Chapter 55: Zhangjiawan

On the Northern Grand Canal, the river water rolled southward in surging waves. Eight towlines swayed and bobbed above the water's surface. Eight trackers, bodies bent low, hauled a twin-masted riverboat along the embankment. The late-autumn air already carried a biting chill, yet they still worked stripped to the skin.

"Zhenggang, Chuanzong, why don't they wear clothes? Now that the autumn cold has set in, how can they bear it when they stop?" Chen Xin stood at the bow watching the figures on the bank and asked the two men beside him.

Dai Zhenggang and Lu Lvzi were both former trackers and knew the reason well. "Brother Chen, if you wear clothes, they get rubbed to shreds in two or three days. No one wears any. When you first start hauling, your shoulders get rubbed raw and bleed, so you find a scrap of rag to pad them yourself." As he spoke, Lu Lvzi pulled aside his own padded jacket; faint scars were still visible on his shoulders.

Up ahead, the current quickened for a stretch. The eight trackers raised a work chant, its resonant sound echoing across the river. Watching them, a faint smile touched Chen Xin's face — in such harsh conditions, life still clung on with such tenacity.

"Then when winter gets even colder, do they still go without clothes?"

Song Wenxian was also at the bow. Stroking his beard, he said, "The Northern Grand Canal freezes over in winter. By then, no tribute grain boats come at all."

Lu Lvzi chimed in agreement. "That's true. Last winter we were in Tianjin helping people haul goods overland. We only got to pull for a few short days after the thaw in spring before that turtle-pimp Tang drove us away." Then, grinding his teeth, he added, "If I'd had this blade back then, I'd have hacked him to pieces long ago."

Dai Zhenggang admonished him, "Don't spend all day talking about hacking and slashing. That turtle-pimp Tang was a piece of work, sure, but it didn't warrant killing."

"How did it not warrant it? He even sent men to try and chop my hand off…"

Lu Lvzi raised his voice and began arguing with Dai Zhenggang. After returning from the sea voyage, he no longer listened to Dai Zhenggang quite so obediently. Though he still held Dai Zhenggang in considerable respect, he would argue whenever their opinions differed. Now, the only person whose words he never questioned was Chen Xin.

Chen Xin ignored the two men's squabble. His gaze settled on the riverbanks. The northern landscape in late autumn was bleak and desolate; the earth was veiled in a greyish tone. Scattered across the fields, a few farmers busied themselves with replanting winter wheat.

Chen Xin and his group had set out from Tianjin five days ago, traveling north on a passing grain boat. They were due to reach Tongzhou today. Chen Xin had brought a large entourage: Dai Zhenggang, Zhu Guobin, Lu Lvzi, Song Wenxian, Hai Gouzi, and Zhang Dahui, plus Qin Lufang, who was already in the capital — eight people in total. The team was slowly growing.

"Mr. Song, can we reach the capital today?"

"I'm afraid not today. We won't reach Zhangjiawan until before supper. From Zhangjiawan to the capital is sixty li — there's no way we can make it today, no matter what."

"Doesn't the Northern Grand Canal go all the way to Tongzhou?"

"Only the grain transport boats may continue on to Tongzhou. Passengers like us must disembark at Zhangjiawan."

Chen Xin nodded. "In that case, we'll stay at Zhangjiawan tonight. Tomorrow we'll hire a few carts. Sixty li can be covered in a single day."

Dai Zhenggang had finished arguing with Lu Lvzi. Hearing this, he said, "Brother Chen, we can just walk. You and Mr. Song can take the carts."

Chen Xin smiled. "Brother Dai, your frugality is indeed a virtue. But when traveling on business, one should ride when it's time to ride. The business comes first."

Lu Lvzi also said, "Brother Chen speaks reason. Big Brother Dai, let's all ride together." Dai Zhenggang had no choice but to agree. Hai Gouzi and Zhang Dahui had never ridden in a horse cart before. Hearing that everyone would be riding, they winked and grimaced at each other in excitement.

In the afternoon, the river channel ahead gradually widened and the current slowed. The trackers no longer needed to bend so low. Song Wenxian told Chen Xin that Zhangjiawan was near. Although Chen Xin was from Tianjin, he was not familiar with Zhangjiawan. After the Beijing-Kowloon Railway was built in the late Qing dynasty, the Grand Canal's importance steadily declined. By the time Chen Xin was born, the Zhangjiawan docks had long since turned into stretches of farmland. Over several centuries, the seas had changed into mulberry fields, and the river courses had shifted many times. The river channel at Zhangjiawan had moved ten kilometers east. Even someone born and bred in the Zhangjiawan of later ages would be utterly lost if they came here.

Zhangjiawan soon appeared in the distance ahead. It lay at the confluence of the Northern Grand Canal and the Guo River (a tributary of the Lugou River). The water flowed gently, and the river channel was very broad, making it highly suitable for mooring tribute grain boats. During the Yuan dynasty, the fleet first dispatched by the grain transport official Zhang Xuan had anchored here, earning it the name Zhangjiawan. It was a major commercial and passenger dock on the Ming dynasty canal.

The trackers hauling the boat, seeing that Tongzhou was not far off, grew cheerful and began singing as they walked. Chen Xin heard loud, clear mountain-song folk tunes drifting from afar. Listening closely, he made out the words: "When meeting a lover in secret, one must be clever and sly, don't let brows and eyes betray you to prying eyes. When face to face in public, exchange only polite greeting; on a narrow road, should you meet, slip past without meeting." (Note 1) After the song ended, the trackers burst into raucous laughter.

Chen Xin heard it and couldn't help a wry chuckle. This mountain song, offering tips on conducting an illicit affair, was not something you could sing just anywhere even after the Reform and Opening Up. Yet here in the Ming dynasty, even common trackers could belt it out. "Bravo!" Chen Xin applauded from the bow. The trackers on the bank all looked over; one even made a slight gesture of cupping his hands in salute.

As soon as Lu Lvzi saw that Chen Xin liked it, he refused to be outdone. With a cheeky grin, he began singing too: "A flower-chaser wears a new headscarf pinned with a blossom; the girl sees it and grabs it with her hand. Failing to snatch the flower, she lets him touch her breast; he covets her white bosom, she covets the flower." This Lu Lvzi had turned it into outright hooliganism.

Zhang Dahui and Hai Gouzi cheered loudly. Zhang Dahui in particular — he had been holed up in a brothel for two or three months straight, and Chen Xin had only just summoned him back without yet having a chance to ask about his learning experience. Now, his heart itching with excitement, he also let out a dry howl: "The lass has grown herself such a fine white bosom; a lover's touch does her no harm. A horse galloping over a stone bridge leaves some mark to remember; a blade slashing the water's surface leaves no wound." His off-key, gander-like voice echoed across the river. His song was even more lecherous than Lu Lvzi's, the gist being that a woman lost nothing by letting a man touch her breast anyway.

"Bravo! Bravo!" This time it was Song Wenxian who called out first. The man had the air of a dissolute scholar. Especially after coming into money, every time he went to Tianjin he spent the night in a brothel. Zhang Dahui had run into him several times at the Qunfang Pavilion. Among Chen Xin's followers, he was actually the most familiar with Song Wenxian.

Lu Lvzi shouted, "Brother Dahui, how many white bosoms have you touched in the brothels?"

"Three, and none of them cost me any silver." Zhang Dahui wore a smug expression and held up three fingers.

Chen Xin swatted him on the head. "Touching is one thing, but don't go blabbing about it when we get back. If your Big Brother Liu finds out, he'll curse you to death for sure."

Zhang Dahui forced a smile. "What business is it of Big Brother Liu's if I touch a woman?"

The group chuckled softly. The trackers on the bank also shouted their approval and were about to start another song when the boat owner emerged from the cabin. He let loose a torrent of abuse toward the bank, cursing the trackers so viciously they were drenched in it. They had no choice but to haul earnestly and dared not sing any more.

"What's he so high and mighty about?" Lu Lvzi spat after the boat owner had returned to the cabin. In the past, when he himself was a tracker, he had been cursed out plenty by boat owners. Seeing a similar scene, he naturally sided with the trackers. The others, their fun spoiled, all felt rather deflated.

Chen Xin, not wanting to stir up trouble, stopped provoking the trackers and asked Song Wenxian beside him,

"Mr. Song, I've never been to Tongzhou before. I wonder why the Grand Canal chose this place as its starting point."

Song Wenxian said, "Tongzhou is where four rivers converge. It is just over forty li from the capital, and the Tonghui River provides a direct route to the capital. It is only fitting that it serves as the starting point of the Northern Grand Canal."

"Then why isn't the tribute grain transported directly to the capital via the Tonghui River?"

Song Wenxian furrowed his brow and said, "It seems the Tonghui River does not have a large water volume. Locks must be built layer upon layer, and at each lock the cargo must be transferred to a different boat. Therefore, only the grain used by the imperial palace is transported via the Tonghui River. All other grain must go by land."

Chen Xin said with sudden understanding, "So that's how it is."

Song Wenxian added, "Here at Zhangjiawan, every year people traveling north and south embark and disembark here. But the volume of goods is not necessarily greater than at Hexiwu. However, Zhangjiawan's tribute grain warehouses far outnumber those at Hexiwu."

As the two were talking, the trackers had already pulled the boat to Zhangjiawan. The market town of Zhangjiawan lay on the west bank, and the Guo River was also to the west. Along the banks of the Guo River and the west bank of the canal, boats and ships lay gunwale to gunwale. On shore, shops stood in dense profusion, and pedestrians milled about like ants. Overall, it was much the same as the canal banks at Tianjin and Hexiwu, but the number of docks was markedly greater than in those latter two places.

The Northern Grand Canal flows from north to south. Traveling from Tongzhou to Tianjin is downstream and requires no trackers. The boats being hauled were all coming from Tianjin and generally traveled along the east bank. Those needing to unload at Zhangjiawan would first be pulled upstream, then turn around and come back to dock. But the boat Chen Xin's group was on was a grain boat that did not stop at Zhangjiawan, so they had to disembark on the east bank and then take a ferry to the west bank.

After disembarking, Chen Xin looked around. The east bank was a stretch of low, thatched hovels, similar to the kind Dai Zhenggang and the others used to live in. Outside the shantytown, a group of children stared blankly toward the dock. Most were in tattered clothes, some even bare-backed. Every one of them was gaunt, little more than skin and bones, with patches of black grime on their faces. Occasionally a woman would emerge, also tottering unsteadily as if she might collapse at any moment. It was much like the African refugee camps Chen Xin had seen on television, forming a stark contrast with the bustling prosperity of the west bank.

"Brother Chen, the five or six thousand trackers of Tongzhou and Zhangjiawan all live in places like this." Dai Zhenggang looked at the once-familiar scene and said to Chen Xin, "In another ten days or so, all these boats will head south. The trackers will have no income. Those whose homes are near will go back. Those from far away or with nowhere to go will have no choice but to stay here. If eight out of ten of them survive this winter, that will be doing well."

Chen Xin asked, slightly startled, "That many die?"

Lu Lvzi grunted in affirmation. "The canal usually doesn't thaw until the third month next year. During the months it's frozen, there's no income at all. The officials are afraid they'll cause trouble, so in winter they distribute gruel once a day — so thin you can see your reflection in it. The women and children can't even finish their share; they have to save some for the men. Otherwise, next year the men won't have the strength to haul, and the whole family will starve even more. Lots of people die every winter."

"Why do they have nowhere to go?"

Lu Lvzi said, "Last time I hauled to Tongzhou, I ran into a few. Many of them are refugees — either from Henan or Shandong, or from Liaodong who fled into the pass. What else can they do but this work? Some whole families have been displaced, and they all depend on the man to work. Anyway, it's a bitter life."

Chen Xin looked at the boat he had just traveled on. The trackers had already continued hauling it onward; the boat owner needed to reach Tongzhou today. The trackers chanted their work song in unison, their bodies bending and stepping forward in synchronized rhythm. A professional smile surfaced on Chen Xin's face.

Song Wenxian, observing Chen Xin's expression, asked, "Brother Chen, have you taken a fancy to these people? Among them, there are many from the White Lotus, Wenxiang, and Luo sects."

Chen Xin nodded. "I have taken a fancy to them. But you can't swallow too much in one bite. Heretical cults don't matter. If I have a thousand men and recruit a hundred, in the end there won't be a single White Lotus follower. But if I have only a hundred men and recruit a thousand, then they'll all turn into White Lotus."

Song Wenxian nodded. "That is the logic of it."

Chen Xin left some things unsaid. In truth, the most important thing was that as long as you could feed and clothe them, no cult mattered. Once they entered a military camp, you kicked out the cult leaders, imposed closed management, brainwashed them for a few months, and with food, clothing, and control over their families, the vast majority would never think about any cult again. So indeed, you couldn't swallow too many at once. Just looking at how these trackers hauled in unison, chanting their work song, they were the best possible source of soldiers. If the imperial court would use its brains a little — instead of letting them die meaningless deaths, gather them into an army and train them — they would absolutely be a force capable of fighting.

"Guobin, what do you think of these men as soldiers?" Chen Xin suddenly asked Zhu Guobin, who had been silent behind him.

Zhu Guobin said, "Company Commander, according to Grandfather Qi's method of selecting soldiers, most of these men could become good soldiers."

Chen Xin pondered for a moment. How many should he take with him when the time came? He looked at the ragged children outside the shantytown. How many of them would survive this winter?

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Note 1: All three folk songs are from Feng Menglong's "Mountain Songs." Many of the songs collected in "Mountain Songs" involve erotic themes, heh heh, which shows how open the social atmosphere was in the late Ming.