Chapter 70: 069 Cuckold and Shrinking Turtle

"That essay on Status — equality for all — even Superintendent Cai praised it when he read it!"

"Come look, come buy — a new installment of The Legend of the Condor Heroes is out!"

"The Tartar chieftain Nurhaci was actually a household slave of Li Chengliang!"

"Tartar leaders flout all human decency — the filthy secrets of the false Jin court exposed!"

"……"

Fei Chun and Fei Yu, the two page boys, scurried everywhere, their sole aim to sell the Goose Lake Ten-Day Journal to traveling merchants.

The trouble was, merchants were far too mobile — a serialized novel was easily broken off mid-story.

One merchant who had bought the magazine two days earlier and not yet departed immediately told his personal attendant, "Go buy the second issue of the Ten-Day Journal, quick!"

Before long, the attendant returned with the magazine and said, "Master, the Ten-Day Journal has raised its price. The cost has doubled, and the page count has shrunk considerably."

The merchant actually laughed. "It ought to have raised its price — it was far too cheap before. I was afraid they'd lose money and never put out a second issue. Then how would I get to read the novel?"

"The master is truly benevolent," the attendant flattered.

The merchant flipped straight to the back and cradled the novel, reading slowly.

He read on and on, and then suddenly it stopped — leaving him itching with anticipation. He could only flip back and read the other content.

"Brilliant!"

Abruptly, the merchant slapped his thigh in admiration. "So this Tartar chieftain Nurhaci started out as a household slave of the Li clan — and he even seduced his own aunt!"

Pang Chunlai, bearing a burden of national and personal hatred, wrote his articles seizing every chance to blacken the Tartars' name to the death.

This issue's "On Liaodong" not only claimed that Nurhaci had been Li Chengliang's household slave and exposed the monstrous crimes the Later Jin had committed in Liaodong, but also fabricated sordid tales of the harem among the Later Jin nobility.

The merchant perused this article repeatedly, intending to treasure it carefully and take it back to Fujian to show off.

Only at the very end did the merchant begin to read "On Status."

First he was shocked, then he found it reasonable, and then he was delighted.

He himself had been born a tenant farmer. Because his family fell behind on rent, he had been sold to a landlord to settle the debt. He did odd jobs for several years, then followed the young master out to sea on business — at first merely a petty errand boy.

Relying on intelligence and diligence, he climbed up step by step, struggling for thirty years to reach his present position.

He had even set up his own household, and taken a lovely wife and beautiful concubines.

Yet he still belonged to the class of lowly household slaves!

Such cases were extremely common. In the Jintan slave uprising at the end of the Ming, the leader, a man surnamed Pan, was a Garrison Commander in the capital garrison. When Li Zicheng seized Beijing, Pan took his wealth and fled back to his hometown. Riding in a luxurious carriage and attended by servants, he went to see the County Magistrate. Outside the county yamen guesthouse, he encountered his former master. He was beaten savagely by his master, who knocked out two of his teeth. He went back and immediately incited the slaves of the entire county to revolt.

A Garrison Commander of the capital garrison, with abundant wealth and numerous followers — yet he was of slave origin, and his deed of sale was still held in his master's hands.

A household slave like that lacked neither money nor influence — he lacked only status!

And one more thing he lacked: equality in human dignity.

The merchant read "On Status" over and over, even committing it to memory word for word, then carefully tucked the magazine into his breast.

After keeping it warm against his chest for a while, he took the magazine out again, stroked the cover, and murmured to himself, "A peerless essay. This Mr. Zhao Ziyue is truly a remarkable man of this age. The next time I come to Hekou, I must seek him out in person for instruction."

Suddenly, the merchant shouted, "Go buy books, quickly — buy a hundred copies of the Goose Lake Ten-Day Journal!"

At the dock.

"A hundred copies?" Fei Chun thought he had misheard.

The personal attendant tossed over a silver ingot. "This is two taels. Weigh it quickly — I still have to hurry back to see my master."

Fei Chun was utterly baffled the whole time, having no idea what had gotten into this man. He thought to himself that the next issue would have to raise the price again — at the very least they had to recover their costs.

The merchant, having obtained a hundred copies of the magazine, immediately regarded them as precious treasures.

His situation was that of a powerful slave, and powerful slaves formed their own fraternal societies among themselves. He would take the magazines back and have the society members spread the word in secret — the more people who knew about "On Status," the better!

……

The Flourishing Tower.

The day's opera had finally finished. Chen Maosheng returned backstage to remove his makeup. He was a dan actor who had recently shot to fame.

Perhaps from playing women too often, even offstage, his every gesture carried a trace of allure.

Chen Maosheng had barely settled down when a household slave came in and said with an ingratiating smile, "Brother Mao, my master requests your presence. You absolutely must come tonight."

"I understand," Chen Maosheng said, his face expressionless, yet his voice carrying a note of delicate charm.

The household slave felt his heart flutter at the sound, then immediately felt a chill all over his body. He said hastily, "Then… then I'll wait outside. The sedan chair is already prepared."

"Then go wait."

The household slave left. Chen Maosheng sat there blankly, not even wanting to remove his makeup anymore, just staring into space in a daze.

Cuckold, shrinking turtle — both were names for the same group of people: men born into the music register.

The lowest of the low among the debased registers, they were required at all times to wear a green headscarf, with a red sash tied at the waist — instantly recognizable the moment they stepped outside.

Even by the late Ming, when the authorities no longer enforced this so strictly, on many special occasions they still had to wear the green headscarf.

His companions in the opera troupe had all gone downstairs to eat, leaving Chen Maosheng sitting alone.

He sighed quietly to himself and began to continue removing his makeup.

Once the makeup was off, he still could not bring himself to move. His glance fell on a book beside him. He picked it up casually to look — he had no idea who had left it there.

As for that household slave — let him wait.

"On Status"?

The honorable are exalted and the debased are lowly — that lies in their status. The honorable and the debased are equal — that lies in their human dignity!

Chen Maosheng stared fixedly at that line, his heart unable to calm for a long, long time.

Equality between the honorable and the debased!

Equality between the honorable and the debased!

Equality between the honorable and the debased!

With the new issue of the magazine out today, Zhao Han had come to the restaurant again, taking the chance to make acquaintances among all sorts of people, high and low.

At that moment he was sitting at the counter reading when a handsome youth suddenly walked in.

He looked about fifteen or sixteen, and his gait was utterly unseemly. His willowy waist swayed involuntarily, setting his hips and chest moving above and below, as if the whole person were a python that had turned into a spirit.

"Excuse me, are you Mr. Zhao Ziyue?" Chen Maosheng deliberately pressed his voice low, trying to make himself sound as virile as possible.

Zhao Han asked in return, "You know me?"

Chen Maosheng said, "I often sing opera at the winehouse, so naturally I recognize you, sir."

"Oh, so you're an opera singer." Zhao Han smiled.

The smile was utterly sincere, without the slightest trace of contempt, and Chen Maosheng could feel it.

He hesitated again and again, then could not help asking, "Sir, can the respectable and the baseborn truly be equal?"

Zhao Han explained, "In terms of human dignity, all people are born equal. Of course, if a person does evil and his conduct is unprincipled, then he is no longer equal — his character is utterly despicable."

Chen Maosheng asked further, "I have never done evil. Does that make me nobler than those masters who have done every wicked deed?"

"Yes. In terms of human dignity, you are nobler than they are. They are not even fit to carry your shoes." Zhao Han spoke with absolute finality.

Chen Maosheng suddenly laughed, a joy that came from the bottom of his heart. But he quickly grew puzzled again. "Then why is it that these masters of despicable character still have the wealth and power to trample on us?"

Zhao Han answered, "Some of their rank and position they inherited from their ancestors — it is the sheltering fortune passed down by their forebears. Others earned it themselves: they committed every evil, cultivated no virtue, yet reaped the rewards."

Chen Maosheng grew even more perplexed. "Commit every evil, have despicable character, yet reap rewards. I do no evil, have noble character, yet am bullied and humiliated. Where under heaven is there such justice?"

Zhao Han asked in return, "The whole court is full of beasts in high office. Greedy officials and corrupt clerks ravage the countryside. And they still claim to possess virtue. Is such 'justice' not everywhere under heaven?"

Chen Maosheng immediately burst out in anger. "Then what use is your 'Treatise on Status'? Did you write it just to toy with us base-household folk?"

"I am base-household folk too. I am a refugee. I am a household slave," Zhao Han said.

Chen Maosheng froze for a moment, then asked in a low voice, "Then is there any way to make Heaven open its eyes?"

Zhao Han said, "You sing opera, so you must be a music-household, yes? On what grounds are music-households born base? Even if your ancestors did wrong, two or three hundred years have passed — over a dozen generations. How can they still keep holding on to it? Tell me, is that not the truth of it?"

"That is exactly the truth of it." Chen Maosheng nodded repeatedly.

Zhao Han also lowered his voice. "Since that is the truth, then it is the court's rules that are wrong. The court must be made to change its rules."

Chen Maosheng asked, "How can the court be made to change its rules?"

Zhao Han smiled. "If the court meant to change them, it would have done so long ago. Even if the Emperor agreed, the officials would not. If they agreed, could they still bully and humiliate you at will? The reason they refuse to change the rules is precisely so they can ride on the heads of the base households and lord it over them!"

Chen Maosheng fell silent.

Zhao Han spoke again. "Since the court will not change the rules, if you do not wish to be bullied, then there is no choice but to establish a new court."

Chen Maosheng abruptly raised his head and stared at Zhao Han, his face full of terror.

Zhao Han smiled faintly. "If you wish to go report me to the authorities, go ahead. I will simply deny everything. I am a child student, and you are an opera singer — see whom the magistrate believes."

Though Chen Maosheng felt fear, he also felt, for no reason he could name, a surge of excitement.

Turning it over and over in his mind, Chen Maosheng asked, "Mr. Zhao, may I come speak with you again in the future?"

Zhao Han nodded. "I come to the winehouse three days each month. If you have anything to say, by all means come find me and speak. You are a music-household, I am a household slave — we ought to be brothers."

"Then I shall take my leave now."

Chen Maosheng clenched his fists, strode toward the door, and his willowy waist no longer swayed.

The moment he thought of having to spend the night keeping a rotten old man company, he felt so sick he wanted to vomit. His mind was filled entirely with the words Zhao Han had spoken.

"Young Master Mao, please!" A household slave stood waiting beside the sedan chair.

Chen Maosheng resumed his accustomed manner. He walked with delicate lotus steps, slowly seated himself inside the sedan, and instructed in a coquettish voice, "If you would be so kind, buy me a copy of the Goose Lake Ten-Day Journal."

(End of Chapter)