Chapter Eight: A False Tiger's Roar Spreads Calamity Through Antique Treasures; A Bold Scholar Rises to Champion the Righteous Cause

In the brief spark of flint, one stretches and yawns;

a hundred years flutter past like dust on the wind.

Wealth and rank come unbidden — best to take them as they come.

Why then do people torment themselves with endless striving?

Sharp is the spear's tip, precious the sword's edge —

yet what one gains, one fears may weigh one down.

Since ancient times the clever have yielded to the slow-witted:

half from shame of poverty, half from dread of want.

— To the tune of "Partridge Sky"

In the world's pursuits, none exceeds the two paths of rank and wealth. The higher road to rank is study and the imperial examinations. The rest may be earned by toil and labor — the way of clerks and runners — or bought with money — the way of students who purchase degrees. Those who rely on crooked connections and fraud, however, do not escape calamity. The road to wealth, if honest, is sericulture and tillage. The rest may be earned in comfort at home — the way of shopkeepers and traders — or earned on the road through hardship — the way of traveling merchants and peddlers. Those who sail perilous seas and take desperate risks are not always safe. Moreover, to hold on to rank one must be upright, law-abiding, diligent, prudent, and humble. To hold on to wealth one must regulate expenditure by income, careful and thrifty. These are what it means to obtain rightly and preserve rightly — and by these means, one may keep what one has. But the small and unworthy man knows nothing of what constitutes honor or principle, nothing of what constitutes law or propriety. Slavish and obsequious, clinging like a fly, sneaking like a dog — he ignores whatever ridicule comes his way. He seeks only the satisfaction of the moment. He scrapes together a gauze cap of office without knowing what manner of cap it is, and treats it as a device for intimidating others. He scratches together a few copper coins without knowing what manner of coins they are, and puts on a show of superiority. Those who showed him kindness in former days — he fears that acknowledging them will expose his shortcomings, and so ignores them entirely. Those who wronged him in former days — at the first opportunity he kicks away the ladder, sets the trap, and repays every slight.

His vessel barely holds a peck, his venom surpasses the wasp and the hornet.

He presses on for a moment's satisfaction, never looking at the wrecks before him.

He forgets his own origins. His household servants and retainers, his running and attending lackeys — he treats with pure violence and exploitation, as if their clothing and food were unearned favors they should not expect. He never considers that fortune has its own proper lot; that borrowing another's tiger's authority to vent his own rat's-belly greed, indulging in endless avarice and cunning — as if power could never be exhausted, as if Heaven's order could be wiped clean. Altogether he relies on his black-hearted shamelessness, the kind that no words can reach, and behind it his thick-faced indifference to blows and curses. He knows that moving too slowly, he risks falling and smashing the vinegar pot on his head; moving too quickly, he risks receiving a hat that snaps his stiff neck. He says: let the good times last as long as they last; let me enjoy each day as it comes. He knows enough to pay his master back, enough to stall with furniture and possessions; but when accounts are settled by the authorities, he must produce real silver and gold. He says: if I have one day, I'll enjoy one day — until his crimes are complete, the people's anger is full, and Heaven's wrath descends. When that day comes: Zhou Xing goes into the jar; Shang Yang's limbs are torn apart by carts — vengeance comes swift as shadow follows form, and men still grumble it was too slow.

In the Chenghua reign period there lived a man named Wang Chen. His original surname and given name were unknown. At the age of ten or so he had attached himself to a great household in Jiangnan surnamed Wang, and from this acquired the name Wang Qin.

Great households, as a rule, may be divided into two kinds. Those whose ancestors rose through the writing brush to official distinction — their descendants inherit that prestige: high halls and great mansions, fine clothing and rich food, beautiful consorts and alluring concubines. This accounts for seven out of ten of such families. Those whose ancestors rose through the plow handle to great wealth — their descendants inherit that foundation: fertile land and fat fields, adequate clothing and food, with servants to command and maids to direct. This accounts for the remaining three out of ten. The notable families tend toward arrogance and extravagance, with little learning; the wealthy families tend toward pettiness and parsimony, with a certain earthiness. But those exceptional sons who escape the common mold will inevitably cultivate some talented scholars and men of letters, discussing poetry and antiquity, learning the literary arts; or retain certain hangers-on and gallery companions, talking of lutes and studying fine objects, cultivating an air of refinement; or seek out a few monks and courtesans, exploring flowers and inquiring after bamboo, learning the ways of elegant romance. Coming and going in small sedan chairs and painted boats, dressed in fine clothes of rare design, attended by pretty boys and handsome servants — they seek to be unlike ordinary people. Yet arrogance and extravagance, pettiness and parsimony — these habits of mind cannot be wholly rooted out. In my view, a family of rank that has never abandoned its arrogance will certainly be one whose sons cannot manage money. A wealthy family that has shed its pettiness will certainly be one that does not last long. Better, I think, to be opaque about worldly matters and thick in one's accumulation — that is how one keeps rank. Better to refuse to part with a single hair, to be made of silver fat and money blood — that is how one keeps wealth.

The Han dynasty gloried in its Jins and Zhangs; the Jin dynasty celebrated its Wangs and Xies.

Unless pettiness and parsimony are swept away, these are the rightful heirs of worthy descendants.

The Wang patriarch of this great household was one of those who studied letters, cultivated refinement, and practiced elegant romance. He saw in Wang Qin a boy of handsome appearance, quick tongue, and nimble manner, and took him into his study. Wang Qin brewed tea and washed inkstones; in free moments he was taught calligraphy and the tracing of model copies; he waited upon the scholars, friends, and companions who came and went. By the age of fourteen or fifteen, his looks had ripened, and he was used as a catamite. Fine clothing, clean food, the master's treatment of him was excellent. But the master was a harsh man; Wang Qin was an affectionate, gregarious sort who loved company. The master knew it and beat and scolded him endlessly — yet he could not change his nature. When someone tried to entice him away, he went willingly; when someone offered to teach him, he learned. From chess-players he learned chess; from lute-players, the lute. He copied the calligraphers, learned painting from the painters, learned singing from the singers, learned to identify antiques from the connoisseurs. Eating the master's idle rice, he also had idle time to use — and sheltered by the inner apartments of the house, he developed a full range of accomplishments. With what he had, he traded for what he lacked.

Slender fingers at the strings; ink splashed into a landscape.

Nurtured until capable of reaching the sky — is this what one would call a common slave?

A small man with a little skill begins to preen, and the feeling stirs in him that he cannot long remain in his present station. And then circumstances arose to move things along. The women of Jiangnan were remarkably free in manner. Though many great households maintained strict inner-outer separation, there were also those who enjoyed excursions into the hills and waters, light conversation and playful amusement, with a certain loosening of the rules. Wang Qin, at fourteen or fifteen, still looked like a boy to the casual observer. Moreover, since the age of ten or so he had run back and forth between the inner and outer quarters and was well accustomed to it. Word got around that he could play and sing; along with a few others somewhat younger than himself who had a little musical ability, he was regularly called into the inner apartments to perform on festival occasions.

Soft words can rouse certain instincts; a gentle voice can more deeply stir the heart.

Where the jade flute plays its most languid notes, there will always be a knowing ear to receive it.

He was a clever boy, his face alluring and his bearing trim and proper. He had long watched the comings and goings of the household's young gentlemen and absorbed their manner; standing before others, a half-raised glance already had tone, a slight lowering of the brows already had style. When his playing and singing reached its most poignant passages, fresh as a young oriole, soft as a new swallow — it made those who heard him feel their hearts take flight. So each time he was called to perform, he won the appreciative glances of the various ladies, and received many gifts and rewards from them. Among all these, with varying degrees of genuine warmth and mere politeness, he began to speculate: this lady seems fond of me; that lady seems to love me — and a thread of improper feeling stirred in him.

Her heart may not truly be with me —

I only muse and guess, going back and forth.

He lived amid the flowers of the Qin Palace —

behind the curtains, the gifted are always pitied.

One must understand that in these great households, relying on their little wealth, there was hardly one that did not keep concubines and maidservants. Among these women, some suffered under the fierce authority of the principal wife; some suffered from the exclusive favor of a rival; some found their master too absorbed in books and business, too dulled by drink; some were cherished by his external affections while neglected within; some were by nature too frail for the demands of intimacy; some found that age had grown too great for sustained attention. Among concubines and maidservants, many went without. They lived in the great household, clothed and fed in comfort, bodies at ease and minds at leisure; in the long spring evenings and long autumn nights, how could they not let their thoughts wander? "What the eye does not see, the heart does not desire" — yet having seen this handsome young man, and finding an opening to exploit: the cautious feared the eyes of others and considered the future; the bold schemed by every means for immediate advantage. First came glances exchanged and feelings conveyed, then letters sent and gifts proffered, until at last it was walls scaled and passages dug through. Among men, how many could match Lu Nanzi in his unbending virtue? Among women, how many could match the steadfast wife of Lu Gongjiang? Men who seek women find it hard; women who seek men find it easy. A one-sided passion can sometimes come to fruition; mutual longing leaves nothing unaccomplished.

No flower refuses to receive the butterfly;

what butterfly does not seek the flower?

The fragrance follows the light wind far,

drawing the powdered wings to slant toward it.

Thus in great households, keeping fewer concubines and maidservants was not merely a matter of self-preservation; keeping strict discipline in the inner quarters was not merely a matter of maintaining appearances.

This Wang Qin in the household — in the end — had entered into an affair with one of his master's concubines.

Alone on the Qin terrace, she watches from time to time for the crimson phoenix to come.

If you don't want it known, the only way is not to do it. The inner quarters always harbored a faction delighting in observation, eager to find others' failings. There was also another type — those who wore a strong face while their heart itched, who wanted to act yet held back; when others got there first, they felt a festering resentment and wanted to harm the lucky party. Moreover, Wang Qin was still a young manservant, light-headed and unschooled in how to conduct himself; he inevitably let things slip, and long before long the master knew. The master had his own plan. He said: "This affair cannot be made public. If it comes out it will be a household scandal. If I accuse him of theft and send him to the authorities, and he gives the true account, it will not look right." He simply said that Wang Qin had repeatedly stolen objects from the study to spend on himself, and without any discussion had him given a thorough beating. On Wang Qin's person were the perfume pouch given him by the concubine and the trousers she had sewn — the master pretended not to see. Wang Qin was then locked in a cold, empty room, with instructions that he was to be given neither food nor drink — the intention being to starve him to death.

Once he was truly cherished in the deep inner chambers, adorned and laughing together by lamplight.

Day after day he fluttered from flower to flower like a butterfly seeking perfume;

now he drinks the dew, clinging to leaves like a cicada.

Wang Qin lay down on the bare floor of that room — no table, no chair, no bed. He reflected: this must be the affair discovered. I am only a manservant; I've been beaten more than once before for mixing myself up with servant girls. Now it's the master's own concubine — how can he possibly let me off? Death seems a near certainty.

Yet Wang Qin had always been shrewd and calculating in the way he treated people. He bullied and oppressed those on the same level as himself, but toward those in positions of authority in the household he was always compliant and eager to please, bending himself to cultivate their friendship. So there were people who looked after him: the beatings had not been too severe, and though food was officially cut off, it was secretly not cut off. He asked the one friend he trusted best to plead with the ladies of the inner apartments on his behalf, and with the various young gentlemen and older servants who owed him some past favor. But the ladies, for obvious reasons, kept their distance and said nothing; as for the young gentlemen and older servants — they had merely found him useful as a plaything, and had no genuine attachment to him, nor any willingness to lose face for his sake. After several days, the master inquired whether he was sufficiently starved — hoping to hear he was dying. The concubine wanted him to disappear, to remove any evidence that might point back to her; she quietly sent her trusted maid Zijing with two taels of silver, saying: "I cannot save you — here is travel money." Locked in a room, what use was travel money? It was plainly a message telling him to flee. Wang Qin understood. In the dead of night he pried a board loose from the door, reached through, and twisted off the lock. Moving through his own household along familiar paths — no servants alarmed, no dogs barking — he came to the main gate. The main gate was locked; he walked out through the inner side of it.

He had scaled the walls to reach the garden flowers — now he was a stray dog without a home.

In the depths of the night he went to call on the various noble and wealthy households that had been fond of him. But these households had already heard of his conduct; to shelter him would not only compromise their own reputation but — and which of them lacked concubines and maidservants — who would invite a wolf into the fold? He was refused everywhere. He did not get so much as a bowl of rice; he was deeply resentful of such thin human warmth.

At how many vermilion gates he knocked in vain,

wearing through the tips of his sandals!

Who would weave the warm cloak of friendship?

He lingered in the fading yellow of the setting sun.

With nowhere to turn, he bought a bedroll and set off along the roads of Suzhou, taking passage on boats, looking to attach himself to some prominent official household. He was young and bright; everywhere he found companions willing to go along. When luck was with him he got a little; when luck was against him, others got a little from him. When it came to actually seeking a patron — he had talent and people wanted him. But they worried he had no roots; they feared that if they kept him a month or two, he would steal some belongings and slip away, and where would they look for him? No one would take him in. He spent his days in taverns and inns. He could sing, so he tagged along with troupes to perform. He could write, so he took in copying work. When he saw people dressing hair and trimming nails for money, he bought the tools and did that as well. When he fell in with people of easy virtue, he sold himself too. His mouth was fed, but he feared the household's nets were drawing in, coming to catch him — he floated east and west, never daring to stand still.

A single white feather at the edge of the white clouds,

fluttering and alone, pitying its own reflection.

Daring not to alight among the riverside reeds —

almost struck by the startled bow.

Fortunately the master, knowing he had run away, reckoned that to catch him would only cause more noise and publicity, and so put out only two wanted notices — and then quietly shelved the matter.

In a Nanjing tavern, Wang Qin saw a wandering magician doing tricks for money, and found it a profitable business; he promptly took the man as his teacher. This man had a wife and they wandered together through Henan and Shandong for two years. Wang Qin kept thinking to himself: I am a man of a hundred abilities — why should I spend my life as a street conjuror? He quietly helped himself to the few taels of silver this man had saved up and made his way to Beijing. He told himself: in a great capital city, there must still be a way to make a name for oneself.

Beijing is the place where knights under heaven are welcomed;

even worthless bones fetch a thousand in gold there.

Try walking the steps of a worn-out horse for the throne:

it can still leap and prance into the Supreme Forest.

In front of the Board of Rites he saw people writing fans for money. He joined in, and was no worse than any of them. He also spent a tael or two of his own money, bought several fans, wrote and painted them himself, and went to the temple markets to sell them — and to write for customers on the spot. One day at Xuanwu Market, wanting to enter the inner market, he changed his cap, tucked a few fans under his arm, and set up his stand. Before long several palace eunuchs strolled past. One of them had a pale yellow complexion, a quiet, soft manner, dressed in a kingfisher-blue half-collar straight robe, a pale white inner robe, a flat-woven sash, and black boots. He picked up one of the fans and looked: it was a painting in the manner of Ni Yunlin on one side, cursive script on the other. The eunuch said: "The painting is too stark and cold. These demon-scrawl characters — I can't make out a single one of them." He set it down and picked up another — Mi Fu-style landscape on one side, Zhong Yao-style characters on the other. "Blurry and muddy — what sort of thing is this? These characters are too soft — no good!" Wang Qin now understood his taste. He said: "Good sir, I have something finer — but it requires a finer price." The eunuch said: "As long as it suits me, price is no object." Wang Qin took up a fan, wiped it clean with his sleeve cuff, and presented it. It was a large-scale blue-green landscape with figures in pavilions; on the back, large characters in the style of Jiang Ligang. The eunuch had barely glanced when a eunuch beside him burst out in praise: "Lively and full! And the characters — how well-balanced and square!" Everyone joined in admiring it. Wang Qin then offered another fan — a palatial design of five-colored gold-dust flowers and birds; on the reverse, the Eight "Autumn Meditations" poems in Song-style characters. The eunuch said again: "Delicate and fine! The characters are even more precise and regular."

Rich cinnabar applied to paint the peony;

mountain upon mountain in green, cold rippling waves.

And amid all this, a small pavilion in cloud and mist,

facing a thousand stalks of dark, soaring bamboo.

The eunuch said: "How much do you want?" Wang Qin said: "That is for the good sir to decide." The eunuch said: "Your goods — you name a price first." Wang Qin said: "The good sir need only pay for the fans themselves. The writing and painting are from my own hand — a gift of respect." The eunuch said: "You wrote and painted all of these yourself? Excellent — a man of real cultivation. The two academy secretaries in court today can only write in one style, paint in one manner. How is it you know so many? What is your name? Where are you staying?" Wang Qin said: "My humble name is Qin — from above downward." He fabricated the story that his father had come to the capital on official business, had died in office, leaving him stranded in the capital. He named lute, chess, singing, and everything else as accomplishments he possessed. He was lodging at a certain inn on the East River Rice Lane. The eunuch said: "I want to commission a screen — can you do it?" Wang Qin said: "I can paint it." The eunuch took up a piece of silver — perhaps an ounce — and walked away with two fans.

Once his grieving cry from the marketplace was heard,

a single backward glance found him his Sun Yang.

The next day Wang Qin went to paint, and having taken the measure of this man's preferences — brilliant reds and vivid greens — produced work to the eunuch's complete satisfaction. The eunuch, seeing Wang Qin's versatile accomplishments and his lack of a fixed home, found him a position at the Office of Documents in the Directorate of Ceremonial. The eunuch's name was Wang Jing. He took Wang Qin into his household on a coming-and-going basis, designating him a "nephew" — though in truth he was what they called a "hair-stuffing." He also told Wang Qin that the name "Qin" — meaning Diligent — was not auspicious, and at this point the name was changed to Wang Chen. Wang Jing also recommended him to various acquaintances to write and paint, play lutes and teach chess, and accompany him in the markets to view and purchase antiques. He arranged a wife for Wang Chen, and he was established as a sort of literary companion within the eunuch establishment.

Whispered words and deep bows — no shame reddened the face.

A fox's bones, a pigeon's heart — what place could not accommodate him?

Then he happened to encounter a powerful eunuch, Wei Chun, a man of genuine literary cultivation who enjoyed the highest favor with the emperor. The emperor was fond of painting and calligraphy, and Wei Chun took the opportunity to present Wang Chen's work to him. He arranged for Wang Chen to be assigned to the Painting and Calligraphy Bureau at the Hall of Military Glory, with a nominal rank as a Thousand-man Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, and regularly commissioned him to purchase antiques, paintings, and works of calligraphy throughout the capital. This man had been born a slave; now, escaped from the very jaws of death, he had obtained an official title. Two long-service attendants called him "My Lord"; at home he was called "My Lady's husband." This was truly climbing to the clouds in a single step, arriving at a fine destination.

Once a riding slave in someone else's train —

now a fine gentleman on horseback of his own.

A great fan clusters of dark cloud —

through the palace halls he strides with measured ease.

With two powerful eunuchs as his backing, accumulating seniority and salary, he could look forward to advancement. But he was a small man easily made full, and what was worse, he was fundamentally petty. In others' presence he was nothing but flattery and fawning. One day Wei Gong said: "His Majesty loves paintings, calligraphy, and antiques, and there are none left to be found in the capital." Wang Chen invented the tale: "As for these art objects — in the Song dynasty the Emperor Huizong was extremely fond of them. He sent out searches across the whole empire and collected enormously. After the Southern Migration, these treasures all dispersed into the Jiangnan region. So even today the great families of Jiangnan possess them; one has only to go there to buy them, and one will find remarkable pieces." Wei Gong said: "A few days ago His Majesty wished to commission a woven-silk Guanyin image. The Grand Coordinator Wang of Nanjing sent up a memorial refusing to produce it — these outside officials are always raising obstacles." Wang Chen said: "The inner service does things its own way; the outer officials constantly obstruct. Unless someone from within travels out personally with silver to purchase, the local administrators will certainly obstruct it." Wei Gong, persuaded, memorialized the emperor. The result: Wang Chen was dispatched with twenty thousand taels of silver. He was also instructed not to cause disturbances among the people or provoke comment from those contentious literati scholars. He paid no attention whatsoever. Filled with pride and self-satisfaction, he recruited several worthless idlers as his secretaries, gathered a band of lawless ruffians as his personal guards, brought along a retinue of companions and hangers-on, and commandeered two large boats. Each boat paid him eighty taels for the privilege of the private cargo compartment, allowing them to carry goods duty-free alongside. He had a golden placard made proclaiming an Imperial Commission — far grander in the heading than an ordinary commission, displayed as an Embroidered Uniform Guard mission. Each boat drafted fifty boatmen and porters; all along the route he demanded provisions, rations, and dry-goods payments — harassing everyone he passed.

His bugles roared like tigers, his announcements bellowed like whales.

All along the road, grease and fat were scraped clean;

the people wept; the officials trembled.

Crossing the Huai at Yangzhou, crossing the river at Zhenjiang — they were now in the Jiangnan region. He took up residence in the official compound, receiving the Embroidered Uniform Guard officials and regional circuit intendants with the courtesies extended to guests. He was also traveling on an imperial commission, so everyone deferred to him. He had already had a catalog of antiques, paintings, and calligraphy drawn up with the help of his companions before leaving the capital, and now he put out a proclamation:

"The Embroidered Uniform Guard Wang, by Imperial Commission, makes the following announcement in the conduct of public business: This Guard has received Imperial Orders to purchase paintings, calligraphy, and art objects for the Imperial Collection. All members of the gentry and common people who possess such items are permitted to bring them to the authorities, to be exchanged at fair market value. Those who conceal items will be charged with violating the Imperial Edict. Those who report violators will be awarded fifty taels of official silver. So proclaimed."

When this wind was raised, it was as when Emperor Huizong of Song demanded rocks and rare flowers: people regarded even a single flower or stone as an ill omen. Now every crumbling old painting, worthless scrap of calligraphy, old bronze incense burner, or cracked ceramic bottle was declared to be a Dai Song ox, a Han Gan horse, a Wu Daozi figure, a landscape by the younger Li General — a Han bronze tripod, a Zhou ceremonial vessel, a Geyao bottle or bowl — used as pretexts for intimidation and extortion. At first, some timid people brought a few things in for exchange; the office paid roughly half price. After deducting the cuts for the official party and the servants' expenses, not even three-tenths reached the sellers. People stopped coming. He began to name names: such-and-such a painting by a certain man, such-and-such calligraphy from a certain household, such-and-such vessel from a certain family. He filled in several items under his own former master's name. The great households who had previously gone to Wang to use their influence were each listed for one or two items — regardless of whether they actually possessed them — and summoned personally to bring the objects in and receive payment. He first sent notice through Suzhou, Songjiang, Changzhou, Zhenjiang, Hangzhou, Jiaxing, and Huzhou — seven prefectures in all.

Not unlike the Gold-Seeker Captain digging graves,

not unlike the Mound-Piercing Colonel robbing tombs.

He swept up every last brush-stroke from former dynasties,

ransacked every vessel and bronze from every age.

Whenever someone called on Wang the Thousand-man Commander and gave him something not genuine, it could not escape Wang Chen's eye. He first had the person beaten all around, then had him put to the thumbscrew, forcing him to drag in others. He then pursued the genuine articles — but even when they were genuine, he would not admit them as genuine, and still tried to underpay. The former master's household had only a few genuine pieces; these were submitted, and the rest declared unavailable. The man who came to report this had previously served alongside Wang Chen, and something about this Thousand-man Commander struck him as faintly familiar; he stole several glances. Wang Chen had him given thirty strokes for "defiance," put in the yamen lock-up, and then had his kinsman brought in. Those other households who had not sheltered Wang Chen in the past were all required to produce objects and appear in person. Word was gradually getting out that this was Wang Qin.

A newly minted "Lord of Righteousness" —

in former times he was just old Wang's servant boy.

When a slave and bond-man usurps honors and titles,

the very tassels and sashes should feel shame.

His former master, with no recourse, had to seek out the manservant who had been closest to Wang Qin among his childhood staff — and send this man with two thousand taels, with the explanation that the items listed for the household were genuinely not available, and offering double face value for all of them, requesting that the Lord investigate through other channels. This man knew Wang Chen had turned a new face, and approached him with extreme caution, prostrating himself again and again. Wang Chen thought: a thousand taels' worth of antiques wouldn't cost me one or two hundred to purchase. He's already brought a thousand and is sending two thousand — if I flip it around, wouldn't that come to five or seven times the value? He glanced to both sides; his attendants had all withdrawn. He called the man forward and said: "Do you recognize me?" The man said: "I dare not. I don't believe I have ever had the honor of meeting Your Lordship." Wang Chen said: "How you have forgotten old acquaintances. Though he wanted to put me to death, that is his affair. Today all of this is thanks to you." "Is the Mistress still well?" "She is." "Is Zijing well? It would be even better if she came along for company." The man said: "This servant will go and say that Your Lordship's family members from your hometown are being sent." Wang Chen then said: "There are these other households. In the old days I asked you to go and put in a word for me with them and they ignored me. I have now already dealt with them as they deserved — you may go and smooth things over: I will show them leniency, and you will receive something for your role as mediator."

The heart that plots to gather a herd for his lust,

the greed that gnaws like a ravening wolf.

A venomous flame that scarcely can be quenched —

blazing, blazing across the whole Jiangnan south.

This man went to speak with the former master, who was deeply furious. But the man said: "The Mistress — his lordship has long had no dealings with her. It would be better to give her to him. Otherwise there may be further trouble." The master had no choice but to agree, and both the Mistress and Zijing were sent to the public compound as Wang Chen's "household dependents."

Meeting again, both were like duckweed and roots adrift —

the solitary traveler by the guttering candle flame.

It is like the Princess of Pingyang —

who now comes to wed the General Wei Qing.

The other households — this man went and arranged things — sent a minimum of a thousand taels each. Wang Chen laughed: "Han Xin remembered a meal and gave a thousand taels in gratitude. They didn't give me a single meal — they can pay a thousand taels each. Fair enough — and I've gotten my revenge." After this precedent was broken, those who truly had no objects were required to pay in cash: whatever he demanded — three hundred, five hundred, a thousand — the extortion continued until he was satisfied. From the gentry down to the remotest village, even a household worth three or four hundred taels was tormented for a time. Those who tried to use personal connections found themselves beaten all the harder. The local authorities were helpless. As Wang Chen moved from Changzhou to Suzhou, the Suzhou scholars seeing him enter the city in his red robes adapted two lines from the Thousand-Family Poems to mock him:

The Pointing Commander soars up — a white butterfly transformed;

the Thousand-man Commander is dyed bright red — a crimson cuckoo.

They also made up a joke, borrowing two lines from the opera Washing Silk:

At the Gate of Wu there is a divine figure,

his head as large as a cartwheel.

His nose — a foolish protuberance —

requires four men to lift it.

This spread and was laughed at everywhere. Wang Chen was furious: "I know these Suzhou scholars are extremely disrespectful. When I was at the Wang household, this crowd of them used me for their amusement, and still didn't save me. Now they dare come to scratch an itch on a tiger's head." He devised a scheme: claiming to check the ancient books he had collected for errors, he required all the licensed students at the local school to come and verify the texts, with further instruction to copy out duplicate manuscripts. A first group of students was brought to his compound to copy — early entry, late exit, so hungry their waists and stomachs went hollow. The capital attendants he had brought along also shouted that the calligraphy was not good enough, refusing to accept the books, demanding money. These scholars who had been subjected to such treatment, as they came out, spread the word, and before long the outer world erupted into the "broken-boot army." Dark ink-pot helmets, a massed black cloud; blue robe armour, a myriad layers of jade mist; black boots stamping out a mighty martial roll; silken sashes at the waist pulled taut. All proclaimed: "For a hundred years the state has nurtured us scholars — since when are we subject to the service of a palace eunuch?" With fists raised and sleeves rolled back they charged forward first, forming into a wide, sweeping formation. They first assembled at the Academy, then came before the joint offices of the Wu and Chang county magistrates, one man shouting, then another. The magistrates, not knowing which to answer, could only say: "This matter as I understand it doesn't exist. Go and put it to the authorities above." They then went to the Prefect; the Prefect said: "Scholars are by dynastic provision nurtured by the court — how could they be taken to copy books? Go and tell him directly, or bring the matter before the Circuit Intendants and the Governor and Surveillance Commissioner." Just then a horseman came from the distance — it was Wang Chen returning from a courtesy call. The scholars gave tongue at him: "You slave and mongrel! At the Wang household you carried tea and water and waited on our gentlemen. Now you've suddenly got yourself a human face — how dare you presume to bother us?" They seized the sedan chair poles, wrenched off the carrying boards, and started beating at random. Filth and abuse poured out in a stream unfit for the ears. Roof tiles and cobblestones rained about his head. Wang Chen, seeing the situation was desperate, cried: "Run! Run! A heavy reward for whoever runs fastest!" A bearer at the back had his pole grabbed by a scholar and found himself held fast. The remaining three had to shoulder the chair with the crossbar in a "bull-head carry." They flew to the yamen gates, shouting: "Shut the gates, shut the gates!" Without even making it to the hall to set down the chair, Wang Chen leaped out at the main gate and bolted inside. Already he was:

His gauze hat wings crumpled askew;

his embroidered robe splattered with mud;

his decorative pendants scattered;

truly like a chicken that had fallen in the water.

The scholars had already reached the gates and were beating them until they looked like ladders; the gatehouse placard was smashed to fragments. Their mouths demanded that he be dragged out for a beating. Bystanders came to add to the excitement: when the scholars raised one shout, they raised four or five, going on long after the scholars had stopped. Wang Chen's face cycled through all five colors in rapid succession; his three souls had departed his body and could not be found. With no alternative, he conferred with his rear secretaries: "Scholars are always ready to raise a mob — best not to antagonize them. Now the only way to disperse them is to exempt them from the copying." The two sides discussed it, composed a notice board — and the writing made them tremble, and they wrote it wrong, and had to wipe it clean and start again. Wang Chen, shaking in his boots, was supposed to mark it with red — he did not even know where the dot had landed; the date was so garbled it formed no legible character at all. The board read: "The books to be supplied for the Imperial Collection are already being transcribed by others; the students are hereby temporarily exempt." This was sent to be hung at the gate — but no one dared carry it out. Finally, under great pressure, one bold man took it and pushed it through the smashed hole in the gate. A scholar seized it and began reading aloud. Another from the side bellowed: "Big impudence from a slave! Who said we wanted to be 'exempt'? Just keep beating!" A shout went up; from over the wall a rain of stones and tiles poured in. The roof tiles near the wall — not one remained intact.

Wang Chen said: "What now? Better to run." But he couldn't bear to leave all the money he had extorted. The others said: "The word 'exempt' was not good — change to another word to coax them into dispersing." They deliberated, and changed it to: "The books to be supplied for the Imperial Collection will be transcribed by our own staff; the students may return to their studies." This was sent out. The scholars said: "Who are you to call us 'students'?" They kept up the clamour. Wang Chen said: "'Students' is not a good term. Surely I can't call them 'Your Excellencies.'" His secretary said: "That's not how official documents are worded." Someone else suggested: "Just have someone say it aloud. Say: from now on the book-copying will not trouble you, and your Excellencies are requested to return. Spoken words leave no record and don't compromise the document's dignity." Someone said: "Even if it's said aloud, they won't accept it." Wang Chen said: "Of the thirty-six stratagems, flight is the best." He changed his clothes and hat and ordered even his maidservants to dress as men, intending to break through the back wall and flee. But his secretary said: "We can't. If we flee any distance and they chase and catch us, we'll be beaten to a pulp. The only way is to bring out the silver allotted to us by imperial commission and lay it out in full view in the main hall. Open the great ceremonial gate wide. If they come in, blame them for robbery and looting. Scholars know the law and understand the consequences — they certainly will not dare come in, and we can drive them off." Everyone agreed at once. Without asking whether it was imperial-commission silver or extorted silver, they brought it all out and arranged it on display. They themselves hid in the inner quarters and sent servants to pull the bars from the great gate and dash inside at full speed. Just as the scholars were making their greatest uproar, the yamen gate suddenly flew open. The crowd was on the verge of charging in — when they saw in the main hall and on the moon terrace a broad expanse of white, row upon row of massive ingots shaped like wooden clogs, dense as:

Plum blossoms opening on the Luling slopes — white jade masses;

the Qiantang tide rolling in — ten thousand white caps.

The scholars, as expected, said: "Gentlemen — do not go in! This scoundrel is trying to frame us for robbery. Let us not enter — let us only surround the place and blockade it, and cut off his water and food." The local officials inevitably had to come and mediate. Sure enough the magistrates of the two counties, who themselves had been irritated at Wang Chen for causing this disturbance, still had to say: "He is, after all, an official on an imperial mission, carrying imperial silver — which is also the local authorities' responsibility." They submitted upward reports on one side, and came themselves to pacify the crowds on the other. People surrounded the place, shouting and shouting. The Governor and Circuit Intendants also had their own hard signboards out, sending Academy officials to disperse the crowd and prohibit commoners from seizing the opportunity to cause trouble. The scholars, having found a way out through these intermediaries, beat the retreat drum and dispersed. The crowd of excited commoners also all went home. And so Wang Chen finally had his life back.

Like escaping the siege of Kunyang;

like fleeing the encirclement at Gaixia.

Inside, his secretaries composed a memorial stating that the local gentry and great households had bribed delinquent licentiates to obstruct the imperial purchasing mission, assault an imperial official, and that the local authorities had not suppressed the disturbance — they were about to file a report. But Governor Wang had long known of Wang Chen's harassment and harm to the people in the region; he had already directed the authorities to investigate his offenses and was preparing to submit a memorial. Now this incident confirmed everything, and he drafted a joint memorial with the Provincial Academy Commissioner. The Academy Commissioner memorialized only on matters of educational administration, stating that Wang Chen had abused and extorted the licensed students, humiliating and insulting them — a violation of the dynasty's policy of nurturing scholars. Governor Wang's memorial stated that Wang Chen had used illegal torture and flogging, had beaten common people to death, had taken bribes and extorted money in amounts running to hundreds and thousands of taels — that Jiangnan was a region of vital importance, the source of tax revenues, and could not be permitted to be disrupted. He filed his memorial and at the same time, under the pretext of providing protection, dispatched troops to surround Wang Chen's compound. He further issued instructions to the prefectures and counties to station guards and sentries. Wang Chen and the crowd of idlers he had brought with him — originally afraid to go out for fear of the scholars — were now truly blockaded. Any attempt to conceal and remove the incriminating goods — impossible. Any attempt to send up a counter-memorial and work the channels — impossible. It was now as if they were:

Caged birds unable to spread their wings;

captive apes thrashing about in vain.

The two commissioners' memorials did name a ringleader among the students — but the student they identified was a newly licensed scholar named Lu Wan who had not even been present; the reason for his inclusion was that he had passed his examinations without paying the tuition in full, and so his name was entered in the memorial. It was the classic case of Li's punishment falling on Tao, and Zhang's hat dropped on Dai's head.

The first memorial received no reply. The second was held back at court. The third memorial from Governor Wang was worded with exceptional urgency and force. The Jiangnan gentry, acting on behalf of the region, also made representations to the Grand Secretariat. The emperor, moved by compassion for the Three Wu region, sent officials to arrest Wang Chen and bring him to the capital. By then Wang Chen had seen that the Governor's two memorials had not managed to topple him and was still contemplating further retaliation — when he discovered the imperial officers had already arrived. He was manacled on the spot. His named associates and confederates were arrested directly by the Governor and Commissioner. Every bar of pure silver — five thousand ingots — was seized and placed in official custody. The Governor also had the collected artworks and antiques packaged together and sent to the capital — all constituting hard evidence of actual crimes. Wang Chen had expended so much effort and so much energy, but did not get a single cash to take with him.

Like the fate of Deng Tong, who starved on his mountain of copper —

all in vain, the Shu Road he opened.

In the capital he was sent down to the Brocade Garrison for interrogation. Without money to spend, the beatings and the thumbscrews were severe. Without money, without connections, the crimes could not be suppressed. The Guard submitted its own memorial and referred the case to the Ministry of Justice. The Ministry of Justice applied the statutes: he had used illegal means to beat common people to death, had incited regional disturbances, and was sentenced to decapitation. The emperor himself was enlightened: he approved the sentence with the notation "immediate execution at the site to be carried out by assembled officials, the head to be sent to Jiangnan." Thus Wang Chen:

Three times he traveled the roads of Jiangnan,

and came back in two pieces.

The head flew a thousand li away —

a truly fitting end for "Wang Chen."

His various followers and hired thugs received sentences ranging from military exile to imprisonment. To abuse imperial authority and extort money — for how long can one's writ truly run? Had Wang Chen been content to know his limits after obtaining his title — though the gentry would never have acknowledged him, he could at least have drifted through his days in Beijing. Even had he remained a bond-slave, poor and lowly all his life, there would have been no death sentence. But a small man filled to the brim, with his insatiable greed — this was the violent end he brought on himself.

The single achievement of his mission — raising more than two hundred thousand taels for the state treasury — served only to demonstrate the sagely intelligence of the emperor and his readiness to accept honest remonstrance, and the patriotic loyalty of Governor Wang in his love for the people. An enlightened ruler makes the straight path easy for his ministers; the traitor becomes the instrument by which the virtuous are known.

And there was that student Lu Wan, who received the emperor's merciful pardon and was let off without punishment — already a piece of extraordinary good fortune. In later years he passed the provincial examination and then the metropolitan examination. Word reached the capital that he was the man who had stood up against Wang Chen the Thousand-man Commander in those days — a man of daring and capability — and he was selected as a Northern Circuit Censor, eventually rising to the position of President of the Board of Personnel. In truth Lu Wan had done nothing of consequence himself; but undeserved punishment, it turned out, can sometimes open the way to undeserved good fortune.

As for Wang Chen — he stands as a warning to all the world's opportunists and swindlers, worth no more than a laugh and a shake of the head.