: XIII, 18.

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restrain those tempted to commit crimes.91 Further, the Ming Code stipulated that collective punishment be used in cases of rebellion.92 Examples abound: after Jiang Bin’s arrest, his sons and brothers (as well as his sisters and the spouses) were all arrested; the men were all executed (while the women were enslaved).93 The case of Yu Qian 于謙 (1398–1457; MS 170) was somewhat different, and suggests that there is a subtlety in biographical depictions that goes beyond simple categorizing. Yu Qian had supported Zhu Qiyu 朱祁鈺 (1458–1527) when Qiyu had replaced his brother Zhu Qizhen 朱祁鎮 (1427– 1464), who had been captured by the Mongols at Tumu and held for ransom. Yu was executed after the restoration of Zhu Qizhen to the throne in 1457. Yu’s two sons, however, survived that highly unusual transition.94 As for the villainous, ten were included in the category labeled Treacherous Ministers ( jianchen 奸臣; MS 308). The relations between fathers and sons even in this fascicle, however, were complex. The leading biography was of Ming Taizu’s boyhood friend Hu Weiyong 胡惟庸 (d. 1380), who became prime minister. When Hu’s son was killed in a traffic accident, Hu had the hapless driver executed. Given his close relations with the ruler and his demonstration of fatherly affection for his son, Hu might have been given a positive biography in the Ming History. But the commoner Ming founder, ever ready to depict himself as a defender of the common folk, chose to treat Hu’s action as a typical official abuse of power at the expense of the hapless driver. He had Hu charged with oppression of the people and illicit contacts with foreigners and had him executed. Ming Taizu then moved to abolish the post of prime minister, leading to charges that he used the case as an excuse for further centralization of power. Meanwhile, another minister, Chen Ning 陳寧 (d. 1380), was criticized by his own son in a memorial, causing Ning to become enraged and beat his son to death with his own fists. Although the son was clearly unfilial and the father’s violent response was perhaps justifiable under Ming law, Ming Taizu was once again critical, reportedly saying: “If Ning can do this to his own son, what could he do to his Ruler!” (寧於其子如此，奚有於君父耶！).95 Sensing his decline from royal favor, Chen allegedly began plotting with Hu against Ming Taizu. He was then charged with conspiracy and executed along with Hu Weiyong. These cases should thoroughly discredit any simple calcu91. Jiang 2011: 13. 92. Ibid., 154. 93. MS 307. 94. MS 170; de Heer 1986. 95. MS 26/308/7909.

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lus of the approved roles of fathers and sons during the first Ming reign and probably well beyond it. The finest example of a thoroughly villainous father and son was Yan Song (MS 308) and Shifan, who appear to have been in sync with each other.96 In the introduction to this fascicle, we are told: “Only in Shizhong’s court did eunuchs refrain from doing evil; but [the ministers] Yan Song, father and son, perpetrated evil together, being avaricious without limit.” (惟世宗朝，閹 宦斂跡，而嚴嵩父子濟惡，貪得無厭.)97 If Yan Song and Yan Shifan were worse than eunuchs, generally despised by the compilers of the Ming history as well as by most other officials, they were so as a closely knit unit. The authors of this fascicle used the compound fuzi (father and son) eleven times, ten of which referred specifically to Yan Song and Shifan.98 The Yans thus became in the eyes of the authors exhibit A of fathers and sons who placed their family interests ahead of those of the state. The compound “father and son” first occurred when Yan Song and Yan Shifan, fearing that Shifan would be removed from office, knelt together in contrition before Chief Grand Secretary Xia Yan 夏言 (1482–1548) and begged for mercy. According to the Ming History, Xia mistakenly let them off the hook. The next occurrence of the phrase was when Song and Shifan claimed to be the only officials who understood Jiajing’s essential desires. The third and final occurrence was when their lawless behavior was revealed to the emperor. The term “father and son” appeared another seven times in reference to Song and Shifan in biographies of others who dealt with them. As Yan Song and Yan Shifan came under attack, Shifan allegedly threw caution to the wind and indulged himself grandly in his hometown. Shifan was finally arrested and executed while Song and Shifan’s grandsons were reduced to commoners. Perhaps to recompense his loyalty and achievements, Yan Song was allowed to live to an old age. But as a result of his missteps he

96. DMB 2:1586–91. Because of the account in the Mingshi and elsewhere, Yan Song and son were seen as complete villains. However, there has been a questioning of this clear picture. See Mote 1999: 671. 97. MS 26/308/7905. 98. To put this in context, when I did a comparataive search of juan 190–230, only twice were there more than five uses of the compound. In MS 196 there were ten and in MS 210 there were eleven. In MS 281 (Upright Officials), 289–95 (Loyal Subjects), 300 (Imperial Male relatives by marriage) the totals were all under four; while only in the second juan of filial subjects, MS 297, were there ten. Thus it appears that the term was used thickly for its ironic emphasis in MS 308.

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died in obscurity without even a decent burial. In the eyes of the compilers of the Ming History, this provided a nicely didactic ending to their careers.99

Surrogate Fathers and Sons Given the close relationships between fathers and sons and the centrality of filial piety in the Confucian ethical system, it is not surprising that those relationships and that ethic could be mimicked and approximated by others. Uncle–nephew relationships could also be close. For example, the life of the military officer Shi Heng 石亨 (d. 1460; MS 173) was mirrored in that of his nephew Shi Biao 石彪 (d. 1460).100 Shi Heng worked with Yu Qian and he was one of the leading figures to be targeted, by the members of the 1457 restoration that put Yingzong back on the throne. His nephew Biao moved up the military ranks and became quite corrupt. Their fates were similar. Shi Heng ended up in prison, while his nephew was executed; they both died in 1460. Grandfather and grandson relationships were also featured in the Ming History. Examples include Huang Kongzhao 黃孔昭 (1429–1491; MS 158) and Huang Wan 黃綰 (1480–1554; MS197);101 Liu Shi 劉實 (MS 161) and Liu Bing 劉丙 (d. 1518; MS 172); and Wang Zhi 王直 (1379–1462; MS 169) and Wang Si 王思 (1481–1524; MS 192). Each of these relationships involved some form of parallelism. Another example is Mao Zhong 毛忠 (1394–1468; MS 156) and Mao Rui 毛銳 (MS 156).102 Mao Zhong was a Mongol military officer who served Zhu Di in several of his expeditions against Mongol tribes. Mao Zhong’s son died before he did, so Mao Zhong’s position was inherited by his grandson Mao Rui. Both grandfather and grandson were commended in the Ming History for their military prowess. Given the prevalence of adoption in Chinese society, it is curious that the Ming History records only one case in biographies outside of the royal ones. Hu Dahai 胡大海 (d.1362; MS 133) was an early supporter of Zhu Yuanzhang who died along with his natural son in an ambush.103 In 1368 he was honored by Zhu as the first of his fallen comrades. As Hu left no other son to carry on sacrifices to his spirit, it was arranged for him to adopt a son posthumously, 99. Kwan-wai So examined the Mingshi’s prejudice against Yan Song and Shifan in the DMB (2: 1586–90). 100. DMB 2: 1202–04. 101. DMB 1: 673–75. 102. DMB 2: 1039–41. 103. DMB 1: 629–31.

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Hu Deji 胡德濟 (1337–1381[?]; MS 133). Hu Deji did not distinguish himself on the battlefield and he was promoted and demoted several times before dying at only forty-­four sui. While some of the uncle–nephew relationships may have involved adoption, this case appears to have been unique, included not so much for its value as a relationship but because it was closely related to the story of the Ming founder. In the group biographies, the father–son relationship was often upstaged by the teacher–disciple relationship. We noted earlier that Wang Shizhen’s biography listed his disciples (who thus served as sons in the text). In the case of Zhan Ruoshui 湛若水 (1466–1560; MS 283), we see how a father–son relationship could be replaced by a teacher–student relationship. Zhan Ruoshui’s father, Ying 瑛, was punished for robbery. He was humiliated and asked Ruoshui to rehabilitate the family name.104 Zhan did that by becoming a disciple of Chen Xianzhang 陳獻章 (1428–1500; MS 283). Ruoshui subsequently treated his mentor Chen like a father, thus suggesting his natal father had been replaced by a more appropriate teacher–father.105 In the Ming History biography, Ruoshui’s father is not named but his teacher is. The clinching line reads, “Wherever Ruoshui went in his life, he felt the need to establish an academy to honor and conduct sacrifices to Xianzhang” (若水生平所至，必建書院以祀 獻章).106 Of course, a teacher’s status does approximate a father’s symbolically, and so the rituals here, though perhaps not uncommon, did highlight their special relationship. We also encounter father–son relationships in the group biographies. One clear case of father–son mirroring was that of the physiognomists Yuan Gong 袁珙 (1335–1410) and his son Yuan Zhongche 袁忠徹 (1376–1458), who appeared side by side in the Shamans and Healers section (MS 299). Yuan Gong served Zhu Yuanzhang while his son served Zhu Di.107 Another is the case of Wang Wei 王禕 (1323–1374; MS 289), who died in a military campaign to Yunnan and was celebrated as a hero. Wang’s descendants maintained close father and son relationships over four generations. In addition to this strong familial tradition of filial piety, Wang’s grandson Tu became a loyal follower of Fang Xiaoru, who helped to recover his corpse and have it properly buried. Tu performed sacrifices to his mentor Fang that were appropriate for a father– son relationship.

104. DMB 1: 36–41. 105. DMB 1: 153–56. 106. MS 24/283/7267. 107. DMB 2: 1629–32,1638–41.

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Without Parents Finally, in variations on the father–son relationship, the compilers of the Ming History recorded cases of childlessness and the early loss of parents. Yang Yiqing 楊一清 (1454–1530; DMB 1516–1519; MS 198) was an influential official but his biography noted that he “was born naturally castrated, appeared to be like a monk, and so had no son” (一清生而隱宮，貌寺人，無 子.).108 Presumably his natural condition relieved him of any responsibility for producing progeny. Other biographies in the same fascicle fail to mention any sons, suggesting that it may have been organized around the state of childlessness. Losing their father at an early age, Ding Henian 丁鶴年 (1335–1424; DMB 1288–1289) and his sister Yue’e 月娥 (d. 1350?; MS 301) lived filial lives. Yue’e taught her younger brother during the turbulent period of Yuan– Ming transition. She won praise for committing suicide to avoid rape at the hands of bandits,109 while Henian became renowned for his filial piety, after an epic search for his mother’s body (the clue for which he recovered in a dream) that resulted in her burial in a proper coffin with appropriate sacrifices. In each case, the loss of their father seems compensated by their extremely filial and loyal behavior.

Use of Rhetorical Figures in the Mingshi The Ming History was written within a literary tradition that used a variety of rhetorical features, accepted norms in evaluating persons and materials, and understood that readers were not limited to the text in front of them. First, the idioms of the culture involved a long tradition of various potential approaches to drafting a text. The narrative techniques and the forms of biographical writings that were used by Sima Qian, Ban Gu, Chen Shou 陳壽 (233–297), and Fan Ye 範爺 (398–445) continued to be available for use in the Ming History. The techniques that the literati in the late Ming used for narrative fiction, much of which was historical fiction, could be borrowed from Sima Qian and other “classical” writers. Second, these techniques often included a variety of ways to depict characters, including their locations in a fascicle, relations with other figures within that fascicle, relations of that fascicle to later ones, cutting and pasting 108. MS 17/198/5231. Yin gong could refer to either castration as punishment or a male born without full sexual organs. 109. See DMB 2:1288–89 and Gerritsen 2007.

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of details about one person in the biography of another person in a different fascicle, and excising of certain embarrassing details from biographies of rulers and gentlemen. Finally, the compilers understood that readers had other sources to consult. They acknowledged this implicitly by leaving out some details that could be found elsewhere, and they recognized it explicitly by listing sources in a bibliography (Yiwenzhi; MS 96–99). In addition, there were explicit references to other works throughout the biographical chapters. Thus, despite its official nature, the Ming History incorporated a wide variety of views in its biographies and in the rest of the text.

Placement in Text We have already seen one example of the Ming History’s using Sima Qian’s method of appraising the historical significance of persons by their location in the text, i.e., Yang Shen and Yang Tinghe at the head of their respective fascicles. We have also seen that the biographies of the rebels who overthrew the Ming in Beijing were placed last among the classes of personal biographies. (MS 309). Similarly, two officials who remained loyal to the Ming even after the fall of Beijing, He Tengjiao 何騰蛟 (1592–1649) and Qu Shisi 瞿式耜 (1590–1651), were the last individual biographies (MS 280), and they were followed by classed biographies, including Upright Officials. The appraisal of these two men reads: In the midst of calamities, [they] maintained their personal integrity … The recompense of the Ming dynasty for its raising of officials (shi) for more than 270 years, was in these men! It was in these men! 贊曰：何騰蛟、瞿式耜崎嶇危難之中，介然以艱貞自守 … 明代二百七十余年養士之報，其在斯乎！其在斯乎110

Indeed, after these men, the Qing rose to power, symbolically being linked to the last of the virtuous Ming officials. Qu Shisi was one of the main props of the Southern Ming courts and was finally captured and executed. Since the existence of those courts was recognized, Qu’s status was accepted, even if the regimes they served were not wholly legitimate. Qu’s standing was also enhanced because his grandfather, Qu Jingchun 瞿景淳 (1507–1569; MS 216), warranted a biography for having forced the powerful minister Yan 110. MS 23/280/7184.

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Song to apologize during the course of an interrogation at court. Jingchun’s son, Shisi’s father, Ruyue 汝說 was included in Jingchun’s short biography, constituting altogether three generations of reputable fathers and sons.111 Yang Tinghe’s biography was placed at the head of its fascicle because of his importance in the Great Rites Controversy in the Jiajing reign, and his son Yang Shen benefited from that to have his own biography placed at the beginning of its fascicle. A similar argument has been made about Fang Keqin’s placement. In Sarah Schneewind’s words: Since Fang Keqin is sandwiched between Chen [Guan] and Wu [Liang], reading the three biographies together seems justifiable. There may be a connection between Chen Guan’s approach and the idea that the severity needed early in the Hongwu reign could perhaps more quickly have been followed by a kinder, gentler approach. Wu Lű’s biography, too, shows the move from severity to mercy, and critiques collective punishment of the kind that was so common in the Hongwu era. Perhaps it was precisely because [the] most dramatic example [of severity] was Fang Xiaoru and his clan’s fate under the Yongle emperor that Fang Keqin appeared here [at the head of the fascicle]. On the one hand, these men are recognized and employed by the Ming state; on the other, they stand up to it as Fang did.112

Thus placement in the Ming History played an important role in indicating the historical significance of the life being narrated. When we also consider our earlier argument about Fang Keqin and Fang Xiaoru’s relationship, we note that the editors were thinking across the breadth of the Mingshi, and this suggests to me a deep appreciation of the complex interweavings of history as seen through this narrative.

Mirrors and Shadows As noted above, authors of traditional Chinese fiction and literary criticism, modeling their writings on classical historians, often used various forms of parallelism in the construction of their own work.113 Similar tech111. Jingchun was also responsible for editing the Veritable Records of Jiajing, which so badly maligned Yan Song. 112. Schneewind 2009: 147–48. 113. See Plaks for a general introduction to terminology used in traditional fiction commentary. In Rolston et al. 1990: 75–123. For “identity and difference” see 100– 102.

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niques were at play in the construction of the Ming History. Two forms are the use of mirrors and shadows, where a mirror refers to a model-­like primary figure that is reflected in other lesser figures; while shadow refers to “an echoing or repeating of a motif.”114 However, given that sometimes the persons under discussion might be similar in importance, the use of mirror or shadow occasionally is interchangeable, depending on the reading of the characters and context. Another wrinkle to our consideration of reading these rhetorical features is to note that the Ming History, like traditional Chinese fiction, subverts time sequences by going back and forth with various figures, i.e., recognizing that what comes after can take the initiative over and influence what comes before, as in a son influencing a father. Thus the basic narrative linearity in each of the four sections of the Mingshi can easily be manipulated, so a son’s exploits can be discussed ahead of a father’s. In the case of Fang Keqin and Fang Xiaoru, they both stood up to their respective rulers, Taizu (Hongwu) and Chengzu (Yongle). Although Keqin was the father and attained some fame first and Xiaoru was the son and achieved notice later, Xiaoru was the more outstanding case so his biography appeared more prominently in fascicle 141, while Keqin was less celebrated and his biography appeared only among loyal officials in fascicle 281. Thus in this case the father was chronologically prior to the son but the son was placed earlier in the text because he had higher status. In other words, the son Fang Xiaoru could be seen as mirror to the father Fang Keqin in resisting what they considered to be illegitimate authority. It could still be argued though that Fang father and son wound up in the chapters that they did because that was relatively their importance historically, and yet the editors did have rather broad discretion in how they organized their texts. Examples of mirroring and shadowing abound. Geng Jiuchou 耿九疇 (1396–1460; MS 158) and his son Geng Yu 耿裕 (1430–1496; MS 183) encountered similar ups and downs in their careers (i.e., mirrored each other) but Jiuchou was exiled while his son was merely demoted in their respective periods (i.e., Geng shadowed his father). Another pair reversed the relationship, probably due largely to historical circumstances. In this case the father Lian Boshang 練伯尚 was a Hongwu era official and straight shooter whose temerity earned him punishment but only in the form of exile to the frontier. His son Zining 練子寧 (1359–1402; MS 141) was executed along with Fang

114. Plaks in Rolston et al. 1990: 98. The mirror considered here is traditional Chinese bronze mirrors and not the glass mirrors that were just entering China at the end of the Ming and start of the Qing.

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Xiaoru on Zhu Di’s orders, thus again showing how the compiler drew attention to parallels through shadowing to that which actually happened. Liu Ji 劉基 (1311–1375; MS 128), the famous philosopher and assistant to Zhu Yuanzhang, was shadowed by his sons Liu Lian 劉璉 (1348–1379) and Liu Jing 劉璟 (1340–1402).115 Although Liu Ji along with colleagues suffered under Zhu Yuanzhang, Liu Jing and other sons of early advisors were required to visit Zhu Yuanzhang as they reminded him of their fathers in the good old days.116 This wistful remembrance of the past actually did Jing a good turn, for after he refused to acknowledge the rebellious Zhu Di, he was allowed to commit suicide, while his family was spared on account of Yongle’s memory of Jing’s father, Liu Ji. The shadowing is further adumbrated by Liu Jing’s prowess in regard to military strategy and his stance toward others, which the Ming History editors bring out. Many of these cases involved both father and son being beaten/exiled/ executed by the ruler of the day. Ma Mingheng 馬明衡 (js 1517; MS 207) and a friend memorialized to the Jiajing emperor on the Great Rites Controversy and received a severe beating and reduction to commoner status. The text indicates that Ma Mingheng was fortunate as the emperor was very angry and originally had wanted him executed. The biography of his father, Ma Sicong 馬思聰 (Hongzhi reign, MS 289), indicated that Sicong was loyal and righteous and as a result of a false accusation ended up in prison, where he starved himself to death in six days of protest. Assuming that Sicong faced the prospect of execution or death by more painful means, the reader may conclude that Jiajing was somewhat more lenient than Hongzhi had been, which is not how they are generally viewed. This variation on a theme highlights how a son (here Mingheng) can reflect his father’s glory if his intention is correct—even though he did not suffer nearly as severe a punishment. Another example is that of Tang Xianzu 湯顯祖 (1550–1617; MS 230), the famous playwright, renowned in the Ming History for his memorials criticizing the Wanli emperor; his son Kaiyuan 湯開遠 (1598–1640; MS 258) likewise criticized the last emperor, Chongzhen, a number of times for which he was finally dismissed. Zhao Wenhua 趙文華 (d. 1557; MS 308) was a protégé of Yan Song, and like him was described as a Treacherous Minister.117 Wenhua paralleled Song also in having a nasty son, Yisi 趙慎思 (d. 1557). The son did not warrant 115. DMB 932–38. 116. MS 12/128/3783: “太祖念基，每歲召璟同章溢子允載、葉琛子永道、 胡深子伯機，入見便殿，燕語如家人。” 117. DMB 1:132–37.

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much commentary, but did get executed alongside his father. In this way Zhao Wenhua’s son served as his shadow (for suffering the same fate and yet not being of equal importance), while Zhao Wenhua served as Yan Song’s shadow because his villainy was not as egregious as Song’s. Moreover, his son Yisi also served as Yan Shifan’s shadow. Zheng Xiao 鄭曉 (1499–1566; MS 199) and his son Zheng Lüchun 鄭履 淳 (js 1562; MS 215) were two good ministers who also suffered under their respective emperors. Zheng Xiao was beaten to the point of death, but was nursed back to health by his father. Zheng Xiao’s son, Lüchun, was likewise beaten for a memorial presented in the following Longqing reign period. He died in prison. Once again the Jiajing period proved more conducive to an official’s health than would a subsequent reign. It is difficult to know how much the use of mirrors and shadows reflected the actual historical process and mentality and how much they were inferences of the compilers. However, these rhetorical features of representing historical actors through similar events were established “tradition “ since even before the imperial period. These rhetorical features allowed for the reader to “see” connections across the text, particularly when dealing with parallel activities among fathers and sons.

Excisions and Incisions The editors of the Ming History carefully selected what to include and exclude from biographies. They left it to knowledgeable readers to be skeptical about what they included and to fill in what they excluded. For example, Zhu Yuanzhang relied heavily on the advice of the major scholar Song Lian 宋濂 (1310–1381) in overthrowing the Yuan dynasty and founding the Ming. The Ming History recorded much of his relationship with Song but dealt gingerly with Song’s ultimate execution and that of his progeny. In the biography of Song it stated: Grandfather and grandsons, father and son, all served as officials at court, and others thought it was glorious. [But] Shen [a grandson] was found guilty, and Lian was also connected to the crime, so both died [were executed]. The whole family was moved [exiled] to Maozhou. 祖孫父子，共官內庭，眾以為榮。慎坐罪，璲亦連坐，並死，家屬 悉徙茂州。118

118. MS 12/128/3788.

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Here the death of Song Lian’s eldest son Zan 松瓚 (d. 1386), who was also executed for an alleged crime, was ignored. This was perhaps not to cast further aspersions against Zhu’s image as a wise and effective father and founder of a regime that many Chinese, even in the early Qing, continued to consider glorious. More common, if only because of relative numbers of people in the royal lineage and in the bureaucracy, was the suppression of something that might impugn the name of an important official. For example, when describing the Three Yangs, the famous set of grand secretaries who served as functional prime ministers in the mid-fifteenth century, the editors handled their progeny differently, treating one more circumspectly than the others. Yang Pu’s 楊溥 (1372–1446; MS 148) biography, for example, did not acknowledge his son Dan (楊旦), although it mentioned his grandson Shou 楊壽 in passing, suggesting the lack of importance in the former. Yang Rong’s 楊榮 (1371– 1440; MS 148) biography also did not mention his son and one grandson, though it did include two other grandsons. In this case the omission was to avoid mentioning that his son Gong 楊恭 was punished by being beaten and reduced to commoner status and that a grandson and great-­g randson (also not mentioned) were implicated in a murder case, facts that can be gleaned from other sources.119 The third celebrated scholar official, Yang Shiqi 楊士 奇 (1365–1444; MS 148) also had a notorious son, Ji 楊稷, who was several times impeached for his illicit behavior, particularly for a “violent murder” and “running roughshod over tens of people.”120 Ji was ultimately spared punishment by the ruler so as not to upset the prominent and elderly Shiqi, who nonetheless died soon after the event. The Ming History perhaps included this matter in Shiqi’s biography because, unlike the skeletons in the closets of the other two Yangs, it was so important and widely known that it could not be brushed aside. Further research might reveal whether the writers were more concerned about the reputations of the families involved or about the state that prosecuted members of some of its most respected official families. In drafting biographies of scholars at the end of the Ming, the compilers of the Ming history could also be discreet. For example, Wen Zhenmeng’s biography 文震孟 (1574–1636; MS 251) contains a very indirect explanation of his sons’ activities post-­1644. It reads: “He had two sons: Bing and Cheng. Cheng met with misfortune during the changing of states, dying during the difficult times” (二子秉、乘。乘遭國變，死於難).121 In fact, Cheng died op119. DMB 2:1520. 120. MS 14/148/4137; DMB 2: 1535–38. 121. MS 21/251/6499.

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posing the Manchus, and Bing (1609–1669), whose fate was not mentioned, later committed suicide rather than accept the new regime.122

CONCLUSION It has been argued that Chinese historians, and particularly compilers of state histories, were not interested in real lives, but were more concerned with filling in the blanks of stereotypical categories: e.g., biographies of good founders, loyal officials, and filial sons.123 The Ming History has been charged with leaving out information it should have included and incorporating stories it should have left out. The text has been criticized for taking nearly a century to write and for reflecting the perspectives of the early Qing dynasty during which it was written. This is an incomplete picture of Chinese historiography. Chinese historians from early times on attempted to discover, represent, and interpret the past by incorporating a wealth of sources and multiple perspectives, leaving it to readers to compare their sources and narratives with others in a joint effort to uncover the truth of the past and to relate it to the present. For all of its defects, the Ming History is widely regarded as among the best of the twenty-­ four standard histories, and it has largely withstood the test of time.124 The editors and readers took to heart Mencius’s warning that it would be better to ignore even classical historical sources than to accept them uncritically.125 In this chapter I have tried to analyze and assess the Ming history’s handling of the key relationship between fathers and sons, or their surrogates, in biographies stretching from rulers to rebels, with particular emphasis on those in the aligned-­biographies section of the work. In the process, I have found the text to be a fairly coherent and comprehensible account of the rise and fall of the Ming polity with occasional hints of its place in the larger patterns of Chinese history and historiography. Given its great size it is tempting to want to reduce it to searchable entries in a data drive. Instead, I have chosen to try to gain access to it by focusing on a fairly manageable subset of data dealing with a standard relationship—that of father and son. I have attempted to analyze the world of the Ming History through this prism, and to show how the editors of this work engaged with the characters they had at their disposal. 122. DMB 2: 1467–71. 123. For classic statements on this, see Twitchett 1961, 1962; Frankel 1962. 124. Struve 1988: 97; Wilkinson 2013: 791. 125. Lau 2004: Appendix 4.

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I have argued that the use of literary tropes did not detract from the general truthfulness of the work. In specific cases, scholars have shown deficiencies in the text, but in general the Ming History has withstood the test of time. Paradoxically, it is this withstanding the test of time that has enabled the text to serve as a veritable archive of the Ming, allowing scholars to use it without much attention to its overall architecture and general meaning. This chapter represents an effort to understand how the early Qing editors understood the process of recreating a world that, for them too, had largely disappeared, and was still available primarily through the texts and notes of those long dead.

10

Loyalty, History, and Empire Qian Qianyi and His Korean Biographies Sixiang Wang

INTRODUCTION In 1650, when Ming loyalists were still resisting the ascendant Qing, a fire broke out in one of the largest private libraries in Jiangnan, the Pavilion of Scarlet Clouds (Jiangyun ge 絳雲樓). Its owners, Liu Rushi 柳如是 (1618– 1664) and her husband Qian Qianyi 錢謙益 (1582–1664), rescued only a portion of its holdings. Its greatest casualty was a still incomplete history of the Ming dynasty (1368–1644) Qian had been writing. Like the fallen dynasty whose story it told, of it remained only fading embers.1 This double calamity of war and fire made the preservation and recovery of the Ming’s legacy ever more urgent. Although the draft history was no more, another work survived unscathed. Qian had already sent his manuscript of a poetry anthology, the Collected Poetry of the Successive Reigns (Liechao shiji 列朝詩集) to the printers. With this collection, Qian hoped to do for the Ming what the loyalist Yuan Haowen 元好問 (1190–1257) had done for the Jin (1115–1234). Yuan had collected the poems of the Jin court in the 1. Qian connected the destruction of his library with the fall of the Ming, describing the two events together as calamities for “books and written works.” For the significance of this event, see Lin 2010: 175–79.

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wake of its destruction by the Mongols in an effort to preserve its literary splendor for posterity.2 Although a self-­identified Ming loyalist, Qian did not, as some of his contemporaries did, give his life to its cause; instead, he honored the Ming’s legacy through literary and historiographical projects. The Collected Poetry was not just a grand anthology of Ming-­period poetry. It also included brief biographies of many of the poets. The compilers, Qian and his wife Liu, also included Korean poets in its final volume, dedicated to the works of figures marginal to the Ming literati world: monks, recluses, women, and foreigners.3 Korean writers were usually identified only by name and an official title (if any) and rarely received the serious biographical treatment received by Ming poets.4 The late Koryŏ 高麗 (918–1392) poets Chŏng Mongju 鄭夢周 (1337–1392), Yi Saek 李穡 (1328–1396), and Yi Sung’in 李崇仁 (1347–1392), however, stand out as exceptions. These men, dubbed the “Three Recluses,”5 were remembered for their steadfast loyalty to the ailing Koryŏ dynasty (高麗 918–1392).6 It was this loyalism that earned them a place in Qian’s anthology.7 Qian Qianyi’s biographies of Korean loyalist poets offer an opportunity to discuss biographical practices in East Asia. What motivated Qian Qianyi to include them? How did he understand, in particular, the martyrdom of the Koryŏ loyalist Chŏng Mongju, vis-­à-­vis his own position as a self-­identified Ming loyalist? And finally, how did Qian gain access to biographical information about these figures in the first place? The answers to these questions reveal numerous intriguing parallels that revolve around several key issues. What emerges from these Korean loyalist biographies are issues of moral and political authority, the purpose of historical writing, and how Korea fit into late Ming and post-­Ming imaginations of empire. The trajectory of Qian’s life, which straddled the tumultuous Ming–Qing 2. Qian 1985: 678; West 1995: 281–304. 3. Qian 1653: 51 閏集卷六, 13a–35b. 4. Two important exceptions are the woman poet Hŏ Nansŏrhŏn 徐蘭雪軒 (1563– 1589), and her brother, Hŏ Kyun 許筠 (1569–1618), who feature prominently in this anthology. See Choe-­Wall 2003; Hwang, Jun, and Kile 2007. 5. They are so called because their literary styles (ho 號) share the character for reclusion, ŭn 隱, not because they were real recluses. 6. In this chapter, the terms “Chosŏn” and “Koryŏ” refer specifically to the dynastic states that ruled the Korean peninsula. The term “Korea” will be used when the original texts refer to or evoke a sense of transdynastic political continuity. 7. For an example of this usage, see the preface to Yi 1990, in the Han’guk munjip chonggan (hereafter the HMC) 3:333a–34a.

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dynastic transition, resonated with those of the poets whose lives he recounted. After the fall of the Ming in 1644, Qian continued to participate in loyalist efforts, serving the Hongguang 弘光 (1645) revivalist court in Jiangnan. Although, he came to see himself as a Ming “leftover subject” (yimin 遺民), his surrender to the Manchu Qing in 1645 undermined his loyalist credentials in the eyes of many contemporaries. His brief stint as a minister for the Qing further damaged his reputation. Many cursed him as a turncoat and a collaborator. The eighteenth-­century Qing court included him in its Biographies of Twice-­Serving Officials (Erchen zhuan 貳臣傳) and portrayed him as someone who abandoned the Ming to serve the Qing. While the epithet was largely negative, the Qing acknowledged by these biographies that it owed something to these officials for their support. In any case, this state-­ imposed label did not settle the controversies over Qian’s moral integrity.8 Debates raged over his purported loyalist credentials well into the Republican period (1911–1949).9 While Qian liked to think of himself as a loyalist, his most severe critics depicted him as the very embodiment of its antithesis: a turncoat. More recent scholarship has moved away from these practices of praise and blame and the categorization of aligned biographies toward fuller analyses of Qian’s life story in the context of the history and historiography.10 As Jun Fang argues for Mao Xiang, another Ming–Qing transition figure who also belonged to Qian Qianyi’s social circle, individuals whose loyalty had become subjects of intense debate for later scholars because of how easily they passed from Ming loyalism to Qing collaboration often saw themselves primarily as transmitters of cultural traditions.11 Although brief, Qian’s Korean loyalist biographies also reflected a host of political, cultural, and historical shifts. They occupied an important node in an extensive network of texts, political claims, and personae across both space and time. In this chapter, I attempt to unravel the multiple strands of meanings in these texts. By tracing the connections among them, I explore significances reverberating well beyond their immediate subject matter. At stake was nothing less than the proper role of historical writing and the locus of authority for moral judgment. Judgments in these biographies depended on currents of knowledge that emerged from specific historical conditions. In 1592, Toyotomi Hideyoshi invaded Korea. Intended as a prelude to the conquest of Ming China, the in8. Lin 2010: 132–40; 142–44; 265–67. 9. See Xu Zhaowei 1981: 165–204. 10. Lin 2010: 19; Yim 1998. 11. See Jun Fang, Chapter 4 in this volume.

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vasion precipitated the Imjin War of 1592–1597, which brought Chinese troops to Korean soil for the first time in centuries. The protracted conflict heightened Ming imperial interest in Korea, and brought new knowledge about Korea to the Ming.12 The war itself gave Qian access to Korean works that would otherwise have been unavailable. A product of forces that transcended the boundaries defined by king and country, the biographies were moored to a broader arc of Ming China’s relations with Chosŏn Korea. Later, the shifts in this relationship during the Ming–Qing transition moved the biographer to find new significance in Korea. Once untangled, these threads can be rewoven to form a tapestry in which the latent interconnections among its disparate parts become explicit. The aim of this chapter, then, is not only to restore Qian Qianyi’s Korean biographies to their original contexts, but also to demonstrate the cascades of significance they reveal for the history and historiography of the larger East Asian region in the late Ming and early Qing period.

LOYAL SUBJECTS Chŏng Mongju, Yi Saek, and Yi Sung’in lived during the tumultuous last years of the Korean Koryŏ dynasty in the fourteenth century. This period witnessed the meteoric rise of Yi Sŏnggye 李成桂 (1335–1408), the future founding king (T’aejo 太祖 r. 1392–1398) of the Chosŏn dynasty 朝鮮 (1392– 1910).13 Using 970, 656, and 201 characters, respectively, for their biographies, Qian recounted how they earned their loyalist reputation by resisting Yi and attempting to protect the ailing Koryŏ royal house. In the vast oeuvre of a prolific writer like Qian, these short biographies appear rather insignificant, especially considering Qian is reputed to have written the longest biography in Chinese history, including some 39,300 characters.14 They were nonetheless longer than many of Qian’s biographical notes on Chinese poets 12. I discuss Korea and Ming empire, especially symbolic constructions of imperial authority in my dissertation. See Wang 2015. 13. The nomenclature for rulers in this chapter will largely follow the terminology Qian chooses in order to preserve the tenor and positionality of Qian’s original writing. As such, Korean rulers are referred to by their personal names, while Ming rulers by either their era names or temple names. 14. See Lin 2010: 119. It was the biography of Sun Chengzong 孫承宗 (1563– 1638), his patron and an important Ming official who died in battle while fighting the Qing.

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in this monumental anthology of poems, and stand out among the other Korean biographies for their comparative detail. They are significant less for the information they contain (largely based on well-­k nown Korean historical works) than the relationships they embed. As one node in a web of biographical narratives, these accounts highlight how difference pieces of life writing resonate and converse with one another across time and space. In this case, how Qian and others treated Chŏng Mongju, really the central figure in these Korean biographies, and how Qian himself was viewed after his death, expose a distinct irony that pervades how these narratives interact with one another. To establish these men as proper loyalists, Qian’s biographies invariably begin by establishing the impeccable moral and intellectual qualifications of their subjects. The three men together represented the flower of civilization in Korea. The erudite Yi Saek, received the degree of presented scholar ( jinshi 進士) from the Mongol Yuan after passing its civil service exams. According to his biography, Yi was so talented that he could “compose a poem or essay as soon as a piece of paper [entered] his hands.” He was also responsible for recognizing and cultivating the other two men featured in Qian’s biographies, Chŏng Mongju and Yi Sung’in.15 Qian described Yi Sung’in to be “naturally gifted, intelligent, and forthright,” possessing talents “rare even in China.”16 Of the three, Chŏng Mongju received the most effusive praise. He not only possessed “magnanimity and boldness unsurpassed,” he also wrote in a style “lofty and pure.” He also put his classical learning to practice. Qian credited him with introducing Confucian mourning rites to Korea, and thus single-­ handedly “transformed the customs of the Eastern Kingdom (i.e., Korea).”17 Qian believed that these virtues and talents naturally led them to reject the declining Yuan and pursue good relations with the rising Ming. When the early Ming still confronted the Northern Yuan 北元 (1368–1388) for control over northeast Asia, both Yi Sung’in and Chŏng Mongju remonstrated at the Koryŏ court against receiving Yuan emissaries, and they suffered exile as a result. According to Qian’s account, when the Korean king wanted to dispatch envoys to reestablish relations with the Ming, almost all of his courtiers shrank in fear. Only Chŏng Mongju rose to the occasion without a hint of hesitation. In 1388, as territorial disputes with the rising Ming escalated, the Koryŏ King U 禑王 (r. 1374–1388) sent Yi Sŏnggye to invade Liaodong. Yi instead aborted the mission and returned with his troops to the capital. He 15. Biography of Yi Saek in Qian 1653: 51:31a–b. 16. Biography of Yi Sung’in in Ibid., 51:17b. 17. Biography of Chŏng Mongju in Ibid., 51:13b–14b.

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seized control of the government and installed a new king of Koryŏ, Ch’ang 昌王 (r. 1388–1389).18 Yi Sŏnggye’s usurpation of power now brought him into confrontation with the three subjects of Qian’s biographies. Yi controlled Koryŏ, but he refrained from seizing the throne for himself. According to Qian’s account, he first had to contend with a coterie of officials, led by Chŏng Mongju and Yi Saek, who sought to stanch his growing influence. Even as “all the petty men rushed” to side with Yi Sŏnggye, Chŏng Mongju, a man “with talents fit to bring a king [to greatness],” stood by the embattled Koryŏ royal house. After Yi Sŏnggye’s coup d’état, the Koryŏ court sent Yi Saek on an embassy to the Ming. Yi Saek worried Yi Sŏnggye would exploit his absence to seize the throne. He enacted countermeasures, demanding that Yi Sŏnggye send a son with him to China as a hostage, a proposal that earned Yi Sŏnggye’s resentment. Wary of Yi Sŏnggye’s growing power, Yi Saek sent a messenger to request the Ming founder Ming Taizu (明太祖 r. Hongwu 洪武, 1368–1398), to launch a military expedition to restore sovereignty to the rightful Koryŏ rulers. The Ming emperor, however, rebuffed the request, exiled his messenger, and exposed the matter to a Koryŏ envoy who supported Yi Sŏnggye. This incident gave Yi Sŏnggye the reason he needed to remove Yi Saek from office. Yi Sŏnggye now also deposed King Ch’ang and placed the prince Yo 王瑤 on the throne as the new king (1345–1394, r. Kongyang 恭讓王, 1389–1392). The last Koryŏ monarch, feeling “isolated,” hoped to eliminate Yi Sŏnggye with Chŏng Mongju’s help. When Yi Sŏnggye was debilitated after a riding accident, Chŏng Mongju took the opportunity to recall Yi Saek and Yi Sung’in from exile. They then plotted to kill Yi Sŏnggye.19 Yi Sŏnggye had feigned his illness to lure Chŏng Mongju into a trap. When the deceived Chŏng Mongju set out for Yi’s residence to investigate, Yi Pangwŏn 李芳遠 (1367–1422, r. T’aejong 太宗 1401–1418) ordered his retainers to ambush and kill Chŏng on the road.20 With Chŏng Mongju dead, Yi Sŏnggye turned his attention to Yi Saek and Yi Sung’in. He again banished Yi Saek and reduced Yi Sung’in to the status of a commoner, before finally taking the throne for himself.21 In Qian’s words, “in this manner the old ministers of the Wang 18. For Korean relations with the Ming during this time, see Kim: 2007. 19. Qian 1653: 51:31a–b; 51:17b. 20. Ibid., 51:13b–14b. 21. According to the Veritable Records of the Chosŏn Dynasty, Yi Sŏnggye dismissed Yi Saek and Yi Sung’in in his founding edict. His chief minister Chŏng Tojŏn was said to have slipped a line into the edict calling for their execution. Although the new king discovered it and commuted the sentence to exile, Chŏng managed to have

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house (i.e., the royal family of the Koryŏ) were almost all eliminated and Sŏnggye’s great design came to fruition.”22 Of the three Koryŏ loyalists, Chŏng Mongju had inspired the most detailed treatment, likely because of his dramatic death. Though it is unlikely Qian Qianyi would have been aware of it, his portrayal of Chŏng Mongju converges with his memory in Korean popular imagination as an exemplary loyal martyr. Chŏng’s apotheosis was complete by the seventeenth century when the Haedong akpu (海東樂府), a collection of popular songs, included a verse attributed to Chŏng. Though the provenance is likely apocryphal, the song was said to be from Chŏng’s and Yi Sŏnggye’s final, fateful meeting. Yi gave Chŏng Mongju an ultimatum. Expressed in a form of a vernacular song (sijo 時調), Yi Sŏnggye implored Chŏng to recognize the inevitability of Yi’s political ascendance. He tried to dissuade Chŏng Mongju from continuing his fruitless resistance, warning him that the road he walked could lead only to death. In one of the hallmark expressions of loyalty in the Korean literary tradition, Chŏng replied with one verse: Though this body die and die and die again, White bones become but dust, a soul exists, then not, Still this single-­hearted loyalty to my lord: how could it waver, ever?23 With these lines, Chŏng made it clear to Yi that he no intention of joining his cause. According to this version of the events, it was after singing this song that Chŏng then took his leave, only to be ambushed and killed by Yi’s henchmen on the way. The status of these figures, especially Chŏng Mongju, as paragons of loyalty in Korea tempts a particular reading of Qian Qianyi’s motivations for composing these biographies. In this reading, Qian paid attention to these figures because as a self-­identified Ming loyalist, he also saw reflections of both Yi Saek and Yi Sung’in questioned and tortured. Yi Sung’in died in the process. Yi Saek survived until 1396, but not before witnessing the death of his sons. Qian Qianyi did not seem to know of Yi Sung’in’s premature death. 22. Qian 1653: 51:31a–b. For the Chosŏn persecution of the Wang royals, see Park 2015: 4–11. 23. Sim 1617, collected in Taedong yasŭng 5, 526–28. I have followed the translations in McCann 2000: 32–33.

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his own life in those who also tried to preserve the dynasty they served in its final days. This sort of allegorical logic has long informed the reading of Qian’s life. The following anecdote has played an important part in biographies of Qian. When Qing forces came to take Nanjing from the Southern Ming, Qian’s wife Liu Rushi tried to convince Qian to commit suicide with her by jumping into the river Yangzi. Neither fulfilled this act of loyal martyrdom, because Qian stole away from the frigid water at the last moment, complaining of its temperature. He then opened the city gates and surrendered to the Qing. In this narrative, if he had followed his wife’s advice and died, he would almost certainly have earned a reputation of a loyalist. Later accounts attribute these lines to Qian: “Wailing at the river’s edge, there were no filial sons; but accompanying me in hardship, she was a worthy wife” 臨江慟哭無孝子 從行赴難有賢妻. With filiality, and by extension the father–son relationship, foundational to other moral relations, his cowardice and surrender pointed to a broader moral failure, magnified only by contrasting moral constancy of his wife.24 For both Qian and his later biographers, the actions of his wife Liu Rushi vicariously fulfilled a moral will frustrated by Qian’s personal weakness. In this reading, Qian later supported Ming loyalist activities to mend his broken reputation. These acts, together with Qian’s efforts to preserve the Ming through writing, substituted for the suicide he had failed to perform. To apply this logic to Qian’s treatment of Korean loyalists, especially that of Chŏng Mongju, is to understand it as follows: if Qian could not die for his state, then perhaps, he could at least celebrate those who did die for their states. Describing their impeccable loyalist credentials demonstrated, at least, Qian’s commitment to the ideal of loyalty, especially since his own reputation as a loyalist had been tarnished by his service to the Qing. Chŏng resisted the Chosŏn, died, and was honored for it; Qian served the Qing, lived, and was blamed for it. Such a reading, however, collapses distinct historical moments into transtemporal and antithetical stereotypes: one, the archetypal loyalist, and the other, a “twice-­serving official” par excellence. It is also a perspective that ignores the processes through which both Chŏng and Qian, once living historical actors, became reified images over time. Qian himself had played an important role in shaping his own image. His writings already exhibit a sense of anxiety over his posthumous image. He had wanted to cast himself as a loyalist, and to some degree, he was successful in convincing later readers, such as the Republican period sinologist 24. Xu 1981: 179–80, 181; see also Chapter 9 by Ihor Pidhainy in this volume, 335–336.

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Chen Yinke 陳寅恪 (1890–1969) that he was.25 That is not to say Qian was prescient of how his reputation would suffer at the hands of the future Qianlong emperor 乾隆 (r. 1736–1795) and committed himself to celebrating loyalists to forestall posthumous defamation as a collaborator. Concerns for reputation were nevertheless inherent to the writing of lives, whether of his own or those of others. Taking up the brush to write about an individual was a self-­conscious exercise, in which the biographer’s claims to moral authority were in implicit dialogue with those of others. The author need not have anticipated specific threats to his reputation to be concerned about his discursive afterlife. The task at hand is to move beyond the categories imposed upon him by later writers. Examining how Qian viewed loyalism in these biographies allows an appreciation of subtler shades of color other than the monochromatic schemes implied by ideal models. This understanding then permits distinguishing how different ways of conceptualizing loyalty could be contested and appropriated in distinct historical contexts. Paying attention to these processes, incidentally, also reveals that Qian and Chŏng Mongju had much more in common with each other than first meets the eyes.

VISIONS OF LOYALTY Qian’s biographies do not appear to assign particular value to martyrdom as an expression of loyalty per se. As much as Qian praises the virtue and righteousness of Chŏng Mongju, death is not a requisite condition for status as a loyal subject. Qian borrows the wording of the History of the East 東史 (the Abbreviated History of the Eastern Kingdom, Tongguk saryak 東國史 略), an early fifteenth-­century chronicle of Korean history, to describe the loyalty of Yi Saek, who was reduced to commoner status but did not die for the loyalist cause. In Qian’s words, despite their different paths, “[Yi] shared the same heart with Mongju; it did not change until the end.” Qian then asks, “As for his virtue as a subject, how can it not be called loyal?”26 If Chŏng and Yi were identical in their virtue, then dying becomes a moot point, no longer an unequivocal marker of moral superiority. The relative depreciation of martyrdom, I argue, went hand in hand with a shift of moral onus from loyal subjects to would-­be rulers. The resulting moral economy operated in ways 25. Lin 2010: 12–20; Yim 1998: 23–77. Chen Yinke’s name is also pronounced Chen Yinque. 26. Qian 1653: 51:31a–b: 《東史》稱: 其與夢周同心, 終始不變臣節, 可不謂 忠乎。

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distinct from what prevailed in official, state-­centered biographical accounts. Whereas official accounts such as the high Qing Biographies of Twice-­ Serving Officials equated martyrdom with loyalty, Qian offered a vision of loyalty that could accommodate those, like himself, who chose to live. Qian’s terse narration of the events surrounding Chosŏn’s founding conforms to the contours of standard Korean historical accounts. His version, however, differs in how it treats the roles of Yi rulers in Chŏng’s death. Korean official histories, such as the Koryŏ History (Koryŏsa 高麗史) and the T’aejo Veritable Records (T’aejo sillok 太祖實錄) distance Yi Sŏnggye from Chŏng’s death. In official versions, Yi’s son, Pangwŏn, had arranged for Chŏng Mongju’s assassination without his father’s knowledge. The Veritable Records shows Yi Sŏnggye lamenting the injury Chŏng’s death would have on their family’s reputation. Claiming that the Yis were “long known for loyalty and filiality,” he chastised his son and his associates for “wantonly killing high officials.” Both the History and the Records rationalize the subsequent defamation of Chŏng Mongju as a traitorous official and the purge of his allies to be unfortunate acts of political “necessity.” The fifteenth-­century Illustrated Guide to the Three Bonds (Samgang haengsil to 三剛行實圖) upholds Chŏng Mongju’s “dying for the state” as an act of exemplary loyalty, but absolves the Yi founders of responsibility for his death. In this version too, the Yi retainers acted independently, without directives from their patrons.27 When Chŏng Mongju’s death was reported to Yi Sŏnggye as a fait ­accompli, he was said to have been so “angry as to be unable to speak.” The Guide goes further than the History and the Records to absolve even Yi Sŏnggye’s son Yi Pangwŏn of responsibility for Chŏng’s death. Instead, it only credits Pangwŏn with Chŏng Mongju’s official rehabilitation.28 Like the cases in the Ming History discussed by Ihor Pidhainy, these Chosŏn period portrayals avoid implicating rulers directly in wrongful deaths.29 Qian, on the other hand, had no compunction about condemning them. In his version, the Yi founders killed Chŏng Mongju and persecuted the others because of the victims’ unwavering loyalty to the Koryŏ house. Yi Sŏnggye, whose rise Qian saw to be illegitimate, “assassinated” (shi 弒) the Koryŏ rulers and “usurped” (篡) the throne. He dissimulated through “perfidy” (qiman 欺謾) and “stole the state” (qieguo 竊國). When the Ming emperor refused to intercede on behalf of the Koryŏ loyalists, Yi Sŏnggye “ex27. T’aejo sillok, 1:34b [preface #131]; “Biography of Chŏng Mongju” in Koryŏ sa 1991: 117:9a–10b. 28. Sŏl 1726, 2:33a–b. 29. See Pidhainy, Chapter 9 this volume, 344–46.

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ploited his fortune and borrowed the authority of the celestial state [i.e., the Ming].” With it, he “lorded it over the Easterners (the Koreans) and surreptitiously transferred the Altars of State and Grain [i.e., usurped the Korean throne.]” Violent, opportunistic, and insolent, Yi Sŏnggye stood in diametric opposition to the irreproachably loyal Chŏng Mongju. Chŏng’s death, then, was not a regrettable mishap in the inevitable, glorious rise of a new ruling house. Instead, it was the result of the machinations of evil men. By emphasizing the misdeeds of the Yi founders, Qian shifted the relative balance of moral responsibility from the subject to the ruler. The praise of loyal subjects becomes a condemnation of the political violence that led to their demise, not a celebration of their martyrdom. Moral culpability for their deaths fell solely on the rulers who killed them. Qian’s characterization of the Chosŏn founders is typical of that in Ming accounts. Both the Ming Compendium (Ming huidian 明會典) and the Imperial Ming Ancestral Injunctions (Huang Ming zuxun 皇明祖訓) mark Yi Sŏnggye as a usurper, alleging that he had murdered a total of four Koryŏ kings. The Chosŏn court struggled to cleanse the record that tarnished its legitimacy. Chosŏn rulers, aware of how their ancestors were portrayed in China, lobbied the Ming to have the offending lines modified.30 They also sought to restore the dynasty’s reputation in Korea by restoring the loyalists’ reputations. As Qian Qianyi noted, when Yi Pangwŏn came to power, he rehabilitated Chŏng Mongju and granted him the posthumous title of “Literary and Loyal” (munch’ung 文忠) to honor his “single-­minded and unwavering devotion,” albeit (regrettably) to the previous regime.31 Through official recognition of the concept of loyalty rather than loyalty to a specific target, the court tried to reclaim its own moral standing. Posthumous titles, shrines in his honor, and, eventually in 1517, canonization in Chosŏn’s Confucian shrine, helped the court reconcile Chŏng’s loyalty to the previous regime with the founding of Yi dynasty. Chŏng Mongju’s status as a loyalist is further complicated by how his posthumous reputation was deployed in Chosŏn court politics. The court continued to accommodate Chŏng Mongju because of the general symbolic power of his loyalty. He had become a model for generations of Chosŏn literati. For the Chosŏn’s own scholar-­officials to cleave to a figure who was 30. Li Dongyang and Shen Shixing 1963: 105:1585–86.; See also Chungjong sillok: 32:64b [1518/04/26#1]; 33:5a [1518/05/07/#4]; 33:51a [1518/06/16#1] etc.; for the continuing controversy in the Qing period. See Sun Weiguo 2009. The truth behind these allegations is complex. See Jeong 2013; Wang 2015: ch. 2. 31. Qian 1653: 51:13b–14b; T’aejong sillok 27:17b [1401/11/07#1].

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killed in the course of the dynasty’s establishment must have been a perennial reminder of the Chosŏn kingship’s tarnished beginnings. The Chosŏn literati who fought for his canonization, however, did not focus on his loyalty to Koryŏ. Instead, they sought to honor him as a transmitter of the legitimate Way (Kr. tot’ong; Ch. daotong 道統) in Korea, often described in modern scholarship as “Neo-­Confucian orthodoxy.”32 The central tension in all this was the question of moral authority. Chŏng, thus repackaged, might no longer pose a direct challenge to the Yi monarchs by revealing their violent past. Delineating an orthodox transmission of the Confucian Way through Chŏng, however, also had the potential to be even more subversive. Chŏng’s loyalty to Koryŏ then, was interpreted, not as devotion to a dynastic house per se, but insistence on general moral rectitude, even in defiance of extant monarchical authority. Claiming to speak for the local scholarly elite (sarim 士林 lit. “forest of scholars”), Chosŏn officials who rallied around Chŏng Mongju called for a “public discourse” among the learned community at large to stake out an alternative source of authority distinct from that of the court.33 As these men started to identify themselves as a tang (Ch. dang 黨, i.e., a faction or fellowship) of like-­minded gentlemen, their rhetoric became reminiscent of how men in the Song, inspired by Neo-­ Confucian learning, had claimed authority in the business of civilizing the world on their own terms.34 In this manner, they were also similar to the late Ming Donglin faction with which Qian was affiliated. All of these parties believed that ultimate authority should lie with the educated and landed elite (Kr: sadaebu; Ch: shidafu 士大夫) and tried to hold monarchical power accountable to their moral guidance.35 Thus, Chŏng Mongju had much more in common with his biographer than their posthumous lives might at first indicate. They both occupied pivotal places in a greater transdynastic saga, where different constructions of political and moral authority were in contention. But their roles were not entirely homologous. Whereas Qian Qianyi was part of a movement to check monarchical authority in life, Chŏng Mongju became a banner of such a movement in death. Taking their second lives as political symbols into account reveals another 32. Deuchler 1980: 21–25. 33. Cho 2010: 211–14. 34. For separate discussions of “factionalism” in Chosŏn and Song China, see Wagner 1974; Levine 2008. 35. For the Donglin, see Miller 2009: 95–112, 123; Dardess 2002; for Qian, see Lin 2010: 34, 41–67.

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set of parallels. Qian, maligned in the high Qing as a “twice-­serving official,” was regarded as an antithesis to bona fide Ming martyrs like Shi Kefa 史可法 (1601–1645). Like Chŏng Mongju, these Ming loyalists perished, only to have their memories appropriated later by the very regime they once resisted so bitterly. In a further irony, figures like Shi Kefa were not selected for the “effectiveness” of their resistance; in the words of Frederic Wakeman, “the more futile their actions, the better examples they served.”36 That the memories of these loyal paragons could be appropriated in this manner was of course only possible because loyalty had been abstracted from devotion toward a dynasty or state to devotion to a set of moral principles. At the same time, in the Qing and Chosŏn, rewriting acts of defiance as symbols of loyalty helped reconcile the troubling memories of these loyalists with monarchical authority. By identifying loyalist deaths with unwavering moral rectitude, the royal celebration of absolute devotion implicitly absolved the new rulers of any moral responsibility for those deaths. In this moral economy, neither the Manchus nor the Yi house could be blamed for causing the deaths of those who remained loyal to the previous regime, since it was their duty as loyal officials to die anyway. In Chŏng Mongju’s case, for example, the petition that called for his rehabilitation emphasized his “unceasing” devotion to the Koryŏ house, despite his knowledge that the dynasty was doomed.37 Qian, on the other hand, postulates alternative relationships among loyalty, defiance, and death in his Korean biographies. He treated Yi Sŏnggye, the Chosŏn founder, as a usurper, underscoring the moral culpability of rulers themselves. This moral economy is thus subtly, but also fundamentally different from how rulers, such as Qianlong and Yi Pangwŏn, conceived it. Qian’s version posits a counternarrative of loyalty that precludes the accommodation of a loyalist’s death to (illegitimate) monarchical authority. Though this stance conceptually preempted the later imperial revision of Ming loyalist narratives, it did not stop Qianlong from appropriating the memories of the very Ming martyrs who defied his forbears.38 36. Crossley 1999: 290–91; Wakeman 1985: 564–69, 566 n. 166; Struve 1974: 238. 37. T’aejong sillok 1:4b [1401/01/14#3]: 豈不知王氏危亡之勢? ... 然猶專心 所事, 不貳其操, 以至殞命 ... 38. This does not mean the Qianlong emperor took issue with Qian Qianyi because of how he treated loyalism in the Korean biographies; there is no evidence to suggest that this was the case. Instead, these distinct treatments of loyalism should warn against casually applying the absolute definitions of loyalism that the Qianlong

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Each appropriation of a moral life, whether in narrative representation or in political action, has the potential to conjure up new schemes of meaning. Biographical accounts, often deployed in both contexts, then, did not exist in isolation, but in dialogue with one another through their appraisals of their subjects and the events and ideas they represented.

SUBTLE WORDS: THE ART OF PRAISE AND BLAME Qian Qianyi and Chŏng Mongju were intertwined by the issue of loyalty, at the very center of which lies the relationship between the official and his ruler. Political upheaval, however, could disrupt this relationship. Periods of dynastic crisis, such as the Koryŏ–Chosŏn transition of 1392, Jianwen-Yongle wars of 1398–1402, or the Ming–Qing transition of 1644, undermined the sanctity of monarchical authority, calling into question the proper role of the official. State-­sponsored historiography often sought to preserve the monarchy’s moral legitimacy by avoiding direct implication of the victors of these conflicts of any wrongdoing, if not exonerating them altogether. These moves, however, leave unresolved one major problem. How should the individuals who perished because they remained loyal to the losing be understood? Such figures are inherently volatile, for appraising their actions always has the potential to lead to alternative readings of the same events, potentially escalating into direct challenge to the moral legitimacy of the victor. For Qian, history writing was one way to exercise claims to moral authority. For him, the ultimate source of moral authority did not rest with the state, but rather with the historian and his duty to represent faithfully the events of the period and to overturn political injustices. The historian’s voice in these biographies can rectify the failings of previous historical writing, cast blame onto unscrupulous Yi rulers, and exalt the virtues of loyal subjects who resisted them. In the meantime, Qian affirms the superiority of his knowledge to that of official historiographers and converts his erudition into claims of moral authority. Qian’s particular moral economy of loyalism needs to be understood in the context of his stance on the purpose of historical writing. For Qian, good history had the power to correct past wrongs. In this vein, emperor was so eager to impose on the experiences of Qian Qianyi and his contemporaries. As Jun Fang argues in Chapter 4 in this volume, the personal and political decisions made by individuals during the Ming–Qing transition were informed by a whole series of mitigating and contingent factors, often defying the simplistic historiographical interventions of posterity. See also Lin 2010: 221–37.

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he found the Korean History of the East praiseworthy for truthfully documenting the lives of these Koryŏ loyalists, a stance in line with the long-­ standing view that history’s “primary concern” was the “recording of exemplary lives.”39 By “recording the matters involving Mongju’s refusal to submit to Yi Sŏnggye,” the unnamed Korean historian redeemed Korea in his eyes. Although he had reverently referred to the Chosŏn founders by their posthumous temple names, Qian understood that he, being a “Chosŏn subject,” had to be deferential and discreet. Thanks to the history’s treatment of Chŏng Mongju, the “truth” was in the end “not obscured.”40 Qian celebrated the Korean historian’s treatment of Chŏng Mongju because he conceptualized a source of moral authority that existed outside of the dynastic state. These “good men,” referring either to Chŏng and his cohort or to the historians who preserved their legacy, received their moral inspiration from the teachings of the legendary Jizi (Kr. Kija 箕子). He, a Shang prince, once criticized the “bad last ruler” of the Shang, who retaliated by imprisoning him. When the Zhou destroyed the Shang, he was finally released. The Zhou granted Korea to Jizi as a fief and the prince brought “civilization” to the peninsula.41 Qian’s account intersperses three different terms to refer to Korea: “Eastern Kingdom” (dongguo/tong’guk 東國), the dynasty Chosŏn (Ch. Chaoxian 朝鮮), and the “Koreans” (liren 麗人 lit. People of Koryŏ). These were not wholly synonymous terms used alternatively for stylistic reasons alone, but different terms with various meanings. They pointed to a transdynastic ontology that reached back to the days of Jizi. Qian suggested a narrative of moral and cultural transmission that could supersede the allegiance a subject owed to his ruler. The Korean historian, then, wrote according to a moral code more hallowed and more ancient than any single Korean dynastic state. The presence of moral authority, and by extension, political authority in this line of transmission complicates the task of the historian. On the one 39. Moloughney 1992: 1, 6–12. 40. Qian 1653: 51:13b–14b: 東國之史出朝鮮臣子之手，尊成桂父子曰: “太 祖”、“太宗”，曲爲隱辟，而夢周不附成桂之事，謹而書之，不沒其實。 41. See Yim 1998: 78–80; “King Zhou was licentious and profligate; Jizi remonstrated, but he did not listen” (紂為淫泆，箕子諫，不聽), from Sima 1981: v. 38, 1609. “[The king] released Jizi from prison. Jizi could not bear having been set free by the Zhou and so left to Chaoxian. King Wu heard this and so enfeoffed him with the [lands] of Chaoxian. 釋箕子囚。箕子不忍周之釋，走之朝鮮。武王聞之，因以 朝鮮封之。From Shangshu da zhuan in Ruan Yuan and Lu Xuanxun 1965: Hongfan di liu 洪範第六, 167-­1.

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hand there was the very political question of what is to be done with the legitimacy of a ruler who conquered or usurped his way to power. On the other, there was the task of sorting out individuals whose allegiances did not always converge with the direction of political fortune. The life of Yi Saek brings Qian to confront this historiographical conundrum in his biography. Yi Sŏnggye deposed the Koryŏ rulers King U and King Ch’ang on the pretext that they were really descendants of a monk Sin Ton 辛旽 (1322–1371), and therefore not legitimate scions of the Koryŏ ruling family. The supposedly exemplary loyal official Yi Saek, however, had supported their initial accession. According to Qian, the History of the East resolves this apparent contradiction by explaining that Yi Saek followed the precedent provided by the restoration of the Sima 司馬 rulers of the Jin (266–420) house under Yuandi 元帝 (r. 318–323). Despite rumors that Yuandi was the issue of an illicit liaison between a military officer Niu Jin 牛金 (fl. 250) and a concubine of the Jin ruler Wudi 晉武帝 (r. 266–290), court officials still picked Yuandi as the successor. In periods of dynastic upheaval, the extenuating political circumstances allowed no other choice. The state had to be preserved, even if it meant sanctioning the corruption of the royal line by a pretender.42 Qian was not satisfied with this explanation. For him, the key to resolving this apparent discrepancy was identifying the intent of the account of Yi Saek’s life in the History of the East in its employment of “subtle words” (weici 微辭).43 An age-­old technique, Confucius had used it to draw attention to uncomfortable truths when he documented the political unrest that plagued the reigns of Duke Ding 魯定公 (509–495 bce) and Duke Ai of Lu 魯哀公 (494–467 bce) in his Spring and Autumn Annals.44 Now, the Korean historian raised controversies surrounding the actual pedigree of the late Koryŏ rulers,45 not to identify blemishes in Yi Saek’s integrity, but to point out the crimes of Yi Sŏnggye. As Qian writes, the “Yi clan [i.e., the Chosŏn rulers] have seized power for many years now” and were in control of both the country and the

42. Qian 1653: 51: 31a–b:成桂之放弑，以辛氏爲口實，而《東史》亦曰：宋 儒謂元帝本非馬宗，東晉大臣以國勢有歸，不得已而安之。穡于立辛不敢異議 亦此故也。 43. Ibid., 51:31a–b: 定哀多微詞，《東史》有焉。 44. “Subtle words” played an important role in Qian’s understanding of historical writing for social criticism. Through a “rhetoric of subtlety,” a historian may offer pointed political criticism without spelling out exactly what is being criticized. See Yim 1998: 23–24, 35–39, 39–52. For the significance of this rhetorical technique in the Spring and Autumn Annals, see Nylan 2001: 262–66. 45. See Jeong 2013: 335–60.

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“national discourse,” their subjects could not speak out openly against them.46 With the Chosŏn dynasty in control of “national discourse,” the History of the East could not speak of these crimes directly, but it did assure its readers of Yi Saek’s moral integrity, suggesting that it was impossible for a loyal official like Yi to have supported an illegitimate royal line. The logical conclusion was that the Chosŏn founders had fabricated these charges of illegitimacy. Through this oblique technique, the Korean historian fulfilled his responsibility to good historical writing by censuring moral failings, even of one’s own rulers. Qian’s praise of the nameless Korean historian contrasts with his criticism of Ming official historiography. The Korean histories were worthy of emulation, validating a classical idea that when proper standards were no longer maintained in China, one may “learn of them from the barbarians of the four [directions] (si yi 四夷).”47 Qian takes the Ming Veritable Records to task for reproducing Yi Sŏnggye’s portrayal of Chosŏn’s founding. In its version of the events, Yi was a loyal official who tried to protect the Koryŏ royal family. Chŏng Mongju was portrayed as a villain. It was he who misled the Koryŏ rulers and tried to instigate an invasion of the Ming border region of Liaodong. Yi Sŏnggye, however, prevented these plans from coming into fruition. Chŏng Mongju resented Yi for thwarting him and sought to kill him. The Veritable Records thus reversed the moral roles of these two historical figures. For this oversight, Qian Qianyi blamed the Ming’s “official historians,” who copied verbatim “the words transmitted by [Yi] Sŏnggye.”48 Armed with the History of the East, Qian brings to bear an erudition superior to what the compilers of the Ming dynasty’s own “veritable” records had possessed. He discounts the possibility that Chŏng could have plotted an invasion of Liaodong, because he had demonstrated a commitment to pursuing good relations with the Ming. Chŏng Mongju had wanted to kill Yi Sŏnggye only because the latter “planned to usurp the throne.”49 Yi Sŏnggye had therefore used him as a scapegoat: 46. Qian 1653: 51:31a–b.: 李氏專政有年，國論在手。竊國二百餘年，皆其臣 子，悠悠千古，誰與辯牛馬之是非乎？ 47. Ibid., 51:31a–b.: 學在四夷詎不然乎. See, for example, the “Bianwu” 辯誣 in Kongzi jiayu 孔子家語 where it is stated, “When the Son of Heaven fails in administration, one may still learn from the four barbarians” 天子失官 學在四夷. 48. Qian 1653: 51:31a–b: 《洪武實錄》載朝鮮史云： “成桂既立，其國都評 議司奏言：“禑犯遼陽，成桂力阻之，鄭夢周實主其議，以故深怨成桂，瑤 立，從臾瑤殺成桂，及鄭道傳等國人奉安妃命命，放瑤而立成桂。” 此成桂來 告之辭，史官按而書之者也。 49. Ibid., 以東國史參考之，王顓既弑，夢周以諫阻北使被放，再朝京師深

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Since [Yi] killed Mongju and stole the state, he made an excuse of the invasion of Liao to shift blame to Mongju as a way to exculpate himself. The official historians believed these perfidious [words] and wrote them down. Is this not a cause for grievance?50

The correction of this “grievance” caused by poor historiography became the express purpose of Qian’s biography of Chŏng: The reason I selected him for praise is so the credulous historians of the Celestial Court do not transmit the perfidious words of regicides and traitors, and become the laughing stock of foreign vassals, thereby causing [such] loyal and righteous subjects to suffer [slander] in the Nine Palaces [i.e., in death].51

An audience familiar with Chŏng’s pristine posthumous reputation in Korea may feel that Qian’s exoneration was unnecessary. Qian nevertheless believed his work had to counteract two sources of distortion. The Yi usurpers thwarted the plans of loyal subjects in life, and now they continued to tarnish those subjects’ reputations in death through their “perfidious words.” “Credulous” Ming historians abetted the Yi founders in their attempts to deceive posterity and dishonor a loyal official. Qian did not write this biography to reassert a received truth, but to challenge the authority of extant historical works. Reclaiming the honor of “righteous” subjects like Chŏng Mongju and the resolution of their grievances required his exoneration, achieved by using the informal biography to correct official historical records. To be sure, the shortcomings of official history did not necessarily implicate the Ming dynasty or its rulers. Qian Qianyi related a case where Hongwu refused the appeals for aid from Koryŏ loyalists against the usurping Yi Sŏnggye. The Ming ruler left Koryŏ to its own devices, because as “a faraway land occupied by the eastern barbarians, it could not be controlled by the Central State” (Zhongguo 中國, i.e., China). Here, Qian did not blame Hongwu’s laissez-­faire policy for the deaths of the Koryŏ loyalists. The problem was these events could not have happened as they did. According to Qian, 荷優遇，寧有主謀犯遼之事？攻遼之役，成桂實在行于夢周，何與夢周之欲殺 成桂，爲其謀纂也，非爲其阻攻遼也。夢周不死，成桂篡必不成。 50. Ibid., 既殺夢周以竊國，又藉口攻遼，委罪夢周，以自解免。史官信其 欺謾，按而書之，不亦冤乎？ 51. Ibid., 余故表而出之，無使天朝信史，傳弑逆之謾辭，以貽譏外藩，且 使忠義之陪臣，負痛於九京也。

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Hongwu, far from ignoring Yi Sŏnggye’s usurpation, kept a clear eye on the moral failures of the Yi house, reminding his descendants in his Ancestral Injunctions that the Chosŏn founder Yi Sŏnggye had murdered four of the former Koryŏ rulers. Qian again concluded that the fault was with the “official historians,” who were so “bound up by their documents,” that they failed to see the Ming emperor’s “original intent” and did not make “proper emendations in their carelessness.”52 In other words, given the Ming emperor’s recognition of Yi’s crimes, he would have aided these loyalists, but now the historical records even misrepresented the emperor’s intentions. Qian’s efforts to defend the Hongwu emperor necessarily raises some questions. If Qian could praise a Korean historian for exalting individuals who resisted his own dynasty and allow him the moral legitimacy to challenge his own rulers, does that mean Qian allowed himself a similar historiographical space? Could he, a Ming subject, use history to challenge the monarchs of the dynasty to whom he owed his loyalty? Qian Qianyi’s treatment of a poem by Yi Pangwŏn included in the Collected Poetry offers a clue.53 Qian lambasted Pangwŏn for presenting the poem to the Yongle emperor to commemorate the imperial accession. The Yongle emperor had acquired the throne through civil war, wresting control of the dynasty from his nephew, the Jianwen emperor 建文 (r. 1398–1402). With this context in mind, Qian Qianyi’s reference to the “leviathan” in the cryptic line “Not yet slain is the leviathan; spirits yet run high” 未戮鯨鯢氣 尚驕 seems to be a thinly veiled reference to the Jianwen emperor.54 He con52. Ibid., 51:13b–14b: 祖訓》固曰: “自洪武六年至二十八年，李旦首尾凡 弑王氏四王，姑待之然。”則成桂之弑夢周之冤，聖祖蓋已灼見本末。史官拘 牽簡牘，漫不舉正，亦豈聖祖之本意？ 53. In line with biographies of Koryŏ loyalists, he condemns the Chosŏn king for his hand in Chŏng Mongju’s death. In fact, this point makes up the entirety of this short stub of a biography. This poem does not appear in any Korean sources and the attribution to Yi Pangwŏn might be apocryphal. Ibid., 51:19a. 54. The actual meaning of “leviathan” jingni 鯨鯢 is somewhat obscure. Classical texts seem to indicate that it is a reference to “evil ministers,” thereby implying it referred to the Jianwen officials whom the Yongle emperor accused of misleading his nephew. If that is the case, it seems that Qian Qianyi and Shen Maoshang have both misread the poem. The locus classicus, the entry on the twelfth year of Duke Xuan 宣 公十二年 of the Zuo Commentaries, reads, “In antiquity, when wise kings chastised recalcitrant [vassals], they only removed their jingni, but [let the vassals retain] their fiefs. Even that he considered to be a great slaughter” 古者明王伐不敬，取其鯨鯢而 封之，以為大戮. It seemed that Yi Pangwŏn might have meant that the Yongle em-

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demned Yi and his father for their duplicity; they had not only “assassinated the four rulers of the Wang house and killed its loyal ministers to steal the state,” but were now complicit in the Yongle emperor’s usurpation.55 Even though Qian had been more than willing to blame Chosŏn monarchs for the deaths of loyalists, he was still reluctant to challenge openly the moral qualifications of the Ming founders. Qian treats the execution of Jianwen’s loyal officials after the Yongle’s usurpation in a similarly indirect way. In his biographical treatment of the Jianwen martyrs, such as Fang Xiaoru 方孝孺 (1357–1402), Qian claims their unswerving loyalty was demonstrated by their death for Jianwen, but he conspicuously omits discussion of Yongle’s role in their deaths.56 Qian Qianyi’s treatment of the Jianwen-Yongle affair, one of the most persistent political controversies during the Ming, followed the conventions of late Ming literati practice. The Yongle emperor had justified his rebellion as a means to eliminate “evil” ministers from his nephew’s side. Despite these limited pretensions, his court moved further to expurgate the entire Jianwen reign from the historical record after he seized the throne. Jianwen’s loyal ministers who died at the hands of Yongle were not exonerated by the state until well into the Wanli reign 萬曆 (1573–1620). The eventual acknowledgment of these martyrs resulted from a process of accommodation and contention between local authority represented by the gentry and dynastic authority embodied in the ruler. Public commemoration of the Jianwen martyrs ultimately required the elision of Yongle’s role in their deaths. Thus both Qian and the Korean compiler of the History of the Eastern Kingdom shied away from criticizing the ancestors of their own rulers. The texts they wrote appear to seek a reconciliation between royal authority and those who resisted it. This form of reconciliation, however, did not deny the independent moral authority of historiographical writing. Far from it. As Peter Ditmanson argues, the “reconciliation of Yongle with the dead martyrs” occurred on “liteperor spared even evil ministers in a show of magnanimity. That said, jingni 鯨鯢 also acquired association with the slaughter of innocents. Li Ling 李陵 (–74 bce), in his famous letter to Su Wu 蘇武 (–60 bce), wrote “My wife and children were innocent, but together they were [killed] as fish and newts (jingni)” 妻子無辜 並為鯨鯢. Chunqiu Zuozhuan zhushu v. 23, in. Ruan Yuan and Lu Xuanxun 1965: 398; Xiao Tong and Li Shan 1986: v. 41, 1848. 55. Qian 1653: 51:18a 吳人慎懋賞曰：“朝鮮乃箕子之國，然世遠教衰，三 仁之風泯矣。悲夫！慎生評芳遠此詩，以其有“未戮鯨鯢”之句而深非之也。 芳遠父子，弑王氏四君，殺忠臣而竊其國，其爲此也，吾無議焉。爾殺父而訾 其袗他人之兄，不已迂乎？ 56. Qian 1957: v. 5. 148–49.

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rati terms,” leaving imperial authority “irrelevan[t] and impoten[t] ... in the face of the moral authority of [such] men.”57 Qian’s oblique treatment of the Yongle emperor usurpation, then, might have been his own version of Confucius’s use of “subtle words.” Late Ming literati challenged imperial authority in various contexts, whether in discourse or political action, asserting their sovereignty over the affairs of government and moral authority against the claims of their monarchs. The fall of the Ming, however, altered the relationship between the gentry and the state. In a great historical irony, the very same literati who “killed the Ming” through partisanship and resistance to monarchical authority were now, as Harry Miller describes it, “[dying] gloriously, to defend its corpse” as self-­identified loyalists. For Qian Qianyi, who had once found himself among those scholarly ranks, the destruction of the Ming made censure of its long-­dead rulers less meaningful, and counterproductive to the project of commemoration. Like Ming loyalists who “did not really die to serve the Ming state as much as they died to avoid serving the Qing (Manchu) state,” if Qian lifted his brush against monarchical authority, it would not have been against the moribund Ming, but against the ascendant Qing.58 By documenting the Ming’s destruction and preserving the Ming’s literary achievements, Qian Qianyi and other self-­identified loyalists claimed political authority not necessarily through overt, armed resistance, but through writing. In the late eighteenth century, Qian Qianyi, dead for over a hundred years, famously became the target of an extended campaign by the Qianlong emperor to purge his writings. Printing blocks of Qian’s works were destroyed, and Qian’s writings, including the Poetry Compilation of the Successive Reigns came to be listed among the “banned books.” Certainly, Qian’s unforgiving identification of the Manchus as incorrigible “yi” 夷, or barbarians, must have irked the ruler, even though Qianlong’s father Yongzheng had tried to repurpose the term by pointing out that even the Zhou, once considered yi by the Shang, could still become masters and transmitters of civilization.59

57. Ditmanson 2007: 144–55, 158; Elman 1993: 23–68. 58. Miller 2009: 158–63. 59. Liu 2004: esp. 31–68 has shown that the term yi did not always carry the negative valences ascribed to it when the word “barbarian” is used as its English equivalent. Nevertheless, for the late Ming and Chosŏn context, the term yi was laden with pejorative connotations, ones that Qing Yongzheng emperor sought to revise. For Chosŏn Korean elites who prided themselves on cultural accomplishments that rivaled the Chinese, terms such as yi could be cause for offense. I retain the yi-­as-­barbarian

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With one denunciation after another, the emperor’s peculiar vendetta against this long-­dead figure seems disproportionate to the temporal power at the ruler’s disposal, unless we consider the magnitude of Qian’s scholarly reputation. What threatened Qianlong was less, perhaps, Qian Qianyi’s apparent half-­hearted loyalism or even his anti-­Manchu attitudes, but his discount of imperial authority in general, which had permeated early Qing learned circles. For a ruler who wished to commandeer all things cultural, Qian’s authority in historiography and literature was the one thing he could not countenance. As Chi-­hung Yim describes it, “While Qianlong [strove], in every manner, to proclaim himself the supreme judge of these issues, he found Qian still contesting his hegemony silently in his grave.” For the court’s grand project, the Complete Library of the Four Branches (Siku quanshu 四 庫全書), to succeed in making Qianlong master of all knowledge, it had to appropriate, displace, or eliminate potential challengers.60 Claims of historical authority in these biographies apportioned a discursive space in which proper historiography was also imbued with a moral authority distinct from, and thus able to transcend, the prerogatives of the state. These sorts of claims, which Qian implies he shared with the anonymous Korean historian, of course, were not limited to Qian’s writing, but occupied an important place in the East Asian historical tradition. In particular, the Song commentator on the Spring and Autumn Annals, Hu Anguo 胡安國 (1074–1138), saw the foundational inspiration for this mode of historical writing in Confucius himself. According to Peter Bol, Hu believed that the text “showed that Confucius had claimed authority over politics” by “[appropriating] the right of the ruler as ‘son of heaven’ to pass judgment over right and wrong.” Hu’s influential commentaries remained the standard interpretation for the civil service examination curriculum from the Yuan until 1793.61 The endurance and centrality of the idea that history embodied a moral authority beyond the state in Confucian orthodoxy did not, however, mean it could be taken for granted. Literati like Qian Qianyi continued to assert it in their writ-

usage throughout this chapter because it would have been how Qian and his Korean contemporaries would have interpreted the term. 60. Yim 1998: 249–80, esp. 260. 61. Bol 2008: 130. When it came to “subtle words,” the Qianlong emperor had found Hu’s methodology of reading the Spring and Autumn for “praise and blame” to be inconsistent and problematic. This and Hu’s emphasis on “repelling the barbarians” ultimately led to the text’s elimination from the curriculum. I thank Ziyao Ma for this insight. See Kang 2010: 309–20.

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ing, staking out their own claims for moral and political authority, often with emperors and the dynastic state as rival claimants.

NOSTALGIA FOR EMPIRE: KOREA IN QIAN’S WRITINGS In the case of Qian’s Korean biographies, the historiographical authority, and by extension the moral power it conferred, issued from a specific erudition. Providing Qian with the information he needed to write these biographies were the diverse tomes in the Pavilion of Scarlet Clouds. Informed about Korea through these works, Qian could imagine Chosŏn as an integral part of a Ming imperial order. Once the Ming had fallen to the Manchu Qing, however, Chosŏn Korea came to symbolize what had been lost with the Ming’s destruction. His interest in Korean loyalists was intimately tied to his own nostalgia for the Ming’s lost empire. The diversity of Qian’s library holdings depended on a particular configuration of the channels of knowledge exchange in early seventeenth-­century East Asia. To illustrate this point, Qian could not have critiqued the Ming Veritable Records without having had access to them in the first place. Unlike in Korea where the Veritable Records were held closely by the court, in China copies became available to private historians by the mid-fifteenth century.62 Indeed, Qian once had his own editions of the Records derived from copies smuggled out from the palace, unsurprising given that the catalog of his destroyed library shows its holdings ran the gamut of contemporary knowledge, rivaling even imperial collections.63 The bibliography also lists titles about foreign and faraway places, including Korea, which were the source base for the Korean section of his anthology. Although there is now no way to ascertain the precise editions Qian used, extant versions of many of these books could not have dated any earlier than the sixteenth century because they cover events in that century. This timing coincided with the Imjin War of 1592– 1598, when the Ming intervened militarily to defend Chosŏn Korea from an invasion by the Japanese.64 62. Sun Weiguo 2009; McDermott 2006: 99, 115–49. 63. Qian 17th century: v. 1–4. 64. The Japanese warlord Toyotomi Hideyoshi 豊臣秀吉(1536–1598) had recently unified Japan and hoped to conquer Korea and Ming China. Ming intervention, though requested by the Chosŏn court, was beset with problems. Qian Qianyi was evidently aware of some of the problems that plagued the Ming intervention. In a biography of two Ming officers who went to Korea, he mentions the practice of Ming

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Table. 1. Titles Related to Korea in the Jiangyungge shumu, and Likely Source of Publication Titles under “Geography” (地理類) in vol. 1

Period and place of publication or origin Grand Horizon of the Lands and Territories of the East- Chosŏn, mid 15th century ern Kingdom (Tongguk chiyŏ sŭngnam 東國地輿勝 覽) [sic: 東國輿地勝覽] Illustrated Descriptions of Korean and Japan (?) (Chaoxian riben tushuo 朝鮮日本圖說 Abbreviated History of Eastern Kingdom Chosŏn, early 15th (Tongguk saryak 東國史略) century Record of Zhang Ning’s Envoy Mission Ming, 1460 (Zhang Fangzhou fengshi lu 張芳州奉使錄) A Record of Chosŏn (Chaoxian jishi 朝鮮紀事) Ming, 1450 Rhapsody of Chosŏn (Chaoxian fu 朝鮮賦) Ming/Chosŏn, 1488 Annals of Chosŏn (Chaoxian shiji 朝鮮世紀) Ming, early 17th century Illustrated Record of an Embassy to Koryŏ from the Song, ~1123. Xuanhe Reign (Xuanhe fengshi Gaoli tujing 宣和奉使高麗圖經) General Records of the Four Barbarians Ming, early 17th century (Siyi guangji 四夷廣記) Translation Glossary for the Chosŏn Hostel Ming, 1549 [?] (Chaoxian guan yiyu 朝鮮館譯語) Map of the Eight Provinces of Chosŏn Chosŏn, ? (Chaoxian badao tu 朝鮮八道圖) Under “Narratives” (典故類) in vol. 3 The Three Great Campaigns of the Wanli Reign Ming, 1601 (Sanda zhengkao 三大政考 [sic: 萬曆三大征考]) The Senior Minister’s P’yŏngyang Record Ming, 1606 ([Liangchao] Pingrang lu [兩朝]平壤錄) Three Communiqués from Chosŏn Ming, 1642 (Chaoxian sanzi lu 朝鮮三咨錄) Under “Anthologies” (詩總集類) Selections of Poems from Chosŏn Ming/ Chosŏn, (Chaoxian shixuan 朝鮮詩選) post–Imjin War

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The war made Chosŏn Korea a matter of strategic importance and the Ming took greater interest in Korean affairs. The Ming military brought back a wealth of new knowledge about the Korean peninsula. According to Qian’s preface to the Korean section of his anthology, the war made the acquisition of the poems possible. He read them in the Selected Poems from Chosŏn (Chaoxian shixuan 朝鮮詩選), compiled by a Ming officer, Wu Mingji 吳明濟 (fl. 1592), during his military service in Korea. Though widespread destruction made acquiring Korean books difficult, Wu had enlisted the aid of Hŏ Kyun, a Chosŏn official, who recited hundreds of Korean poems to him from memory.65 The Selected Poems supplied Qian with many of the verses in his anthology. It was not, however, Qian’s only source.66 The biographical information in Qian’s work derived not from Wu Mingji’s text but instead the Abbreviated History of the Eastern Kingdom, which Qian referred to the as History of the East. Qian could identify it as a Chosŏn work from its use of temple names (miaohao 廟號) to refer to early Chosŏn rulers, Yi Sŏnggye and Yi Pangwŏn, as kings T’aejo (Ch: Taizu 太祖) and T’aejong (Ch: Taizong 太宗), respectively.67 The Korean court long concealed the existence of these titles from the Ming because they were in theory exclusive imperial prerogatives, and Korean independent use of these titles could have been construed as subversive.68 When a Ming official finally discovered their existence during the Imjin War, he accused Chosŏn of flouting imperial authority.69 The Chosŏn soldiers killing Koreans in order to sever their heads to present as war bounty. See “Dongzheng ershi lu” 東征二士錄 and “Shang Gaoyang shixiang shu” 上高陽師相 書 in Qian 1985: 806–10. 65. There are some unresolved bibliographical puzzles surrounding the Chaoxian shi xuan, including divergent attributions of authorship, location of printing and content. There were multiple version of Korean poetry anthologies by the same, or similar, titles circulating in Ming China after the Imjin War. One apparently genuine edition attributed to Wu Mingji has been located. Qi Qingfu ed., Wu Mingji 1999: preface, 2–9. 66. This channel accounts for only a portion of the transmission, since Qian’s anthology contains numerous poems not included in Wu Mingji’s collection. Furthermore, it is possible that Qian possessed a version of the Selected Poems containing biographical notes; the only extant edition of Wu Mingji’s text does not. See Wu Mingji 1999: 34–35. 67. Qian 1653: 51:13b–14b. 68. See Sejo sillok:46:14a [1468/04/30#2], Yejong sillok 3:1b [1469/01/02#2]. 69. For Ding’s memorial, see Sŏnjo sillok 104:16a [1598/09/21#3]: 書又僭稱太

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court tried to deflect the accusation by explaining that “[its] subjects and people have continued erroneous traditions and secretly use these honorifics ... and [they] do not know to change” the practice.70 In time, the practice was tacitly accepted by the imperial court in Beijing. The History of the East was included in the annotated bibliography of the Siku quanshu project. Its compilers shared Qian’s positive evaluation of the work, noted the Korean use of temple names, and surprisingly gave the author no grief for it.71 Although neither Qian nor the compilers of the Siku quanshu could identify the author of the text, the Siku version is a copy of a widely circulated historical text written by the early Chosŏn official Kwŏn Kŭn 權近 (1352– 1409).72 A contemporary of the figures in Qian’s biography, Kwŏn was also a close acquaintance. He was a student of Yi Saek and Chŏng Mongju. Along with Yi Saek and Yi Sung’in, he suffered demotion and exile during Yi Sŏnggye’s rise to power.73 Unlike his colleagues, Kwŏn was eventually able to win the good graces of the new Chosŏn rulers. After Yi Sung’in died under torture in 1392, the fledgling court enlisted Kwŏn Kŭn to compile his collected works.74 Kwŏn later became even more influential during the reign of Yi Pangwŏn. After his accession in 1400, Kwŏn became one of his most important officials and used his influence to rehabilitate his teacher and friend, Chŏng Mongju.75 Kwŏn Kŭn’s own partisan interests informed the Abbreviated History of the Eastern Kingdom. His sympathetic portrayals of his colleagues and teachers Yi Saek, Chŏng Mongju, and Yi Sung’in in turn influenced Qian’s biographies. Now, Kwŏn spoke again through Qian’s authorial voice, reviving a partisan struggle that took place two centuries before. Qian’s interest in Korean loyalism was also intertwined with Korea’s place on the Ming’s imperial horizons. One of the best represented Korean poets in the Liechao shiji was Yi Tal 李達 (1539–1612), author of the Son’gok sijip 蓀穀詩集.76 Yi’s name and identity was unknown to Qian. In lieu of a 祖、世祖、列祖聖上, 敢與天朝之稱祖、尊上等...況其舞文, 訾辱中國先代帝王, 卽其一序, 已自槪見, 朝鮮君臣輕藐中國, 已非一日。See Ledyard 1988: 94–100. 70. Yi Chŏngwi 1991: v. 21 in HMC 69:466a–c: 至於稱祖一事，蓋以臣民襲舊 承訛，猥加尊稱。相沿而不知改。 71. See the title Chaoxian shilue (朝鮮史略) in the Siku quanshu tiyao 1979, Part 2 (史部), v. 22. 72. For an extant Korean edition, see Kwŏn Kŭn 1800? 73. T’aejo sillok: 1:29a [preface #111]; 1:43a [1392/07/28#3]. 74. Ibid., 1:54a [1392/08/23#2]. 75. Deuchler 1980: 15–18. 76. For the poem Qian cites, see Yi Tal 1991: v. 1 in HMC 61:6c–d.

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biography, Qian wrote a short introduction to the thirty-­six poems he included in his anthology, but from one of Yi’s poems Qian inferred that he was a Korean official active in the Wanli period. The poem in question “eulogized” the Ming army for its role in the “restoration of the vassal state,” Korea, during the Imjin War. For Qian, Korean gratitude for the Ming’s recapturing of Chosŏn territory from the Japanese invaders also authenticated the moral stature of the “sagely Ming.”77 By the early seventeenth century, the Ming’s “restoration” ( fuguo 複國) of Chosŏn became a morally laden ideological fulcrum of Ming–Korea relations. The Ming asked Chosŏn to recompense this “grace of restitution” (zai zao zhi en 再造之恩) by rendering military assistance to the Ming in its war with the Jurchen (later the Manchus).78 When the Ming lost ground to the Jurchen, Chosŏn officials and scholars refused negotiations with the Jurchen, citing a sense of moral duty to the Ming. The Chosŏn continued to support Ming anti-­Jurchen efforts, including provisioning the troops of the Ming officer Mao Wenlong 毛文龍 (1576– 1629), stationed in an island near the mouth of the Yalu River. That support continued until Mao’s death in 1629.79 Incidentally, it was also Mao Wenlong who had sent the Son’gok sijip to Qian. War, this time with the Jurchen, once again provided a window of opportunity for Korean texts to travel to the Ming.80 When Qian wrote his appraisal of the Son’gok sijip, the Ming was no more. Writing that “thinking back on the past now really can stir one to tears,” he connected the Korean anthology to a poem he had written in prison in 1637, which illustrates why the expressions of gratitude to the Ming in the Son’gok sijip elicited in him such a strong emotional reaction.81 While imprisoned, Qian had learned of Chosŏn’s surrender to the Manchu ruler Hong Taiji (Ch: Huang Taiji 皇太極 r. Qing Taizu 清太祖 1626–1643) in the spring of 1637, writing the lines “the Eastern Country [Korea] was no longer the Coun77. Qian 1653: 51:28b: 知其爲萬曆間陪臣，當神廟興複屬國之後，而作詩以 誦也。 78. This discourse of “restoration” was present in both Chosŏn and Ming writings at the time. Sun Weiguo 2007: 61; Hŏ T’aegu 2009: 7–9, 35–36, 160–65, 177. For Chosŏn-Ming cooperation and the role of repayment, see Park 2011: 56–57. 79. Mao was executed by a rival Ming general, Yuan Chonghuan. For Mao Wenlong’s activities and his death, see Rawski 2012: 238–40; Mote 2003: 794. 80. Qian 1653: 51:28b: 天啓中，毛總兵文龍守皮島，屬訪求東國書籍，以此 集見寄。 81. Ibid., 51:28b: 崇禎丁丑，余獄中有詩曰：“東國已非箕子國，高驪今作 下句驪！”俯仰今昔可爲流涕。

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try of Jizi; High Gouli 82 [i.e., Koguryŏ] had now become Low Gouli” 83 to lament that development. Chosŏn’s shift of allegiance disgraced its association with the sage Jizi, who remained loyal to the Shang even after its destruction by the Zhou. This change had momentous implications. The Ming and Chosŏn relied on one another like “lips and teeth”; the destruction of one brought danger to the other. Despite Korea’s importance to the Ming’s empire, “when the rebellious caitiffs [the Manchus] swallowed up Korea and stole our vassal,” the Ming court “ignored it and did not respond.” The events of 1637 represented a double tragedy. While the Chosŏn surrender signaled the end of a Ming–Chosŏn relationship once consecrated in blood, the Ming’s failure to preserve Korea’s allegiance imperiled its own survival. These sentiments must have resonated in the Ming bureaucracy, which had come to see Chosŏn as an integral player in its ongoing war with the Manchus. Chosŏn’s status as a Ming “vassal” also went beyond the realm of political symbolism once the Ming envisioned military coordination with it as a viable strategy for defeating the Manchus.84 In 1633, the Ming military 82. In Qian’s poem “High” (Gao) gouli refers to the Korean state of Koguryŏ (高 句麗 trad. 37 bce–668), which intermittently paid tribute to various imperial dynasties. When Koguryŏ refused to send envoys to recognize the regime of Wang Mang (王莽 r. 8–23), he reacted by figuratively demoting Koguryŏ from “High” Gouli to “Low” (Xia) gouli (下句麗). “Biography of Wang Mang” 王莽傳 in Ban Gu, Han Shu v. 99, 4130. 83. The poem, titled “Miscellaneous Poems Written in Jail. #11 of 30,” 三韓殘破 似遼西，並海緣邊盡鼓鼙。along with Qian’s original comment appended at the end, reads as follows: The Three Hans [i.e., Korea] has been destroyed, just like Liaoxi, All along the coastal frontier are the sounds of wardrums. The Eastern Country is no longer the land of Jizi, High Koguryŏ has now been made Low. The Central Efflorescence (中華) might not yet worry of cold teeth; [But] when the caitiff hordes are here, what good is regret? Do not depend on the three narrow roads to Juyong Pass, Send me to block Hangu stronghold, and not a speck of mud shall pass. 三韓殘破似遼西 並海緣邊盡鼓鼙。東國已非箕子國，高驪今作下句驪。中華 未必憂寒齒，群虜何當悔噬臍？莫倚居庸三路險，請封函谷一丸泥。（逆虜 吞併高麗，奪我屬國，中朝置之不問。）See Qian Qianyi 1985: 12, 393–94. 84. Jiang Yueguang 姜曰廣 (1583–1648), a fellow Donglin partisan who later died a Ming martyr, went to Chosŏn in 1626 shortly after the fall of Lüshun (in Liaoxi) to the Jurchens. Although Jiang went to announce the birth of a Ming crown prince,

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officer Cheng Long 程龍 (fl. 1633) went to Chosŏn to “assuage the island denizens [i.e., foreign peoples] and join forces with vassal states” 安島衆 聯 屬國.85 In the autumn of 1636, the Ming ruler sent another proclamation to the same effect, promising that a “two-­pronged attack” could “punish the iniquities” of the Manchus. He exhorted the Chosŏn king, “steady in faith and loyalty” to join up with Ming forces to achieve a victory that would “bring glory to generations of [his] posterity.”86 Such a day never came. The Ming envoy who proclaimed this edict was the last one ever to set foot on Korean soil. One month after his departure, Hong Taiji invaded Chosŏn, and permanently severed the Ming court from its former tributary state and military ally. It was no wonder then that tears flowed from his eyes when Qian remembered his earlier poem. Its closing lines had warned that it would be too late for regrets once the “caitiff hordes” were at the gates, and now, with his warnings unheeded, the Ming empire lay in ruins. The poem thus connected the Korean anthology to what Qian considered to have been the unfolding of a historical tragedy. During the Imjin War the Ming had saved Chosŏn from the Japanese, but now, as the Ming faced its own existential crisis, Chosŏn was unable to come to its defense or even safeguard itself from the Manchu incursions. In retrospect, the loss of Chosŏn as a vassal forewarned the Ming’s own eventual demise. The fall of Chosŏn Korea, long imagined as China’s (and thus the Ming’s) most loyal vassal, now seemed likely to become a synecdoche for the Ming as a whole. The entire story of the dynasty’s waxing and waning was compressed into one charged kernel, Korea, and anything associated with that kernel would remind one of the whole story of the Ming’s rise and fall. As it happened, Qian came across another book in his collection, a fifteenth-­ century Korean edition of Liu Zongyuan’s 柳宗元 (773–819) collected works that did exactly that. In writing a bibliographical note for it, Qian began with the Jurchen threat loomed heavily in his conversations with King Injo (仁祖 1623– 1649). Injo sillok 13:5b [1626/06/13#2]; 13:7a [1626/06/14#7]; Lin 2010: 132. The Ming court had considered the proposals of Xu Guangqi 徐光啟 (1562–1633), who offered to go to Chosŏn as a viceroy to oversee training of Chosŏn’s military. These efforts, often high-­handed and intrusive, faced significant resistance in Chosŏn. This active imperial intervention after the Imjin War catalyzed significant upheaval in the Chosŏn court. See Xu Guangqi 1963: v. 3, 111; Kye 2006: 42–55, 198–218. 85. Injo sillok: 28:51a [1633/10/27#2]. 86. Ibid., 33:15a [1636/09/01#1]: 已勑沿海各將, 整勵舟師, 連絡掎角, 設奇制 勝, 撻伐用張。王其益篤忠良, 奮揚武略, 叶謀合力, 共建殊勳, 永淸遼海之波, 懋 樹藩屛之烈, 克光世守, 佇錫崇褒。

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the usual details of provenance and the quality of the compilation. He found it a praiseworthy book, commissioned by the Chosŏn king to encourage learning among the country’s scholars. Qian’s bibliographical entry then takes a marked turn when it discusses the use of Ming reign eras (nianhao 年號) in the book’s paratexts: Its intent to obey the proper lunations 正朔 [of the Ming imperial calendar] and the “Great Unity” 大一統 is starkly visible in its lines! It is probably because, even though the Yi family had taken over the country through usurpation and assassination, Jizi’s transformation and teachings yet remained and the civilization and mandate of the Ming’s imperial family has spread far, even to the barbarians of the north and the south (manmo 蠻貊). Not even the [accomplishments of the] Tang and Song could be compared to [what the Ming had achieved]!87

Even though the descendants of the Yi usurpers now ruled Chosŏn, the country had redeemed itself by acknowledging the Ming as the font of civilization. The reception of Ming influence by peoples along its frontier like the Koreans, evinced in their use of Ming reign titles and their acceptance of grand unity, made the Ming superior even to its Tang and Song predecessors, accomplishing what they could not. With the fall of the Ming, however, that great achievement had come to naught: Alas! Heaven has fallen; the earth has tilted. The eight frontiers have crumbled away. Koguryŏ [i.e., Korea] no longer shares in this dream of unified culture 同文夢. As I caress his book with my hands, my tears fall down in streams.88

Thus, Qian chose to interpret the fall of the Ming and Chosŏn to the Qing as analogous to the fall of the Shang to the Zhou. Whereas the legendary ruler of ancient Korea, Jizi, remained loyal to the Shang, Chosŏn had abandoned the Ming. This historical analogy only went so far, however. In the classical texts, the Zhou did not just destroy the Shang, but also inherited its mantle as legitimate rulers. The Qing tried to evoke this legacy, portraying itself to be the new Zhou to former Ming subjects. Hong Taiji’s decision to withdraw 87. Qian 1996: 46: 1527–28: 跋之前後，敬書正統戊午夏、正統四年冬十一 月。尊正朔大一統之意，肅然著見於簡牘。蓋李氏雖篡弒得國，箕子之風教故 在。而明皇家文命誕敷，施及蠻貊，信非唐宋所可比倫也。 88. Ibid., 嗚呼！天傾地昃，八表分崩，高句麗久不作同文夢矣。摩挲此本， 潸然隕涕。

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from Chosŏn, instead of annexing it, and the subsequent Qing rulers’ willingness to retain Chosŏn as an independent vassal (as the Zhou had done for Jizi) were other ways to evoke the Zhou legacy and claim correspondence to the classical past. Qian and other loyalists, including Shi Kefa, however, refused to acknowledge the correspondences put forth by the Qing. Rather than accept the Qing, they sought a dynastic restoration.89 In Qian’s eyes the fall of the Ming and the surrender of the Chosŏn to the Qing was the end of an expansive cultural unity that the Ming once held together. The book of Liu Zongyuan had become a painful reminder of an irretrievable past. In his view and that of many Koreans, the fall of Korea to Manchu “barbarians” shattered the utopian “dream” of a world unified by culture, now as broken as the dynasty that once held it together.

POSTSCRIPT What did it matter that Qian Qianyi had written biographies of Koreans? What relevance could these “foreign” poets, found in the last volume of a massive collection, have in the remembrance of the Ming? One might say they were tangible evidence of the Ming’s literary and cultural influence; they were included as paraphernalia to honor the Ming, not as objects of honor themselves. Even if one were to take this dismissive view of these poets and insist on the marginality of Korea in the consciousness of late Ming literati, the vivid associations of Korea, as a symbol of culture and loyalty, evoked in the late Ming cannot be discounted. When Qian and his contemporaries thought of Korea, however occasionally, its resonances were clarion. Biography, as a practice, could connect individuals separated by wide swaths of time and space. If writing about others means claiming the power to give meaning to their lives, then biographers have to write against those from the past who already made claims about them and they must anticipate the contentions of challengers in the future. Every stroke of moral judgment, then, has a potential to beget another. In this way, biographies tend to proliferate, especially when they deal with volatile issues. Loyalty, because it touched on fundamental questions of how a moral life can be lived when confronted with dynastic upheaval and political violence, was one of these issues. In the eighteenth century, the scholars of the Chosŏn court compiled their own biographies of Ming loyalists to countervail the Qing court’s attempts to appropriate the Ming past, even as those scholars reproduced many of the 89. Des Forges 2005: 73–112, esp. 75–80.

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value judgments embedded in the Qianlong period biographies.90 Despite the Qianlong emperor’s condemnation of Qian Qianyi’s works, Chosŏn writers consulted his Collected Poetry of Successive Reigns and his own literary compositions in those compilations.91 In these gestures, Qian would have found solace. Had he known that the Chosŏn court, even after its surrender to the Qing, continued to use the Ming calendar in defiance of their presumed Manchu Qing overlords, cursing them behind their backs, he might not have been so despondent when he leafed through his Chosŏn edition of Liu Zongyuan’s collected works.92 In Korea, his own Collected Poetry was used to document the history Qian had held dear, but the success of his writing could not rescue his name from ignominy. Even as Chosŏn scholars relied on Qian’s scholarship, they excluded him from among the ranks of Ming loyalists. Qian’s reputation in eighteenth-­century Chosŏn was rather mixed. For example, the Korean traveler Pak Chiwŏn 朴趾源 (1737–1805) compared him to the infamous Wu Sangui 吳三桂 (1612–1678) in his famous Rehe Diary (Yŏrha ilgi 熱河日記): [Qian] Qianyi and [Wu] Sangui both surrendered to the caitiffs and could do nothing about it in their old age. One [i.e., Wu] claimed a righteous cause [i.e., reviving the Ming] but he had already usurped [imperial] titles [for himself]; the other [i.e., Qian] put his intentions in writing, but he had already lost his virtue. Though they hoped [by doing these things] to cleverly escape the condemnation of future generations, who could believe in [their sincerity]?93

In Pak’s reckoning, Qian Qianyi’s attempt to follow in the footsteps of Yuan Haowen in the Jin period, who tried to preserve Jin culture in the Yuan period, and worked to preserve Ming literature in the Qing period, had failed. Though Qian’s writing could not cleanse his blemished virtue among his Korean critics, the inclusion of Korean poems and biographies in the Col90. Bohnet 2008: 287–94. 91. For example, Sŏng Haeŭng 成海應 (1760–1839) lists Qian’s writings, including the Liechao shiji first among the sources he consulted for his Imperial Ming Loyalist Biographies Hwang Myŏng yumin chŏn 皇明遺民傳. See Sŏng 2001: v. 37 in HMC v. 274:303a. 92. Haboush 2005: 115–41. 93. Yŏrha ilgi, collected in Pak 2001: v. 14, in HMC 252:285c: 謙益三桂，俱以 降虜。白頭无聊，一則雖托義擧而號先僭；一則寓意著書而大節已虧。雖欲巧 逃後世之誅貶，人孰信之？

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lected Poetry still mattered greatly to Qian’s Chosŏn readers.94 When the official and scholar of ritual Hwang Kyŏngwŏn 黃景源 (1709–1787), himself an author of a set of biographies of loyalists, wrote a piece celebrating Chŏng Mongju, he found the inclusion of Chŏng’s poetry in Qian’s anthology to be cause for honor.95 Not all Chosŏn writers approved of Qian’s selection of Korean poetry. One early ­eighteenth-­century writer, Sin Pang 申昉 (1686–1736), who deplored the perennial challenge Korean authors faced in becoming recognized in China, felt that the Collected Poetry had actually misrepresented Chosŏn’s literary tradition. In Sin’s reckoning, “over half of the great masters of [our] country were omitted.” These omissions were especially vexing, because Qian added insult to injury by belittling Chosŏn’s literary attainment. Sin denounced the inveterate condescension of the Chinese gentry as “especially laughable” and “truly lamentable.”96 One of Qian’s most avid Korean readers was the erudite Yi Tŏngmu 李德 懋 (1741–1793), a Chosŏn royal librarian who eagerly purchased Chinese books during his many travels to Beijing. In his perusal of Chinese books, he found that literary anthologies that included Chosŏn poems, like Qian’s, were often riddled with mistakes. Yi, like Sin, was frustrated with what he found to be a deep-­seated Chinese condescension toward Korea.97 When Yi read Qian’s postface to the Korean edition of Liu Zongyuan’s collected works, he reacted as follows: In Qian’s postface ... he intensely praised [the text]’s reverence for the Ming calendar and the righteousness [sic] of “Great Unity.” Here, one can see the essentially vainglorious character of the Chinese.98

Wrapped up in this dream of universal empire, the Ming literati harbored sentiments that their Korean readers saw to be evidence of insufferable arrogance. Yi Tŏngmu, nevertheless, like many of his contemporaries, did in fact still use the Ming calendar as late as the eighteenth century. He was offended 94. Yi 1995: v. 28 in HMC 181:450d–451a; 455c–d; Yi Segu (李世龜 1646– 1700) noticed a copy of the Liechao shiji kept in the archives of the Office of Special Advisers (Hongmungwan 弘文館) at the Chosŏn court. See Yi 2007: v. 12 in HMC b48:427a. 95. “Ch’ŏngjŏnggi” 淸亭記 in Hwang 1790: v. 10 in HMC 224:203c–204b. 96. Sin 2008: v. 8 in HMC b66:565d–566b; also 568b. 97. Yi 1995: v. 19 in HMC 257:268d. 98. Ibid., v. 56 in HMC 258:532d: 錢謙益跋高麗板柳文，深許其尊正朔大一 統之義。此則可見中原人虛懷本色。

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not so much by Qian’s zealous approval of Chosŏn’s observance of Ming suzerainty as by his attribution of Korea’s civilization entirely to the power of Ming influence. In including Koreans among “barbarians of the north and south,” Qian appeared to deny Koreans any agency in their own cultural attainments. For Yi and for other members of the Korean elite who were sensitive to the pejorative implications of the term yi 夷 as “barbarian” and therefore, uncultured, such statements could have only made them more resentful of Ming pretensions.99 This reading of Qian’s Korean biographies has attempted to situate them in a particular historical context and to draw some of the lines that connected them to broader political and intellectual concerns. Packed with many layers of signification, these biographies were both artifacts of specific historical times and places and vehicles for asserting claims to power over politics and history. The biographies of Korean poets in the Collected Poetry occupy an axial position vis-­à-­vis the many narratives they tie together through the issues, personas, and historical events they describe across time and space. The question of loyalism tangles together the lives of Koryŏ loyalists with Ming martyrs and Qing collaborators, and through them the Yi founders and the Manchu rulers. The problem of political authority brings together other pairs of murderous despots and defiant martyrs: the Yongle emperor and Fang Xiaoru; King T’aejong and Chŏng Mongju, locked together in historical time and revived in discourse, well after their deaths, in struggles over moral authority between court and gentry. The biography, then, by bringing together figures who occupied disparate realms of history, operates in a historical mode that is, in one sense, also ahistorical, as it throws to the wind all our modernist warnings against the perils of anachronism. This chapter contends, however, that appreciating this anachronistic mode is necessary for understanding how a biography worked and how it exerted its power. A biography is not a single, discrete narrative about an individual, but is one node in a matrix populated by many such texts. A biography, as such, should not be read alone, but instead, against that broader context: connected to other narratives, and in cacophonous conversation with one another. Once read this way, new streams of significance flow forth and pour over the barriers set by space and time.

99. Liu 2004: esp. ch. 2.

11

From Female Martyrs to Worthy Mothers The Shift in Exemplary Women’s Biographies in the Ming–Qing Dynastic Histories Yi Jo-­Lan

INTRODUCTION There is a tradition of some two millennia of writing women’s history in China. In the Han dynasty, Liu Xiang 劉向 (77 bce–6 ce) first treated women as biographical subjects officially in the stand-­alone Arrayed Biographies of Women (Lienü zhuan 列女傳).1 Later, Fan Ye 范曄 (398–445) first incorporated such arrayed female biographies into a standard history (zhengshi 正 史). In his preface to the arrayed women’s biographies in the History of the Later Han (Hou Hanshu 後漢書) Fan Ye pointed out that the category was designed to include moral and talented women other than empresses and imperial consorts, thus giving women of various social classes a place of their 1. For the textual scholarship of the Lienü zhuan tradition in imperial China, see Zurndorfer 2011. Liu Ching-­cheng states that putting women in a special section and thereby separating people by gender was prejudicial to women. She also argues that Liu Xiang reduced female virtue to docility. See Liu 1999.

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own in historiography.2 In his book, Fan not only maintained the values of Confucianism, which had been dominant in the Later Han, but also portrayed the individualism of his own time (the Wei–Jin period).3 From this point onward, gender, in the form of biographies of women, became a distinctive and separate category in almost half of Chinese standard histories. Thirteen of the twenty-­five histories (ershiwu shi 二十五史) have a section titled the “Arrayed Women’s Biographies.” These are Hou Hanshu, Weishu 魏書, Jinshu 晉書, Beishi 北史, Suishu 隋書, Jiu Tangshu 舊唐書, Xin Tangshu 新唐書, Songshi 宋史, Liaoshi 遼史, Jinshi 金史, Yuanshi 元史, Mingshi 明史, and Qingshi gao 清史稿 (Draft Qing History).4 As to why Sima Qian’s 司馬遷 pioneering history (Shiji 史記) and eleven other standard histories did not have a special section devoted to biographies of women, further research will be necessary to answer this question. Regarding the content of the biographies of women, most of the women included in Shiji and Hanshu 漢書 are palace women or female imperial relatives. Whether or not to create a special section for women in the histories remained an open question. In the case of Li Yanshou 李延壽 (?–687) , when he edited Beishi (659), he had biographies of women from the Weishu (554) and Suishu (636) arrayed biographies, but when compiling Nanshi 南史 (659) he had no references to imitate and therefore did not include such a special section for women. Instead, he placed filial and righteous women in the “biographies of the filial and just” (Xiaoyi zhuan 孝義傳) without reference to gender. This provoked the Qing historian Zhang Xuecheng 章學誠 (1738– 1801) to criticize him for mixing genders and failing to distinguish between the special features of men and women.5 The Song historian Ouyang Xiu 歐陽脩 (1007–1072), on the other hand, saw no need to set up a special section for women in his History of the Five Dynasties (Wudai shiji 五代史記) because he believed the purpose of including women in his history was to draw moral lessons, and not to represent personalities or distinguish between men and women.6 Composed and edited over a period of more than ninety years, the Ming History is widely regarded as second in quality only to the much celebrated 2. Fan 1965: 2781. 3. See Yi 2000. 4. For a study of arrayed biographies of women from Liu Xiang’s Lienü zhuan to the Xin Tangshu Lienü zhuan, see Mou 2004. For using dynastic histories as sources for Chinese women’s history, see Yi 2012. 5. Zhang 1977: 478. 6. Liu 2002.

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“Four Histories” (si shi 四史), Shiji, Hanshu, Hou Hanshu, and Sanguo zhi 三國志. Work on the Ming History began in 1645 but it was not finally printed and distributed until 1739. In contrast, the Draft Qing History was hastily compiled in just fourteen years (1914–1928).7 The contexts of the compilation of the Ming and Qing histories were very different. The Ming History was completed during the High Qing period (the Kangxi 康熙, Yongzheng 雍正, and Qianlong 乾隆 reigns) of general peace and order. In contrast, the Draft Qing History was written in the chaotic environment of the early Republican era in the absence of any legitimate central state. The Draft Qing History was distinctive in being the last official dynastic history, although many versions were edited afterward and another new Qing History 凊史 was being produced in China.8 The Ming and Qing standard histories both include biographies of women but employ contrasting standards in their selection of subjects, which reflect their varying approaches to historiography and cultural institutions. In this chapter, I examine in detail the socioeconomic backgrounds of the subjects in the women’s sections of the last two standard histories as well as the criteria for their selection. I am particularly interested in how the differences between these two arrayed women’s biographies sections are connected to the types of source materials employed by the respective historians that were similar but emphasized different female virtues, such as martyrdom versus motherhood. My main objective is not to determine the authenticity of the women’s biographies or to judge how accurately they reflect the real lives of women in China during the Ming and Qing periods. The “gap between the life-­as-­lived and the life-­as-­written” can be regarded as a “space that is productive both of insights and of further questions,” but that gap will not be examined here.9 Instead, I endeavor to explore the relationship between the standards by which women are included in these histories and the source materials—gazetteers—available to the compilers in eighteenth-­and early twentieth-­century China. Furthermore, I consider this relationship within the above contexts of the Ming and Qing periods but with specific focus placed on the state’s system of honoring women ( jingbiao 旌表). For my analysis of the Ming History, I draw on the punctuated edition of the Ming History published by Beijing Zhonghua shuju 北京中華書局 (1974), which is based on the 7. Fu 1931; Griggs 1955; Zhu 1971; Xu 1979; Zhang 1990; Hsi-­yuan Chen 2006. Liang Qichao 梁啟超, for one, had concerns about the source materials and organization of Qingshi gao. Liang 1957: 136. 8. Liu Haifeng 2014. 9. Dryburgh and Dauncey 2013: 2.

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Hall of Martial Glory edition (Wuying dian, Beijing, 1739).10 For the Qing History, I use the State History Office punctuated and revised version of the Draft Qing History (Taibei, 1991).11

ORDINARY WOMEN OR ELITE LADIES Analyzing the subjects of these two collections of female biographies from the perspective of social class, we find that the Ming History included primarily biographies of commoner women (pifu 匹婦). No less than 70 percent of the subjects came from such backgrounds as identified by the obscurity of their ancestors and relatives. Only 15 percent were from scholar-official families and the remaining 15 percent were from lower-­degree holders or literati families, e.g., government students (shengyüan 生員) or Confucian scholars (rushi 儒士).12 In one sense, this represented a tendency that had its origins in the Song History. From Song times, or more precisely the post-­ 10. The Wuying dian edition of 1739, reprinted with punctuation in 1974, is generally used by scholars now, although the last version of the Ming History edited in the Qing dynasty was the Siku quanshu 四庫全書 edition of 1789. The Lienü zhuan in that edition has the same content as the one in the Wuying dian edition. For the different versions of the Ming History and their arrayed women’s biographies, see Yi 2011: chap. 1. Wang Hongxu’s 王鴻緒 three-­fascicle account of women in the Draft Ming History (Mingshi gao 明史稿) printed in 1714 was actually the foundation for Wuying dian’s Mingshi printed in 1739, but they were very different from the women’s section of the earlier manuscript (chaoben 抄本) compiled by Wan Sitong 萬斯同. See Yi 2010. 11. In 1978–1991 the Bureau of Historiography and the Old Palace Museum in Taipei used archival materials to revise and annotate the Qingshi gao Mukden edition (guanwai ben 關外本). They have used the arrayed women’s biographies compiled by Jin Zhaofan 金兆蕃 in the Bureau of Qing History (on duty around 1926.9–1928.5). For the editing of the Qing History in Taiwan, see Feng 2006; Hsi-­yuan Chen 2006; Liu Haifeng 2014. 12. Ho Ping-­ti claims shengyüan were scholar-commoners because they had to keep taking examinations to retain their privileged status. Ho 1962: 35. However, in the early sixteenth century, the Ming court continuously affirmed that shengyüan were not allowed to apply for state awards for exemplary behavior (jingbiao), which suggests that they were seen to enjoy privileged, not commoner, status. See Libu zhigao 禮部志稿 1983. Chung-­li Chang likewise regards the shengyüan as “lower gentry” in the Qing system. Chang 1955.

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Song era in which the Song History was compiled, the compilers of standard histories began to include more biographies of commoner women. Only half of the women given biographies in the Song History were from literati families and some of the other half were clearly identified as ordinary women, including members of farm families and even prostitutes. In the succeeding Yuan History compiled in the early Ming, the number of commoner women, or at least women not from literati families, increased to 60 percent.13 Moreover, in those cases in the Ming History where the subjects came from the families of officials, the author refrained from using their officially granted/posthumous titles ( fengzeng 封贈) even when they had them. The biography of a Ms. Shao 邵, who was referred to as simply Woman Shao (Shao Shi 邵氏) rather than as Lady Shao (Shao ruren 邵孺人), is a good example.14 Similarly in the biography of Wang Shi 王氏, the foster-­mother of the famous scholar and Ming loyalist Gu Yanwu 顧炎武 (1613–1682), the editor did not even mention their relationship, thus revealing his intention to portray her as a woman of common origins. The praising of commoner women in the arrayed women’s biographies conforms to the principles of the Ming system of honoring women ( jingbiao). According to the preface of the Ming History’s arrayed women’s biographies: “[The purpose of the system of honors is] to encourage even women of humble background to preserve their chastity” 乃至闢壤下戶之女，亦能以貞白自砥.15 At first glance, in the Draft Qing History as well, the great majority (80 percent) of the women with biographies came from obscure families. Only 15 percent were from the families of officials, and 5 percent were from families of lower-­degree holders or literati families. However, a closer reading reveals that although ostensibly the great majority of the women, even 10 percent higher than in the Ming History, were from commoner families, in fact, as in the Ming History, some of those women may have been from upper-­class families but were simply depicted as being from commoner families to con13. Yi 2011: 146–50. From the History of the Later Han onward, most women included in the women’s sections of the standard histories had been from upper-­class families. According to Richard Davis’s research, 85 percent of the women in the New Tang History were from literati families and above. See Davis 2001: 216–18. 14. Wang 1983: 19.8b. 15. Zhang 1974: 7689–90. Furthermore, Katherine Carlitz has found peasant women could encounter motifs worth being honored for in storytelling and local spectacles like drama, instead of in local histories. See Carlitz 1997: 622. Thus we see how hard the historians of the Ming History Office try to keep the idea in regulations of repeatedly restricting court recognition to commoner women.

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form to the ideal purpose of the biographies, which ostensibly continued to be the same in the Qing as it had been in the Ming: to honor meritorious commoner women. More importantly, the Draft Qing History differed from the Ming History in acknowledging the elite status of honored women by virtue of their natal family, their marital family, and/or their progeny. Among the most prominent were the mothers of Minister of Revenue Tian Wen 田雯 (1635–1704), Grand Secretary (and editor-­in-­chief of the Ming History) Zhang Tingyu 張廷玉 (1672–1755), and the influential scholars Hong Liangji 洪亮吉 (1746–1809), Wang Huizu 汪輝祖 (1731–1807), and Feng Guifen 馮桂芬 (1809–1874). Honorees also included the daughters of the governor-­general of Hubei and Hunan provinces and leading scholar Bi Yuan 畢沅 (1730–1797) and the daughter-­in-­law of Hanlin academician Fang Xiangying 方象瑛 (1632–?). Other talented and prominent women were clearly identified, including Gu Ruopu 顧若樸 (1592–1681), Cai Wan 蔡琬 (1695–1755), Wang Zhenyi 王貞儀 (1768–1797), Wang Zhaoyuan 王照圓 (1763–1851), Liang Duan 梁端 (1790– 1825), and Yun Zhu 惲珠 (1771–1833). Although these biographies of elite women in the Draft Qing History form only a small percentage (20 percent of the total of 617 entries) in comparison with those of the Ming period (30 percent of the total 279 entries) and especially in comparison with those from obscure families in the Qing (80 percent of the total), their overt presence nevertheless represented a dramatic shift from the Ming History, which avoided mentioning women from privileged backgrounds or at least identifying them as such. The Draft Qing History included women with official titles, famous talents, and good deeds, thereby celebrating their elite achievements as well as their moral integrity.16

THE FEMALE VIRTUE CATEGORY AND ITS PREVALENCE Susan Mann states that unlike biographies of men in the histories, which were classified under particular headings such as “officials,” “scholars,” and so forth, biographies of women were just grouped together under one category without being classified under special headings: the paradigms of wom16. This would appear to be consistent with the theory that the Ming was some kind of a populist-egalitarian polity while the Qing was more of an elitist-reformist one. Des Forges 2003: 120–27. The difference, however, may have lain more in political ideology than in social practice. Kathryn Bernhardt also points out the “populism” or “peasantization” of law in the post-­Song period. Bernhardt 1996: 50–58.

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anly behavior persisted over time.17 The entries in the section titled “Arrayed Women’s Biographies” of the standard histories usually follow a basic format. First, the protagonist’s place of birth or domicile as well as the names of her father, husband, or sons would be stated. In some instances, this would be followed by an account of a special incident, which happened during her adolescent years, highlighting the beginnings of her distinctive character. Then an account of her particular conduct and actions, or a special conversation she had, would be featured to establish the theme of the particular biography. In other words, those biographies are not subdivided into categories of virtue, but the family name of the woman and her name is often followed by a “virtuous” label, such as “ faithful wife X” or “ filial daughter X,” etc. These categories are applied to individuals but the individuals are not organized in the record accordingly. In the dynastic histories, most of women’s biographies were included in one section called lienü 列女 by reason of gender, instead of being organized in different categories as the men’s biographies were. Few were put in different categories. (e.g., Qin Liangyu 秦良玉 in “biographies of chieftains” Tusi zhuan 土司傳) . Although some of the headings of women’s biographies might mention “faithful wife” or “filial daughter” in the context, nevertheless they were not recorded in these kinds of categories in the arrayed women’s biographies. In the following I group them in different categories based on the main theme in the woman’s biography. A majority of the biographies in both Ming and Qing compilations celebrated women who died to preserve their moral and/or sexual integrity, both of which have generally left the strongest impression on readers of both works. The biographies of such “female martyrs” (lienü 烈女; please note all lienü hereafter refer to 列女 unless otherwise indicated) make up nearly 70 percent of the total number in the Ming History and nearly 60 percent in the Draft Qing History. In contrast, only about 14 percent of the entries in the former and 12 percent in the latter appear in the category of “faithful wives” ( jiefu 節婦). One would have expected the percentage of women celebrated for their fidelity (chastity) to have been much higher. Part of the reason for these low figures is that the female subjects in these collections are honored for various other kinds of morality, such as “filiality” (xiao 孝), “righteousness” (yi 義), and so on. Women who are celebrated for their filial piety make up nearly 9 percent of the women’s biographies in the Ming History and 15 percent of the biographies in the Draft Qing History; women who are described as benevolent and righteous make up just over 8 percent in the former and 8 percent in the latter. However, even if we presume that all of the women 17. Mann 1997: 205.

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Table 1. Types of Female Virtue Celebrated in the Ming History and in the Draft Qing History Female Faithful Filial martyrs women women (%) (%) (%) MS LNZ QSG LNZ

68.82 57.53

13.98 11.51

  8.96 14.76

Righteous Exemplary Talented Martial women mothers women conduct (%) (%) (%) (%) 8.24 8.25

0 3.88

0 2.92

0 1.14

Total (%) 100 100

in these two categories also maintained life-­long chastity (which was not necessarily the case), the total percentage of chaste women would still be less than that of female martyrs in the two collections. Therefore, it is very clear that the primary focus of both collections is on female martyrs. In their work on the definition of womanly virtue in late imperial China, Du Fangqin 杜芳琴 and Susan Mann also noted a change in historiographical emphasis. They found that although both martyrdom and fidelity continued to be considered as wifely virtues, the criteria for judging a woman’s virtue in Qing biographies underwent a subtle shift. There was a move away from martyrdom toward fidelity and the combination of fidelity with filial piety.18 As the Draft Qing History honored a smaller percentage of women for martyrdom, it made up the difference by honoring three new categories of women. They included: “worthy mothers” (xianmu 賢母), for which there are twenty-­three entries, nearly 4 percent of the total; “talented women” (cainü 才女), for which there are eighteen entries, nearly 3 percent of the total; and women displaying “martial virtue” (wude 武德), for which there are seven entries, making up just over 1 percent of the total. These three categories reflect broader trends in women’s culture in the Qing period (see table). Here I will elaborate more on “worthy mothers.”

MOTHERHOOD AS A MOTIF IN CHINESE LIFE STORIES Although in China it was often said that women should obey their fathers when young, their husbands when married, and their sons when they became mothers, motherhood and mothers were also highly respected. The mother of 18. Du and Mann 2003. T’ien Ju-­k’ang, taking Shanxi as example, also found that widows committing suicide decreased after the middle of the Qing. See T’ien 1988:40.

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the early Confucian scholar Mencius (Mengmu 孟母) was celebrated as a paragon of motherhood, often in children’s books and manuals for women. In the Former Han period, Liu Xiang’s Arrayed Biographies of Women made exemplary mothers (muyi 母儀) the first category, constituting about 10 percent of the total.19 Although Sima Qian’s Historical Records and Ban Gu’s 班 固 History of the Former Han did not celebrate mothers in a special category of arrayed biographies, they honored them as admonishers of others and as procreators, including by means of miracle births.20 Beginning with the History of the Later Han, all of the thirteen standard histories with arrayed women’s biographies included at least one exemplary mother. The ratios of biographies of exemplary mothers among the total numbers of women’s biographies in the thirteen standard histories are as follows: Hou Hanshu 2/19, Weishu 2/17, Suishu 5/16, Jinshu 7/37, Beishi 7/35, Jiu Tangshu 1/31, Xin Tangshu 4/54, Songshi 2/49, Liaoshi 1/5, Jinshi 1/22, Yuanshi 4/131, Mingshi 0/279, and Qingshi gao 24/617. Suishu and Jinshu both emphasized worthy mothers more than prior histories had. Images of motherhood shifted from a nurturing mother in the arrayed women’s biographies of the History of the Later Han, through the admonishing mother in the History of the Northern Wei, to the exhorting mother who asked her sons to be loyal to the (Tang) state in the Old Tang History and New Tang History.21 Weishu was the first to combine motherhood and widowhood under one subject.22 Mothers in Jinshi and Yuanshi protected their young children during war or were widowed and raised their children on their own. In a striking exception, motherhood received little to no praise in the Ming History despite the unprecedented number of women included in its ar19. However, Joan Judge states that the maternal role was not highlighted in the classical canon and remained marginalized in late imperial China. See Judge 2008: 108–9. 20. Qi 契 of Yin’s 殷 mother was Jian Di 簡狄. Once she saw a dark bird drop its egg. She picked it up and swallowed it, and thus being with child gave birth to Qi. Hou Ji 后稷 of Zhou’s 周 mother was Jiang Yun 姜原. Once she stepped on a big footprint and became pregnant with Hou Ji. See the Annals of Yin (Yin benji 殷本紀) and the Annals of Zhou (Zhou benji 周本紀) of Shiji. 21. Motherhood was linked with state interest in the Tang histories. See Chiu-­ Duke 2006. 22. See Holmgren 1981: 172–75. For example, in the biography of Fang Shi 房氏, it highlights a faithful ardent woman first and then describes her as an exhorting mother. Wei 1974: 1979–80.

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rayed women’s biographies. The only exception was the woman of Ximafan 洗馬畈婦. In her biography, the editor wrote: One unnamed woman [accompanied by her baby] in Ximafan, Qishui, [Hubei Province,] was held up by a bandit [who intended to rape her]. She did not yield to his demands, so he slashed her abdomen. The woman held her baby in one hand and her belly in the other, trying to stay alive until her husband returned. When he finally arrived, she gave him the child, loosened her hand on her abdomen, and died. 蘄水洗馬畈某氏，為賊所執，不從，賊刃其腹，一手抱嬰兒，一手 捧腹，使氣不即盡以待夫。夫至，付兒，放手而斃。23

In this biography of only forty-­two Chinese characters, the author portrays a woman protecting her baby. The emphasis of this account nonetheless appears to be on the fact that she had resisted the bandit’s sexual assault even at the risk of death. Thus, it seems that her staunch courage in protecting her own chastity was the basis for her inclusion in the collection and her maternal care was incidental. For this reason the biography was included with female martyrs. Other women’s biographies in the Ming History focused on female fidelity to their husbands and treated motherhood as of secondary importance. For example, Rao Ding’s 饒鼎 wife, Yang Shi 楊氏, was accorded a biography as a faithful wife because she followed her husband in death when she was eighty years old after she had successfully brought up her two sons. The biography reported that she had “taught her two sons who became successful” (ke erzi chengli 課二子成立).24 Another biography of a woman named Ouyang Shi 歐陽氏 reported that she “looked after her child who was born after his father’s death” ( fu yifuzi 撫遺腹子).25 The prevailing emphasis in the arrayed biographies on women’s moral righteousness, chastity, and filial piety, over their exemplary motherhood (muyi) is evident in the arrayed biography of Gu Yanwu’s mother mentioned earlier, the “biography of chaste woman Wang” (Wang zhennü zhuan 王貞女 傳). This biography makes no mention of how woman Wang raised and educated her son and ignores even the instructions she gave him on her deathbed, activities detailed in Gu’s own, fuller biography of his mother (xianbi Wang shuoren xingzhuang 先妣王碩人行狀).26 While this was partly a result of the 23. Zhang 1974: 7756. 24. Ibid., 7726. 25. Ibid., 7714. 26. Gu 1965: 13a–15b.

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brevity of the arrayed biography and the standard history’s focus on several distinct categories of female virtue, it also appears to reflect the relative neglect of the virtue of motherhood in the Ming period. The section on arrayed biographies of women in the Draft Qing History is quite different. In it, portraits of motherhood, especially those of wise and well-­mannered mothers, figure importantly among biographies of virtuous women. In the preface, nine categories of virtuous women are designated as: “worthy mothers (xianmu), filial daughters (xiaonü 孝女), filial daughters-inlaw (xiaofu 孝婦), worthy wives (xianfu 賢婦), faithful widows ( jiefu), chaste women (zhenfu 貞婦), faithful maidens (zhennü 貞女), women martyrs (liefu yixing 烈婦義行), and women of the border areas (bianjiao zhufu 邊徼諸 婦).”27 In the process, as we see, the editor highlights worthy mothers as first within female virtue. The opening biography in the collection was of Zhang Shi 張氏, the wife of Tian Xuzong 田緒宗, who obtained the metropolitan degree in 1652. The fact that she and her husband lived in the early years of the Qing may alone have given her pride of place, but it seems likely that the editor Jin Zhaofan placed her first because of her achievements as a mother. The biography, in any case, gave short shrift to Tian Xuzong’s life and career and focused on Zhang’s advice to her sons, including Tian Wen. The admonitions of her sons took up 80 percent of her biography, and her tone was a clear manifestation of the significant authority she possessed as a mother. The biography then described her literary talents, reflecting the dominant Qing belief that talent in a woman was possible and permissible so long as it was not for public consumption and personal profit.28 The biography concludes with her objections to her sons’ wishes to hold a large celebration for her seventieth birthday.29 This presumably was included to demonstrate her modesty and frugality, Confucian virtues becoming to males as well as females. The Draft Qing History arrayed biographies include many women who directed their sons’ studies. For instance, the biography of Jiang Shi 蔣氏, Hong Liangji’s mother, records that she taught her son frequently until midnight and that she was even better at phonology than the neighborhood teacher.30 The image of a mother rebuking her son for idleness recurs in the Draft Qing History’s accounts of the mothers of Wang Huizu and Ji Zengyun

27. Zhao 1977: 11640. 28. Mann 1997: 117–20. 29. Zhao 1977: 11641. 30. Ibid., 11644.

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嵇曾筠.31 In these cases, a mother’s tears become sharp and effective instruments for admonishing and teaching her son.32 In addition, there were two clear instances when mothers sought to instill in their sons a sense of duty and responsibility toward public office and the people. The mother of Wang Huizu reportedly urged him to consider a remission of penalties for certain criminals to demonstrate the value of mercy, while Feng Guifen’s mother was said to have instructed him to remit the taxes in Jiangsu in the wake of the Taiping rebellion. In these biographies, the mothers purportedly played indispensable roles in supervising their sons’ methods of governance. The Qing apparently recognized the important roles of mothers in instructing their sons and wanted to encourage their deeds as an important form of indirect rule. That was consistent with the view that filial piety required respect for the opinions of mothers as well as of fathers. In sum, I have rephrased Lan Dingyuan’s 藍鼎元 (1675–1733) adage: “Order in the world begins with maternal in­struc­tion.”33 In contrast to the Ming History’s practice of emphasizing women’s protection of their chastity, the Draft Qing History emphasizes women’s roles in the home. In the preface to the section on women it declares: Families make up a state; man and woman are each half of the family. As a daughter, a woman should obey her parents. As a daughter-­in-­law, she should respect and serve her parents-­in-­law. As a wife, she should help her husband, and as a mother, she should raise her children. Sisters and sisters-­ in-­law should each fulfill her duty. When every member of a family behaves this way, the family will be in harmony. When every family is harmonious, the country will be well governed. Therefore, women’s domestic labor, such as planning for food and drinks, drawing water from a well and pounding rice in a mortar, or keeping busy weaving cloth and plaiting strands, is as critical to the health of a country as the governing of the official class, or the toil of the farmers, workers, and business people. All are necessary to the state and none are dispensable.

31. Ibid., 11645, 11641. 32. For mother–son relationships in the Ming and Qing, see Hsiung 1994. Throughout Yin Huiyi’s 尹會一 (1691–1748) official career, his mother, Li Shi 李氏 (1667– 1744), had provided assistance and guidance to Yin on his way to success. See Ho 2008. 33. See Yi 2005. Lan wrote: “Order in the world starts with good customs; good customs begin with harmonious families; harmonious families start from women’s efforts” 天下之治在風俗，風俗之正在齊家，齊家之道當自婦人始.

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積家而成國，家恆男婦半。女順父母，婦敬舅姑，妻助夫，母長子 女，姊妹娣姒，各盡其分。人如是，家和；家如是，國治。是故匹 婦黽勉帷闥之內，議酒食，操井臼，勤織紝組紃，乃與公卿大夫士 謀政事，農勞稼穡，工業勢曲，商賈通貨財，同有職於國，而不可 闕。34

This statement stresses the importance of men and women accepting their separate social roles, fulfilling their responsibilities, and being recognized accordingly. Their roles and responsibilities were not static, however. At different stages of her life, a woman has different sets of duties, including supporting (not just obeying) her husband and raising (not just producing) her children. Scholars have pointed out that the reduction of categories of female virtues from Han to late imperial China was part of a more gradual waning of a woman’s role in society and a waxing of her role in the home.35 However, in the Draft Qing History some of those categories were revived. The conclusion that can be drawn from the disappearance of the “worthy and enlightened” category from the arrayed women’s biographies goes beyond “the waxing of women’s domesticity.” In reality the situation cannot be summed up so simply, as it was very closely tied to changing concepts of historiography, culture, and gender in the Qing.

MOTHERHOOD IN THE QING SYSTEM OF HONORS We must keep in mind several points when analyzing the shift in criteria of feminine virtue from the Ming History to the Draft Qing History. First, we should consider the source materials that the compilers drew upon, including contemporary ones and those from the past. Second, we ought to look at the official systems of conferring honors on female individuals. These can show how people understood women’s virtues. Third, we should look at women’s biographies in local gazetteers as potential sources for the dynastic histories. As we have seen, regulations dating to the early Ming stated that only commoners would be considered for recognition ( jingbiao). Not until the sec34. Zhao 1977: 11640. 35. Raphals 1998; Gao 1999. Raphals notes that the Warring States and Han stories of learned, technically skilled, and rhetorically adroit women disappeared from later collections. Gao points out the sudden disappearance of certain categories of women’s behavior, such as “worthy and enlightened” (xianming 賢明) and “loyal and courageous” (zhongyong 忠勇), from the standard histories beginning with the Yuan History.

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ond year of the Jiajing 嘉靖 reign (1523, r. 1522–1566) was eligibility extended to include relatives of successful civil service examinees and clerks (lidian 吏典).36 Even then, honors could not be conferred upon women who already had noble titles such as anren 安人 and shuren 淑人.37 Regardless of how the system may have operated in reality, the Ming officials made their intentions perfectly clear: beneficiaries were meant to be members of commoner families, and not the relatives of officials or gentry because they already had their granted titles from the court.38 When the Qing came to power, it built upon the foundations of the Ming system, retaining an emphasis on women’s chastity in the system of honors.39 At the same time, the Qing made the system of conferring honors more inclusive. From the eighteenth century onward, the classes of women eligible for distinction in the system of honors far exceeded those eligible during the Ming. From titled women of the imperial family down to servants and beggars, all women became eligible to be considered for distinction. The motives behind the Qing government’s move to make the system more inclusive are quite evident: it was keen to use the political system to confer explicit honors for behavior defined as virtuous, and to promote exceptional virtue in the private, everyday lives of the people.40 This was part of the Qing’s larger commitment to the ideas, self-­serving but probably sincere, that virtue should be more important than ethnicity and merit ought to be more important than class in honoring women and governing the realm. Following the Ming, the early Qing initially excluded noble titled women (mingfu 命婦) from the system of honors ( jingbiao). In 1670, however, Kangxi (r. 1662–1722) allowed filial women who had official titles and had reached one hundred years of age to receive a plaque or arch that was worth thirty

36. Da Ming huidian 1989: 79.457; Libu zhigao 1983: 24.34b–35a. 37. Da Ming huidian 1989: 79.457; Libu zhigao 1983: 24.34b–35a. Women in the Ming dynasty were granted titles (or posthumous titles) in nine grades associated with the official ranks of their male family members (husbands, sons, grandsons, or great-­ grandsons). The grades are as follows: (1) yipin furen 一品夫人, (2) furen, (3) shuren, (4) gongren 恭人, (5) yiren 宜人, (6) anren, (7) ruren 孺人, (8) bapin 八品 ruren, (9) jiupin 九品 ruren. See Zhang 1974: vol. 72, 1737. 38. Fei 1998: chap. 1. 39. Before subduing the south, the Manchus did not hold sexual fidelity in high regard. See Ding 1999: 115–17. 40. Elvin 1984: 124, 135, 151.

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taels (ounces) of silver.41 Then an imperial decree in 1734 (Yongzheng 12, r. 1723–1735) stated: According to precedence, a woman who has been granted an honorary title and who practices fidelity after the death of her husband is not allowed to be given an award. However, any woman whose husband dies before she reaches age thirty, who does not remarry, and who raises a son through to adulthood should be honored, even if she has received an official title because of her son’s official success. 婦人守節，有受封在先、夫死在後之命婦，仍照例毋庸旌表。其三 十歲以前夫死守節，迨撫孤成立之後，因子顯達始獲受封，應一例 旌表。42

In other words, after this, in a statutory change of some significance, women were permitted to be honored for their chastity/faithfulness despite their having received official titles when their sons achieved merit and success. This highlighted women’s achievement in raising sons, i.e., in fulfilling their maternal duties, to an extraordinary extent. Later in 1749, Gioroi Yar­ hašan 雅爾哈善, the governor of Jiangsu, worried that the system of honors might become indiscriminate. He argued that successfully raising one’s children was superior to simply accepting one’s fate and remaining faithful to one’s deceased husband. He therefore suggested that widows who taught their sons well should be accorded even greater respect than widows who simply remained chaste.43 The original intention of ranking different levels of widow chastity/loyalty was simply to reduce the pressure on government offices caused by the huge number of people applying for jingbiao. However, according to the above regulations, widowed mother–instructresses were usually emphasized over ordinary chaste widows. Thus, to be given priority for recognition, women were not only expected to remain faithful to their deceased husbands; they were also encouraged to be exceptional mothers who could make their sons successful. When Qing officials conferred honors upon women for high moral integrity, they included in that group “worthy mothers,” such as Wang Shi 汪氏 41. Qinding da Qing huidian shili (Jiaqing chao) 1992: 324.1a. In 1753 (Qianlong 10), the following clause was added: “Chaste and filial individuals of the royal family are allowed to be awarded according to their rank,” although they would not receive honorary arches. See Ibid., 323.1b. 42. Ibid., 323.13b. 43. Qing Gaozong shilu 1964: 341.21b–22a (Qianlong 14.5).

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(the wife of Xu Hao 徐灝) from Changshan 常山 County, who received the title “the paragon of a worthy mother” (xianmu kefeng 賢母可風) from Education Inspector Wu 吳督學.44 In 1897 (Guangxu 光緒 23, r. 1875–1908), Censor Pan Qinglan 潘慶瀾 recommended that a worthy mother named Guo Shi 郭氏 be recognized.45 While the original intention of the system was to award women for chastity and moral integrity, as well as to celebrate women who personified filial piety and righteousness, by the Qing dynasty it had evolved to include “worthy mothers” as a category. The Qing also emphasized motherhood among the Manchu elite. For example, a concubine in the royal (gioro 覺羅) clan could be honored ( jingbiao) only if she had produced a son.46 In addition to the honoring of certain behavior, early Qing rulers also made use of “women’s instruction books” (nüjiaoshu 女教書) as a vehicle for encouraging mothers to instill loyalty in their sons. The clearest example of this phenomenon is the Imperially Endorsed Interpretations of the Meaning of Rules for the Inner Quarters (Yuding neize yanyi 御定內則衍義) (1656), which expresses Shunzhi’s 順治 (r. 1643–1661) opinion that one of the most important jobs of a mother was teaching loyalty to her son, and in fulfilling this duty, mothers could not afford to be too lenient.47 In the early Republican era, when the Draft Qing History was being compiled, officials in Beijing continued to honor good mothers. For example, in October 1917, the “Revised Award System Amendment” (xiuzheng baoyang tiaoli 修正褒揚條例) stated that since the moral conduct of “good wives and worthy mothers” (liangqi xianmu 良妻賢母) was respected and emulated in the community, their lives should be honored in the same way that virtuous martyrs were honored.48 It was in this climate that early Republican scholars edited and compiled local gazetteers on which the Draft Qing History was based. As the women’s section of the Lishui County Gazetteer (Lishui xianzhi 麗水縣志) (in Zhejiang) in the early Republican period put it: According to the “Revised Award System Amendment,” other than chaste maidens and faithful widows, virtuous wives and worthy mothers who received commendations would also be included in the following passages. 44. Changshan xianzhi 1975: 65.1a. 45. Pan 1893. 46. Qinding da Qing huidian shili (Jiaqing chao) 1992: 6.19b. 47. A mother’s role in “instructing her sons” (jiaozi 教子), “encouraging their studies” (mianxue 勉學), and teaching the importance of “sacrificing one’s self out of loyalty” (jinzhong 盡忠) is discussed in the “Jiao zhi dao” 教之道 section of Yuding neize yanyi 1656: 4.8a. 48. Zhengfu gongbao 1971: 205.

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今援據新頒褒揚條例，自貞女節婦外，并將良妻賢母曾經褒揚者， 分載於後.49

The ideology of motherhood survived and continued into the Republican period.

WORTHY MOTHERS IN LOCAL GAZETTEERS It is evident that the arrayed women’s biographies sections of local gazetteers were intimately connected to the countrywide practice of the system of honors that existed right through the early Republican period. According to my initial research, the primary source materials for the arrayed women’s biographies section of the Ming History and Draft Qing History were most likely freestanding collections of personal biographies, as well as women’s biographies sections of gazetteers, such as the Dinghai County Gazetteer (Dinghai xianzhi 定海縣志) and the Jiangnan Province Gazetteer (Jiangnan tongzhi 江南通志).50 Scholars have shown how essays on virtuous women, especially women who committed suicide or were killed defending their chastity were appearing in large numbers in the local histories by mid-Ming China. T’ien JuK’ang points out that the more scholars were frustrated in taking civil service examinations the more women committing suicide were being recorded in local histories.51 Katherine Carlitz suggests that by the Jiajing reign period, chapters on virtuous women were appearing in every local history. Local gazetteers in the Ming–Qing period were composed on a fairly standard pattern compared to those in the Song and Yuan dynasties. The women’s biogra49. Lishui xianzhi 1975: 12.1a. 50. As I have shown in my book on women’s biography in the Ming History, it arrayed slightly according to the region, which confirms its original sources were local gazetteers. For example, Dai Shi’s 戴氏 (p. 7721) biography was based on Minshu’s 閩 書; Sun Yifu’s 孫義婦 (p. 7697) was based on Dinghai xianzhi, etc. See Yi 2011: chap. 3, esp. 245–253. Regarding the Draft Qing History, the biographies of Liu Shi 劉氏 (p. 14068) and Fenjie 粉姐 (p. 14102) were based on the Jiangnan Province Gazetteer; Li Shi’s (p. 14023), mother of Yin Huiyi 尹會一, biography was based on the Jifu Province Gazetteer (Jifu Tongzhi 畿輔通志). One source used by the Draft Qing History, Wanyan Yunzhu’s 完顏惲珠 Langui baolu 蘭閨寶錄 (1831), was explicitly based on local gazetteers as well. See its “Liyan” 例言, Wanyan Yunzhu 1831: 1b. Grace S. Fong discusses the compilation of Langui baolu in Chapter 7 in this volume. 51. See T’ien 1988: chap. 4.

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phies glorified fidelity and suicide in the empirewide language of female virtue, and women were thus “described in language that remained uniform throughout the empire.”52 In the Qing, biographies in the honorary categories of worthy mothers (xianmu), virtuous ladies (xianshu 賢淑), and talented ladies (caiyuan 才媛) from local gazetteers provided the most important models for biographies of women in the Draft Qing History.53 Local gazetteers for the Qing dynasty often placed these categories at the forefront of the collections.54 For example, the preface to the section on “worthy mothers” of the arrayed women’s biographies of the Changshan County Gazetteer (Changshan xianzhi 常山縣志) (in Zhejiang) printed in 1886, emphasizes motherhood as the foundation of a family.55 The Duchang County Gazetteer (Duchang xianzhi 都昌縣志) (in Jiangxi) also begins its collection of women’s biographies with the worthy mothers category. The preface to the section on “worthy mothers” of the Chang–Zhao Combined Draft Gazetteer (Changzhao hezhi gao 常昭合志稿) begins with a eulogy on the importance of proper prenatal conduct; in it, the editor expresses his opinion that all great persons are created by the instruction of worthy mothers.56 It is worth noting that after 1749, more and more biographies of maternal models were included in the gazetteers, especially in the Guangxu period.57 While the category of virtuous martyrs continued to 52. See Ibid.; Carlitz 1994: 105–9, esp. 106. 53. Interestingly, Nanxiu Qian found the conflict between arrayed women (lienü) and worthy ladies (xianyuan 賢媛) writings began in the Ming dynasty. The arrayed women’s biographies emphasized martyrdom and chastity, while writings in the tradition of Tales of the World (Shishuo 世說) advocated for gender equality. See Qian 2011: 81–84. 54. See Anhui tongzhi 安徽通志 1967: “Fanli” 凡例, 4; Sichuan tongzhi 四川通 志 1967: “Fanli,” 14a. Ellen Widmer demonstrates the value of gazetteers as tools for researching the lives of talented women in the Qing dynasty and early Republican China. See Widmer 2012. 55. Changshan xianzhi 1975: 65.1a. 56. Changzhao hezhi gao 1975: 34.1. 57. I have checked about one thousand gazetteers of the Ming–Qing periods and found that almost one hundred gazetteers from the Qing either had a special section for worthy mothers or emphasized this kind of category, but only a few gazetteers from the Ming had this. Moreover, a woman called Shi Shi 施氏 from the Ming dynasty whose biography is listed in the chaste-­martyrdom section was even later moved to the maternal model section in the Kunming County Gazetteer 昆明縣志. Kunming xianzhi 1967: 7.22.

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dominate the gazetteers’ arrayed women’s biographies during the early Republican period, the editors of the Jiande County Gazetteer (Jiande xianzhi 建 德縣志) (in Zhejiang) printed in 1919 stated: “To record only examples of the chaste and virtuous would be limiting the scope too much.” In keeping with the amended statute concerning the system of honors, therefore, virtuous wives and worthy mothers were also recognized.58 Moreover, early Republican writers of county gazetteers emphasized the role of worthy mothers as an important element of female virtue. Their invocation of the phrase “worthy wives and good mothers” (xianqi liangmu 賢妻良母) in the Qing period is likely to have influenced the “good wives and worthy mothers” (liangqi xianmu) image of women in the Republic. In other words, this image had its roots in Qing theory and practice as well as its efflorescence in the Republic. It was not just a “traditional” idea concerning the family or a “modern” idea focused on the nation, but a combination of the two in the specific context of the Qing and early Republican eras in an expanding, known world.59 Local gazetteers had long served as important sources for the compilation of standard histories.60 With population growth and the limitations on the number of official posts during the Qing period, more low-­level scholars and scholar-officials may have become involved in the compilation of the gazetteers.61 Susan Mann has suggested that such scholars may have been more indebted for their education to their mothers—in contrast, say, to their busy fathers or expensive tutors—which may have made those scholars more aware of the important roles of worthy mothers.62 Whatever the explanation, the category of good and worthy mothers began to challenge that of women martyrs for primacy by the end of the Qing and the beginning of the Re­ public. 58. Jiande xianzhi 1975: “Bianzuan tiaoli” 編纂條例 (The Regulations of Compilation), 4a. 59. For the idea of a sharp break between “tradition” and “modernity” on this topic, see Jin 2005: 1–36. Joan Judge believes that “the concept of this compound is best understood as a product of its own transnational moment in history.” See Judge 2008: 110–15. 60. When compiling the Ming History, Zhu Yizun 朱彝尊 (1629–1709) suggested collecting and using gazetteers as source material. See his “Shiguan shang zongcai di’ershu” 史館上總裁第二書. Zhu 1983: 32.4. 61. Zhang Xuecheng had initiated this turn in the late eighteenth century. Zhang received his metropolitan degree in 1778 and finished the Yongqing County Gazetteer (Yongqing xianzhi 永清縣志) the next year. Nivison 1966. 62. Mann 1987: 45–48.

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CONCLUSION If the idea of the worthy mother had its roots in tradition, as it certainly did, one must consider why the arrayed women’s biographies of the Ming History, unlike those of the Draft Qing History, did not praise the virtue of motherhood. Generally speaking, the Ming History reflected the trauma of the violent MingQing transition and highlighted the women of the Chongzhen 崇禎 period (r. 1628–1644) who were willing to die for their convictions. Many women committed suicide or were killed preserving their chastity in refusing to submit to rape and capture. They were generally considered to be martyrs or at least ardent in defense of their chastity. This phenomenon was rooted in several factors, including popular cult and social pressures, which regarded chastity as more important than life itself. This belief was widely celebrated in the dramatic deaths of heroines in literature, for example, in Romance of the Arrayed Biographies of Women in Former and Present Times (Gujin lienü zhuan yanyi 古今列女傳演義) by Dragon Master of the Eastern Sea (Donghai youlongzi 東海猶龍子) in the seventeenth century. Moreover, during the Ming–Qing transition, the selection of biographies for the arrayed women’s biographies section in the standard history was subject to a certain amount of manipulation by late Ming loyalists and self-­critical survivors, which may also have contributed to the heavy emphasis on virtuous martyrs. The Ming History’s arrayed women’s biographies included 102 women who died during the disturbances in the Chongzhen reign, constituting half the number of martyrs with biographies and more than a third of the total number of honored women in all categories. I argue that Ming loyalists or at least leftover (yimin 遺民) historians active in the compilation of the Ming History tried to use women’s biographies as metaphors to express their sorrow at the overthrow of the former dynasty. This effort was consistent with the Qing authorities’ insistence that, as the Manchus had claimed, “The Ming dynasty was overthrown by the peasant rebels not the Manchus.”63 As a result, the emphasis on martyrs quite simply reduced the space available to deal with mothers. During this period of the late Ming and early Qing, the moral value of women martyring themselves to 63. Yi 2011: chap. 5, sec. 2. T’ien Ju-­k’ang also found that the large number of female suicides or murders in Shanxi Province during the Ming dynasty was due to Li Zicheng’s 李自成 rebellion. T’ien 1988: 42. For some members of the Chinese gentry, peasant rebels in the late Ming, described as roving bandits, were more foreign than Manchus. See Parsons 1970: 260. For the views of other members of the elite, see Des Forges 2003.

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preserve their chastity completely trumped all other models of morality, becoming almost the sole yardstick for judging a woman’s virtue. At the same time, while motherhood had long been honored, the specific categories of good wives and worthy mothers did not yet exist in the official framework for honoring women of merit, thus making it less likely for writers to identify and eulogize them in the arrayed women’s biographies in the Ming History. In that text, wives and mothers were remembered more for their virtue and filial piety than for their wisdom and nurturing. The achievements of a worthy wife actually came to be measured through her filial piety. In other words, dutifulness was often equated with obedient service to the parents of one’s husband, and womanly work (including domestic chores) was seen as evidence of a woman’s virtuous moral conduct. Through this process, the very idea of motherhood deviated from the image of the worthy mother. A mother caring for her children was described in her biography as practicing filial piety and chastity, thereby emphasizing her faithfulness to the men and/or mother-­in-­law in her life rather than her role as a nurturing mother of her children. In some ways, this seems to reflect differences in types of sources dealing with women’s lives during the Ming period as opposed to other periods. For the Ming and Qing, if we examine other, more personal forms of writing than those of the official biographies, such as birthday wishes, obituaries, accounts of conduct, genealogies, biographies in women’s instruction books, and epitaphs penned by members of the woman’s own family, we see time and time again the emphasis is on praising a worthy wife or compassionate mother. From the mid-­ Qing period on, more and more “worthy mother” biographies were seen in the public sphere and began to be included in local gazetteers, biography collections, and formal histories, thus finally giving such women their proper place in history.64 Overall, the changing of the state’s policy in the system of honors and the emphasis on maternal models in gazetteers are the two main factors in the categorization and valorization of the wise motherhood in the compiling of the Draft Qing History. But remarkably, although subtle, this shift from the Ming History to the Draft Qing History can only be fully comprehended if one observes gender found within official systems and respective source material.

64. Guochao xianyuan leizheng 國朝賢媛類徵 and Langui baolu are two examples. Yi 2008: 191, 194.

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12

Conclusion

Recent work on Chinese biographies has raised a number of questions in our understanding of that tradition. Several of these questions have played out across the sections and chapters of this volume, and reflect our dialogues with other scholars working on similar issues. In our conclusion, we would like to suggest how this volume might be seen in the larger discourses about biography in Chinese and world history. We begin with the matter of sources. The existence of standard or official/ dynastic histories from the Han through the Qing makes the work of Chinese historians relatively easy; the limitations of those sources are well known and are documented here even in the case of the generally admired Ming History, which took about a century to complete. The Yuan History, which was put together precipitously, fell short by comparison, although its rough nature had the advantage of including original documents less subjected to editorial modification than would otherwise have been the case. Although even the Ming History misled by its incorporation of oral traditions, popular stories, and rumors, it could also be checked against private sources, often incorporated in local gazetteers and collected works. Sometimes, as in the case of the Draft Qing History, texts compiled nearer to the events could be less edited or censored than revised editions printed later under enhanced political pressures. Popular stories could be misleading, of course, but they could also preserve material that could be traced to actual historical events. Whether true or false, such tales might interpret historical materials in ways that enable them to shed light on and shape a different reading of history. During much of the Ming dynasty there existed a nearly day-­to-­day court record that was far more detailed and somewhat more reliable than the version incorporated into the dynastic history even if it did not always live up to its name, 355

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Veritable Records. When this record became available to private scholars in the Ming it at least potentially empowered them in a fashion somewhat similar to the way today’s readers have learned innumerable matters on some state policies revealed by Wikileaks and Edward Snowden. Familial genealogies documented society below the level of county gazetteers and sometimes contained information—even embarrassing gossip and facts harmful to family interests—that was unavailable elsewhere. The common dichotomies between official sources and private ones and between primary sources and secondary ones do no more justice to sources used in this book than they did to the Historical Records of the master Han historians Sima Tan and Sima Qian. Much depends not just on how the sources originate but the uses to which they are put over time and space. A second salient issue pertains to social class, or how people from different walks of life related to each other according to these biographies. It appears that members of the elite who wished to change or restore their family names had to go through greater bureaucratic formalities than commoners did, a somewhat counterintuitive (but certainly not unique) case of privileged status in one domain leading to greater restrictions in another. Social distinctions seem to have persisted even among “bandits” or rebels, such that even minor rebel scholars may have continued to hold themselves superior to major “peasant” leaders, leading to lethal conflict within a popular uprising. Landed and degree-­holding scholars may have looked down on writers who had more modest backgrounds and were dependent on commercial sources of wealth. A leading scholar-­official nonetheless accepted payments to write biographies and chronicled the lives of a monk and a merchant. An elite female poet could write biographies of commoner women including one of a devoted personal maid, another of a woman disowned by her family and neighbors after being raped by bandits, and a third of a maid who committed suicide after being forbidden to marry the man she loved. Even standard histories included biographies of merchants and farmers, including the two roving robbers who overthrew the Ming before being hunted down and killed by the Qing. The Ming made a special effort to honor women from commoner families who lived according to Confucian principles. Even though women from elite families were gradually allowed to receive such honors over time and were explicitly entitled to do so under the Qing, women from modest backgrounds continued to dominate the rolls of exemplary women in the standard history of the Qing. Such efforts to cross class lines, of course, were largely symbolic and did not transform inherited social ideals and structures, much less perversions of them, but they were perhaps at odds with any imagined “traditional,” “feudal,” or “imperial” social hierarchy and stasis.

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A third major issue appearing across the sections and chapters of this book is gender, particularly the roles of women in the period under review and beyond. There appears to have been an interesting pattern of strong court women in the Sui–Tang period, leading to restrictions on women in the Song period, and a replication of the pattern with powerful royal consorts in the Yuan period, followed by controls on women in the Ming. The potential power of women during the Ming was evident in the importance of uxorilocal marriage, which often resulted in husbands’ adopting their wives’ family names even as their wives retained their natal family names. The long tradition of women warriors was maintained and perhaps enhanced in the Ming period. It may have augmented the credibility of the story of the female acrobat who rescued an upright (but timid) member of the local elite from jail and persuaded him to join the rebellion that ended the dynasty. The importance of courtesans and concubines was documented in the cases of several famous beauties who played important roles in the lives of prominent Ming loyalists and helped to insure their standing in society and in history. The ability of women to serve as teachers and even as spiritual mentors was clear in the case of a daughter in an elite family who eschewed marriage, died young, and was highly respected—even passionately worshiped—by several of the most eminent scholar-­officials of the late Ming. The status of women writers of prose in the Qing period was clear in their confidence in recompiling the works of prominent male writers and in the requests to them from male writers to compose biographies on their behalf. The important and various roles of women in the Ming–Qing period were celebrated in the aligned biographies of women in the standard histories of the two periods in line with the majority—but not the totality—of the twenty-­ four standard histories of China. A fourth issue pertaining to representing lives in China involves worldview, religious faith, and/or political ideology. In the years under review, most Chinese embraced various combinations of the three most prominent teachings: Ruism (better known in the West as Confucianism); Daoism (of Laozi, Zhuangzi, and popular deities); and Buddhism. In the cases of lives examined here, we find that many held elements of all three ways of thought in their minds at the same time and grappled with tensions within and among them. The Mongols combined the Chinese belief in “the unity of the three teachings” (of Ruism, Daoism, and Buddhism) with their own animism, their heartfelt Nestorianism, and their acceptance of all three Abrahamic religions (Judaism, Christianity, and Islam). The result was a comprehensive Eurasian worldview appropriate for the world order they were attempting to create. The conservative Ruist emphasis on filial piety was invoked for a variety of

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reasons: to justify the restoration of an original surname previously changed to deal with various crises; to explain the duty of tending to family affairs and refusing to hold office in the current state; to create an archive of one’s father’s military achievements; and to mirror (i.e., replicate) or shadow (i.e., approximate) one’s father’s exploits. A more liberal Ruism, meanwhile, would explain how one’s father’s travel back from the frontier to home could serve as a metaphor for his becoming fully human (if not a sage) in an era when that was deemed to be within everyone’s reach. Popular Daoism, for its part, included the belief that a man named Li (the supposed family name of Laozi), or a shibazi (eighteenth son), would have special charisma that would enable him to win the mandate of heaven, rule the central states, and order the known world. Buddhism provided yet another path to salvation that could provide another vocation and lifestyle for women as well as in some cases rationalizing suicide as a way of hastening one’s passage into another realm and a better reincarnation. In sum, the three teachings offered a variety of perspectives that could be adopted in various ways depending on an individual’s understanding of the conditions and requirements of place and time. A fifth matter was determining one’s place, or, in other words, the group or polity to which one belonged. A Song general refused to accept the legitimacy of the Jurchen-­led Jin state or even the division of China into two states, with the Jin in the north and the Southern Song in the south. He was executed for refusing to follow the Southern Song policy of accepting the two states as at least a temporary solution to the problem. One Mongol royal consort helped to legitimate the Yuan dynasty by urging her husband to pay close attention to the cultural sensitivities of the vast Han Chinese majority population. The Ming founder, on the other hand, attempted to restore the distinctions among Mongols, Central Asians, and Han by forbidding all groups from adopting the surnames of other groups. The power of Han chauvinism in the Ming was reflected in the Dan and She people changing their family names to avoid discrimination. The salience of frontier ethnic issues was evident in the executions of two prominent Ming scholar-officials who disagreed with an even more powerful official over how to handle the potential and actual Mongol threats on the northern frontier. Some late-­Ming rebels tried to win over civil officials and military officers of the Ming to oppose the Manchu Qing polity rising in the northeast, but they failed and were suppressed by the Manchus, who absorbed many Ming troops into their armies and founded the new and enduring Qing regime. In the Qing, some Ming scholars refused to serve the state but encouraged their sons to do so, apparently recognizing that the Manchus were cooperating with Mongol, Central Asian, and Han elites to establish a new order that

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would prove to be legitimate in its own way. Other Ming scholars claimed to be loyal to the Ming but served the Qing (briefly) even though they considered the Manchus to be culturally inferior to the Han and perhaps even ethnically incapable of being assimilated to the Han, or at least acculturated to China. One such scholar rejected the Qing claim to the mandate to rule over China and Korea even as he regretted the fall of the Ming and its supposed “empire,” including suzerainty over Korea. To further complicate this scholar’s already complex sense of identity, he revered the Koryŏ state of Korea despite its having been an integral part of the Yuan empire and he disrespected the succeeding (and contemporary) Chosŏn state of Korea despite its strong allegiance to the Ming that continued well into the Qing! It is no wonder that Korean writers of the eighteenth century resented Chinese scholar’s belief that China brought civilization to Korea and that the Koreans remained foreigners, even “barbarians” in his own day. The results of acculturation in the Qing, on the other hand, appeared in the hundreds of biographies written by a Han woman married to a Manchu official that included poems by women from minority ethnic groups and remote regions. What seems clear in retrospect is that the Song, Yuan, Ming, and Qing all governed China legitimately and therefore helped to define China in their various but not unprecedented ways. They also provided alternative models for subsequent states that styled themselves republics. Issues of ethnicity, class, and gender were sometimes intertwined as was evident in three papers on Sino–Korean relations that unfortunately could not be included in this volume. Adam Bohnet showed how some Korean elites in the Chosŏn state claimed descent from ancestors living in Ming territory to enhance their social status. Si Nae Park discussed how a Korean literatus used a collection of Chinese folk stories by No Myonghum (1713–1775) to express his identification with downtrodden farmers and fishermen. Saeyong Park examined cross-­dressed female martial artists in late Chosŏn fiction and used them to show the fluidity of gender boundaries in that time and place. A sixth and final issue is how to locate these represented lives in time. Conventional approaches would include dividing Chinese history into ancient, medieval, and modern, or classical, imperial, and republican, or feudal, semifeudal/semicolonial, and socialist periods. Remnants of some of these powerful paradigms appear in this volume with the use of the adjectives “traditional” and “late imperial,” the emphasis on the Tang–Song social transition, the allusion to the Song “neo-­Confucian” philosophical baseline, and the discussion of the Ming–Qing demographic, commercial, and territorial expansions associated with the “early modern” or “late imperial” period. With these few exceptions, however, we have found that we can better repre-

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sent Chinese lives in this half-­to full-­millennium of time by taking seriously the dynasties, or, better, the polities, that provided the most widely used calendars and names of epochs, and by paying close attention to the ways in which our subjects and authors conceived of their times in the larger evolution of Chinese, East Asian, and world history. Indeed, one of our authors bravely defies “modernist warnings against the perils of anachronism,” while another boldly insists that “worthy mothers” was not just a “traditional” idea in the family or a “modern” idea in the nation but a combination of the two in the specific context of the Qing and Republican eras in an expanding known world. If we wish to take even more account of our Chinese subjects’ and authors’ own views of their places in time, we might highlight some of the following features of our story. Chinese historians and writers and the men and women they represented in the period under review agreed that the past was full of precedents and models that they might follow and draw upon selectively and creatively so as to think and act effectively in their own times. The “classic” (or, better, Zhou-­period) Book of Documents described the overthrow of China’s first historical polity, the Shang, and the establishment by a frontier minority group of the Zhou that governed the central states (China) and the surrounding territories for hundreds of years. Some people in the late Ming saw a parallel to the Shang–Zhou transition in their own time, in which a corrupt Ming would be overthrown and a new and broader polity, the Qing, would be established in its place. As we have seen, this parallel was recognized even by a Chinese scholar-­official who refused to accept and act on it as a precedent for his own day. Again, the Zhou-­period Book of Odes clearly authorized women to make poems even if that text contained mainly (perhaps only) verses made by men in the name of women. At the same time, Zhou-­ period strictures on the proper roles of women could be cited by women writers in the Qing who were intent on subtly subverting them. The late-­Zhou or Spring and Autumn Warring States period provided copious models of interstate intrigue and martial strategies that were drawn upon by later figures, notably in the Song, when China again devolved into a multistate polity, and in the late Qing and Republic, as the central state once again lost its grip. The “master” (or, better, Han-­period) historians Sima Qian, Liu Xiang, Ban Gu, and Ban Zhao, among others, provided enduring models for the institution of father, son, and daughter historians, the interface between private and public history, the writing of biographies of and by talented women as well as men, and the establishment of standard histories to chronicle and analyze the rise and fall of previous polities. The model of Sima Tan and his son Sima Qian clearly appealed to the late-­Ming/early-­Qing historian Tan Qian,

CONCLUSION361

who changed his personal name to Qian to incorporate that of Sima Qian. The father and son team of Wan Sitong and Wan Yan drafted the original manuscript version of the Ming History, the rhetoric of which had its roots in the histories of the Han period. As in the early Han, the line between hereditary rulers and the rest of society was particularly porous in the early Ming. Looking ahead, we have compared the relationship between the Ming founder and one of his close comrades with the relationship between Mao Zedong and Zhu De. Although the Ming founder had abolished the prime ministership in the name of serving the people, at the end of the Ming two grand secretaries were compared with two prime ministers of the Han. As indicated in our Introduction, some post-­Han historians and writers in the Wei–Jin and North and South dynasties incorporated women’s aligned biographies into the standard histories and celebrated a kind of individualism that provided a powerful alternative to the more sober Ruist and state-­centered historiography of the Han that occupied the mainstream of Chinese history writing after the Sui–Tang reunification. The Sui–Tang transition and the multicultural, expansive, and long-­lived Tang polity were themselves models with significance for later historical actors and writers. Khubilai’s beloved consort was advised to follow the example of a Tang consort who had protected outspoken scholars from the wrath of the second Tang ruler. During the Ming, leading scholars called for a return to the Han period in the writing of prose and to the Tang–Song period for the writing of poetry. In the late Ming the prominent literatus Dong Qichang compared the young poet Mao Xiang’s poetry to that of the Tang poet Wang Bo and his calligraphy to that of the Tang calligrapher Yan Zhenqing. Perhaps in response, Mao devoted seven years to a project of compiling a complete compendium of Tang poems. The late Ming rebel Li Zicheng identified with the Tang founder Li Yuan and established his Shun state using Tang-­period terminology. Although increasingly understood as based in history, the long-­ accepted story of the scholar-­rebel advisor Li Yan and his companion Hong Niangzi developed in a way highly reminiscent of the partially apocryphal tale of Li Jing and his consort Hongfuji in the first years of the Tang. The eminent late-­Ming–early-­Qing scholar Gu Yanwu, who had adopted the character Yan from a Song loyalist he admired, may have identified with the storied late Ming scholar-rebel-advisor Li Yan. Gu was the only commentator to record several ways of writing Li Yan’s personal name and he was certainly aware that one of them was identical to the way in which he wrote his adopted personal name. To be sure, not all Chinese in the early Qing accepted the idea that the Zhou and Tang orders were particularly promising models to be emulated in

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their own day. As we have seen, Qian Qianyi blamed the Korean Chosŏn state for failing to come to the aid of the Ming in its conflict with the Qing (as Jizi at the end of the Shang and beginning of the Zhou presumably had done). As a result, Qian decided to try to follow the example of Yuan Haowen, the prominent literatus in the Jin period who tried to preserve a Chinese culture in the face of a foreign (then Mongol, now Manchu) invasion. According to contemporary Korean scholars living in the Chosŏn polity, however, Qian failed to replicate Yuan Haowen’s achievement. Perhaps that was because the Jin in Qian’s era was not the Ming but the Jin that became the Qing, both because it was headed by descendants of the Jurchens, who had provided the ruling core of the Jin, and because the Qing, like the Jin before it, was successfully acculturating to China. Qian also denied the relevance of the Korean translation of the works of the Tang scholar Liu Zongyuan, which he regarded not as a promising symbol of the close Sino–Korean relations that existed in the Tang period but as a painful reminder of an allegedly irretrievable past. In Qian’s view, Chosŏn, by failing to support the Ming cause to its end, had fallen from being a High Gouli to being a Low Gouli, a reference to the Korean state of Koguryŏ’s failure to recognize the regime of Wang Mang in the interregnum between the two Hans. Although Qian’s analogy may seem to be typically off-­key, it might have been meant to signal that the Ming might yet be followed by a Latter Ming on the model of the Latter Han. Such a view was common among Ming loyalists in what they came to call the Southern Ming, on the model of the Southern Song, but neither of these historical analogies was realized, raising questions about their accuracy. Although such use of history was much contested, in this case as in so many others, there can be no doubt about the power of apt historical analogies in the hands of Chinese historical actors and historians alike. If so, such analogies might be important as well to our understanding of Chinese subjects and their biographers.

Bibliography

MQWW refers to Ming Qing Women’s Writings 明清婦女著作

http://digital.library.mcgill.ca/mingqing/

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Index

Abbreviated History of the Eastern Kingdom. See History of the East ABCs of Communism (Lu) (共產主義 ABC), 73 Abdu Rahmed, Ahmed 阿合馬 (d. 1282), 31–32 “An Account of Li Yan” (Li Yan shu lun 李岩述論, Cao), 92 Accounts of Utmost Loyalty (Jing zhong lu 精忠錄, Yuan), 243 Adoption: father–son biographies and, 267, 267n39, 269–273, 288–289; filial piety and, 270, 272; surname restoration and, 43, 45, 47–50, 53, 57– 58, 69–70. See also Surrogate father-­son relationships Ai of Lu, Duke 魯哀公 (494–467 bce), 314 Alandar 阿藍答兒 (d. 1260), 27 Aligned biographies. See Liezhuan “All River Red” (Man jiang hong 滿江 紅, Yue), 243, 248–249 Altan Khan 阿爾坦汗 (1507–1582), 151–152 Analects 論語 (Confucius), 1, 279 The Ancient Buddhist Monastery of the Brahman (Luomin gucha 羅民古刹, Huang), 178f

Ancient Cypress on Yushan (Yushan gu bai 虞山古柏, Yuan Shangtong), 170, 171f Annotated Catalog of the Collection of [Chen] Zhizhai (Zhizhai shu lu jie ti 直齋書錄解題, Chen), 236 Archives of the Imperial Household Agency (Kūnaicho shoryōbu 宮内庁 書陵部), Japan), 241 Arigh-­Böke 阿里不哥 (1219–1266), 20, 26–27 Arrayed Biographies of Women (Lienü zhuan 列女傳, Liu), 200, 333, 341 Auspicious Double Fifth Festival (Wurui tu 午瑞圖, Cai and Jin), 137 Authors, 141–226; dual-­biography paintings, 161–195; Wang Shizen, 143– 159; women biographers, 197–226. See also Dual-­biography paintings; Wang Shizen; Women biographers Autobiography, 5–9, 14, 41, 126n57, 152, 164, 206n33, 217 Autumn Sunflower (Shuimo qiukui 水墨 秋葵) (Jin), 137–138 A Ying 阿英 (1900–1977), 83–85 Babahan 八八罕 (Imperial Concubine of Khubilai Khan), 24

421

422 Ba Jin 巴金 (1904–2005), 88n83 Ban Biao 班彪 (3–4), 1, 200n12, 260 Ban Gu 班固 (32–92 ce): biographical traditions and, 1, 260, 360; father-­ and-­son historiography and, 233, 263; on mothers, 341; use of rhetorical figures, 290 Ban Zhao 班昭 (49–120 ce), 1, 200n12, 212, 260, 360 Bayan 伯顏 (d. 1340), Chancellor, 35–38 Baya’ujin Khatun (ch. 伯要兀真, Boyao Wuzhen, imperial consort of Khubilai Khan), 24, 26 Beishi 北史 (History of the North), 334, 341 Berg, Daria [白岱玉], 136, 136n102 Bernhardt, Kathryn [白凱], 338n16 Beyond Exemplary Tales: Women’s Biography in Chinese History (Judge and Hu), 9 Binaries in Chinese history, 10 The Bian Mountains [full title: Dwelling in Retreat in the Blue Bian Mountains] Qing bian yin ju tu 青卞隱居 圖, Wang Meng), 170n19 “Biaomei Zhan Qianqian zhuan” 表妹 張倩倩傳 (Biography of cousin Zhang Qianqian, Shen), 211n45 Biographical traditions in China: conclusions, 355–362; gender and, 199– 205, 333–334, 333n1; historiography and, 229–231, 249–251; history and purpose of, 1–6, 143–146, 145n8, 146n10, 149, 158, 329; introduction to, 1–15; new questions in, 6–10; purpose of, 337–338; Sima Qian and, 1, 3, 8, 143, 198n2, 356, 360– 361; Song dynasty (960–1279 ce) and, 2; techniques of, 290–297; vol-

REPRESENTING LIVES ume overview, 10–15. See also Genres of biography Biographies from Moon Lotus Studio (Yue lan xuan zhuan lshuue 月蕖軒 傳述略, Yuan), 215, 217 Biographies of Chief Grand Secretaries since the Jiajing Era (Jiajing yilai neige shoufu zhuan 嘉靖以來內閣 首輔傳, Wang), 148, 154–155 Biographies of Twice-­Serving Officials (Erchen zhuan 貳臣傳), 301, 308 “Biography of Madam Gu” (Gu Ruren zhuan 顧孺人傳, Zhao), 208 “Biography of Old Nanny Hu” (Baomu hu yu zhuan 保母胡嫗傳, Chen), 213 “Biography of Sister Youqing” (Youqing mei zhuan 幼卿妹傳, Zhao), 211 “Biography of Virtuous Mother Zhang” (Zhang jiemu zhuan 張節母傳, Zhang), 214–215 Bi Yuan 畢沅 (1730–1797), 338 Bohnet, Adam, ix, 359 Bol, Peter [包弼德], 320 Book of Changes 易經, 180 Book of Documents 詩經, 212, 360 Book of Odes 詩經, 198n3, 202, 360 Book of Poetry, see Book of Odes Book of Rites (Liji 禮記, Confucius), 182 Bossler, Beverly [柏文莉], 9 “Brief Account of My Deceased Mother-­in-­Law” (Xiangu shu lüe 先 姑述略, Chen), 213 Brief Record of the Zhengde Reign (Zhengde shilu xiaozhuan 正德實錄 小傳, Mao), 127 Brook, Timothy [卜正民], 138 Buddhism: in dual-­biography paintings, 180, 182, 184, 186; Wang Shizen and, 145, 155–157, 159

INDEX Buhumu 不忽木 (1255–1300), 38 Bureau of Historiography, 336n11 Burial accounts (zangzhi 葬誌), 148 Cai Han 蔡含 (1647–1686), 137, 137n111, 138 Cai Mengzhao 蔡孟昭 (1607–1686), 137 Cai Wan 蔡琬 (1695–1755), 338 Cai Wenyi 蔡文姬 (177?–244?), 81n45 Cainü 才女 (talented women) 340 Canfengguan wenji 餐楓館文集 (Zhang), 209 Cao Cao 曹操 (155–220), 102, 110 Cao Guilin 曹貴林, 92–93, 95–96, 109– 110 Cao Zhenxiu 曹貞秀 (1762–ca. 1822), 197–199, 198n3, 208, 211 Carlitz, Katherine [柯麗德], 9, 337n15, 349 The Carnal Prayer Mat (Roupu tuan 肉 蒲團, Li), 115 “Casual Composition by the Green Window” (“Lüchuang oucheng,” 綠窗偶 成 Dong), 136 Catalog of the Collection of the Hall of Worldly Finds (Shishan tang cang shu mu lu 世善堂藏書目錄, Chen), 236 Censorship, 239–240 Central Daily News (newspaper), 79 The Century of Tung Ch’i-­ch’ang (Ho), 128, 128n66 The Ceremonies and Rites (Yili 儀禮, Confucius), 182 Ch’ang, King of Koryŏ 昌王 (r. 1388– 1389), 304, 314 Chabi 察必 (d. 1281): Ahmed and, 31– 32; death and legacy of, 12, 32–33, 32n40, 39; moral influence of, 30–

423 31; political influence and role of, 20, 22–23, 26–30, 32; relationship with Khubilai, 22, 26, 29, 32; status as wife, 24–26, 25n18, 36, 39 Chang, Chung-­li 張仲禮, 336n12 Chang, Hsin-­pao [張馨保] (1922–1965), 4 Chang Yuchun 常遇春 (1330–1369), 277 Chang Zhao Combined Draft Gazetteer (Chang Zhao he zhigao 常昭合志 稿), 350 “Changing Personal Names and Restoring Surnames” (gengming fuxing 更 名復姓), 43 Changshan County Gazetteer (Changshan xianzhi 常山縣志), 350 Chantings from Yiyuan Garden (Yiyuan yin 逸園吟, Mao), 118 Chaos (luan 亂) 79, 108 Chastity: widows and, 199, 222; women biographers on, 216, 222–225; in women’s biographies, 290, 337, 339–340, 342, 349, 352–353 Chen shi 陳氏 (concubine of Wu Meibei 吳渼陂, 19th century), 219 Chen Bingyi 陳秉彝 (early Qing), 123 Chen Boda 陳伯達 (1904–1989), 75 Chen Di 陳第 (1541–1617), 236 Chen Guan 陳灌 (1325–1371), 292 Chen Ershi 陳爾士 (1785–1821), 205 Chen Ji 陳基 (1314–1370), 237 Chen Jiamou 陳嘉謀 (1520–1603), 164 Chen Jiru 陳繼儒 (1558–1639), 118, 128–129, 131 Chen Liang 陳梁 (17th century), 131 Chen Maode 陳懋德 (1586–1644), 165 Chen Ning 陳寧 (d. 1380), 286 Chen Sheng 陳勝 (d. 208 bce), 75 Chen Shou 陳壽 (233–297), 290

424 Chen Si 陳四 (diviner, act 1701), 91 Chen Si 陳思 (painter, late Ming–early Qing), 165 Chen Weisong 陳維崧 (1625–1682), 132–133 Chen Yinke 陳寅恪 (1890–1969), 126, 307, 307n25 Chen Yiqin 陳以勤 (1511–1586), 283– 284 Chen Yuanyuan 陳圓圓 (1624–1641): Liu Zongman and, 78, 84, 86; in Reminiscences (Mao), 125–126, 125n53, 126n56 Chen Yubi 陳于陛 (1543–1599?), 262n18, 283–284 Chen Zhenhui 陳貞慧 (1604–1656), 119, 120–121 Chen Zhensun 陳振孫 (ca. 1190–after 1249), 236, 243 Chen Zilong 陳子龍 (1608–1647), 138 Cheng Long 程龍 (fl. 1630s), 327 Cheng Yi 程頤 (1033–1107), 220 Cheng, Yu-­yin, [程玉茵], 7 Chengdu, destruction under Zhang Xianzhong 276 Chengzong emperor. See Temür Qa’an Chiang Kai-­shek (Jiang Jieshi, 蔣介石, 1887–1975), 73, 74–75, 112 China, People’s Republic of. See Communists and Communist Party; Li Yan; Mao Zedong China Book Company, 335 Chinese Women in the Imperial Past: New Perspectives (Zurndorfer, ed.), 7 Chinggis Khan [also Genghis] (ch. Chengjisi han 成吉思汗, Temüjin 1162–1227), 19–21, 25n18, 35, 36 Chŏng Mongju 鄭夢周 (1337–1392): Chosŏn rulers use of, 309–310, 316,

REPRESENTING LIVES 324; execution of, 304–305, 308– 309, 317n53; in History of the East, 313, 315–316; loyalist reputation of, 309–310, 316, 331; Qian’s portrayal of, 300, 302–309, 315–316; rehabilitation of, 309, 311, 324; resisting Yi Sŏnggye, 305–306 Chŏng Tojŏn 鄭道傳, (1342–1398), 304n21 Chongzhen emperor 崇禎 (Zhu Youjian, r. 1628–­1644), 76, 79, 266, 294, 352 Chosŏn dynasty (1392–1897 ce), 244, 302, 304n21, 315; appropriation of Koryŏ past, 308–312; Chŏng Mongju, use of, 309–310, 316, 324; Japanese invasion of Korea and, 321, 321–323n64, 323; Ming alliance with, 325–329; usurping Koryŏ dynasty, 300, 302, 308–317. See also Yi Sŏnggye Chou, Ju-­hsi (Zhou Rushi 周汝式), 116, 189 Chronological Biography of Yue, the Prince E of Song (Song Yue E wang nian pu, Qian 宋岳鄂王年譜), 246 Chronological Biography of Yue, the Prince of Loyalty and Valiance (Yue Zhongwu wang nian pu 岳忠武王年 譜, Huang), 245 Chronological Biography of Yue Fei (Yue Wumu nian pu 岳武穆年譜, Li), 247 Clapp, Anne de Coursey [葛蘭佩] (1928–2013), 186, 188 Class. See status and social class Classic of Virtues (Dejing 德經, Mao), 127 Clunas, Craig [柯律格], 157 Cohen, Paul [柯文], 249–250

INDEX Collaboration 115, 116, 138, 139, 301, 307, 332 Collectanea of Works by Members of the Mao Family of Rugao (Rugao Maoshi congshu 如皋冒氏叢書, Mao), 118, 119n21, 123n44, 124 Collected Commentaries on Dai Sheng’s Book of Rites (Xiao Dai ji ji jie 小戴 記集解), Yue), 233 Collected Poems of Lake Gantang (Tanghu shi gao 棠湖詩稿), Yue), 233 Collected Poetry of the Successive Reigns (Liechao shiji 列朝詩集, Qian), 299–300, 300n4, 317, 319, 324, 330–332 Collected Statutes of the Great Ming (Da Ming huidian 大明會典), 43– 44, 46 Collected Works of Yue Fei (Yue Wumu ji 岳武穆集, Yue), 236, 238 Collected Works of Yue the Prince of Loyalty and Valiance (Yue Zhongwu wang wen ji 岳忠武王文集, Huang), 245 Collected Writings of Kindred Spirits (Liushi nian shiyou shiwen tongren ji 六十年師友詩文同人集), 124, 127, 131, 133, 137 Collective punishment, 286 “Commemorating the 300th Anniversary of 1644” (Guo), 74 Communists and Communist Party, 73– 75, 79–83, 89–90, 96, 112. See also Mao Zedong Compendia (Yue), 229–248; “All River Red” (Yue), 248–249; censorship of, 239–240, 240n13, 247; Chen Ji’s interest in, 237; commemorative writings beyond, 242–248; creation of, 232–235; family’s preservation ef-

425 forts, 236–237; Fu Zengxiang preserving, 240–241; historiography vs. biography, 229–231; history of, 233–234; influence of, 235–236, 248–251; in Japan, 236, 241, 244; Ming-­dynasty reissue of, 238; as model of collection, 242, 245; nianpu genre and, 245–247; purposes of, 248; Qing-­dynasty reissue of, 238–240; as source for biographies of Yue Fei, 244–248; structure of, 234–235; transmission of, 231, 236–242; Wang Zengyu preserving, 241 Compilation of the Accounts of Utmost Loyalty of Prince of E [Yue] Wumu of the Song (Hoech’an Song Ak Ak-­ mu Mokwang chŏngch’ungnok 會纂 宋岳鄂 武穆王精忠錄), 244 Complete Library of the Four Treasuries (Si ku quan shu 四庫全書) 239, 247, 320 Comprehensive Gazetteer of the Eight Banners (Ba zu tongzhi 八旗通志), 216, 217n56 Comprehensive Mirror to Aid in Government (Zizhi Tongjian 資治通鑒, Sima), 27 Comprehensive Record of the 10,000 Surnames (Wan xing tong pu 萬姓統 譜, Dizhi), 62 Concise Accounts Concerning the Eastern Borders (Dong chui shi lüe 東陲 事略, Yue), 233 Concubines: in Li Yan story, 78, 84, 104, 110; of Mao Xiang, 13,136–138; in Mongol empire, 22–25, 30, 34; portrayals of, 126, 126n56, 218–220, 222, 224, 357. See also Chen Yuanyuan; Dong Bai

426 Confucius 孔子 (551–479 bce) 3, 133n89, 182, 265, 279, 285, 314, 319, 320 Confucianism: categories of, 253–254; in dual-­biography paintings, 181– 182; family relationships and, 42, 279, 284–285, 287, 344, 351, 358; father–son relationship and, 263– 264, 276; filial piety and, 264–265; moral authority over the state, 320; mourning rites, 27, 49, 70, 212, 222, 234, 285, 303; selfhood concepts and, 163–164; “subtle words” and, 314, 319; Wang Shizen on, 157; women, ideal of, 198, 198n3, 214, 216, 220, 222–225, 290, 340–341, 341n19; writing and, 220. See also Filial piety Confucian Personalities (Wright and Twitchett, eds.), 230, 248–249 Correct Beginnings: Women’s Poetry of Our Dynasty (Guochao guixiu zhengshi ji 國朝閨秀正始集, Yun), 216 “Courtesan Editor” (Berg), 136 Cultural Revolution 62n50, 82, 93, 95, 96, 111, 284 Da Ming Lü (Great Ming Code 大明律), 43 Da Shun 大順 dynasty (1644–1645), 71, 78, 84, 95, 97, 111 Dai Shi 戴氏 (Qing dynasty), 349 Dai Xun 戴洵 (j.s. 1565), 137 Dao de jing 道德經 (Lao), 127n62 Daoism: biography and, 357–358; in dual-­biography painting, 170, 182; father-­son biographies and, 276n68; Wang Shizen and, 145, 154–157, 159;

REPRESENTING LIVES Dashing Li 李闯王 (Li Zicheng), 75 The Dashing Prince Enters the Capital (Chuang Wang jin jing 闖王進京 (Ma), 85–87 Dashing Prince Li 李闖王 (A), 83–85, 83n56 Dashi zhuan 大士传, 145n8 Dauncey, Sarah [董莎莎], 9–10 Davis, Richard [戴仁柱], 337n13 Dawn on Lotus Peak (Lianfeng xu ri 蓮 峰旭日, Huang), 184, 185f de Bary, William Theodore [狄百瑞] (1919–2017), 163 Deng Xiaoping 鄧小平 (1904–1997), 100, 108 Deng Yu 鄧愈 (1337–1377), 271, 279 Dennis, Joseph [戴思哲], 12, 41, 232, 270 Departing at Daybreak at Jinchang (Jinchang xiao fa tu 金閶曉發圖, Chen Si), 166, 168f, 172 Des Forges, Roger [戴福士], 6n20, 7, 12, 52n21, 71, 133, 133n94, 229, 232, 249, 253 Diancang Mountain 點蒼山, 175 Diannan 滇南 album, 172–186; audience for, 179; Confucianism in, 181; family status and, 174, 186; historical background of, 173–174, 179n35; landscapes and topography, use of, 177, 180–184; life of filial son, 173–179; life of sagely father, 179–186; political representations in, 179–180, 184; purposes of, 174– 175; selfhood presentations in, 179, 181; spirituality in, 180, 182; text as a guide to, 179–181 Diary of the Return from Yunnan (Dianhuan riji 滇還日記, Huang), 174 Ding, Duke 魯定公 (509–495 bce), 314

INDEX Ding Henian 丁鶴年 (1335–1424), 290 Ding Yue’e 丁月娥 (d. 1350?), 290 Dinghai County Gazetteer (Dinghai xianzhi 定海縣志), 349 Disputing Slanders (Bian wu 辨誣, Yue), 236 Ditmanson, Peter [戴彼得], 318–319 Dong Bai 董白 (1624–1651): financial debts, 126, 130–131, 130n76; life and death of, 125n52, 135, 135n99; Mao Xiang’s relationship with, 116, 125–126, 130–131, 130n76, 130n79, 134–136, 134n97; writings and calligraphic works of, 128, 135–136. See Dong Xiaowan Dong Qichang 董其昌 (1555–1636), 116, 118, 127, 128, 361 Dong Xiaosheng 董曉生 (17th century), 126 Dong Xiaowan 董小宛 (courtesy name of Dong Bai), 126n56, 135n99. See Dong Bai. Donglin martyrs, 132, 132n88, 165, 170, 310, 326 Dörbejin Khatun 朵兒別真, a wife of Khubilai Khan, 26 Draft Ming History (Mingshi gao 明史 稿, Wang), 72, 262–263, 336n10 Draft Qing History (Qingshi gao 清史 稿). See Qing histories Drafts from the Dequan Hall (Dequantang gao 得全堂稿, Mao), 117 Drafts of Learning Prose from the Reflections on Duties Studio (Zhi si zhai xue wen gao 職思齋學文稿, Xu), 215, 219–225 Dragon Master of the Eastern Sea (Donghai youlongzi 東海猶龍子), 352

427 Dream of the Red Chamber (Honglou meng 紅樓夢, Cao), 213 Dryburgh, Marjorie, [玛乔丽·德莱堡], 9–10 “Dry” father/mother (gan ba/ma 幹 爸／媽), 267, 267n39. See also Adoption; Surrogate father-­son relationships Dual-­biography paintings, 161–195; conclusions, 195; Diannan album, 172–186; elites use of, 188, 193– 194; family status and, 174, 186, 188–189; as genre, 186–194; historical sites, use of, 166–170, 172, 175, 177, 193; Huang Kongzhao, life of, 179–186; Huang Xiangjian, life of, 173–179; Illustrations to Ten Poems (Zhang), 186–189, 186n56, 187f, 190f, 191f; inscriptions and, 175, 177, 189, 192–193; Journey Beyond the Zi[jing] Pass (Xu), 189–194, 193f, 194f; Kou Shen album, 164– 172, 165n16; landscapes and topography, use of, 166–170, 170n19, 177, 180–184, 188–189, 192; life of filial son, 173–179; life of sagely father, 179–186; overview of, 161–162; pictorial biography concept, 161– 162; poetry as complement to, 165, 170, 188, 189; political representations in, 179–180, 184; purposes of, 172, 188; selfhood conceptions in, 162–164; selfhood presentations in, 164–172, 179, 181; social roles and, 165; spirituality in, 170, 180, 182; technique and composition in, 177, 192; text as guide to, 179–181, 190; Xu Xilie and Xu Bao, lives of, 189– 194; Zhang Xian and Zhang Wei,

428 lives of, 186–189. See also Diannan album; Father–son biographies Duchang County Gazetteer (Duchang xianzhi 都昌縣志), 350 Du Fangqin 杜芳琴, 340 Du Fu 杜甫 (712–770), 103, 111, 124, 127, 136 Du Jun 杜濬 (1611–1687), 132n86 Duorzhi 朵儿只 (1304–1355), 32 “Duties and Authority of the Various Offices” (Zhu si zhi zhang 諸司職掌), 44 Ebrey, Patricia [伊佩霞], 35 Egan, Ronald [艾朗諾], 201n14 Elvin, Mark [伊懋可], 7 Emerson, Ralph Waldo [愛默生], 3 Eminent Chinese of the Ch’ing Period, 1644–1912, 116 Empresses of Khubilai, 19–39; Chabi Khatun, 26–33; Nanbi, 33–39; overview of, 19–26; reading to understand, 35; role in Mongol empire, 21, 23–24, 34, 38; in Yuanshi, 20– 21, 24. See also Chabi Khatun; Khubilai Khan; Nanbi “Encountering Sorrow” (“Li Sao” 離騷, Qu), 1 Epistolary writing, 204–205 Epitaphs (muzhiming 墓誌銘), 2, 65, 146–147, 149, 156, 205, 207, 215 Equal fields (Juntian 均田), 73, 80, 90, 100, 111, Essential Gazetteer of the Temple of Yue Fei (Yue miao zhi lüe 岳廟志略, Feng), 240, 243 Essential Notes on History (Du shi bei wang jie lan 讀史備忘捷覽, Yue), 233 Eulogy (xiangzan 像贊 or zan 贊), 147

REPRESENTING LIVES Eunuchs: in Khublai’s court, 20, 25; in Li Yan story, 73, 77–78; Mao Xiang and, 117, 120, 132–133, 139; in Mingshi, 279, 284, 287 Examination system: Li Yan story and, 78; Mao Xiang and, 117–119, 122, 129; Wang Shizen and, 144, 151; women’s suicides and, 349 Executions: Chŏng Mongju, 304–305, 308–309, 317n53; in father–son biographies, 268, 271–272, 277, 294– 295; Li Yan, 78–79, 83–85, 83n54, 89, 93, 101, 107–108; Wang Yu, 152–153; Yue Fei, 231 Exemplary edicts (yizhi 懿旨), 34 Facts about Yue Fei (Yue Fei shi shi 岳 飛事實, Yue), 236 Fairbank, John K. [費正清] (1907– 1991), 79 Fair Clouds of Autumn at Dongting (Dongting qiu ai 洞庭秋靄, Yuan Shangtong), 169f, 170 Faithful wives. See Women. Families: biographies of, 211–213, 217– 219, 220–223; Confucian ideal of, 42, 284–285, 287, 344, 351, 358; status of, 174, 186, 188–189; surname restoration and construction of, 43, 58–70. See also Father–son biographies; Marriage; Mothers and motherhood; Women Family (Jia 家) (Ba), 88n83 “Family Biography of Madam Huang” (Huang yiren jiazhuan 黃宜人家傳, Cao), 197–199 Famine: in Li Yan story, 76, 87–88, 102, 106; Mao Xiang’s relief work, 123 Fan Shu 范淑 (1821–1846), 205n27 Fan Shuzhi 樊樹志 (1937–), 94

INDEX Fan Ye 范曄 (398–445), 200, 200n10, 290, 333–334 Fan Yuanheng  范元亨 (19th century), 205n27 Fan Yunlin 范允臨 (1558–1641), 165 Fang, Jun [方駿], 13, 115, 301, 312n38 Fang Chao-­ying 房兆楹 (1908–1995), 3 Fang Gongqian 方拱乾 (1596–1667), 131, 132n86 Fang Keqin 方克勤 (d. 1376), 280–281, 292–293 Fang Shi 房氏 (Northern Wei), 341n22 Fang Xiangying 方象瑛 (1632–?), 338 Fang Xiaoru 方孝孺 (1357–1402), 280– 281, 289, 292–294, 318, 332 Fang Yizhi 方以智 (1611–1671), 134 Farewell culture, 172 Father–son biographies: adoptions and, 267, 269–273, 288–289; in aligned biographies, 279–297; ambiguous figures in, 284–285; authorship and editorship of Mingshi, 260–263, 262n18; collective punishment in, 286; comparing father and son, 192; conclusions, 297–298; in dual-­ biography paintings, 172–194; executions in, 268, 271–272, 277, 294– 295; family and in-­laws in, 277–279, 278t; father-­son dyad and, 263–265; fuzi (father and son compound), 287; grandfather–grandson relationships, 288; Great Rites Controversy, 273– 274, 283, 285, 292; heroic figures in, 281–284; inclusions and exclusions in, 295–297; Li Zicheng and Zhang Xianzhong, 274–276; martyrs in, 276, 281; merging of father and son, 186, 189; in Mingshi, 165, 253–298, 255–257t, 258t; as models of virtue, 281–288; overview of, 253–258;

429 parallelism in, 292–295; placement and significance of, 291–292; relationship importance, 263–265, 270– 271, 274, 276–277, 286; rhetorical figures in Mingshi, 290–291; royalty, depictions of, 265–277; succession struggles in, 267, 273–274; suicide in, 258, 290, 294, 297; surrogate father-­son relationships, 266–269, 267n39, 271, 288–290; teacher–disciple relationships, 289; uncle– nephew relationships and, 288; villainous figures in, 285–288; without parents, 290; Zhu family history, 258–260, 274–277; Zhu Houcong, 273–274; Zhu Houzhao, 272–273; Zhu Yuanzhang, 266–272. See also Dual-­biography paintings Fei Zhen’e (費真娥, lit. True Beauty Fei, end of Ming dynasty) 83 Feng Fang 豐坊 (j.s. 1523), 285 Feng Guifen 馮桂芬 (1809–1874), 338, 344 Feng Menglong 馮夢龍 (1574–1646), 46 Feng Pei 馮培 (j.s. 1778), 240 Feng Xi 豐熙 (1468–1537), 285 Feng Yan 馮儼 (Ming-­Qing transition), 165 Filial piety: adoption and, 270, 272; in dual-­biography paintings, 173–179, 188; Mingshi compilation and, 263; motherhood and, 344; state rule and, 284–288; succession and, 264–265; surname restoration and, 55, 57–58; surrogate father–son relationships and, 288–289; without parents, 290; women and, 222; in women’s biographies, 339–340, 344, 353

430 Fong, Grace S. [方秀潔], 2, 8–9, 14, 146, 197, 200n8, 232, 349n50 Former Han dynasty (202 bce–8 ce), 1 “Four Histories” (si shi 四史), 335 Franke, Herbert [傅海波] (1914–2011), 32 Fu Sheng 伏生, early Han scholar, 212 Fu Zengxiang 傅增湘 (1872–1949), 240–241 Fuzi 父子 (father and son compound), 287 Gan Lirou甘立媃 (1743–1819), 205n27 Gang Zhu 剛主, 90, See Xie Guozhen Gao Gong 高拱 (1513–1578), 61–62 Gao Panlong 高攀龍 (1562–1626), 132n88, 164, 175 Gao Shiyu 高世瑜, 345n35 Gaoshi zhuan 高士傳 (Biographies of Eminent Officials), 145n8 Gaozong emperor 高宗 (r. 1127–1162), 233–234 Gazetteer of Dinghai (Dinghai Xianzhi 定海縣志), 349 Gazetteer of the Temple of Utmost Loyalty of Tangyin (Tangyin jing zhong miao zhi 湯陰精忠廟志, Zhang), 243 Gazetteers (difang zhi 地方誌): motherhood depictions in, 341n20, 349– 352, 349n50, 351n60; as source for state histories, 351, 351nn60–61 Ge Hua 葛華 (d. 1526), 56–57 Ge Hui 葛禬 (j.s. 1514, Sun 孫), 56–58, 70 Gender: biographical traditions in China and, 199–205, 333–334, 333n1; genres of biography and, 199–205, 205–206n30. See also Women;

REPRESENTING LIVES Women biographers; Women’s biographies Genealogy writing, 217–218 General Gazetteer of Jiangnan (Jiangnan tongzhi 江南通志), 349, 349n50 General Gazetteer of Jifu (Jifu Tongzhi 畿輔通志), 349 Geng Jiuchou 耿九疇 (1396–1460), 293 Geng 耿 surname, 51 Geng Yu 耿裕 (1430–1496), 293 Genres of biography, 146n10; biezhuan 別傳 (individual biography; cf. waizhuan) 2, dashi zhuan 大士傳, 145n8; dual-­biography paintings, 186–194; epistolary writing, 204– 205; gaoshi zhuan 高士傳, 145n8; gender and, 199–205, 205–206n30; genealogy writing, 217–218; guixiu 閨秀 (boudoir talents), 209; jiwen 祭 文 (memorial texts), 147, 151; lei 誄 (laments), 148; lienü zhuan 列女傳 (biographies of women), 200, 209– 210, 216n54, 333, 333n1, 336n10; loyalty, accounts of utmost, 243– 244; mingyuan 名媛 (notable women), 209; mubei 墓碑, 149; mubiao 墓表, 149; muzhiming 墓誌銘 (epitaphs), 65, 146–147, 149, 156, 205, 207, 215; nianpu 年譜 (chronological accounts), 2, 158, 245–247; prefaces, 204, 213, 219; shendaobei 神道碑, 149; shengzhuan 聖傳, 145n8; shilue 事略 (accounts of events), 205; shizhuan 史傳 (historical biography), 148; shizhuan 詩傳 (poetry biography), 2, 11, 209–211, 361; social biographies, 155–158; song 頌(odes), 148; spiritual or religious writings, 145; waiji 外籍 (informal records), 149, 158; of Wang

INDEX Shizen, 146–149; xiangzan 像贊 (portrait eulogy), 147; xiaoshuo 小 說 (novels), 259; xinglüe 行略 (abbreviated accounts of conduct), 205; xingzhuang 行狀(accounts of conduct), 2, 14, 148, 150–154, 159, 205, 208, 230n1, 353; waizhuan 外傳 (external biography, cf. biezhuan) 2, yeshi 野史(informal accounts), 259; yiyu 憶語, 126; youji 遊記 (travel record), 164, 166, 174; zan 贊 (eulogy), 147; zangzhi 葬誌 (burial account), 148; zhuan 傳, 148, 154– 155; zhuan, women biographers writing, 199–200, 205, 209, 213– 214, 217; Zishu 自述 (autobiography) 217, zizhu nianpu 自製年譜 (autobiography), 5–9, 14, 41, 126n57, 152, 164, 206n33, 217. See also Dual-­biography paintings; Liezhuan Gerritsen, Anne [何安娜], 7 Gioroi Yarhašan 雅爾哈善 (d. 1759), 347 Gong Dingzi 龔鼎孳 (1615–1673), 122, 131–133, 135, 138 Goodrich, Chauncey [博路特] (1894– 1986), 3 Goujian 勾踐, King of Yue 越王 (Spring and Autumn period), 249–250 Grand secretaries. See Chen Yiqin, Chen Yubi, Li Chunfang, Wang Shizhen, Xu Jie, Yan Song, Yang Pu, Yang Shiqi, Yang Rong, Yang Tinghe, Zhang Juzheng Biographies of the Chief Grand Secretaries from the Jiajing Era On 嘉靖 以來內閣首輔傳 Grandfather–grandson relationships, 288

431 Grant, Beata, [管佩達], 8 Great Accord (Da tong 大同), 86 Great Ming Code (Da Ming Lü 大明律), 43 Great Rites Controversy (Dayi li 大禮 議), 57–58, 273–274, 283, 285, 292 Gu Dazhang 顧大章 (b. 1567), 132n88 Gu Gao 顧杲 (d. 1645), 120–121, 133 Gu Gongyan 顧公彥 (late Ming–early Qing), 128 Gu Hui 顧蕙 (1792–1842), 208, 208n37 Gu Jiegang (顧頡剛, 1893–1980), 3, 72 Gu Mei 顧眉 (1619–1664), 135 Gu Qi 顧啟, 121 Gu Qi 顧杞 (j.s. 1181?), 233–234 Gu Ruopu 顧若璞 (1592–1681), 338 Gu wenci 古文辭 (Archaism or Old Phraseology), 145, 158 Gu Xin 古心 (late Ming/early Qing), 180 Gu Yanwu 顧炎武 (1613–1682), 122, 230, 230n1, 337, 342 Guan Ying 關鍈 (d. ca. 1858), 204 Guan Yu 關羽 (d. 219), 14, 249 Guixiu 閨秀 (boudoir talents), 209 Gui Youguang 歸有光 (1506–1571), 215 Guo Moruo 郭沫若 (1892–1978), 74– 83; commemoration of Ming overthrow and, 74–76; critiques of other writers, 77, 83n54, 89; Cultural Revolution and, 82, 82n49; on Hong Niangzi, 76–77, 80; on Li Yan story, 76–83, 83n54, 110–111; Mao Zedong’s relationship with, 79–82, 81n45, 97, 109, 111–112; political involvement of, 74–75, 79, 81–82, 109, 112 Guo Shi 郭氏 (late Qing), 348

432 Guo Zixing 郭子興 (1312–1355), 267– 269, 271 Guochao guixiu zheng shi ji 國朝閨秀 正始集 (Yun), 211 Haapanen, Minna, 1n1 Haedong akpu 海東樂府 (Folk songs of Haedong), 305 Haines, W.A., 265n34 Hall of Martial Glory (Wuying dian 武 英殿), 335 Hammond, Kenneth J. [韓慕肯], 2, 13, 143, 205n30, 232 Hanbitang shiji 寒碧堂詩輯 (Collected poems from the Hanbi Hall,(Mao), 123n44 Han Chinese, 22–23, 28, 32, 36, 43, 358 Han History (Hanshu 漢書, Ban), 1, 200n12, 260, 335 Han Lin’er 韓林兒 (1340–1366), 267–268 Han Qi 韓琦 (1008–1075), 246 Han Shantong 韓山童 (Mingwang 明王, d. 1351), 267–268. Han Xin 韓信 (d. 196), 102 Harems, 24, 24nn11–12. See also Concubines Hayashi Tokkōsai 林讀耕齋 (1624– 1661), 236, 242, 244 He Tengjiao 何騰蛟 (1592–1649), 291 He Wenhui 何文辉 (1341–1376), 270 He Zhuo 何焯 (1661–1722), 173 Hegel, Robert [何谷理], 162 Heroines of the Qing (Yang), 204 Herself an Author: Gender, Agency, and Writing in Late Imperial China (Fong), 8 “High” Gao 高 (Qian), 326n82 Historical Personalities, 81 Historical Records (Sima Tan and Sima Qian), 1, 3, 341 Historiographical Institute 史館, 2

REPRESENTING LIVES Historiography: biography and, 229– 231, 249–251; father-­and-­son, 233, 263, 265; moral authority and, 312– 313, 320–321 History of the East (Abbreviated History of the Eastern Kingdom, Tongguk saryak 東國史略), 307, 313–315, 318, 323–324 History of the Five Dynasties (Wudai shiji 五代史記, Ouyang), 334 History of the [Former] Han 前漢書 (Ban), 1, 341 History of the Later Han (Hou Hanshu 後漢書, Fan Ye), 200, 333–334, 337n13, 341 History of the Song (Song shi 宋史), 235 Hŏ Kyun 許筠 (1569–1618), 300n4 Homosexuality, 133, 273 Hŏ Nansŏrhŏn 許蘭雪軒 (1563– 1589), 300n4 Ho Ping-­ti (1917–­2012), 336n12 Hong Daquan 洪大全 (c. 1830s– 1850s?), 73 Hong Liangji 洪亮吉 (1746–1809), 338 Hong Niangzi 紅娘子 (act. 1640s), influence on women, 89–90, 99, 101, 101n151, 108; Li Yan’s relationship with, 80, 83–85, 88, 92, 98f; mythologization of, 91–92, 92n102, 97, 101n151, 104, 108, 361; portrayals of, 76–77, 83, 87–89, 94, 99, 101; White Lotus uprisings and, 89, 91, 108–110. See also Li Yan Hong Taiji (Huang Taiji 皇太極, r. 1626–1643), 325, 327, 329 Hongfuji 紅拂記 (Tang dynasty fictional character), 361 Hongguang 弘光 reign (1644–1645), 121, 301 Hongloumeng, 264n28. See Dream of the Red Chamber

INDEX Hongwu reign 洪武 (1368–1399), 180. See Zhu Yuanzhang. Hongxi Reign 洪熙 (1424–1425), 47 Hou Chaozong wenxuan 候朝宗文選 (Selected works of Hou Chaozong, Xu and Zhao), 133n94 Hou Fangyu 侯方域 (1618–1654), 119, 123, 131, 133, 133n94 Hou Ji of Zhou 后稷 (legendary/Shang dynasty), 341n20 Hsi, Angela Ning-jy Sun, 125n53 Hsia, C.T. 夏志清 (1921–2013), 163 Hu, Nanny 保母胡 (late 18th/early 19th centuries), 213–214 Hu Anguo 胡安國 (1074–1138), 320, 320n61 Hu Dahai 胡大海 (d. 1362), 288 Hu Deji 胡德濟 (1337–1381[?]), 289 Hu Junzheng 胡均正 (late Yuan), 50 Hu Shih 胡適 (1891–1962), 3 Hu Si 胡燍 (Xiong 熊, ca. 1430), 51 Hu Weiyong 胡惟庸 (d. 1380), 83n54, 271, 286 Hu, Ying, [胡纓], 9, 150 Hu Yinglin 胡應麟 (1551–1602), 148 Hu Zhi 胡直 (1517–1585), 164 Hu Zhouzi 胡周鼒 (act. mid-­17th c.), 177 Huadian on the Li River 麗江花甸 (Huang), 175–177, 176f, 179 Hua Ming, 189–190, 194 Hua Mulan 花木蘭 (c. 5th century), 101n151, 217, 217n56 Hua 華 surname, 54 Hua Keqin 華克勤 (early Ming), 53–54. See also Keqin Hua Zhong 華中 (1332–1374), 271 Huang Bangning 黃邦寧 (fl. 1770), 243, 245–246 Huang Daozhou 黃道周 (1585–1646), 133n92 Huang Duiyang 黃對揚 (jr. 1803), 197

433 Huang Fang 黃芳 (1476–1544), 44–45 Huang Kongzhao 黃孔昭 (1589–after 1676), 173–174, 179–182, 184, 288 Huang Shang 黃裳 (1919–2012), 127n58 Huang 黃 surname, 56 Huang Tingxuan 黃廷選 (Lin 林, 1817– 69), 56–57 Huang Wan 黃綰 (1480–1554), 288 Huang Xiangjian 黃向堅 (1609–1673), 161, 161n1, 172–186, 174–175n31 Huang Yuanjie 黃媛介 (c. 1620–1669), 210n43 Huang Zhong 黃鐘 (1383–1443), 46–47, 47n14 Huang Zongxi 黃宗羲 (1610–1695), 121, 262 Huang Zunsu 黃尊素 (1584–1626), 132 Hui Mei 慧梅 (c. 1640s), 101 Hummel, Arthur W. [恆慕義] (1884– 1975), 3 The Hundred Flowers (Bai hua tu 百花 圖) (Jin), 138 Hur, Nam-­lin [許南麟], 229 Hwang Kyŏngwŏn 黃景源 (1709– 1787), 331 Idema, Wilt [伊維德], 7–8 Illustrated Guide to the Three Bonds (Samgang haengsil to 三剛行實圖), 308 Illustrations to Ten Poems (Shi yong tu 十詠圖), Zhang), 186–189, 186n56, 187f, 190f, 191f Imjin War (1592–1597), 244, 302, 321, 323, 325, 327 Imperially Endorsed Interpretations of the Meaning of Rules for the Inner Quarters (Yuding Neize yanyi 御定 內則衍義), 348

434 Imperial Ming Ancestral Injunctions (Huang Ming zuxun 皇明族訓), 309 Imperial Ming Loyalist Biographies (Hwang Myŏng yumin 皇明遺民傳, Sŏng), 330n91 Inherited Drafts from the Zhuocun Hall (Zhuocuntang yigao 拙存堂逸稿, Mao), 118, 118n17 Injo, King 仁祖 1623–1649), 327n84 Intellectuals: challenging authority, 319– 320; in Li Yan story, 77, 89, 93, 95, 102, 109; social position of, 157 In the Shade of the Birch-­Leaf Pear at Maoyuan (Maoyuan tang yin 茂苑 棠隂, Ming Xu), 166, 167f Japan: Compendia (Yue) in, 236, 241, 244; invasion of Korea, 321–322, 321–323n64, 325; pirates (wokou 倭 寇), 68, 148, 152; Sino-­Japanese War, 246–247 Jay, Jennifer [謝靈運], 138 Ji Xian 季嫺 (1614–1683), 206n33 Ji Zengyun 嵇曾筠 (1670–1738), 344 Jia Fuchen 賈孚宸 (active late 17th c.), 173 Jiajang emperor 嘉靖 (1507–­1567), 57– 58, 258, 272–273. See Zhu Houcong Jian Di 簡狄 (mother of Qi of Yin), 341n20 Jiande County Gazetteer (Jiande xianzhi 建德縣志), 351 Jiang Bin 江彬 (d. 1521), 273, 285 Jiang Han 姜漢 (d. 1511), 255n3 Jiang Mian 蔣勉 (act. 1430s), 48 Jiang Shi 蔣氏 (18th century), 343 Jiang Yingxiong 姜應熊 (Ming), 255 Jiang Yueguang 姜曰廣 (1583–1648), 326–327n84 Jiang Yuan 姜嫄, 341n20

REPRESENTING LIVES Jianwen emperor 建文 (Zhu Yunwen 朱 允炆, 1377–1402), 317 Jin dynasty (265–420 ce), 129 Jin Yue 金玥 (17th Century), 137–138 Jin Gim (ch. Zhenjin 真金, 1243–­1286), 21–22, 26–27, 32–33 Jin Ping Mei 金瓶梅, 264n28 Jintuo Compendium of the Prince of E (Eguo Jintuo cui bian 鄂國金佗稡 編) and Supplements (Eguo Jintuo xu bian 鄂國金佗續編) See Compendia Jin Zhaofan 金兆蕃 (1868–­1950), 343 Jing Qing 景清 (Geng 耿) (d. 1402), 51 Jing Tang 京鏜 (1138–1200), 234 Jingji Dongxuan 靜寄東軒 (18th century), 206n31 Jinshi 金史, 334, 341 Jinshu 晉書, 334, 341 Jinshu zuan 晉書纂 (Su), 134n95 Jintuo Compendium of the Prince of E and Supplements (Eguo Jintuo cui bian 鄂國金佗稡編, Yue), 229, 231–248 “Jinü Qiongzhang zhuan” 季女瓊章傳, (Shen), 211n45 Jiwen 祭文 (memorial texts), 147, 151 Jizi (Kr. Kijia 箕子 (early Zhou?), 313, 326 Jiu Tangshu 舊唐書, 334, 341 Johnson, David, 231 Journey Beyond the Zi[jing] Pass (Zisai chuyou tu 紫塞出遊圖, Xu), 189– 194, 193f, 194f. See also Dual-­ biography paintings Journey to the West (Xiyou ji 西遊記, Wu), 163 Judge, Joan [紀家珍], 8–9, 150, 341n19, 351n59

INDEX Kamala甘麻剌 (Prince of Jin, 1266– 1302), 37 Kangxi emperor 康熙 (r. 1661–1772), 91, 122, 125, 259, 262–263 Kao, George (1912–2008), 5n17 Keqin 克勤 (early Ming), 53–54. See also Hua Keqin. Ke Shaomin 柯紹忞, 25 Khubilai Khan 忽必烈 (r. 1260–1294): Ahmed’s influence over, 31–32; death of, 34–36, 36n53, 38n60; ordos of, 20, 23–27, 31, 37–38; political strategies of, 22–23, 26, 28– 30; succession to, 12, 20, 34, 36–39; wives of, 20, 23–26, 25n18; women, views and treatment of, 20–22. See also Chabi Khatun; Nanbi Khuriltai (noble conference), 27, 34, 36–38 Kindall, Elizabeth [金漪妮], 14, 161, 232 Kindred Spirits. See Collected Writings of Kindred Spirits (Liushi nian shiyou shiwen tongren ji) King of Light (Mingwang 明王, Han Shantong 韓山童, d. 1351), 267–268 Kinney, Anne [司馬安], 199n6 Koguryŏ, 326n82 Kökejin 闊闊真 (d. 1293?), 21–22, 34, 36–38 Kong Shangren 孔尚 任 (1648–1718), 132n89 Korea: Imjin War (1592–1597), 244, 302, 321, 323, 325, 327; Japanese invasion of, 321, 321–323n64, 325 Korean biographies, 299–302; loyal subjects in, 302–307, 302n13, 311; martyrs in, 300, 305–309, 311, 318, 332; Ming rule nostalgia, 321–329; mod-

435 eling loyalty to state in, 307–312; overview of, 299–302; poetry and, 299–300, 300n4, 317, 319, 323–327, 323n66, 330–332; postscript, 329– 332; praise and blame in, 312–321; significance of, 302–303; temple names and, 302n13, 313, 323–324. See also Chŏng Mongju; Qian Qianyi Koryŏ dynasty (918–1392 ce), 300, 308–317, 332, 359. See also Chosŏn dynasty; Yi Sŏnggye Koryŏ History (Koryŏsa 高麗史), 308 Kou Shen 寇慎 (j.s. 1616) and Kou Shen album, 164–172, 165n16 Kunming County Gazetteer (Kunming xianzhi 昆明縣志), 350n57 Kuokuolun 闊闊倫, Empress, 24 Kwŏn Kŭn 權近 (1352–1409), 324 Lan Dingyuan 藍鼎元 (1675–1733), 344, 344n33 Land equalization, 73, 80, 90, 93, 95, 100, 104–105 Langlois, John [藍德彰], 153 Lanxiang 蘭香 (18th century), 223–225 Lao Zi 老子 (6th–5th centuries bce?), 127n62 Later Seven Masters literary movement (Hou qizi, 後七子), 145 League of Left-­Wing Writers (Zhongguo Zuoyi Zuojia Lianmeng 中國左翼作 家聯盟), 83 Legitimate succession (zhengtong 正統), 265 Lei 誄 (laments), 148 “Leviathan” (jingni 鯨鯢), 317, 317n54 Li Ben 李本 See Lü Ben Li Cheng 李成 (14th century)

436 Li Chengliang 李成梁 (1526–­1615), 257, 283 Li Chunfang 李春芳(1510–1584), 155 Li Gai 李改 (1464–1526), 58–59, 65–66 Li Hanhun 李漢魂 (1895–1987), 247– 248 Li Hao 李昊 (ca. 893–ca. 965), 224n67 Li Jing 李靖 (571–­649), 111, 361 Li Jingbai 李精白 (j.s. 1613), 73, 77, 83, 92, 97 Li Jiyu 李際遇 (late Ming), 101 Li Jun 李俊 (late Ming), 99–100, 106– 108 Li Kui 李逵 (character in Water Margin) 163 Li Kun 李坤 (1536–­1618 (Lü Kun), 51–53 Li Lian 李濂 (1489–1556), 244 Li Ling 李陵 (d. 74 bce), 318n54 Li Mi 李密 (582–618), 94 Li Mou 李牟 (d. 1644), 78, 84–89, 94– 95, 99–101, 106–107 Li Panlong 李攀龍 (1514–1570), 148 Li Qingzhao 李清照 (1084–1155), 201n14 Li Rubo 李如柏 (1553–1621), 257, 283 Li Rumei 李如梅 (d. 1612), 257, 283 Li Rusong 李如松 (1549–1598), 257, 283 Li Ruzhang 李如樟 (latter half of 16th century), 257, 283 Li Ruzhen 李如楨 (d. 1631), 257, 283 Li Shanchang 李善長 (1314–1390), 94 Li Shi 李氏 (1667–1744), 344n32, 349n50 Li Shimin 李世民 (Tang Taizong, 598– 647), 2, 27–28, 100, 102; See also Tang Taizong Li 李 surname, 52–53

REPRESENTING LIVES Li, Wai-­yee [李惠儀], 116, 130n79, 134n97 Li Wanfang 李晚芳 (1691–1767), 203 Li Wenzhi 李文治 (1909–1996?), 89 Li Wenzhong 李文忠 (1339–1384), 255, 270n48, 271 Li Yan 李岩／巖 (d. 1644), 12, 71–113; authenticity of story, 90–91, 96–97; Cao on, 92–93, 95–96, 109–110; conclusions, 109–113; The Dashing Prince Enters the Capital (Ma), 85– 87; Dashing Prince Li (A), 83–85; execution of, 78–79, 83–85, 83n54, 89, 93, 101, 107–108; famine and, 76, 87–88, 102, 106; Fan on, 94; flourishing of story in republic, 90– 109; Guo on, 74–83, 83n54, 89, 97, 109–112; Hui Mei and, 101, 103– 104; intellectuals role in rebellion, 77, 89, 93, 95, 102, 109; land equalization and, 73, 80, 90, 93, 95, 100, 104–105; Liu and Zhao on, 94–95; Li Zicheng and, 83–86, 88, 100–102, 104; Li Zicheng (Yao), 96–109; mythologization of, 72–73, 85, 112– 113, 361; name change of, 83, 99, 109; Nationalist–Communist civil war and, 75, 79, 81, 110–111; Nine Palace Mountain (Li), 83; overview of story, 71–73; as peasants hero, 87–88, 90; persistence of story in republic, 73–90; proposals and policies of, 93–95, 104–105, 110–111; Record of Jiashen (Wu, Xia, and Shen), 87–89; role in rebellion, 93– 95, 105; social class and, 94–95, 101; Song’s prophecy and, 84–86, 106; suspected of betrayal, 106–107; women roles in story of, 103–104; Xie on, 90–92, 92n102; Yang on, 94;

INDEX Yao on, 96–111; Zhao on, 73–74, 89, 109–111. See also Hong Niangzi Li Yanshou 李延壽 (d. 687), 334 Li Yimang 李一氓 (1903–1990), 82–83, 83n54 Li Yingsheng 李應升 (1593–1626), 132n88 Li Yu 李漁 (1611–­80), 115–116, 126, 131–132, 131n85 Li Yuan 李淵 (Tang founder, 566–635), 361 Li Zhi 李贄 (Li Zhuowu 李卓吾, 1527– 1602), 264n28,181 Li Zicheng 李自成 (1605?–1645): execution of Li Yan, 79, 85, 106–108; father–son relationship and, 274– 276; as leader of rebellion, 71–73, 99, 101, 104–105, 110–111, 125n53, 133, 361; Li Yan’s relationship with, 76–77, 83–86, 88–89, 94, 100–102, 104–106, 111; in Mingshi, 274–276; portrayals of, 78, 81–82, 96–97, 103–104; women’s deaths and rebellion of, 352–353n63 Li Zicheng 李自成 (Yao), 96–109 Lian Boshang 練伯尚 (Hongwu era), 293 Lian Xixian 練希憲 (1231–­1280), 29–30 Lian Zining 練子寧 (1359–1402), 293 Liang Duan 梁端 (1790–1825), 338 Liang Jingzhang 梁景璋 (18th century), 203 Liang Qichao 梁啓超 (1873–1929), 3–4, 4n11, 72, 253, 259, 335n7 Liao Yongzhong 廖永忠 (1323–1375), 268 Liao Yunjin 廖雲錦 (1766–1835), 210n43 Liaoshi 遼史, 334, 341

437 Complete Library of the Four Treasuries (Siku Quanshu 四庫全書), 238–239, 263, 320 Lichui 鸝吹 (Shen), 211n45 Liechao shiji. See Collected Poetry of the Successive Reigns Liefu 烈婦 (woman martyr), 224 Lienü zhuan 列女傳 (biographies of women), 200, 209–210, 216n54, 333, 333n1, 336n10 Lienüzhuan 列女傳 (Liu), 209, 216n54 Liezhuan 列傳 (“aligned biographies”): fathers and sons in, 279–297; of Mingshi, 254, 260–261, 266, 274, 279–297, 301; organization of, 278t, 279–280; Sima Qian’s model of, 162–163; women biographers and, 199, 199n6; of Yuanshi, 21 Lin 林 surname, 56 Lin Zexu 林則徐 (1785–1850), 4 Lin Zheng 林正 (Madam Huang, late 18th century), 197–199, 197n1, 208 Lineage, 67–68, 70. See also Patrilineage Lineage Geneaology of Two Surnames, Zhang and Tong Tong Zhang erxing zongpu 童章二姓宗谱) (Tong), 49 Ling Dizhi 凌迪知 (1529–1601), 62 Lishui County Gazetteer (Lishui xianzhi 麗水縣志), 348 Literary Gazette, 93 Liu Bang 劉邦 (256–195 bce), 75, 102, 266 Liu Bei 劉備(162–223), 83n54, 102, 110 Liu Bing 劉丙 (d. 1518), 288 Liu Bingzhong 劉秉忠 (1216–1274), 28–29 Liu Ching-­cheng 劉靜貞, 333n1 Liu Fang 劉坊 (1658–1713), 262n21 Liu Ji 劉基 (1311–1375), 83n54, 294 Liu Jin 劉瑾 (1451–1510), 117, 282

438 Liu Jingcheng 劉精誠, 94–95 Liu Kongzhao 劉孔昭 (b. 1604), 121 Liu Lian劉璉 (1348–1379), 294 Liu Lishun 劉理順 (1581–1644), 78, 86, 92 Liu Lüding 劉履丁 (late Ming/early Qing), 121, 131 Liu Rushi 柳如是 (1618–1664), 126, 129–130, 134, 299, 306 Liu Rushi biezhuan 柳如是別傳 (Chen), 126n56 Liu Shaoqi 劉少奇 (1898–1966), 74, 93, 95 Liu Shi 劉實 (j.s. 1430), 288 Liu Shu 劉恕 (1759–1816), 173 Liu Ts’un-­yan 柳存仁 (1917–2009), 131n85 Liu Xiang 劉向 (77–76 bce), 9, 200, 209, 216n54, 333–334, 333n1, 341, 360 Liu Yazi 柳亞子 (1886–1958), 75 Liu Yiqing 劉義慶 (403–444), 2 Liu Zongmin 劉宗敏 (d. 1644): Chen Yuanyuan and, 78, 84, 86, 125n53; Li Yan and, 84–86, 99, 101; role in rebellion, 77–78, 88, 108, 125n53 Liu Zongyuan 柳宗元 (773–819), 124, 327, 329–331, 362 A Lofty Recluse Reciting Poetry Dedicatedly (Gaoshi kuyin tu 高士苦吟 圖, Zhao), 129 Lone Chantings from the Hanbi Tower (Hanbi gu yin) 寒碧孤吟) (Mao), 128–129 Longqing emperor (隆慶; Zhu Zaiji 朱 載坖, 1537–1572),151–153, 282, 295 Lotus Societies, 180, 180n40, 184 Loyalty (zhong 忠): accounts of, 243– 244; concept of, 306–307, 309, 311,

REPRESENTING LIVES 311–312n38; in Korean biographies, 302–312, 302n13; suicide and, 122, 306 Lu Bing 陸炳 (1510–1560) 153 Lu Rongxiang 盧永祥 (1867–1933), 247 Lu Xinyuan 陸心源 (1838–1894), 241 Lu Xun 魯迅 (1881–1936), 73, 253, 259 Lü Ben 呂本 (aka Li Ben, 1504–1587), 45–46, 58–69, 62n50 Lü Deyu 呂德玉 (16th century), 60–61, 65 Lü, Empress 呂后 (241–180 bce), 266 Lü Guangxun 呂光洵 (1515–1580), 59, 62, 64, 67–68 Lü Heisi 吕黑斯 (early Ming), 52 Lü Jiru 呂繼儒 (act, 1560s), 62–64, 66 Lü Kun 呂坤 (1536–1618) (Li Kun), 51–53 Lü Li xing yuan bei 呂李姓原碑 (Stele on the origins of the Lü and Li surnames), 52, 62, 63 Lü Lian 呂鐮 (13th century), 62n50, 64, 66 Lü Sheng 呂升 (late 14th century), 66–67 Lü 呂 surname, 59–64 Lü Xian 呂暹 (13th century), 62, 64, 66 Lü Yizhi 呂宜之 (1142–1225), 62–64, 66 Lü Yong 呂雍 (act 1410s), 67 Lü Zhaolong 呂兆龍 (17th century), 131 Lü Zuqian 呂祖謙 (1137–1181), 163 Luo Benzhou 羅本周 (1766–1850), 204 Luo Hu 羅虎 (Tiger Luo, character in Dashing Prince Li), 83 Luo Ming 羅明 (1909–1987), 95 Luo Rucai 羅汝才 (d. 1643), 101–102, 110

INDEX Ma, Empress 馬皇后 (1332–1382), 267, 272 Ma Gui 麻貴 (1543–1607), 283 Ma Jin 麻錦 (16th century), 283 Ma Mingheng 馬明衡 (j.s. 1517), 258, 294 Ma Shaobo 馬少波 (1918–2009), 85–87 Ma Shiying 馬士英 (1591–1646), 121 Ma Sicong 馬思聰 (Hongzhi reign), 258, 294 Ma Xun 馬尋 (act. 1040s), 186 Madam Huang 黃宜人; See Lin Zheng Mandate of Heaven (tianming 天命), 71, 86, 262, 275, 328, 358, 359 Mangkela (Mangqala 忙哥剌, d. 1278), 32, 36 Mann, Susan [曼素恩], 7–8, 209, 216, 216n53, 338–339, 351 Mao Bao 冒褒 (1645–1726), 132 Mao Danshu 冒丹書 (1639–1695), 123, 123n44 Mao Heshu 冒禾書 (b. 1635), 123, 123n44 Mao Kan 毛堪 (j.s. 1598), 165 Mao Luan 冒鸞 (j.s. 1493), 117 Mao Mengling 冒夢齡 (1565–1635), 117, 134 Mao, Nathan 茅國權 (1942–2015), 131n85 Mao Qizong 冒起宗 (1590–1654), 118, 122 Mao Rui 毛銳 (d. 1523), 288 Mao Wenlong 毛文龍 (1576–1629), 325, 325n79 Mao Wenwei 毛文煒 (mid-­17th century), 165 Mao Xiang 冒襄 (1611–1693), 13, 115– 139; Chen Jiru’s relationship with, 128–129; Chen Weisong’s relationship with, 132–133; concubines of,

439 125n53, 136–138; Dong Bai’s relationship with, 125–126, 130–131, 130n76, 130n79, 134–135; Dong Qichang’s relationship with, 127– 128; examinations and, 118–119, 122, 129; family background of, 116–117; famine relief and, 123; homosexuality of, 133; literary accomplishments of, 124–127, 361; Li Yu’s relationship with, 131–132; overview of, 115–116; Painted-­in-­Water Garden, 124, 127–128, 131–132, 135; personal life of, 133, 134–139; poetry and, 128–129; political involvement of, 119–124; Qian Qianyi’s relationship with, 123, 129–135, 130n79; refusal to serve Qing, 119, 121–123, 133–134, 138– 139; Reminiscences of the Plum-­ Shaded Convent, 125–127, 126nn57–58; Restoration Society (Fushe) and, 119–120, 120n26, 131; Ruan, campaign against, 120–121, 121n35; self-­blaming, 126, 126n57; social connections of, 127–134; Su Yuanfang’s relationship with, 130, 134, 138; women, depictions of, 126 Mao Yuanqi 毛垣圻 (17th century), 165 Mao Zedong 毛澤東 (1893–1976): comparisons with, 271, 361; Guo’s relationship with, 79–82, 97, 109, 111– 112; Li Yan story and, 74–75, 79–82, 87, 93, 95–97, 108–109, 111–112; on Mao Xiang, 123 Mao Zheng 冒政 (1443–1519), 117, 127 Mao Zhong 毛忠 (1394–1468), 288 Marco Polo [馬可·孛羅] (1254–1324), 20, 25 Marriage: regulations, 43, 45, 49; uxorilocal marriage, 12, 42–43, 48, 50,

440 55–56, 66, 209, 221, 357; widow remarriage, 42, 48, 51; women and, 203, 212, 220, 224–225 Martyrs: Donglin activists, 132, 132n88, 165, 170, 310, 326; in father–son biographies, 276, 281; in Korean biographies, 300, 305–309, 311, 318, 332; women (leifu), 199, 210, 216, 224, 335, 339–340, 342–343, 348, 350, 352–353 Maternal instruction, 343–345, 344n33, 348, 351 May 4th Movement (1919), 74, 83 May 30th Incident (1925), 74 McNeill, William, 112 Merchants, 149, 157, 159, 191, 192 Melon and Flowers (Jin), 138 Memorials Concerning the Western Borders (Xi chui zou gao 西陲奏稿, Yue), 233 Mencius 孟子 (Meng Ke, 孟軻, 371– 289), 272, 297, 341 Mi Fu 米芾 (1051–1107), 128 Miao Changqi 繆昌期 (1562–1626), 132n88 Military obligations, 43, 49–50, 54–56, 61 Miller, Harry, [米海瑞], 319 Ming Compendium (Ming huidian 明會 典), 309 Ming dynasty (1368–1644 ce): Chosŏn alliance with, 325–329; Japanese invasion of Korea and, 321–322, 321– 323n64, 325; Koryŏ dynasty overthrow and, 309, 315–317; Manchu struggle against, 325–327; social class in, 338n16; transfer of authority, 258–259; Zhu family history,

REPRESENTING LIVES 258–260, 274–277. See also Zhu Yuanzhang “Ming History Manuscript” (Mingshi gao 明史稿 ) (Wan), 263 Ming–Qing transition: biography and, 10–11; Korea and, 301–302, 302n12, 328; Mao Xiang and, 115– 116, 122, 135, 138–139; Mingshi and, 259, 262; Qian Qianyi and, 300–302, 312, 328–329; women and, 214, 352. See also Li Yan Ming Qing Women’s Writings database, 204 Mingshi 明史 (Ming History): aligned biographies of (liezhuan), 254, 260, 266, 274, 279–297, 301; authorship and editorship of, 260–263, 262n18; basic annals of (benji 本紀), 254, 266; biographical traditions and, 14– 15, 355, 361; critiques of, 297; eunuchs in, 279, 284, 287; father-­son biographies in, 165, 253–298, 255– 257t, 258t; filial piety and, 263; gazetteers and, 349, 349n50, 351n60; inclusions and exclusions in, 295– 297; literary techniques in, 290–297; Li Yan in, 72; Li Zicheng in, 274– 276; Ming–Qing transition and, 259, 262; mirrors and shadows technique in, 292–295; motherhood in, 342– 343; placement and significance in, 291–292; rebels and minorities portrayed in, 121, 274–276, 275n65; rhetorical figures in, 290–291; Sima Qian’s influence on, 259–260; surname restoration and, 53; types of biography in, 278t, 279–280; women’s biographies in, 101n151, 334– 340, 336n10, 337n15, 342–345, 349,

INDEX 352–353; Zhu Yuanzhang in, 295– 296. See also Draft Ming History Ming Taizu 明太祖 (Zhu Yuanzhang), 52–54, 83n54, 275, 280, 286, 304; See also Zhu Yuanzhang Mingxu 明旭, 165 Mingyuan 名媛 (notable women), 209 Mirrors and shadows technique, 292– 295 “Miscellaneous Poems Written in Jail. #11 of 30” (Yuzhong zashi sanshi shou Qi shiyi 獄中雜詩 三十首 （其十一), Qian), 326n83 Möngke Khan (ch. Mengge 蒙哥, 1209– 1259), 26–27 Mongol empire, 21, 23–24, 34, 38, 43 Moral authority, 312–314, 320–321 Mōri Takanaka 毛利高翰 (1795–1852), 241 Mōri Takasue 毛利高標 (1755–1801), 241–242 Mother Mencius 孟母 (Mengmu), 341 Mother of Feng Guifen 母馮桂芬, 344 Mother of Wang Huizu 母汪輝祖, 338, 344 Mother of Ji Zengyun 母嵇曾筠, 344 Mothers and motherhood: depictions in gazetteers, 341n20, 349–352, 349n50, 351n60; “exemplary motherhood” muyi 母儀, 341, 342; filial piety and, 344; maternal instruction, 343–345, 344n33, 348, 351; in Mingshi, 342–343; mother–son relationship, 340, 343; motif in women’s biographies, 340–345; in Qing histories, 15, 101n51, 336n11, 337– 340, 343–347, 352–353; in Qing system, 343–349, 353; status of, 341–342, 341n19; “worthy mothers”

441 category, 350–351, 350n57, 351n59, 353. See also Women’s biographies Mourning rites: father–son biographies and, 285; in Korea, 303; surname restoration and, 49, 60, 70; women and, 212, 222–223 Mubei 墓碑 (grave stelae), 147, 149 Mubiao 墓表 (grave records), 147, 149 Mulan. See Hua Mulan Mu Ying 沐英 (1345–1392), 255, 270, 271–272, 279, 283 Muzhiming. See epitaph. Mythology: of Hong Niangzi, 91–92, 92n102, 97, 101n151, 104, 108, 361; of Li Yan, 72–73, 85, 112–113, 361; reading, 112–113; of Yue Fei, 248– 251 Nachen 納陳 (act 1250s-­1260s), 33n42 Namuhan 那木罕 (d. 1292), 32, 36 Nanbi (Khatun) 南必皇后 (d. 1294): death and legacy of, 12, 22–23, 33– 35, 34n45, 38; political involvement of, 20–21, 34, 38; relationship with Khubilai, 32–33; status as wife of Khubilai, 24, 33–34, 33n42; succession struggle and, 12, 36–39 Nanshi 南史, 334 Narra Palace (Zitan Dian 紫檀殿), 38n60 A New Account of Tales of the World (Shishuo xinyu 世說新語), 2 (Liu), 9 New China Daily (newspaper), 76 New Tang History (Xin Tangshu 新唐 書), 337n13, 341 New Yuan History (Xin Yuanshi 新元史, Ke), 25 Ni Jing 倪敬 (b. 1416), 282

442 Nianpu 年譜 (chronological accounts), 2, 158, 245–247 Nienhauser, William, [倪豪士], 162 Nine Palace Mountain (Jiugong shan 九 宫山, Li), 83 Niu Jin 牛金 (fl. 250), 314 Niu Jinxing 牛金星 (1600–1650): execution of Li brothers and, 80, 83–86, 89, 93–95, 106–108; role in rebellion, 77–79, 88, 99, 101–102, 110– 111 Niu Weibing 牛惟炳 (late 16th century), 156 Nivison, David [倪德卫], (1923–2014), 144,145 No Myonghum 盧命欽 (1713–1775), 359 Northern Yuan (北元 1368–1388), 313–­ 314 Notes of the Humble Mind (Kui Tan lu 愧郯錄, Yue), 232 Notes on the Collection of Calligraphy in the Precious and Genuine Studio (Baozhen zhai fa shu zan 寶真齋法 書贊, Yue), 232–233 Novels (xiaoshuo 小說), 259 Nuhan 奴罕, Empress of Khubilai Khan (Yuan dynasty), 24 Occasional Essays When Instructing the Classics (Shou jing oubi 授經偶筆, Chen), 213 Odes (song 頌), 148 Ogodei Khan (ch. Wokuo tai 窩闊台, 1185–1241), 28 Ōki Yasushi 大木康, 116, 125n52, 130n76, 138 Old Palace Museum (Taipei), 336n11 Old Tang History (Jiu Tangshu 舊唐書), 341

REPRESENTING LIVES Ordos, 20, 23–24n10, 23–27, 31, 37–38, 38n60 Orphans, 47, 53, 223, 258, 266, 267n39, 270 “Our Study and the Current Situation” (Mao), 79 “An Outline History of the Rebellion of Li Zicheng.” (Li Zicheng panluan shilue 李自成叛亂史略, Zhao), 73 Ouyang Shi 歐陽氏 (Ming), 342 Ouyang Xiu 歐陽脩 (1007–1072), 334 Painted-­in-­Water Garden (Shuihui yuan 水繪園), 124, 127–128, 131–132, 135 Paintings as biography. See Dual-­ biography paintings Paintings for Suzhou Prefect Kou Shen’s Resignation from Office (Suzhou Taishou Kou Shen quren tu 蘇州太 守寇慎去任圖). See Kou Shen Pak Chiwŏn 朴趾源 (1737–1805), 330 Pan En 潘恩 (1496–1582), 148, 152 Pan Qinglan 潘慶瀾 (late Qing), 348 Pan Suxin 潘素心 (fl. mid-18th–­early 19th century), 204 Park, Saeyong, ix, 359 Park, Si Nae, [朴 시내], 359 Patrilineage, 41–42, 52, 55, 67–70 Pavilion of Scarlet Clouds (Jiangyun ge 絳雲樓, library), 299, 299n1, 321 Peach Blossom Fan (Taohua shan 桃花 扇, Kong), 89 “Peach Blossom Spring” (Taohua yuan ji 桃花源記, Tao), 175, 184 Peng Yingyu 彭瑩玉 (d. 1353), 48 Pidhainy, Ihor [裴海寧], 14–15, 53n28, 165, 229, 232, 253, 306n24, 308 Ping Dang 平當 (d. 4 bce), 283, 284n86

INDEX Ping Yan 平晏 (died c. 20 bce), 283, 284 Playing the Qinand-­Ruan Zither (Tanqin boruan tu 彈琴撥阮圖), 129 Plutarch [普魯塔克] (45–127), 4, 5 Poetry: dual-­biography paintings and, 165, 170, 189; as genre of biography (shizhuan), 2, 11, 209–211, 361; Korean biographies and, 299–300, 300n4, 317, 319, 323–327, 323n66, 330–332; Mao Xiang and, 128–129; Wang Shizen and, 145, 158; women and, 202–204, 206, 209–211, 213, 216, 224–226 “Poetry Biographies of Exemplary Women in Our Dynasty” (“Guochao lienü shizhuan” 國朝列女詩傳. Zhang), 209 Popular Uprisings of the Late Ming (Li), 89 Portrait eulogy (xiangzan 像贊), 147 Praise and blame (baobian 褒貶), 218– 219, 312–321, 320n61 The Precious Raft of History: The Past, the West, and the Woman Question in China (Judge), 8 Precious Records from Orchid Chambers (Langui bao lu 蘭閨寶錄, Yun), 215–216, 216n53 Prefaces as genre, 204, 213, 219 Prince of Yan. See Zhu Di. “A Public Notice to Warding off Disturbances in the Auxiliary Capital” (“Liudu fangluan gongjie 留都防亂 公揭),” Gu, Chen, and Wu), 120 Qi Huaiqiong, 90 Qi of Yin 殷契, 341n20 Qi 齊 surname, 55 Qian, Nanxiu [錢南秀], 9, 350n53

443 Qian Fenglun 錢鳳綸 (1662–1722), 210n43 Qian Ning 錢寧 (d. 1521), 272–273, 285 Qian Qianyi 錢謙益 (1582–1664), 15, 299–332, 362; Chŏng Mongju’s commonalities with, 307, 310–312, 317; Dong Bai, rescue of, 130–131, 131n81, 135; History of the East use, 313–315, 324; Imjin War (1592–1597) and, 244, 302, 321, 323, 325, 327; implicating rulers, 302n13, 305n21, 308–309, 311–312, 316, 317n54, 318; on Japanese invasion of Korea, 321, 321–323n64, 323; Korean critique of, 330–332; on legitimacy of rulers, 314–316; “leviathan” (jingni) reference, 317, 317n54; library of, 299, 299n1, 321– 323; loyalist credentials of, 300– 301, 303, 305–307, 320, 330; loyalty concept, 306–307, 309, 311, 311– 312n38; on Manchus, 319, 319– 320n59; Mao Xiang’s relationship with, 123, 129–135, 130n79; Ming– Qing transition and, 300–302, 312, 328–329; Ming Veritable Records critique, 315–316, 321; on moral authority, 312–314, 320–321; motivations of, 316; poetry, use of, 299– 300, 300n4, 317, 319, 323–327, 323n66, 330–332; political involvement of, 133, 138; portrayal of Chŏng Mongju, 300, 302–309, 315– 316; Qianlong emperor and, 307, 311, 311–312n38, 319–320; “subtle words” and, 314–315, 314n44; on Yi Sŏnggye, 311, 314–315; on Yongle emperor’s usurpation, 317–319 Qian Ruwen 錢汝雯 (jr. 1893), 243, 245–247

444 Qian Yiji 錢儀吉 (1783–1850), 205 Qianlong emperor 乾隆 (r. 1736–1795): appropriation of Ming past, 311, 311–312n38; Mingshi and, 260, 262–263; “praise and blame” and, 320n61; Qian Qianyi and, 307, 319– 320 Qiao Guanhua 喬冠華 (1913–1983), 75 Quiet sitting (jingzuo 靜坐), 182 Qin, First Emperor of (Qin shi huangdi 秦始皇帝, 259–210 bce), 3 Qin Liangyu 秦良玉 (1574–1648), 279n73, 339 Qinding shengchao xunjie zhuchen lu 欽 定勝朝 殉節諸臣錄 (The royally sanctioned record of the officials who died for the Ming dynasty), 138n119 Qing dynasty (1644–1911 ce): appropriation of Ming past, 310–311, 329– 330; Chosŏn Korea and, 328–329; Compendia reissue, 238–240; Li Yan and rise of, 71, 78, 86–88, 93, 104, 108, 110–111; Mao Xiang refusal to serve, 119, 121–123, 133–134, 138– 139; motherhood in, 343–349, 353; social class in, 338n16. See also Ming–Qing transition Qing histories (Qingshi 清史 and Qingshi gao 清史稿): compilation of, 335–336, 336n11, 348–350, 353, 355; elite status women, 338; nine categories of virtuous women, 343; women’s biographies in, 15, 101n51, 336n11, 337–340, 343–347, 352– 353 Qionghai Zhong Lineage’s Revised Edition of the Zhong Lineage Genealogy (Qionghai Zhong shi zong qin

REPRESENTING LIVES xuxiu Zhong shi zupu 瓊海鐘氏宗 親續修鐘氏族譜, Huang), 44 Qoridai 忽里帶 (son of Khubilai and Qoruqchin), 26 Qoruqchin Khatun (Hulu-­heiche) 忽鲁 黑臣 (first wife of Khubilai Khan), 20, 25n18, 26 Qu Jingchun 瞿景淳 (1507–1569), 256, 258, 291–292, 292n111 Qu Ruyue 瞿汝說 (1565–1623), 292 Qu Shisi 瞿式耜 (1590–1651), 258, 291–292 Qu Yuan 屈原 (340–278 bce), 1, 74 Quan 全, Empress (1241–1309), 30–31 Qutuqu 忽睹都 (ruler of the Märkit tribe during the reign of Chinggis Khan), 76 Rape, 99, 199, 210, 223, 290, 342, 352, 356 Raphals, Lisa [瑞麗], 345n35 Rashid al-­Din [拉施德丁], 20, 25–26, 34, 36, 38 Real Events Demonstrating Filial Piety (Xiaoshun shishi 孝順事實, Zhu), 264 Recent Record of Taowu (Taowu jinzhi 檮杌近志), 80 A Recluse under an Ancient Tree (Gumu gaoshi tu 古木高士圖), 129 Recollections of the Toils of Learning (Kunxue ji 困學記, Gao and Hu), 164 Record of Jiashen (Jiashen ji 甲申记, Wu, Xia, and Shen), 87–89 Record of the Fungus Shrine (Zhikan ji 芝龕記), 77 A Record of the [Journey in] Search of my Parents (Xunqin jicheng 尋親紀

INDEX 程, Huang), 173–174, 174n27, 174n29. See also Diannan album Record of Things Heard or Seen during the Four Reigns (Si chao wen jian lu 四朝聞見錄, Ye), 235 Records of the Grand Historian (Shi ji 史記, Sima), 143, 163, 197–­199, 260, 334 Records of the Yue Temple in the Town of Zhuxian (Zhuxianzhen Yuemiao ji 朱 僊鎮岳廟集, Li), 244 Reflections on Things at Hand (Jinsi lu 近思錄, Zhu and Lü), 163–164 “Regarding Li Yan” 關於李巖,”Guo), 80 Regulations: for marriage, 43, 45, 49; for surnames, 42–46, 54, 56; for women’s biographies, 337n15, 345– 347 Rehe Diary (Yŏrha ilgi 熱河日記, Pak), 330 Reminiscences of the Plum-­Shaded Convent (Yingmeian yiyu 影梅庵憶語) (Mao), 116, 125–127, 126n56, 134– 135 Restoration Society (Fushe 復社), 119– 120, 120n26, 131 “Revised Award System Amendment” (xiuzheng baoyang tiaoli 修正褒揚 條例, 1917), 348 Rhapsody on the Moon (Yuefu 月賦, Xie), 127–128 Rhapsody to the Goddess of Luo River (Luoshen fu 洛神賦, Mao), 127 Rhetorical figures, 290–291 Righteousness (yi 義) 157, 231, 307, 331, 339, 342, 348 “The rituals of Qi and Song” (Qi Song zhili 杞宋之禮), 78, 119

445 Romance of the Arrayed Biographies of Women in Former and Present Times (Gujin lienü zhuan yanyi 古今列女 傳演義 Dragon Master of the Eastern Sea), 352 Romance of the Three Kingdoms (San guo yan yi 三國演義, Luo), 163, 263–264n28 Rongchuan ji 蓉穿集 ([Qi] Rongchuan– 264n28 Selected works, Xu), 54 Roof Thatched Pavilion in Autumn (Maoting qiuse tu 茅亭秋色圖, Wu), 137 Rossabi, Morris [羅薩比], 25, 25n18 Ruan Dacheng 阮大鋮 (1587–1646), 120–121, 121n35 Sabuhu 撒不忽 (imperial concubine of Khubilai Khan), 24 Salt Distribution Commission of Liang-­ Zhe (Liang-­zhe yanyunshi shu 兩浙 鹽運使署, 238 Sanguo zhi 三國志 [Record of Three Kingdoms], 335 Sayid Husain 寫亦虎仙 (d. 1521), 272– 273 Scenic Frontier of Yunnan (Diannan shengjing 滇南勝境) (He), 173, 173n24 Schneewind, Sarah [施珊珊], 45, 253, 292 Schneider, Laurence, [施耐德], 112 Selected Poems from Chosŏn (Chaoxian shixuan 朝鮮詩選, Wu), 323, 323nn65–66 Selections of Refined Literature (Wenxuan 文選), 136 Self-­blaming as autobiographical method, 126, 126n57

446 Selfhood conceptions and presentations, 162–172, 179, 181 Sha Jiuwan 沙九畹 (late Ming-­early Qing), 126 Shang dynasty (ca 2070–1600 bce), 1 Shan Xun 單恂 (1602–1671), 243 Shao Shi 邵氏 (Ming), 337 Shen, Chaste Maiden (Shen zhennü 沈貞 女 (late 18th century), 220, 222– 223 Shendaobei 神道碑 (Spirit path stelae), 149 Shen Fu 沈復 (b. 1763), 126, 126n55 Shen Maoshang 慎懋賞 (16th century), 317n54 Shen Shanbao 沈善寶 (1802–1862), 206n33 Shen Shizhu 沈士柱 (1606–1659), 121 Shen Ximeng 沈西蒙 (1919–2006), 87 Shen Yixiu 沈宜修 (1590–1635), 211, 211n45 Shen Yongmao 申用懋 (1560–1638), 165 Shengzhuan 聖傳 (Biographies of Saints), 145n8 Shi Biao 石彪 (d. 1460), 288 Shi Heng 石亨 (d. 1460), 288 Shi Ke 史珂 (j.s. 1571), 69–70, 70n71 Shi Kefa 史可法 (1601–­1645), 79, 110, 118–119, 138, 311, 329 Shi Shi, 施氏 (Ming), 350n57 Shi Siyuan 史嗣元 (j.s. 1559), 70n71 Shi 史 surname, 68–70 Shilin Zhenji 獅林震濟 (act. Late 17th century), 173 Shilue 事略 (accounts of events), 205 Shin, Leo K. [單國鉞], 14, 229 Shizhuan 史傳 (historical biography), 147, 148

REPRESENTING LIVES Shizhuan 詩傳 (poetry biographies), 2, 11, 209–211, 361 Shizong emperor 世宗 (1161–1189), 57–58 Shun dynasty 順潮 (1644–1645 ce), 78 Sibugao 四部高 See Yanzhou shanren sibu gao  Siku Quanshu project (四庫全書 Complete Books of the Four Treasuries), 324 Sima Guang 司馬光 (1019–­1086), 27 Sima Qian 司馬遷 (135–85 bce): biographical traditions in China and, 1, 3, 8, 143, 198n2, 356, 360–361; father-­and-­son historiography and, 233, 263, 265; liezhuan model of, 162–163, 199n6; Mingshi, influence on, 259–260; on mothers, 341; use of rhetorical figures, 290–291; women biographers, model for, 197– 199; women’s biographies and, 334 Sima Tan 司馬談 (190–110 bce), 1, 198n2, 260, 356, 360 Sima Yan 司馬炎 (236–290 ce), 85 Sima Zhao 司馬昭 (211–265 ce), 84–85 Sin Pang 申昉 (1686–1736), 331 Sin Ton 辛旽 (1322–1371), 314 Sino-­Japanese War, 246–247 Six Chapters of a Floating Life (Fusheng liuji 浮生六記, Shen), 126 “The Six Gentlemen of Wuxing,” 189n61 Skillful-­but-­Impractical Collection of Poetry (Yu chu shi gao 玉楮詩稿, Yue), 233 Small Gleanings from Reading [Records of] the Historian (Du Shi guanjian 讀史管見, Li Wanfang), 203 Snowden, Edward [斯诺登], 356 Social biographies, 155–158

INDEX Social class. See status and social class Song dynasty (960–1279 ce): biographical traditions and, 2; dual-­biography painting in, 186; women in, 35, 220, 349, 352, 357; Yue Fei and, 229, 231–240, 242–243, 247–251 Sŏng Haeŭng 成海應 (1760–­1839), 330n91 Song History 宋史, 336–337 Song Lian 宋濂 (1310–1381), 295–296 Song 頌 (odes), 148 Song Xiance 宋獻策 (d. 1645): Li Yan and, 99, 101–102; prophecy of, 78, 84–86, 106; role in rebellion, 77–78, 108, 111 Song Zan 松瓚 (d. 1386), 296 Sŏnjo emperor 宣祖(1567–1608), 244 Son’gok sijip 蓀穀詩集 Yi), 324–325 Songshi 宋史, 334, 341 “Song to Encourage Relief” (Quan zhen ge 勸賑歌, Li Yan), 87 Spirituality: in biography, 145n8; Wang Shizen and, 145, 154–157, 159; writings about, 145 Spring and Autumn Annals 春秋 (Confucius), 1, 314, 314n44, 320, 320n61 State histories, 260–261, 297. See also Mingshi; Qing histories Status and social class: in Li Yan story, 94–95, 101; reduction as punishment, 296, 304, 307; surname restoration and, 43, 46, 58–59, 62, 67–70; women biographers and, 213, 223; in women’s biographies, 333–335, 336–338, 336n12 Stone Cave and Indented Peak (Jiao tong ao feng 矼硐凹峰, Huang), 182–183, 183f Stories Recorded on a Small Table (Ting shi 桯史, Yue), 232

447 Struve, Lynn A. [司徒琳], 174n29 Stupa Valley (Fu tu yu 浮圖峪, Xu), 192, 193f Su Changgong waiji 蘇長公外記 (Wang), 158 Su Shi 蘇軾 (1037–­1101), 13, 145–147, 149, 155, 158–159, 186 Su Wenhan 蘇文韓 (j.s. 1562), 134, 134n95 Su Wu 蘇武 (d. 60 bce), 318n54 Su Yuanfang 蘇元芳 (1611–1672), 134, 138 Subjects of biography, 17–139; empresses of Khubilai, 19–39; Li Yan, 71–113; Mao Xiang, 115–139; surname restoration and patrilineage, 41–70. See also Empresses of Khubilai; Li Yan; Mao Xiang; Surname restoration “Subtle words” (weici 微辭), 314–315, 314n44 Succession: father–son biographies and, 267, 273–274; filial piety and, 264– 265; to Khubilai Khan, 12, 20, 34, 36–39; patrilineal, 52, 57; zhengtong 正統 (legitimate succession), 265– 266 Sugedali 速哥答里 (empress of the Taiding Emperor Yesün-­Temür, r. 1324–1328), 24–25, 25n15 Suicide: in father–son biographies, 258, 290, 294, 297; in Li Yan story, 78, 80, 83, 86, 89, 94, 99, 104, 108, 110; loyalty and, 122, 306; women and, 30, 80, 83n54, 222, 290, 349–350, 352 Sui dynasty (581–618 ce), 2, 217 Suishu 隋書, 334, 341 Sun Chengnan 孫承南 (1563–­1638), 156

448 Sun Chengzong 孫承宗 (1563–1638), 257, 302n14 Sun Jue 孫覺 (1028–1090), 188 Sun Weiguo 孫衛國, 155 Sun Wu 孫武 (ca. 545–470 bce), 242 Sun Yan 孫彥 (Xie 謝, ca. 14th/15th centuries), 53 Surname restoration, 41–70; adoptions and, 43, 45, 47–50, 53, 57–58, 69– 70; commoners and, 46; conclusions, 70; family relationship construction and, 43, 58–70; filial piety and, 55, 57–58; fleeing violence and, 54–55; Ge Hui’s case for, 56–58; Huang Zhong’s petitions for, 46–48, 47n14; imperial prerogative and, 53–54; investigations into, 44–45, 62, 68; legal framework for, 42–46, 54, 56; Li Ben’s case for, 58–68; Surname restoration (continued) military obligations and, 43, 49–50, 54–56, 61; motivations for seeking, 48–56; no improper purpose claims and, 54; official documents and, 47– 48; overview of, 41–42; patrilineage and, 41–42, 52, 55, 68–69; petition format, 46–48; punishment avoidance and, 56; recording errors, 44, 51–53; relatives influence on, 56–58; scope and timing of, 56–58; social class and, 43, 46, 58–59, 62, 67–70; uxorilocal marriage and, 12, 42–43, 48, 50–51, 55–56, 66; widow remarriage, 42, 48, 51; Xu Zhiluan’s case for, 54–56; Zhang Lin’s case for, 68–70 Surrogate father-­son relationships, 266– 269, 267n39, 271, 288–290. See also Adoption

REPRESENTING LIVES Surviving Poems from the Fragrant Garden (Xiangliyuan oucun 香儷園偶 存, Mao), 119–120, 127 Swallow Letter (Yanzi jian 燕子箋, Ruan), 120–121, 121n35 T’aejo, King 太祖 (1335–­1408; r. 1392–­1398), 302, 304, 323, 332 T’aejo Veritable Records (T’aejo sillok 太祖實錄), 308 T’aejong, King 太宗 (1367–1422; r. 1400–­1418), 332 Talahai 塔剌海皇后, (Empress of Khubilai Khan), 24 The Talented Women of the Zhang Family (Mann), 209, 209n38 “Tale of the Curly Bearded Stranger” (Qiuranke zhuan 蛷髯客傳, Li), 111 Tan Qian 談遷 (early Qing), 360 Tan Yangzi 曇陽子 (1558–1580), 148, 154, 156, 159 Tang, Lady 湯氏 (d. 1643?), 77, 77n32, 80, 99 Tang Chen 唐臣 (j.s. 1538), 238 Tang dynasty (618–907 ce), 2; biographical traditions and, 260, 275n65, 361–362; women in, 24, 220, 357, 361 Tang He 湯和 (1326–1395), 271 Tang Kaiyuan 湯開遠 (1598–1640), 258, 294 Tang Saier 唐賽兒 (fl. 1420), 108 Tang Taizong 唐太宗 (Li Shimin), See Li Shimin Tang Xianzu 湯顯祖 (1550–1617), 294 Tang Yaoqing 湯瑤卿 (1763–1831), 209 Tanistry, 36–38 Tao Hongzuo 陶鴻祚) (act. mid-­17th c.), 188

INDEX Tao Qian 陶潛 (365–427), 2, 175 Tao Xisheng 陶希聖 (1899–­1988), 75, 112 Tao Yuanming 陶淵明. See Tao Qian. Taylor, Rodney [羅德尼.泰樂], 163– 164 Teacher–disciple relationships, 289 Temür Qa’an (ch. 鐵穆耳, Chengzong emperor 元成宗, 1265–1307), 36–38 Texts, 227–353; father–son biographies in Mingshi, 253–298; Qian Qianyi’s Korean biographies, 299–332; women’s biographies, 333–353; Yue Fei, biographies of, 229–251. See also father–son biographies; Korean biographies; Qian Qianyi; women’s biographies Tian Hongyu 田弘遇 (d. 1643), 125 Tian Wen 田雯 (1635–1704), 338, 343 Tian Xiuying 田秀英 (d. 1642), 125 Tian Xuzong 田緒宗 (j.s. 1652), 343 Tianqi era 天啓 (1621–1627), 117, 120, 132, 282 Tiegulun, Empress 帖古倫 (d. 1260), 24–25, 25n18 Tiemiechi 鐵蔑赤 (son of Khubilai, b. 1245?), 33–34, 38 T’ien Ju-­k’ang [田汝康], 340n18, 352n63 Toiletries of Past Beauties (Lianyan 奩 豔, Dong), 135–136 Tong Bangda 童邦大 (late 15th /early 16th centuries), 49 Tong Hu 童琥 (act. late 15th–early 16th centuries), 49 Tong Pin 童品 (later Zhang Pin, j.s. 1496), 48–50 Tong 童 surname, 49

449 Toqta Beki (also Toqto’a Beki; ch. Tuohei tuo’a bieqi 脫黑脫阿别乞, d. 1208/1209), 26 “Toward Another Tang or Zhou?” (Des Forges), 133 Toyotomi Hideyoshi 豊臣秀吉 (1537– 1598), 301, 321n64 The Tradition of Zuo 左傳, 1, 242 The Travel Records of Filial Son Huang (Huang Xiaozi jicheng 黃孝子紀程, Huang), 174, 177–186. See also Diannan album Treaty of Shimonoseki, 246 Tu Lien-­che 杜聯喆 (1902–1994), 3 Tu Wei-­ming [杜維明], 163 The Twelve Towers (Shi’er lou 十二樓, Li), 115 Twitchett, Denis [崔瑞德] (1925–­2006), 4–5, 145, 150, 230 Two Birds Perching on a Tree Branch (Chunse lai shi er hong 春色先來十 二紅 (Cai and Jin), 138 U, King of Koryŏ 禑王 (r. 1374–1388), 312, 314 Uncle–nephew relationships, 288 Under Confucian Eyes: Writings on Gender in Chinese History (Mann and Yu-­yin Cheng, ed.), 7 Unified Gazetteer, 216, 217n56 Uxorilocal marriage: surname restoration and, 12, 42–43, 48, 50, 55–56, 66; women and, 209, 221, 357 The Venerable Documents 書經, 1, 275n64 Veritable Record of the Events Concerning the Prince of Loyalty and Learning (Zhongwen wang ji shi shi lu 忠 文王紀事實錄, Xie), 235, 240

450 Veritable Records of Jiajing (Jiajing shilu 嘉靖實錄), 292n11 Veritable Records (shilu): of the Chosŏn Dynasty, 304n21; creation of, 261; of Ming dynasty, 43, 46, 57, 259, 261, 308, 315, 321 Views from Jade Terrace: Chinese Women Artists (Weidner), 138 Vinograd, Richard [文以誠], 170n19 Volpp, Sophie [范爾濮], 116, 116n7 Waiji 外記 (informal records), 149, 158 Waltner, Ann [和安.沃特纳], 42n1, 145 Wan Sitong 萬斯同 (1638–1702), 262– 263, 336n10, 361 Wan Tai 萬泰 (1598–1657), 121 Wan Yan 萬言 (1637–1705), 262, 361 Wang Bo 王勃 (649–676), 118, 118n19, 361 Wang Daozhen 王纛貞 (Tan Yangzi), 148, 154, 156, 159 Wang Duanshu 王端淑 (1621–ca. 1685), 214, 214nn49–50 Wang Fuheng 王复亨 (b. circa 1367), 50–51 Wang Hongxu 王鴻緒 (1645–1723), 262 Wang Huizu 汪輝祖 (1731–1807), 338, 344 Wang Jinghong 王景宏 (act 1400s), 50 Wang Jingxiang 王靜香 (18th century), 223–225 Wang Jun 王峻 (late Ming, early Qing), 165 Wang Mang 王莽 (r. 9–23), 326n82, 362 Wang Maolin 汪懋麟 (1640–1688), 138 Wang Mengxiang 王夢祥 (early 16th century), 148 Wang Qishu 汪啟淑 (1728–1799), 211

REPRESENTING LIVES Wang Shi 王氏 (stepmother to Gu Yanwu, d. 1643?), 337, 342 Wang Shi 汪氏 (wife of Xu Hao, 19th century), 347–348 Wang Shilu 王士祿 (1626–1673), 136 Wang Shimou 王世懋 (1536–1588), 148, 153–154, 156–157, 274, 280 Wang Shizen 王世貞 (1526–1590), 15, 143–159; accounts of conduct (xingzhuang), 148, 150–154, 159; background of, 144–145, 152; conclusions, 158–159; on Confucianism, 157; gu wenci movement and, 145, 158; in Mingshi, 274, 280, 289; motivations of, 149–150, 153–155, 158–159; overview of, 143–146; poetry and, 145, 158; political involvement of, 151–154; social biographies by, 155–158; spirituality of, 145, 154–157, 159; styles and genres of, 146–149, 146n10, 147t, 205n30; subjects and works of, 149–150; on Su Shi, 13, 145–147, 149, 155, 158– 159; Wang Shimou, biography of, 153–154; Wang Yu’s execution, 152–153; Xu Fu, biography of, 157; Xu Jie, biography of, 151–154; Yang Jisheng, friendship and biography of, 151–154; Yan Song’s conflict with, 145, 151–155; Zhang Juzheng’s conflict with, 145, 154–155; zhuan biographies by, 154–155 Wang Shouren 王守仁 (Wang Yangming 王陽明, 1472–1529), 148, 148n14, 181–182, 184 Wang Si 王思 (1481–1524), 288 Wang Silian 王思廉 (1238–1320), 27 Wang Sixiang, [王思翔], 15 Wang Tingna 王珽捺 (act. 1580– 1610s), 158

INDEX Wang Tu 王稌 (act. end of 15th century), 289 Wang Wei 王禕 (1323–1374), 289 Wang Xi 王曦 (19th century), 209, 209n40 Wang Xijue 王錫爵 (1534–1614), 148, 156 Wang Yangming. See Wang Shouren Wang Yikui 王一夔 (1425–1487), 54 Wang Ying 汪嫈 (1781–1842), 206n33 Wang Yu 王忬 (1507–1560, 148, 151– 154, 274, 280–281 Wang Zengyu 王曾瑜, 240–241 Wang Zhaoyuan 王照圓 (1763–1851), 206n33, 338 Wang Zhenyi 王貞儀 (1768–1797), 206n33, 338 Wang Zhi 王直 (1379–1462), 288 Wang Zhijian 王志堅 (1576–1633), 165 Wanyan Tinglu 完顏廷鏴 (1772–1820), 216 Wanyan Yun Zhu, See Yun Zhu. Wanze 完澤 (Mong: Oljeitü, d. 1316), Chancellor, 36, 38 War-­Surviving Collection (Bingyu ji 兵 餘集, Mao), 117 Water Margin (Shuihu zhuan 水滸傳, Shi), 163, 263–264n28 Weatherford, Jack [關鍵字], 35 Weici 微詞 (“subtle words”), 314–315, 314n44 Wei Dazhong 魏大中 (b. 1575), 132n88 Wei History 魏書, 341 Wei Jiao 魏校 (1483–­1543), 45–46 Wei Xian 韋賢 (147–66 bce), 283, 284n86 Wei Xuancheng 韋玄成 (d. 36 bce), 283 Wei Zheng 魏徵 (580–643), 27, 29–30, 102

451 Wei Zhongxian 魏忠賢 (1568–1627), 120, 132n88 Weishu 魏書, 334, 341 Wen Bing 文秉 (1609–1669), 296–297 Wen Cheng 文乘 (d. after 1645), 296 Wen Zhenmeng 文震孟 (1574–1636), 165, 296 Western Han dynasty (206 bce–24 ce), 24n12 White Lotus uprisings, 89, 91, 108–110 Widmer, Ellen [魏爱莲], 9, 204n25, 206n31, 214nn49–50, 350n54 Widows: chastity and, 199, 222; remarriage of, 42, 48, 51; self-­sacrifice of, 210, 216, 340; in women’s biographies, 341, 343, 347–348 Wilhelm, Hellmut [卫德明] (1905– 1990), 248–249 Wilkinson, Endymion [魏根深], 1n2, 2n6, 21 Women: commoner class (pifu 匹婦) biographies, 223–225, 336–338, 336n12, 346; Confucian ideal of, 198, 198n3, 214, 216, 220, 222–225, 290, 340–341, 341n19; depictions in literature, 123; deserving of biography, 198–199, 208, 210; historical writing on, 216–217; jiefu 節婦 (faithful wives; faithful widows), 210, 224, 225, 339–­343, 347 348, 353; liefu 烈婦 (woman martyr), 224; literacy of, 77n32; in Li Yan story, 103–104; marriage and, 203, 212, 220, 224–225; martyrs (leifu), 199, 210, 216, 224, 335, 339–343, 348, 350–353; in Mongol empire, 21, 23–24, 34, 38; poetry and, 202– 204, 206, 209–211, 213, 216, 224– 226; rape, resisting, 99, 199, 210, 223, 290, 342, 352, 356; roles in so-

452 ciety, 199–200, 203, 343–345, 346, 351; status of, 19–21, 34; suicide and, 30, 80, 83n54, 222, 290, 349– 350, 352; uxorilocal marriage and, 209, 221, 357. See also Hong Niangzi; mothers and motherhood Women biographers, 197–226; author initiated biography, 211–215; authors and works of, 205–219; on chastity, 216, 222–225; commemorative writing and, 205, 211–212; commissioned biographies and, 197, 208–211; commoner women’s biographies, 223–225; conclusions, 225– 226; Drafts of Learning Prose from the Reflections on Duties Studio (Xu), 219–225; education of, 203; family biographies, 211–212, 217– 218, 220–223; gender and genre, 199–205, 205–206n30, 214; history of, 199–201, 200n12, 206; leinü, use of term, 209–210; literacy 77n32, 202, 225; maids and servants biographies, 212–214, 223; Male readership 206; marginalized lives, vindiWomen biographers (continued) cating, 219–225; “martial virtue” (wude 武德) 340, 359; martyrs and, 199, 210, 216, 224; men’s biographies, 214, 221–222; motivations of, 201, 206–208, 214–215, 217, 221; multiple subject biographies, 215– 219; obstacles for, 202–203; overview of, 197–199; praise and blame, use of, 218–219; prose writing and, 202–206, 207t, 213, 219; Sima Qian as model for, 197–199; social class and, 213, 223, 346; virtue requirement objections, 198–199, 210–211; women’s history and, 197–198, 216–

REPRESENTING LIVES 217; zhuan genre and, 199–200, 205, 209, 213–214, 217 Women’s biographies, 333–353; categorization of, 334, 339–345, 340t, 345n35, 348–349, 353; chastity in, 337, 339–340, 342, 349, 352–353; in collections, 334–336, 345n35; of commoners, 223–225, 336–338, 336n12, 346; conclusions, 352–354; of elites, 338, 346–348, 347n41; filial piety in, 339–340, 344, 353; genres of, 200, 209–210, 216n54, 333, 333n1, 336n10, 353; martyrs in, 339–340, 342, 352; maternal instruction and, 343–345, 344n33, 348, 351; in Mingshi, 334–340, 336n10, 337n15, 342–343, 349, 352–353; motherhood in, 340–352, 349n50; overview of, 333–336; purpose of, 337–338; in Qing histories, 15, 101n51, 336n11, 337–340, 343– 347, 352–353; regulations for, 337n15, 345–347; social class in, 333–335, 336–338, 336n12; in Song History, 336–337; virtue portrayed in, 338–340, 340t, 342–343, 345, 348, 351; widows in, 341, 343, 347– 348; “worthy mothers” category in, 350–351, 350n57, 351n59, 353. See also Empresses of Khubilai; mothers and motherhood Women’s instruction books (nüjiaoshu 女教書), 348 Women’s Tales of the World, 9, 350n53 Works Written by Female Writers in Chinese History (Ranzhi ji 然脂集, Wang), 136, 136n102 Wright, Arthur F. [芮沃寿] (1913–­ 1976), 4, 143–145 Wu Guang 吳廣 (d. 208 bce), 75

INDEX Wu Han 吳晗 (1909–1969), 4 Wu Hufan 吳湖帆 (1894–1968), 173– 174 Wu Jie 吳傑 (1783–1836), 217 Wu Lü 吳履 (late Yuan/early Ming), 292 Wu Meilan 吳湄蘭 (1643–1661), 136 Wu Mingji 吳明濟 (fl. 1592), 323, 323nn65–66 Wu Mo 吳默 (1554–1640), 165 Wu, Pei-­yi 吳培義 (1927–­2009), 5, 126n57, 164 Wu Qi 吳起 (440–381 bce), 242 Wu Qi 吳琪 (b. 1644), 137 Wu Qi 吳綺 (1619–­94), 131n84, 137 Wu Sangui 吳三桂 (1612–­1678): concubine Chen and, 78, 84, 125n53; Li Yan’s approach to, 84, 86, 88, 94– 95, 105; Li Zicheng’s attack on, 111; Qian compared with, 330; rebel negotiations with, 78 Wu Tianshi 吳天石, 1910–­1966, 87 Wu Tingkang 吳廷康 (1799–1873), 240 Wu Weiye 吳偉業 (1609–1671), 120– 121, 126, 132, 133, 138 Wu Xiang 吳鑲 (d. 1644), 84 Wu Yingji 吳應箕 (1594–1645), 133 Wu Zao 吳藻 (ca. 1799–ca. 1862), 204 Wu Zetian 武則天 (624–705), 3 Wudi 晉武帝 (r. 266–290) of Jin dynasty 314 Wulun 五倫 (Five Key social Relationships), 254 Xia Yan 夏言 (1482–1548), 154, 287 Xia Yunyi 夏允彝 (1596–1645), 133n92, 138 Xia Zhengnong 夏征農 (1904–2008), 87 Xiang, Empress of Song 欽聖皇后 (1046–1101), 35

453 Xiang Yu 項羽 (232–202 bce), 75, 102, 110, 265–266 Xiangzan 像贊 (portrait eulogy), 147 Xiantong 仙童, 33n42 Xiaoqing 曉青 (1629–1690), 173 Xiaoshuo 小說 (novels), 259 Xiaozong emperor 孝宗 (r. 1163–1190), 233 Xie, Empress 謝太皇太后 (1210–1283), 30–31 Xie An 謝安 (320–385), 79 Xie Cheng 謝承 (182–254), 200n10 Xie Guozhen 謝國楨 (pseud. Gang Zhu 剛主,1901–1982), 90–92, 92n102 Xie Lingyun 謝靈運 (385–433), 124 Xie Pi 謝丕 (1482–1556), 59 Xie Qian 謝遷 (1449–1531), 59 Xie Qiyan 謝起巖 (fl. 1260s), 235, 240 Xie 謝 surname, 53–54 Xie Yongheng 謝永亨 (1425–1487), 54 Xie Zhuang 謝莊 (421–466), 127 Xiefang ji 擷芳集 (Wang), 210–211 Ximafan woman 洗馬畈婦 (Ming), 342 Xinglue 行略 (abbreviated accounts of conduct), 205 Xingzhuang 行狀 (accounts of conduct), 2, 14, 148, 150–154, 159, 205, 208, 230n1, 353 Xin Tangshu 新唐書, 334, 341 Xiong 熊 surname, 51 Xu Bao 許寶 (c. 16th century), 189– 191, 194 Xu Da 徐達 (1332–1385), 277, 279 Xuegu 雪姑 (end of Ming dynasty), 223–225 Xu Erjun 徐爾駿 (18th century), 222 Xu Fu 許鈇 (16th century), 157, 159 Xugao 續稿, See Yanzhou xugao  Xu Guangqi 徐光啟 (1562–1633), 327n84

454 Xu Gui 許貴 (d. 1461), 255, 258, 284– 285 Xu Hao 徐灝 (19th century), 348 Xu Jie 徐階 (1503–1583), 59, 148, 151– 154 Xu Ning 許寧 (15th century), 284 Xu Sima 徐司馬 (d. 1393), 270n48 Xu Tai 許泰 (15th century), 285 Xu Wei 徐渭 (1521–1593), 62 Xu Wencai 徐文彩 (character in Record of Jiashen), 87 Xu Xilie 許希烈 (act. c. 1572–1606), 189–194, 193f, 194f Xu Xuemo 徐學謨 (1521–1593), 156 Xu Yaozi 許堯咨 (c. 1722–­c.1786), 221, 221–222n62, 221n61 Xu Yezhao 徐葉昭 (18th century), 207t, 219–225, 221nn61–62 Xu Yuanwen 徐元文 (1634–1691), 122 Xu Zhiluan 徐之鸞 (b. 1483), 54–56 Xu Zhinong 徐植農, 133n94 Xu Ziyun 徐紫雲 (1644–1675), 133 Xuan, Duke of Lu 魯宣公 (r. 608–591), 317 Yan Shifan 嚴世蕃 (1513–1565), 274, 287, 295 Yan Song 嚴嵩 (1480–1567), 59, 68, 145, 151–155, 257, 274, 287, 288n99, 292n111, 294, 295; father-­ son biographies and, 274, 287, 292, 292n111, 294–295; political status of, 68; Wang Shizen’s conflict with, 145, 151–155 Yan Xishan 閻錫山 (1883–1960), 73–74 Yan Zhenqing 顏真卿 (709–785), 127– 128, 361

REPRESENTING LIVES Yanzhi 言志 (expressing a person’s moral intent or resolve), 202 Yang, Binbin [楊彬彬], 204, 217 Yang Dan 楊旦 (15th century), 296 Yang Gong 楊恭 (b. 1437), 296 Yang Ji 楊稷 (15th century), 296 Yang Jisheng 楊繼盛 (1516–1555), 5, 148, 151–154 Yang Kuan 楊寬 (1914–2005), 94 Yang, Lady 楊氏 (mother of Li Ben), 58 Yang Lian 楊漣 (b. 1571), 132n88 Yang Louyong 楊龍友 (1596–1646), 133n92 Yang Menglong 楊夢龍 (late 16th century), 69–70 Yang Pu 楊溥 (1372–1446), 296 Yang Rong 楊榮 (1371–1440), 296 Yang Shen 楊慎 (1488–1559), 282–283, 285, 291–292 Yang Shi 楊氏 (d. early Wanli), 342 Yang Shiqi 楊士奇 (1365–1444), 296 Yang Shou 楊壽 (15th century), 255, 296 Yang Sichang 楊嗣昌 (1588–1641), 76 Yang 楊 surname, 68–70, 70n71 Yang Tinghe 楊廷和 (1459–1529), 273– 274, 282–283, 291–292 Yang Tingshu 楊廷樞 (1595–1647), 121 Yang Xuan 楊瑄 (1425–1478), 282 Yang Yingwei 楊應尾 (16th century), 152 Yang Yiqing 楊一清 (1454–1530), 290 Yang Yuan 楊源 (d. 1506?), 282 Yanzhou shanren sibu gao 兗州山人四 部稿 (Wang), 145, 147, 148 Yanzhou xugao 兗州續稿 (Wang), 145, 147–148, 151, 158 Yao Ding 饒鼎 (late 17th century), 342 Yao Xueyin 姚雪垠 (1910–1999), 96– 111, 127n58

INDEX Ye Shaoweng 葉紹翁 (fl. early 13th century), 235 Ye Shaoyuan 葉紹袁 (1589–1648), 211n45 Ye Xiaoluan 葉小鸞 (1616–1632), 211 Yelü-­Chucai 耶律楚材 (1190–1244), 28 Yeshi 野史 (informal accounts), 259 Yesün-­Temür 也孫鐵木兒 (Yuantai dingdi 元泰定帝, 1293–1328), emperor, 25 Yi 夷 (barbarian), 319, 319–320n59, 332 Yi Jo-­Lan 衣若蘭, 15, 232, 333 Yi Pangwŏn 李芳遠 (1367–1422, r. 1401–1418), 304, 308–309, 311, 317, 317n54, 323–324 Yi Saek 李穡 (1328–1396), 300, 302– 305, 304–305n21, 307, 314–315, 324 Yi Sŏnggye 李成桂 (1335–1408), Chŏng Mongju’s execution and, 304–305, 308–309; Qian Qianyi on, 311, 314–315; usurpation, 302–305, 304n21, 316–317 Yi Sung’in 李崇仁 (1347–1392), 300, 302–305, 304–305n21, 324 Yi Tal 李達 (1539–1612), 324–325 Yi Tŏngmu 李德懋 (1741–1793), 331 Yi’an, Empress 懿安 (d. 1644), 78, 86 Yim, Lawrence Chi Hung [嚴志雄], 320 Yin Huiyi 尹會一 (1691–1748), 344n32 Yingmeian yiyu 影梅庵憶語 (Reminiscences of the Plum-­Shaded Convent), 134n97 Yingzong emperor (of Ming) 英宗. See Zhu Qizhen. Yinhong ji 吟紅集 (Wang), 214n49 Yinreng 胤礽 (1674–1725), 263 Yiyu 憶語 (reminiscence) genre, 126 Yo, King (王瑤 1345–1394, r. 1389– 1392), 304

455 Yongle emperor 永樂 (Zhu Di), 317n54, 332. See Zhu Di Yongqing Gazetteer (Yongqing xianzhi 永清縣志), 351n61 Yongzheng emperor 雍正 (r. 1723– 1736), 260, 319, 319n59 Youji 遊記 (travel record), 164, 166, 174. See also Diannan album; Journey Beyond the Zi[jing] Pass You Tong 尤侗 (1618–1704), 132n86 Youzi 有子 (You Ruo 有若, disciple of Confucius), 265n34 Yu Huai 余懷 (1616–1696), 116, 132n86 Yu Pingbo 俞平伯 (1900–1990), 127n58 Yu Qian 于謙 (1398–1457), 255, 286, 288 Yu Rujie 俞汝捷 (b. 1943), 100, 103, 108 Yu 余 surname, 50–51 Yuan Chun 袁純 (act. 1450s), 243 Yuan Dingzhong 袁定中 (1923–­1991), 95 Yuan dynasty (1279–1368 ce), 19–23, 38, 138, 295, 358 Yuan Gong 袁珙 (1335–1410), 257, 289 Yuan Haowen 元好問 (1190–1257), 299, 362 Yuan History, 337, 345n35, 355 Yuan History (Yuanshi 元史): biographical traditions and, 355; empresses of Khubilai and, 12, 20–21, 25–26, 29, 32–33, 35–38; women’s biographies in, 334, 341 Yuan Huazhong 袁化中 (1572–1625), 132n88 Yuan Jingrong 袁鏡蓉 (1787–after 1852), 204, 217–219 Yuan Mei 袁枚 (1716–1798), 202 Yuan Shang-­tong 袁尚統 (1570–after 1661), 165

456 Yuan Shizhong 袁時中 (d. 1643), 101, 103 Yuan Wei 袁煒 (1507–1565), 65–66 Yuan Zhongche 袁忠徹 (1376–1458), 289 Yuandi of Jin 元帝 (r. 318–323), 314 Yue Fei 岳飛, 1143–1141), 14, 229–251; Confucian ideal and, 231, 249–250; execution of, 231; literary works of, 242–243, 248–249; mythologization of, 79, 248–251; nianpu of, 245–247; Yue Ke as biographer of, 229–232. See also “All River Red,” Compendia Yue Ke 岳珂 (1183–1242?), 229–235, 242–248. See also Compendia Yue Lin 岳霖 (1130–1192), 232–234, 243 Yue Shijing 岳士景 (early Qianlong), 238–239 Yue Shiyao 岳士耀 (early Qianlong), 239 Yue Zhu 岳柱 (1280–1333), 237, 248 Yuetan 月潭 (Yang 楊, d. 1586), 156– 157, 159 Yugu Daoren 愚古道人 (Tao Hongzuo 陶鴻祚, act. mid-­17th c.), 161, 161n1 Yun Zhu 惲珠 (1771–1833), 207, 215– 216, 338 Yuxi-­Tiemur 玉昔鐵木耳 (Mong. Üs Temür, 1242–1295), 36 Zan 贊 (eulogy), 147 Zangzhi 葬誌 (burial account), 148 Zeng Shen 曾參 (505–­436 bce), 163 Zhan Ruoshui 湛若水 (1466–1560), 289 Zhan Ying 湛瑛 (d. after 1466), 289 Zhang Aiping 張愛萍 (1910–­2003), 82 Zhang Ao 張鏊 (j.s. 1526), 238 Zhang Chao 張潮 (1650–1707), 127 Zhang Dai 張岱 (1597–1689), 126

REPRESENTING LIVES Zhang Fengyi 張鳳儀 (1527–1613), 165 Zhang Hong 張宏 (1577–ca. 1652), 165 Zhang Juzheng 張居正(1525–1582), 145, 154–155 Zhang, Lady 張氏 (d. after 1527), 56–58 Zhang Lin 張琳(Shi Lin, j.s. 1481), 68– 69, 69n68 Zhang Mingbi 張明弼 (1584–1653), 131, 131n82 Zhang Pin 章品 (previously Tong Pin), 48–50 Zhang Qi 張琦 (1764–1833), 209 Zhang Qianqian 張倩倩 (1594–1627), 211 Zhang shi 張氏 (early Qing), 343 Zhang shi 張氏 (18th century), 222 Zhang shi 張氏 (concubine of Mao, m. 1668), 138 Zhang Shicheng 張士誠 (1321–1367), 237 Zhang Tingyu 張廷玉 (1672–1755), 263, 338 Zhang Wanying 張紈英 (1800 to after 1868), 207t, 208–211, 214–215 Zhang Wei 張維 (955–1046), 186–189 Zhang Wenbing 章文炳 (late 15th century), 49 Zhang Xian 張先 (990–1078), 186–189, 190f, 191f Zhang Xianzhong 張獻忠 (1605–1647), 73, 75, 274–276 Zhang Xiying 張䌌英 (1792–after 1863), 204, 209n39, 210–211 Zhang Xuecheng 章學誠 (1738–1801), 144, 334, 351n61 Zhang Ying 章穎 (1141–1218), 235 Zhang Yingdeng 張應登 (j.s. 1583), 243

INDEX Zhang Yuesun 張曜孫 (1807–1863), 209–210 Zhang Zhengcai 張正才 (Ming-­Qing transition), 87–88 Zhang Zongzhen 張宗禎 (Qing dynasty), 173 Zhang-­Sun, Empress (長孫; Wende 文 德皇后, 601–636), 27 Zhao 趙 surname, 64 Zhao, George Q. [趙清治], 12, 19, 232 Zhao Erxun 趙爾巽 (1844–1927), 175n31 Zhao Fen 趙棻 (1788–1856), 207t, 208, 211–212 Zhao Keyao 趙克堯 (1939–2000), 94–95 Zhao Mengfu 趙孟頫 (1254–1322), 127, 129 Zhao Rou 趙葇 (1805–1822), 211, 212 Zhao Shijie 趙世杰 (early–mid-17th century), 206n31 Zhao Wenhua 趙文華 (d. 1557), 294– 295 Zhao Yi 趙翼 (1727–1814), 5n20, 24n11 Zhao Yisi 趙慎思 (d. 1557), 294–295 Zhao Yurui 趙與芮 (1207–1287), 63 Zhao Yuxia 趙玉霞, 133n94 Zhao Zongfu 趙宗復 (1915–1966), 73– 74, 89, 109–111 Zhejiang Printing House (Zhejiang shu ju 浙江書局), 240 Zheng He 鄭和 (1371–1433/35), 50 Zheng Lian 鄭廉 (1628–1701), 91 Zheng Lüchun 鄭履淳 (j.s. 1562), 295 Zheng Xiao 鄭曉 (1499–1566), 258, 295 Zhengde emperor 正德 (Zhu Houzhao 朱厚照, 1491–1521), 57, 117, 272– 273, 274, 285 Zhengtong 正統 (legitimate succession), 265–266

457 Zhenjin 真金 (son of Khubilai, M. Jin Gim, 1243–1286), 21, 22, 32 Zhenyantang shiji 枕煙堂詩輯 (Mao), 123n44 Zhou Chaorui 周朝瑞 (1580–1625), 132n88 Zhou dynasty (1100–771 bce), 24n12 Zhou Enlai 周恩來 (1898–1976), 74, 270n49 Zhou Guangde 周廣德 (character in The Dashing Prince Enters the Capital), 85–86 Zhou Qiyuan 周起元 (1571–1626), 132n88 Zhou Shizhong 周時中 (late Yuan/early Ming), 48 Zhou Shouchang 周壽昌 (1804–1884), 206n31 Zhou Shoujuan 周瘦鵑 (1895–1968), 126n58 Zhou Shunchang 周順昌 (1584–1626), 132n88 Zhou Zhongfu 周中孚 (1768–1831), 239 Zhou Zongjian 周宗建 (1582–1627), 132 Zhuan 傳 genre, 148, 154–155, 199– 200, 205, 209, 213–214, 217 Zhu Biao 朱標 (1355–1392), 269, 272– 274, 276–277 Zhu De 朱德 (1886–1976), 74, 271, 361 Zhu Di 朱棣 (Yongle emperor 永樂, 1360–1424): father-­son biographies and, 261, 264, 266, 288–289, 294; “leviathan” reference, 317n54; usurpation, 258–259, 277, 280–281, 317–319 Zhu family (Ming dynasty), 258–260, 266–274 Zhu Gaochi 朱高熾 (Hongxi emperor, 洪熙, 1378–­1425), 47

458 Zhu Houcong 朱厚熜 (Jiajang emperor 嘉靖, 1507–1567), 57–58, 258, 272– 273, 285 Zhu Houzhao 朱厚照 (Zhengde emperor 正德, 1491–1521), 57, 272– 273, 285 Zhu Jianmang 朱劍芒 (1890–1972), 126n58 Zhu Qinxiang 朱欽相 (b. 1580), 56 Zhu Qiyu 朱祁鈺 (Jintai emperor 景泰, 1458–1527), 286 Zhu Qizhen 朱祁鎮 (Yingzong emperor 英宗, 1427–1464), 286, 288 Zhu Qinxiang 朱欽相 (b. 1580), 56 Zhu Shizhen 朱世珍 (1281–1344), 266, 269 Zhu Wenzheng 朱文正 (1336–1365), 270 Zhu Xi, 朱熹 (1130–1200 163, 220, 253, 259 Zhu Yijun 朱翊鈞 (r. 1572–1620), 259 Zhu Ying (Mu Ying) 53. See Mu Ying Zhu Yizun 朱彝尊 (1629–1709), 219, 351n60 Zhu Youcheng 祐樘 (Hongzhi emperor 祐樘, 1470–1505), 57 Zhu Youjian 朱由檢, (Chongzhen emperor 崇禎, 1611–1644), 76, 79, 266, 294, 352 Zhu Youlang 朱由榔 (Yongli emperor 永曆, 1623–1662), 266n35 Zhu Yousong 朱由崧 (Hongguang emperor 宏光,1607–1646), 266n35 Zhu Youyuan 朱祐杬 (Ruizong emperor 睿宗, 1476–1519), 266, 269, 273, 276 Zhu Yuanyou 朱元佑 (act. 1360s), 237 Zhu Yuanzhang 朱元璋 (Hongwu emperor 洪武, Ming Taizu 明太祖, 1328–­1398), 4, 43, 48, 53, 180; fathers of, 266–269; father-­son relationship and, 264, 285–286, 294; Hu

REPRESENTING LIVES Dahai and, 288–289; portrayal in Mingshi, 295–296; reign of, 258– 259; sons of, 269–273, 276, 279; See Ming Taizu Zhu Yujian 朱聿鍵 (Longwu emperor 隆 武, 1602–­1646), 266n35 Zhu Yunwen 朱允炆 (Jianwen emperor 建文, 1377–1402), 258–259, 269, 273, 317 Zhu Zaiji 朱載坖 (1537–1572), 151– 153, 282, 295 Zhu Zhi 朱質 (act. 1660s), 165 Zhu Zhishan 祝枝山 (1460–1526), 127 Zhuang Zhongfang 莊仲方 (1780– 1857), 217 Zhuge Liang 諸葛亮 (181–234), 175 Zitan Dian 紫檀殿 (Narra Palace), 38n60 Zizhu nianpu 自製年譜 (autobiography), 152 Zuo Commentaries of the Spring and Autumn Annals (Chunqiu Zuoshi zhuan 春秋左氏傳), 242, 317n54 Zuo Guangdou 左光鬥 (1571–1625), 132n88 Zuo Liangyu 左良玉 (1599–1645), 118 Zuo Xijia 左錫嘉 (1831–1896), 207 Zurndorfer, Harriet [宋漢理], 7–8, 144, 149

About the Contributors

Joseph Dennis is Associate Professor of History at the University of Wisconsin-­ ­Madison and Immediate Past President of the Society for Ming Studies. His research is on Chinese social and legal history. In 2015, his book Writing, Publishing, and Reading Local Gazetteers in Imperial China, 1100-­­1700 was published by the Harvard University Asia Center. Roger V. Des Forges taught Chinese, Asian, and World History at the State University of New York at Buffalo from 1972 through 2014. He has been a research associate at the Fairbank Center of Harvard University and at the Center for Yellow River Civilization and Sustainable Development of Henan University in Kaifeng, China. In addition to articles and book chapters in English and Chinese on the Li Yan question, he has published two monographs, Hsi-­­liang and the Chinese National Revolution (Yale, 1973) and Cultural Centrality and Political Change in Chinese History: Northeast Henan in the Fall of the Ming (Stanford, 2003). He has coedited and coauthored two conference volumes, Chinese Democracy and the Crisis of 1989: Chinese and American Perspectives (SUNY, 1993) and Chinese Walls in Time and Space: A Multidisciplinary Perspective (Cornell East Asia Series, 2009). He has authored several essays including “Time and Space in Chinese Historiography: Concepts of Centrality in the History and Literature of the Three Kingdoms,” in The Many Faces of Clio: Cross-­­Cultural Approaches to Historiography (Berghahn, 2007) and “China’s Roles in World History and Historiography,” Frontiers of History in China 11.2 (June 2016): 177–246. Jun Fang is Professor of History at Huron University College, University of Western Ontario, and the author of China’s Second Capital—Nanjing under the Ming, 1368–1644. 459

460

REPRESENTING LIVES

Grace S. Fong is Professor of Chinese Literature and the Richard Charles and Esther Yewpick Lee Chair in Chinese Cultural Studies at McGill University. She has published widely on classical Chinese poetry and women’s writings in the Ming and Qing dynasties. Her publications include the monograph Herself an Author: Gender, Agency, and Writing in Late Imperial China (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2008) and the coedited volumes, Different Worlds of Discourse: Transformations of Gender and Genre in Late Qing and Early Republican China (Leiden: Brill, 2008) and The Inner Quarters and Beyond: Women Writers from Ming through Qing (Leiden: Brill 2010). She is editor of the Women and Gender in China Studies series published by Brill and of the digital archive and database Ming Qing Women’s Writings (http://digital.library.mcgill.ca/mingqing/). Kenneth J. Hammond is Professor of History at New Mexico State University. He received his PhD in History and East Asian Languages from Harvard University in 1994, with a focus on the intellectual and political culture of the Ming dynasty. He is the author of numerous articles, has edited two volumes of biographical essays for the Human Tradition series, and published Pepper Mountain: the Life, Death and Posthumous Career of Yang Jisheng, 1516-­­1555 in 2007. He is past president of the Society for Ming Studies and currently serves as Associate Editor for the Ming and Qing periods for the Journal of Chinese History. Elizabeth Kindall is Associate Professor of Art History at the University of St. Thomas in St. Paul, Minnesota. She specializes in Chinese landscape painting. In articles in The Art Bulletin, Toung P’ao, Artibus Asiae, and Ars Orientalis, she has investigated functional visual experiences captured in paintings of real places through examinations of their distinctive topographical vocabulary and site-­­specific views. Her book Geo-­­Narratives of a Filial Son: The Paintings of Huang Xiangjian (1609-­­1673) will be published with Harvard University Asia Center in 2016. Her present research focuses on farewell culture and landscape identity in Chinese painting. Ihor Pidhainy is Assistant Professor in the Department of History at the University of West Georgia. He received his PhD from the University of Toronto. He has published articles on biography, travel writing and Chinese literature in a variety of journals and books. He also has published translations from Chinese and Russian. He has edited Reading Wang Wenxing: Critical Essays with Shu-­­ning Sciban (Cornell East Asia Series, 2015) and written Chinese Literature: An Introduction for the Key Issues in Asian Studies series (Association of Asian Studies, 2017). He also serves as the editor of the Journal for the Society of Ming Studies.

ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS461 Leo K. Shin is Associate Professor of History and Asian Studies at the University of British Columbia, Vancouver, and is the author of The Making of the Chinese State: Ethnicity and Expansion on the Ming Borderlands (Cambridge University Press, 2006). He is writing a book about the history of recollection of a Chinese hero. Sixiang Wang is the Moon Family Foundation Postdoctoral Fellow in Korean Studies at the University of Pennsylvania. He graduated from the Department of East Asian Languages and Cultures at Columbia University in 2015. His dissertation, titled “Co-­­constructing Empire in Early Chosŏn Korea: Knowledge Production and the Culture of Diplomacy, 1392–1592,” examines how Chosŏn Korea constructed notions of universal empire to shape the terms of its relations with Ming China. His research interests are primarily in early modern Korean history, the history of empire and diplomacy in East Asia and the production and circulation of knowledge. Jo-­Lan Yi is Associate Professor of History at National Taiwan University. Her research interest is mainly in Chinese women’s history and historiography (from the 14th to the18th century). She is the author of San-­­Gu-­­Liu-­­Po (Three Aunties and Six Grannies): A Probe into Women and Society in Ming China (Chinese University Press, 2002) and Historiography and Gender: The “Aligned Biographies of Women” in the Ming History and the Construction of Women’s History in Ming China (2011). George Qingzhi Zhao received his PhD in pre-­­modern Chinese history from the University of Toronto. He is the author of several books, book chapters, and articles in both Chinese and English, including Marriage as Political Strategy and Cultural Expression: Mongolian Royal Marriages from World Empire to Yuan Dynasty and, most recently, a Chinese translation of Jack Weatherford’s The Secret History of the Mongol Queens: How the Daughters of Genghis Khan Rescued His Empire. He is currently working at the University of Toronto. 

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CORNELL EAST ASIA SERIES 4 Fredrick Teiwes, Provincial Leadership in China: The Cultural Revolution and Its Aftermath 8 Cornelius C. Kubler, Vocabulary and Notes to Ba Jin’s Jia: An Aid for Reading the Novel 16 Monica Bethe & Karen Brazell, Nō as Performance: An Analysis of the Kuse Scene of Yamamba. Available for purchase: DVD by Monica Bethe & Karen Brazell, “Yamanba: The Old Woman of the Mountains” 18 Royall Tyler, tr., Granny Mountains: A Second Cycle of Nō Plays 23 Knight Biggerstaff, Nanking Letters, 1949 28 Diane E. Perushek, ed., The Griffis Collection of Japanese Books: An Annotated Bibliography 37 J. Victor Koschmann, Ōiwa Keibō & Yamashita Shinji, eds., International Perspectives on Yanagita Kunio and Japanese Folklore Studies 38 James O’Brien, tr., Murō Saisei: Three Works 40 Kubo Sakae, Land of Volcanic Ash: A Play in Two Parts, revised edition, tr. David G. Goodman 44 Susan Orpett Long, Family Change and the Life Course in Japan 48 Helen Craig McCullough, Bungo Manual: Selected Reference Materials for Students of Classical Japanese 49 Susan Blakeley Klein, Ankoku Butō: The Premodern and Postmodern Influences on the Dance of Utter Darkness 50 Karen Brazell, ed., Twelve Plays of the Noh and Kyōgen Theaters 51 David G. Goodman, ed., Five Plays by Kishida Kunio 52 Shirō Hara, Ode to Stone, tr. James Morita 53 Peter J. Katzenstein & Yutaka Tsujinaka, Defending the Japanese State: Structures, Norms and the Political Responses to Terrorism and Violent Social Protest in the 1970s and 1980s 54 Su Xiaokang & Wang Luxiang, Deathsong of the River: A Reader’s Guide to the Chinese TV Series Heshang, trs. Richard Bodman & Pin P. Wan 55 Jingyuan Zhang, Psychoanalysis in China: Literary Transformations, 1919–1949 56 Jane Kate Leonard & John R. Watt, eds., To Achieve Security and Wealth: The Qing Imperial State and the Economy, 1644–1911 57 Andrew F. Jones, Like a Knife: Ideology and Genre in Contemporary Chinese Popular Music 58 Peter J. Katzenstein & Nobuo Okawara, Japan’s National Security: Structures, Norms and Policy Responses in a Changing World 59 Carsten Holz, The Role of Central Banking in China’s Economic Reforms 60  Chifumi Shimazaki, Warrior Ghost Plays from the Japanese Noh Theater: Parallel Translations with Running Commentary 61 Emily Groszos Ooms, Women and Millenarian Protest in Meiji Japan: Deguchi Nao and Ōmotokyō 62    Carolyn Anne Morley, Transformation, Miracles, and Mischief: The Mountain Priest Plays of Kyōgen

63 David R. McCann & Hyunjae Yee Sallee, tr., Selected Poems of Kim Namjo, afterword by Kim Yunsik 64 Hua Qingzhao, From Yalta to Panmunjom: Truman’s Diplomacy and the Four Powers, 1945-1953 65 Margaret Benton Fukasawa, Kitahara Hakushū: His Life and Poetry 66 Kam Louie, ed., Strange Tales from Strange Lands: Stories by Zheng Wanlong, with introduction 67 Wang Wen-hsing, Backed Against the Sea, tr. Edward Gunn 69 Brian Myers, Han Sōrya and North Korean Literature: The Failure of Socialist Realism in the DPRK 70 Thomas P. Lyons & Victor Nee, eds., The Economic Transformation of South China: Reform and Development in the Post-Mao Era 71 David G. Goodman, tr., After Apocalypse: Four Japanese Plays of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, with introduction 72 Thomas Lyons, Poverty and Growth in a South China County: Anxi, Fujian, 1949–1992 74 Martyn Atkins, Informal Empire in Crisis: British Diplomacy and the Chinese Customs Succession, 1927-1929 76 Chifumi Shimazaki, Restless Spirits from Japanese Noh Plays of the Fourth Group: Parallel Translations with Running Commentary 77 Brother Anthony of Taizé & Young-Moo Kim, trs., Back to Heaven: Selected Poems of Ch’ŏn Sang Pyŏng 78 Kevin O’Rourke, tr., Singing Like a Cricket, Hooting Like an Owl: Selected Poems by Yi Kyu-bo 79 Irit Averbuch, The Gods Come Dancing: A Study of the Japanese Ritual Dance of Yamabushi Kagura 80 Mark Peterson, Korean Adoption and Inheritance: Case Studies in the Creation of a Classic Confucian Society 81 Yenna Wu, tr., The Lioness Roars: Shrew Stories from Late Imperial China 82 Thomas Lyons, The Economic Geography of Fujian: A Sourcebook, Vol. 1 83 Pak Wan-so, The Naked Tree, tr. Yu Young-nan 84 C.T. Hsia, The Classic Chinese Novel: A Critical Introduction 85 Cho Chong-Rae, Playing With Fire, tr. Chun Kyung-Ja 86 Hayashi Fumiko, I Saw a Pale Horse and Selections from Diary of a Vagabond, tr. Janice Brown 87 Motoori Norinaga, Kojiki-den, Book 1, tr. Ann Wehmeyer 88 Chang Soo Ko, tr., Sending the Ship Out to the Stars: Poems of Park Je-chun 89 Thomas Lyons, The Economic Geography of Fujian: A Sourcebook, Vol. 2 90 Brother Anthony of Taizé, tr., Midang: Early Lyrics of So Chong-Ju 92 Janice Matsumura, More Than a Momentary Nightmare: The Yokohama Incident and Wartime Japan 93 Kim Jong-Gil tr., The Snow Falling on Chagall’s Village: Selected Poems of Kim Ch’un-Su 94 Wolhee Choe & Peter Fusco, trs., Day-Shine: Poetry by Hyon-jong Chong 95 Chifumi Shimazaki, Troubled Souls from Japanese Noh Plays of the Fourth Group 96 Hagiwara Sakutarō, Principles of Poetry (Shi no Genri), tr. Chester Wang 97 Mae J. Smethurst, Dramatic Representations of Filial Piety: Five Noh in Translation 99 William Wilson, Hōgen Monogatari: Tale of the Disorder in Hōgen 100 Yasushi Yamanouchi, J. Victor Koschmann and Ryūichi Narita, eds., Total War and ‘Modernization’

101 Yi Ch’ŏng-jun, The Prophet and Other Stories, tr. Julie Pickering 102 S.A. Thornton, Charisma and Community Formation in Medieval Japan: The Case of the Yugyō-ha (1300-1700) 103 Sherman Cochran, ed., Inventing Nanjing Road: Commercial Culture in Shanghai, 19001945 104 Harold M. Tanner, Strike Hard! Anti-Crime Campaigns and Chinese Criminal Justice, 1979-1985 105 Brother Anthony of Taizé & Young-Moo Kim, trs., Farmers’ Dance: Poems by Shin Kyŏng-nim 106 Susan Orpett Long, ed., Lives in Motion: Composing Circles of Self and Community in Japan 107 Peter J. Katzenstein, Natasha Hamilton-Hart, Kozo Kato, & Ming Yue, Asian Regionalism 108 Kenneth Alan Grossberg, Japan’s Renaissance: The Politics of the Muromachi Bakufu 109 John W. Hall & Toyoda Takeshi, eds., Japan in the Muromachi Age 110 Kim Su-Young, Shin Kyong-Nim, Lee Si-Young; Variations: Three Korean Poets; trs. Brother Anthony of Taizé & Young-Moo Kim 111 Samuel Leiter, Frozen Moments: Writings on Kabuki, 1966–2001 118 Mae J. Smethurst and Christina Laffin, eds., The Noh Ominameshi: A Flower Viewed from Many Directions 112 Pilwun Shih Wang & Sarah Wang, Early One Spring: A Learning Guide to Accompany the Film Video February 113 Thomas Conlan, In Little Need of Divine Intervention: Scrolls of the Mongol Invasions of Japan 114 Jane Kate Leonard & Robert Antony, eds., Dragons, Tigers, and Dogs: Qing Crisis Management and the Boundaries of State Power in Late Imperial China 115 Shu-ning Sciban & Fred Edwards, eds., Dragonflies: Fiction by Chinese Women in the Twentieth Century 116 David G. Goodman, ed., The Return of the Gods: Japanese Drama and Culture in the 1960s 117 Yang Hi Choe-Wall, Vision of a Phoenix: The Poems of Hŏ Nansŏrhŏn 119 Joseph A. Murphy, Metaphorical Circuit: Negotiations Between Literature and Science in Twentieth-Century Japan 120 Richard F. Calichman, Takeuchi Yoshimi: Displacing the West 121 Fan Pen Li Chen, Visions for the Masses: Chinese Shadow Plays from Shaanxi and Shanxi 122 S. Yumiko Hulvey, Sacred Rites in Moonlight: Ben no Naishi Nikki 123 Tetsuo Najita and J. Victor Koschmann, Conflict in Modern Japanese History: The Neglected Tradition 124 Naoki Sakai, Brett de Bary, & Iyotani Toshio, eds., Deconstructing Nationality 125 Judith N. Rabinovitch and Timothy R. Bradstock, Dance of the Butterflies: Chinese Poetry from the Japanese Court Tradition 126 Yang Gui-ja, Contradictions, trs. Stephen Epstein and Kim Mi-Young 127 Ann Sung-hi Lee, Yi Kwang-su and Modern Korean Literature: Mujŏng 128 Pang Kie-chung & Michael D. Shin, eds., Landlords, Peasants, & Intellectuals in Modern Korea 129 Joan R. Piggott, ed., Capital and Countryside in Japan, 300–1180: Japanese Historians Interpreted in English

130 Kyoko Selden and Jolisa Gracewood, eds., Annotated Japanese Literary Gems: Stories by Tawada Yōko, Nakagami Kenji, and Hayashi Kyōko (Vol. 1) 131 Michael G. Murdock, Disarming the Allies of Imperialism: The State, Agitation, and Manipulation during China’s Nationalist Revolution, 1922–1929 132 Noel J. Pinnington, Traces in the Way: Michi and the Writings of Komparu Zenchiku 133 Charlotte von Verschuer, Across the Perilous Sea: Japanese Trade with China and Korea from the Seventh to the Sixteenth Centuries, tr. Kristen Lee Hunter 134 John Timothy Wixted, A Handbook to Classical Japanese 135 Kyoko Selden and Jolisa Gracewoord, with Lili Selden, eds., Annotated Japanese Literary Gems: Stories by Natsume Sōseki, Tomioka Taeko, and Inoue Yasushi (Vol. 2) 136 Yi Tae-Jin, The Dynamics of Confucianism and Modernization in Korean History 137 Jennifer Rudolph, Negotiated Power in Late Imperial China: The Zongli Yamen and the Politics of Reform 138 Thomas D. Loooser, Visioning Eternity: Aesthetics, Politics, and History in the Early Modern Noh Theater 139 Gustav Heldt, The Pursuit of Harmony: Poetry and Power in Late Heian Japan 140 Joan R. Piggott and Yoshida Sanae, Teishinkōki: The Year 939 in the Journal of Regent Fujiwara no Tadahira 141 Robert Bagley, Max Loehr and the Study of Chinese Bronzes: Style and Classification in the History of Art 142   Edwin A. Cranston, The Secret Island and the Enticing Flame: Worlds of Memory, Discovery, and Loss in Japanese Poetry 143 Hugh de Ferranti, The Last Biwa Singer: A Blind Musician in History, Imagination and Performance 144 Roger des Forges, Minglu Gao, Liu Chiao-mei, Haun Saussy, with Thomas Burkman, eds., Chinese Walls in Time and Space: A Multidisciplinary Perspective 145 Hye-jin Juhn Sidney & George Sidney, trs., I Heard Life Calling Me: Poems of Yi Sŏng-bok 146 Sherman Cochran & Paul G. Pickowicz, eds., China on the Margins 147 Wang Lingzhen & Mary Ann O’ Donnell, trs., Years of Sadness: Autobiographical Writings of Wang Anyi 148 John Holstein, tr., A Moment’s Grace: Stories from Korea in Transition 149 Sunyoung Park in collaboration with Jefferson J.A. Gatrall, trs., On the Eve of the Uprising and Other Stories from Colonial Korea 150 Brother Anthony of Taizé & Lee Hyung-jin, trs., Walking on a Washing Line: Poems of Kim Seung-Hee 151 Matthew Fraleigh, trs., with introduction, New Chronicles of Yanagibashi and Diary of a Journey to the West: Narushima Ryūhoku Reports from Home and Abroad 152 Pei Huang, Reorienting the Manchus: A Study of Sinicization, 1583–1795 153 Karen Gernant & Chen Zeping, White Poppies and Other Stories by Zhang Kangkang 154 Mattias Burell & Marina Svensson, eds., Making Law Work: Chinese Laws in Context 155 Tomoko Aoyama & Barbara Hartley, trs., Indian Summer by Kanai Mieko 156 Lynne Kutsukake, tr., Single Sickness and Other Stories by Masuda Mizuko 157 Takako U. Lento, tr. with introduction, Tanikawa Shuntarō: The Art of Being Alone, Poems 1952–2009 158 Shu-ning Sciban & Fred Edwards, eds., Endless War: Fiction & Essays by Wang Wen-hsing 159 Elizabeth Oyler & Michael Watson, eds., Like Clouds and Mists: Studies and Translations of Nō Plays of the Genpei War 160 Michiko N. Wilson & Michael K. Wilson, trs., Of Birds Crying by Minako Ōba

161 Chifumi Shimazaki & Stephen Comee Supernatural Beings from Japanese Noh Plays of the Fifth Group: Parallel Translations with Running Commentary 162 Petrus Liu, Stateless Subjects: Chinese Martial Arts Literature and Postcolonial History 163 Lim Beng Choo, Another Stage: Kanze Nobumitsu and the Late Muromachi Noh Theater 164 Scott Cook, The Bamboo Texts of Guodian: A Study and Complete Translation, Vol. 1 165 Scott Cook, The Bamboo Texts of Guodian: A Study and Complete Translation, Vol. 2 166 Stephen D. Miller, translations with Patrick Donnelly, The Wind from Vulture Peak: The Buddhification of Japanese Waka in the Heian Period 167 Theodore Hughes, Jae-yong Kim, Jin-kyung Lee & Sang-kyung Lee, eds., Rat Fire: Korean Stories from the Japanese Empire 168 Ken C. Kawashima, Fabian Schäfer, Robert Stolz, eds., Tosaka Jun: A Critical Reader 169 John R. Bentley, Tamakatsuma—A Window into the Scholarship of Motoori Norinaga 170 Dandan Zhu, 1956: Mao’s China and the Hungarian Crisis 172 Sherman Cochran, ed., The Capitalist Dilemma in China’s Cultural Revolution 173 Eunju Kim, tr., Portrait of a Suburbanite: Poems of Ch’oe Seung-ja 174 Christina Laffin, Joan Piggott & Yoshida Sanae, eds., The Birth of a Monarch 1103: Selections from Fujiwara no Munetada’s Journal Chūyūki 175 J. Marshall Unger, Sangaku Proofs: A Japanese Mathematician at Work 176 Naomi Fukumori, In Spring the Dawn: Sei Shōnagon’s Makura no sōshi (The Pillow Book) and the Poetics of Amusement 177 John B. Weinstein, Voices of Taiwanese Women: Three Contemporary Plays 178 Shu-ning Sciban & Ihor Pidhainy, eds., Reading Wang Wenxing: Critical Essays 179 Hou Xiaojia, Negotiating Socialism in Rural China: Mao, Peasants, and Local Cadres in Shanxi, 1949–1953 180 Joseph Esherick & Matthew Combs, eds., 1943: China at the Crossroads 181 Rebecca Jennison & Brett de Bary, eds., Still Hear The Wound: Toward an Asia, Politics, and Art to Come 182 Nicholas Morrow Williams, The Residue of Dreams: Selected Poems of Jao Tsung-i 183 Bishop D. McKendree, Barbed Wire and Rice: Poems and Songs from Japanese Prisonerof-War Camps 184 John R. Bentley, An Anthology of Kokugaku Scholars, 1690 to 1898 185 Elizabeth Markham, Naoko Terauchi, Rembrandt Wolpert, eds., What the Doctor Overheard: Dr. Leopold Müller’s Account of Music in Early Meiji Japan. Einige Notizen über die japanische Musik. 日本音楽に関するノート(1874–1876) 186 Glynne Walley, Edification, Entertainment, and Kyokutei Bakin’s Nansō Satomi hakkenden 187 Yung-Hee Kim, Gendered Landscapes: Short Fiction by Modern and Contemporary Korean Women Novelists 188 Masako Inamoto, Red Ghosts, White Ghosts: Stories and Essays by Kita Morio 189 J. Marshall Unger, Sangaku Reflections: A Japanese Mathematician Teaches 190 Jeffrey E. Long, Stories from the Samurai Fringe: Hayashi Fusao’s Proletarian Short Stories and the Turn to Ultranationalism in Early Shōwa Japan 191 Ihor Pidhainy, Grace Fong, Roger Des Forges, eds., Representing Lives in China: Forms of Biography in the Ming-Qing Period, 1368–1911 192 Michael J. Pettid, ed., Silvery World and Other Stories. Edited, Annotated, and with Introductions by Michael J. Pettid. 193 Amy McNair, Xuanhe Catalogue of Paintings: An Annotated Translation with an Introduction by Amy McNair

194 Christopher Rea, China’s Chaplin: Comic Stories and Farces by Xu Zhuodai 195 Lu Yan, Crossed Paths: Labor Activism and Colonial Governance in Hong Kong, 1938–1958 196 Jooyeon Rhee, Literature and Gender in Early Colonial Korea 197 Mariko Anno, Piercing the Structure of Tradition: Flute Performance, Continuity, and Freedom in the Music of Noh Drama 198 Machiko Ishikawa, Nakagami Kenji: Paradox and the Representation of the Silenced Voice 199 Takako Lento, Pioneers of Modern Japanese Poetry 200 Britten Dean, The Wasteland by Takahashi Takako: Translated and with an Introduction by Britten Dean

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